SYNOPSIS Ethan has spent his entire life not wanting to admit that he’s gay. He didn’t feel like he had a choice. His mother has been clear, since he was a child, that she wouldn’t tolerate what sh…

About the Book This powerful "New York Times" bestseller by the two-time Edgar Award-winning author brings back detective Dave Robicheaux in a moody, hard-hitting novel that goes the limit in its provocative blend of human drama and relentless noir suspense. Book Synopsis Sheriff Dave Robicheaux returns to New Orleans to investigate the beating of a controversial Catholic priest and murder of three teenage girls in this intense, atmospheric entry in the New York Times bestselling series. For Dave Robicheaux, there is no easy passage home. New Orleans, and the memories of his life in the Big Easy, will always haunt him. So to return there means visiting old ghosts, exposing old wounds, opening himself up to new, yet familiar, dangers. When Robicheaux, now a police officer based in the somewhat quieter Louisiana town of New Iberia, learns that an old friend, Father Jimmie Dolan, a Catholic priest always at the center of controversy, has been the victim of a particularly brutal assault, he knows he has to return to New Orleans to investigate, if only unofficially. What he doesn't realize is that in doing so he is inviting into his life--and into the lives of those around him--an ancestral evil that could destroy them all. A masterful exploration of the troubled side of human nature and the darkest corners of the heart, and filled with the kinds of unforgettable characters that are the hallmarks of his novels, Last Car to Elysian Fields is Burke in top form in the kind of lush, atmospheric thriller that is "an outstanding entry in an excellent series" (Publishers Weekly). Review Quotes "Among current American thriller/mystery authors, James Lee Burke may be the most widely celebrated as a pure writer." About the Author James Lee Burke is a New York Times bestselling author, two-time winner of the Edgar Award, and the recipient of the Guggenheim Fellowship for Creative Arts in Fiction. He has authored forty novels and two short story collections. He lives in Missoula, Montana.

A Treatise On Writing Novels Carl Douglass Neurosurgeon Turned Author Writes With Gripping Realism AuthorMasterminds Charter Member I tried to write poetry. With supreme effort, I could occasionally come up with two lines that made sense and rhymed. For the life of me, I was never able to get to the second two lines; so, I gave up and simply chose to be an aficionado, admiring poetry as an ardent arms-length spectator. Next, I experimented with short story writing; but, by nature, I am too verbose. I needed a longer, broader canvas to paint my word pictures. I settled for, worked at, and experimented with novels. In twenty-five or so years, I have learned some things I would like to share. The greatest things about novel writing are: the author can tell the whole story; he or she can—and must—be the god of the story, the only one who knows the past, the present, the alpha and the omega. The omnipotent author gets to make all the decisions, to get all the glory, to deflect all the criticism, and—in the end—to absorb the ignominy of failure. It’s worth it to be able to be the god of the book, to get the story out—even if only for a brief time. Structure of a novel: There are obviously a great many variations on structure; but, in my opinion, all novels need a definable beginning, mid-section, and an ending. I admit to hating flashbacks. Here are a few suggestions related to that obvious structural need: Prologues and Epilogues It is not necessary to have either or both a prologue or an epilogue, and it might inadvertently result in the creation of a spoiler. However, I like them because it gives the author and the reader a mysterious glimpse of what might be and something to look for within—maybe a foreshadowing, or maybe just a trick. A prologue may be short or long, pithy or gritty, eloquent or Hemingwayesque. It should be enlightening of the story, usually containing or promising an element of surprise, and something for the reader to discover within the novel-in-chief—an “ah-ha” moment. I wrote a prologue that was two pages long for The Sheep Dog and the Wolf which seemed to be entirely incongruous for the first third of the book. Then, I slipped the prologue content in; so, my readers could suffer something of a shock, at least a decided change of direction. In my latest book, The Rise and Fall of the Fifteenth Caliphate, I have a series of prologues—almost short stories—that illuminate the theme of the book-in-chief. Epigrams Epigrams can start a book, finish a book, or do the same thing for a chapter. They should provide an insight into the ongoing story, a link to the past, or a foreshadowing of the near future in the book. In my opinion, a clever epigraphic entry that is there for the sake of cuteness or some feeling on the part of the author that is not truly concerned with the story, usually