I hadn't read Bill James for a while and had forgotten how good, and unique, he can be. I've been a fan of the Harpur and Iles series ever since I picked up Roses, Roses following a decent review in The Times, and have read many of them since. The recurring characters have become mainstays of the fictional landscape in my head, although I doubt if many would recognise "Panicking Ralph" to be up there with King Lear in the hallowed Halls of Literature. But he is up there in mine, one of the tragic, flawed personas, driven by personal demons that run deep, as unfathomable as the psychopathy of Iles or pragmatism of Harpur. But while Shakespeare's forte was tragedy, Bill James delivers way ahead on the comedy front, especially in the exchanges between the two policemen as they bicker like an unhappily married couple stuck in the checkout queue in Sainsbury's (Iles wouldn't be seen dead in Asda). It's a unique brew that I can't compare to any other writer, the creation of a set of characters who are at once absurd, surreal, insane and believable. In a world of Lee Childs, Ian Rankins, Harlan Cobans, Stephen Kings, Colin Dexters and so on, it takes a vision to do your own thing at the expense of everything else, but Bill James manages it with every book in this series. He's the indie band that nobody you know has heard of, and is all the better for it.