One of the books that finally convinced me that American hardboiled fiction is the best literature in the world was Peter Rabe's Anatomy of a Killer (which was translated in Finnish in the early sixties as Tappajan anatomia; you can find it (and the seventies reprint) easily from the thrift stores and such). I remember reading it for the first time when I was writing my first book, Pulpografia, in 1998-1999, and really getting hooked up on the book, from the first page. I went, why do people talk about all these boring new writers, when this is the real deal?
The reprint from Stark House Press is out now, with another Rabe novel, A Shroud for Jesso (which I haven't read, even though I have the original paperback). Here's Bruce Grossman's review on Bookgasm.
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