falls short or is confusing, or just seems cute and out of place. The internet is a great source; be mindful of copyright privileges; and make your choice be pertinent. In a novel, author asides may indicate amateurism and seem to be a failed attempt at cleverness. Be careful about injecting an “in-the-margin” and “off-the-cuff” comment that is set apart from the flow of the story. That type of insert suggests that the author is not truly the god of the book, but is just another onlooker, and one who needs to get his or her two-bits in from the peanut gallery. First Sentence; First Paragraph; First Page This is the age of the millennials—a digital age when there is no patience for a less than stellar beginning or a slow buildup. The author or TV playwright gets ten seconds of sight and sound, or, at the most, a page of narrative before the readers’ eyes glaze over; and they seek a quicker fix. The first sentence is likely the most important set of words strung together in the whole book. I remember the first sentence in Stephen Becker’s, The Chinese Bandit: “That summer they hanged a fat man at the Western gate as a warning and example to all.” Now, how can anyone not want to explore further? Then, there is the classic of Edgar Allen Poe’s, The Fall of the House of Usher, which is—if nothing else perhaps the record holder for the length of a single sentence: “During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the Autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country, and at length found myself, as the shades of evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher.” That memorable two-breath sentence certainly sets the mood and—as a matter of desire—for pursuing a guilty little pleasure into the delicious darkness of Poe’s mind. Make the first sentence a bugle call, or at least get the excitement going in that call, in that crucial first paragraph that follows. Fail in that and only a few devoted fans will give you the opportunity to share more than that one page. If the start is lifeless, the book will sink. I remember being required to read, The Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens when I was in high school. He wrote chapters as episodes for a weekly serial for Chapman and Hart, Publishers. In my adolescence—and still as an adult—I found the first 100 pages to be deadly dull, little more than turgid descriptions with no evident progress towards a captivating story. Thereafter, apparently, Dickens discovered his story and then raced forward in what was to become on the all-time best novels, and descriptions of the infamous Reign of Terror. You are going to have to have an extremely loyal set of followers who will wait you out for a 100 pages. Lots of luck there. Body of the Book You, the author—and the god of the book—owe it to your congregation of readers to craft a good and compelling story. In my humble opinion, that is the foremost requirement of a good book. Many of the hundreds of thousands of efforts by authors never seem to get that. Those writers seem to be ignorant of Poe’s rules of story telling or of Hemingway’s example. Simply put, your story must have a plausible beginning, body, and conclusion that follow one to another in a logical “evidence-based” progression. It does not matter whether you write historical fiction, action or legal thrillers, suspense stories, horror, fantasy, science fiction, or even children’s books (think of Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak), the rules still applies: the story is the thing. If you fail to get across your story, you will be doomed to be a lesser god, even a false one with more critics than fans; and your book will join the thousands of others that never get read. The End In television shows, an hour program has roughly thirty-eight minutes to tell the story in between the frequent opportunities to enjoy presentations of product and services research. Therefore, DNA results are immediate, complicated detective investigations last bare minutes, discovery of evidence borders on the miraculous with geniuses and totally cooperative ancillary services working together towards the desired end. Cops arrive at the locations of criminals with the speed of light, taking mere seconds to cross New York City, the United States, or even the world. TV requires a prodigious degree of suspension of judgment. On the contrary, avid novel readers expect a great deal more from their authors. People who can read require, and expect, more detail, apt description, and logical progression of dialogue and events—in short, plausibility. Even in mysteries, it would be laughable in a novel for the characters to demonstrate the every day genius lightening quick conclusions coming from out of nowhere that they get on TV. In novels, travel is at a pace less than the speed of light (with the exception of Sci-fy, perhaps), and may be arduous or fun, but—at least—they are not yet interrupted by advertisements for toilet paper and tooth paste. The god-like author must set