Duane Swierczynski has, with the publication of The Blonde, become one of the new next-gen crime writers I’m watching. He’s an editor-in-chief of a major Philadelphia newspaper, so his lean, muscular prose comes to him naturally from a daily grind. The imagination is purely his, but it’s a new twist on a lot of the old noir-style books and movies that I love so much.
I never know what to expect from his characters. In The Blonde I wasn’t even sure who the good guys were until the final pages of the book were sorted out. It was a great ride, and I couldn’t stop turning pages once I’d started. I’d read the warnings on the book posted by other writers and reviews, but they really meant it.
His previous release from a mainstream publisher came in 2005. The Wheelman was a blistering read that kept you glued to the story in a merciless grip. See, Swiercynski has this take-no-prisoners mentality that just grabs the reader by the throat on page one, introduces a problem the protagonist has to handle just to survive, then turns the tables on him (and the reader!) before another 15 or 20 pages have gone by.
Reading the twists and turns of his plots is like constantly getting surprised by an opposing boxer’s hooks and jabs slipping right through your defenses. No matter how ready you think you are, you keep getting smashed and broken up, and get left wondering how it’s all going to shake out.
The Blonde has one of the best opening sequences I’ve read in a long time. A woman in the Philly airport tells Jack Eisley, the main character, that she’s poisoned his drink and he’s going to be dead in eight hours. He blows her off, thinking she’s just weird. And the reader watches as Jack gives her the slip and walks away. Normally there would be something that would prevent him from doing that.
Not in Swierrcynski’s world. He finds a reason to make the protagonist give in and go back to the airport hoping to find the woman, Kelly White. Jack’s nausea and vomiting convinces him he has been poisoned, so he returns for the antidote. Only the woman fesses up to him and tells him she actually needs him because she’s infested with nanobots that will kill her if she’s left alone. We’ve suddenly entered the Twilight Zone as our crime thriller goes into Michael Crichton overdrive.
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