Michael Connelly

Outro dos meus bem amados grandes escritores policiais.
Apaixonou-se pelo género com a leitura de Raymond Chandler, foi jornalista criminal e já escreveu 17 livros.
O seu herói?
O detective do LAPD Hieronymus Bosch. Mas chamar-lhe herói não será adequado. Representa algo mais. A fragilidade, o desencanto e uma eterna procura. Quase que irmão do Dr House..
Já está publicado em Portugal. É procurarem, comprarem e terem a certeza que vão ler um livro fantástico, qualquer que ele seja. Porque ele não cede nunca na qualidade e interesse das suas obras.
Em Setembro, vai lançar um romance " Overlook" no New York Times, em 16 folhetins.Acho boa ideia ressuscitar o género.
E como ele melhor que ninguém sabe mostrar o que vale, vou copiar dois excertos de duas obras suas. Um dedicado ao ABS, por razões óbvias.
A outra é do meu imaginário.A casa de Bosch que foi destruída no sismo de LA. Coisas de botica. E o coiote. O que eu gostei do Timido.


He made another one of those psychic connections with Eleanor Wish when he turned around and looked at the wall above the couch. Framed in black wood was a print of Edward Hopper's Nighthawks. Bosch didn't have the print at home but he was familiar with the painting and from time to time even thought about it when he was deep on a case or on a surveillance. He had seen the original in Chicago once and had stood in front of it studying it for nearly an hour. A quiet, shadowy man sits alone at the counter of a street-front diner. He looks across at another customer much like himself, but only the second man is with a woman. Somehow, Bosch identified with it, with that first man. I am the loner, he thought. I am the nighthawk. The print, with its stark dark hues and shadows, did not fit in this apartment, Bosch realized. Its darkness clashed with the pastels. Why did Eleanor have it? What did she see there?
in The Black Echo


He looked away from the fire and down into the dried brush that carpeted the hillside and surrounded the pylons that held his own home to the hillside on the west side of the pass. He saw daisies and wildflowers in the chaparral below. But not the coyote he had seen in recent weeks hunting in the arroyo below his house. He had thrown down pieces of chicken to the scavenger on occasion, but the animal never accepted the food while Bosch watched. Only when Bosch went back in off the porch would the animal creep out and take the offerings. Harry had christened the coyote "Timido." Sometimes late at night he heard the coyote's howl echoing up the pass.

in The Black Ice