the scenes and ensure that the reader is an involved onlooker, who is privy to what is transpiring with better intel than the characters acting out the story, but is never as good as that information that the all-knowing author possesses and is willing to transmit only grudgingly and over time. Description is necessary to make the characters come alive and to make a scene of action so clear that the reader feels as well as knows the story. On the other hand, excessive and irrelevant description is not useful for the story, except for the creation of what is meant to be “poetic prose.” Some poetic prose serves as no more than fodder for page flipping. Above all, the scenes, the dialogue, the action, and the descriptions serve the end, the conclusion of the story in novel form. The conclusion should make sense—at least in retrospect—even in a mystery that concludes in the last sentence with an unexpected shocker. Unexpected is not the same as illogical or impossible. Surprises are fine so long as they are in accordance with the preceding evidence that constitutes the body of the story. Be as careful about the ending of your book as you are about your first sentence and paragraph. Never let it be said that “he (or she) seemed to be desperate to end the thing.” Avoid being so weary with writing that you race to a finish, any finish, just to make it be done, and off to the publisher. You can kill off a beloved character, even the main character, but in so doing make it a measure of not totally unexpected and implausible tragedy or a way out of your writer’s block quagmire. You have truly failed if your faithful reader—who has gone all the way with you—reads the last paragraph or line with a sneer or a shrug and an exasperated exhalation, “saay whaa?” Character Development No character should be a flat, never varying goody-two-shoes or a villain so evil as to be devoid of rational thinking or some inkling of goodness somewhere in his or her makeup. If the genre of the book is about mindless crazies, zombies, and the like, then maybe there is an exception to be accepted. The only characters who need to think and to vocalize their thoughts are the main protagonists and antagonists. They are also the only ones who require full and continuing physical descriptions. Most other characters—those lesser beings—deserve only cursory and usually one-time descriptions and are seldom privileged by the god to speak and almost never to think. Protagonists can make mistakes, have moral lapses, and cause harm. Antagonists can actually be good—at least at times—but they must be present to permit tension and opposition. Both character types need to become people we get to know and either like or dislike, but to be allowed a measure of tolerance and at least grudgingly an acknowledgment of their mind set. As an example, my new book, The Rise and Fall of the Fifteenth Caliphate, is historical fiction which strongly features Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, whose deeds are as reprehensible as humans get. However, in his religious beliefs, he fights for the preservation of his religion against usurpers, Christian crusaders, atheists, polytheists, kuffars, and people who simply and wickedly do not believe in God or the way God behaves in the same way al-Baghdadi does. It follows that all those misguided and wicked people—whom we may see as protagonists—need to be put down for the good of his cause. His way of thinking is logical and correct to him and his followers, however vile and perverted that mind set is to the regular Muslims and the vast majority of other people, particularly his victims. Through his prism, outsiders are all enemies, to the point of being the devil’s own minions. That said, you—as my reader—are likely to recognize a good many protagonists who are people a lot like us. The gist of this presentation about important characters is that they need to be made believable. In that vein, be careful of dialogue. Make the speaking parts move along in keeping with the personalities of the protagonist and the antagonist, and with the end game as divined by the author—the god of the novel. Keep it all plausible and logical whatever your genre may be. Dialogue Be mindful of the impact of your characters’ dialogue. What charms the kitten loving Sunday School teacher may make the Sam Spade fan grit his or her teeth. The obverse side of that coin is the clinical gore of Kay Scarpetta and the harsh underworld slanguage of her colleagues and the denizens of the dark with whom she deals on a regular basis may turn the stomach of the Church Lady and quickly drive her and her confreres to more comfortable reading material. Mind your characters’ dialogue and to whom you are writing. Be consistent with your genre, at least in each book. Change genres if you want, but do not have offensive surprises for the Church Lady. Figure out if you are writing for tough old cops and retired marines, or is a more general readership what you have in mind? There is a readership for