The Dead Yard

It's been five years since Adrian McKinty's Michael Forsythe topped Darky White and his Harlem-based Irish gang in "Dead a Well May Be", an explosive and brilliantly crafted novel so black and cold, so brutal, that a simple 'noir' label is way to tame. But compared to "The Dead Yard", the predecessor is nearly docile, as the years have only hardened Forsythe's stone-cold skills and have sharpened McKinty's prose: beautiful poetry of violence, survival, and again, another staggering installment of vengeance. Innocently enough, "Yard" starts with young Michael on holiday in the Canary Island of Tennerife. But a football riot lands him in prison - again - and a Spanish one this time. Threatened with extradition to Mexico to finish out the sentence in Hell started in McKinty's debut novel, Forsythe is coerced into helping British Intelligence penetrate a rogue Irish terrorist cell in Boston. Michael succeeds on getting inside "The Sons of Cuchulainn" through a cockamamie plan concocted by M16 that was just daft enough to actually work. And soon Michael, the Irish bad boy we can't resist liking - albeit with a touch of guilty pleasure - is knockin' off banks and swapping tales of Ireland with his revolutionary new-found buddies, while seeming to bed every woman in sight, from the new boss's daughter to the agent in charge of his mission. But is this is beginning to sound like 007, take heart: author McKinty will have none of James Bond's suave and debonair foolishness, no fast women and faster cars, tuxedos, or martinis in these pages, but a surfeit blood, gore, and political idealism blinding common sense and clouding reality. Forsythe is the classic tragic hero and if, indeed, McKinty is idealistic in his own right, his passion blazes across the pages in fiery passages: "...will I despoil your corpse and throw your tattered carcass onto that black barge that Death steers into the silent sea..." Take that, Lord Byron! McKinty understands the use of foreshadow, carefully meting enough light to plot the course to come, but a steady hand on the meter insures the reader stays only engaged and curious. From the beginning of "Dead I Well May Be", where the reader sees a somewhat naive Michael Forsythe trying to figure out the ins-and-outs of both sides of the law in his adopted America, by the end of "The Dead Yard" we've seen a transition, a coming of age in America tale so ferocious, so shocking in cruelty and violence that even Cormac McCarthy begins to look a bit constrained. Yes, McKinty's rough words may offend your weaker sensibilities, and have others asking if he's gone too far. But for me, Adrian McKinty's brand of noir crime have earned him a prime spot at the table with the new masters like Bruen, Huston, Swierczynski, and Gischler. "The Bloomsday Dead" wraps up this trilogy, and I can't wait to see where McKinty will take Michael Forsythe and his continued epic journey to Hell and back. Superb stuff - "Slainte", Mr. McKinty!

This fascinating story of life under cover shows how everything can turn into a dangerous test. If almost everyone you meet is a stranger reacting to someone who isn't you, the most innocent comment can turn fatal. Such a situation is almost totally isolating because you never get to be yourself and you don't know how many of the people you deal with may be acting the role of someone they aren't. Forsythe keeps track of who he really is by reminding himself of who he is pretending to be. He is careful not to be trapped by knowing too much history, not to be lured by understanding literary references, not to get it about North American politics. Still, as survival becomes the issue, caution has to stop.

I "read" this book as a download from Audible. Gerard Doyle is the narrator and seems to become Michael Forsythe. He's amazing. I hope everyone gets to "hear" this book and Doyle's reading of it. This book is extremely lyrical and smart, drolly humorous at times, and viciously violent. I don't think I've been so tense since the basement scene in The Silence of the Lambs. The last 30 minutes or so, I literally was pacing back and forth, my heart beating as fast as it could, and my stomach was nauseated by dread. I don't like to read reviews that tell the story of the book, so I won't go into that here. All I can say is that if you are a fan of great writing and good thrillers, and you have a strong heart (and stomach), then you will absolutely love this book. McKinty is wonderful, and the McKinty/Doyle pairing was made in entertainment heaven. And if Michael was real, I'd be in love with him. BUY THIS BOOK! Even better, listen to it!

He's back. Lock up your daughters, stay indoors and get ready for the worst. Michael Forsythe is infiltrating a devious bunch of thugs in the swamps of New England. You know its not going to be pretty or end well for anyone. If you read Dead I Well May Be and wondered what this crook, ne'er do well and all round rascal was going to get up to next, this is your answer. Keep a valium next to the bed if you've a nervous disposition, or, better yet, a valium, a shot of old Bushmills and your trusty .45.

I read this book in galley two months ago and have been itching to review it since. It is a sequel to McKinty's Dead I Well May Be which came out in 2004. That book was praised for its menacing tone, snappy dialogue and complexity. This one has those elements but also an understated dry (Irish?) wit which serves as a counterpoint to some of the more horrific elements in the quick paced narrative. It is the story of an undercover operative in a sleeper cell- not that original in itself, but then what story is? The selling point rather is the way McKinty tells the tale. His voice is completely original: dark, poetic and (for a crime novel) beautiful. The last third of the book moves very quickly (maybe too quickly) but the last chapters and the ending itself are very satisfying. A great book that lingers long in the memory. Look for The Dead Yard in many top ten lists in December.