I thought this was fabulous...anyone else might find it a huge bore, though. This book contains the kernels, seeds, of inspiration, the experiences and sights and sounds that stick with you and then coalesce into a future work. And I am so-o-o-o jealous!
Michael Connelly and I were both working as newspaper reporters at the exact time...his press pass shows a goofy, curly headed kid who gets to ride shotgun with the cops for a week, the homicide division no less. Meanwhile mine shows a girl with stupid straight bangs and a pissed-off expression, assigned to covering wedding stories for the bridal section and art exhibit openings. In 1986, girls were not allowed to cover the police beat or the court beat. We were assigned to the lifestyles or entertainment sections.
I can remember my first day and asking the room in general "what the hell is peau de soie?" and the older, female reporter, "mother" of the department, smiling and saying "French for silk" as she slammed a drawer shut with her hip. This woman went on to write murder mystery novelettes for Harlequin romance...and I went on to prostitute myself in advertising where I would be paid a lot more money for knowing stuff like what peau de soie is. And Connelly went on to create an unforgettable character, Hieronymus "Harry" Bosch, the LAPD homicide detective who speaks for the dead. Harry is the compilation of all the real-life detectives Connelly knew, the cases...well, we all know truth is stranger than fiction, no doubt.
In all honesty, he was not that great as a reporter. I bet he drove his editors NUTS with convoluted leads (supposed to be 25-30 words in length, one I counted at 46, why he didn't break into two?) and flowery, inappropriate, editorializing adjectives like "swift and efficient" killer and "bizarre cast of characters and seamy tales." Hmmmm. Use your verbs, man, not your adjectives, to color up a news story!
So, he goes on to write, with great economy and word-restraint, stuff like: “In every murder is the tale of a city.” and "We all are circling the drain, he thought. Some are closer to the black hole than others. Some will see it coming and some will have no clue when the undertow of the whirlpool grabs them and pulls them down into darkness forever."
Connelly found his correct place in the universe. And I'm one of his biggest fans. Thus, the book gets four out of five stars.