James Lee Burke’s character, Dave Robideaux and his tough scatological, profane, and irreverent patter just like there is for Kay Scarpetta’s vivid description of gore. Burke and Cornwall are masters of their crafts, and they know their audiences. I know both sets of jargon based on a life among hard men, but I have chosen to moderate the language of my characters, to avoid frank sexual descriptions, and to leave room for the adventurous Church Lady to find something she can like in my “gritty realism” as my publicist says about me. More dialogue and less “telling” is a good rule of thumb but one that is not so easy to master. Telling is a much easier and quicker way to move a story along efficiently, but it makes for less of a story. Study and research well if you intend to be brave and include language, dialects, regional jargon and intend to include foreigners whom you allow to speak in their language. Be especially careful with stereotypes such as ghetto talk. It may be convincing if done right and keeps up with the ever-evolving times, or it may be plain insulting. I suggest that if it is your aspiration to set a book in a region with conspicuously distinct dialects and accents that you either be from that locale and can speak like a native or consider studying the works of masters like Walter Mosely—e.g. The Devil in a Blue Dress, Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, Joel Chandler Harris’s, Uncle Remus, or the legendary Robert Burns. If you want to write in a Yorkshire brogue, you had better live there for a couple of years. Even then, you will probably have to resort to plagiarism. Of course, you can invent your own language, place, and people, names like J. K. Rowley, if your bent is Sci-fi or fantasy. That takes great creativity and is more than I can muster. Usually, dialect speech should be sparing. Throw in a few words or phrases to indicate that the speakers are using that mode of speech or that foreign language. Long stretches of such speech become a stumbling block and slow the progress of the story—which is more important than the dialogue, in my opinion—and dulls the enthusiasm of the reader. That is certainly one of the most important reasons for writing a book in the first place—to win that enthusiasm. You are encouraged to comment on this opinionated treatise—unless you intend to be critical, and therefore mean, by definition—and you might have an opinion of value. It is possible that I could even learn something.

See more books in this shop: https://www.etsy.com/shop/Pistilbooks Title: The Age of Inigo Jones Author: Lees-Milne, James Edition: First Edition Location Published: London, B.T. Batsford: 1953 Binding: Hard Cover Book Condition: Very Good Jacket Condition: Good Categories: Architecture Seller ID: 154264 A clean, unmarked book with a tight binding. Wear and small tears on dust jacket. Full red cloth boards. 7 1/2"w x 10"h. 242 pages. Previous owner's name inside. Black and white photos. Please contact me for information on international shipping.

About the Book This powerful "New York Times" bestseller by the two-time Edgar Award-winning author brings back detective Dave Robicheaux in a moody, hard-hitting novel that goes the limit in its provocative blend of human drama and relentless noir suspense. Book Synopsis Sheriff Dave Robicheaux returns to New Orleans to investigate the beating of a controversial Catholic priest and murder of three teenage girls in this intense, atmospheric entry in the New York Times bestselling series. For Dave Robicheaux, there is no easy passage home. New Orleans, and the memories of his life in the Big Easy, will always haunt him. So to return there means visiting old ghosts, exposing old wounds, opening himself up to new, yet familiar, dangers. When Robicheaux, now a police officer based in the somewhat quieter Louisiana town of New Iberia, learns that an old friend, Father Jimmie Dolan, a Catholic priest always at the center of controversy, has been the victim of a particularly brutal assault, he knows he has to return to New Orleans to investigate, if only unofficially. What he doesn't realize is that in doing so he is inviting into his life--and into the lives of those around him--an ancestral evil that could destroy them all. A masterful exploration of the troubled side of human nature and the darkest corners of the heart, and filled with the kinds of unforgettable characters that are the hallmarks of his novels, Last Car to Elysian Fields is Burke in top form in the kind of lush, atmospheric thriller that is "an outstanding entry in an excellent series" (Publishers Weekly). Review Quotes "Among current American thriller/mystery authors, James Lee Burke may be the most widely celebrated as a pure writer." About the Author James Lee Burke is a New York Times bestselling author, two-time winner of the Edgar Award, and the recipient of the Guggenheim Fellowship for Creative Arts in Fiction. He has authored forty novels and two short story collections. He lives in Missoula, Montana.