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Jack Irish—gambler, cook and cabinetmaker, finder of people who don’t want to be found—has a new job, hunting for evidence that might save the beautiful sculptor Sarah Longmore from a murder rap. Jack soon discovers there was nothing straightforward about property developer Mickey Franklin’s death, and falls headlong into a world of shady deals, sexual secrets and country rednecks.
‘The author uses a staccato style, perhaps born of Ellroy but now indisputably his own, that conveys action and feelings word by word, phrase by phrase. Close to poetry, it infuses Jack Irish and his mortal concerns deeply into every page. Though plot underpins the book, in the final analysis this is character exploration at its best…I judge it to be the best Jack Irish yet. The upshot of my reading? Go for Peter Temple. His hero will stick and stick and stick.’
‘A brilliant novel of shady deals, sexual secrets, untimely death, dark horses and a beautiful sculptor…’
‘This is a clever, fast-moving and multi-faceted yarn that dips into the routines and characters of the everyday, extrapolating to the extreme and the bizarre that extend beyond the best exposés of the tabloids.’
‘Temple’s clipped, observant, journalistic prose style ensures that the pages of the novel [are] turned almost unaided…Temple captures the atmosphere, mood and tempo of Melbourne—a town that is conservative, philistine, provincial, gruffly sentimental, nostalgic, sport-obsessed, materialistic and cheerfully callous. The misadventures of Jack Irish are true to that spirit.’
‘Well-crafted characters, plenty of tough action and wry reflections on the seamier side of Melbourne life…Another world-class crime novel by one of Australia’s best and most consistent crime novelists.’
‘There’s not much left that counts for a hill of beans in this crazy world, but one safe bet is a new book by Peter Temple.’
‘A joy-ride of a book.’
‘Temple himself is a master craftsman…The breathless, terrifying ending provides top-notch suspense.’
‘Temple’s ear for dialogue and the vernacular was quite something—and had him compared to the masterful Detroit-native Elmore Leonard.’