Interview
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READ ANOTHER INTERVIEW: A conversation with Gregg Hurwitz
Q. What inspired you to make your protagonist a crime writer? How was writing Drew’s version of the events different from writing the rest of the novel?
A. Well, I suppose I looked at my life one day and saw all the strange, wonderful consultants I’ve befriended from pathologists to spies to Navy SEALs, over the course of my career, and my assortment of bizarre interests, and thought, “What would happen if I found myself in the middle of a thriller?” I have a unique perspective on trouble, certainly one that would be very helpful at times and incredibly off the mark at other times. I’d know who to call, I think, and I have a little knowledge about everything from crime scenes to interrogation techniques. But as we know, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.
I’d say Drew’s version of events is a touch moister. His writing is more genre-like than mine. We’re both hard boiled, but I suppose he’s a bit more convention bound than I’d like to think I am.
Q. How much of Drew is based on you?
A. More than any other character I’ve written. Which is to say, very much and not a lot at the same time.
Q. Los Angeles is so present in The Crime Writer it’s as if the city itself were a character. Was this a conscious decision?
A. Absolutely. I love the crime fiction of this city. This book is a love song to that tradition, and my own unique (I hope) and contemporary take on it. Los Angeles is stunning and infuriating, stimulating and deadening. Where better to put a protagonist who feels alienated from himself?
Q. Do you consult cops, criminalists, and other experts while writing a novel? What’s one of the most startling things you’ve learned in your research? What is one of the most unusual things you’ve undertaken in the name of authenticity?
A. Yes, extensively and frequently. But oddly, much less for this book than for my previous thrillers. I think that’s probably because I’d done all the research for The Crime Writer by living my life. The most startling thing, huh? There’s a variety. When you cut someone’s throat from behind on a covert mission, you have to tip his head down so his lungs don’t suck and give away your position. Cadavers awaiting dissection are hung from their ears rather than laid flat, so their musculature doesn’t distort. Those little grabby bags women take to the opera are called clutch purses.
As for the most unusual undertaking, I’d have to say going up in a stunt plane or going undercover into a mind-control cult.
Q. It’s unusual for a hard-boiled detective to abstain from alcohol. What made you decide to put Drew in AA?
A. I’m afraid I don’t have a clear answer for that. Some aspects of personality sort of arrive with the character. And Drew is egocentric, certainly (he is a writer), but he’s hit bottom before, and he’s learned to rebuild himself already. So there’s a strength there, and a humility too. I’ve never really puzzled it out before right now, but that’s probably what that’s about.
Q. Who are some of your favorite detectives from literature and film and what do you like about them?
A. Bud White from Ellroy’s L.A. Confidential. I love his fierce, pissed-off vulnerability.
Lionel Essrog, the PI with Tourette syndrome in Jonathan Lethem’s Motherless Brooklyn, has to be one of the most unique, fully formed characters to pass through the genre in decades. He’s an unpredictable mess, you can’t look away.
And though he’s from comics and not a detective, I have to include the Punisher, particularly how Garth Ennis reconceived him. There’s something in train-off-the-tracks revenge narrative that gets me all worked up, and this one hits my sweet spot.
Q. Drew says that he writes potboilers and people read them as a totem against humanity’s collective fear of death. Do you share that opinion?
A. Yes. Against death, and the whole human joke. We like things to fit. We like to close a book with hard answers, a notion of design or meaning. And I think good crime fiction gives you that. Really good crime fiction also gives you a peek through the torn fabric. It gives some answers, but also points to the unanswerable.
Q. You’ve written for television, film, and even comic books. How do those processes compare to novels?
A. They all offer different slants on narrative and require different muscles. Of course, the others are visual mediums, so they have to be tight and lean. You can’t get away with exposition, superfluous scenes, flabby structure. Of course, you shouldn’t try to in novels either, but it’s easier to get off course there, so working in these other fields helps me return to novels with renewed focus on what really drives a story. Comics are fascinating and challenging because you have to tell a whole story in snapshots. Plus, they soothe the inner geekboy.
Q. How would you compare The Crime Writer to your earlier work?
A. It’s drastically different. I’d never written in first person before, I think because I’d never felt that close to a character and the material. In most regards, The Crime Writer feels like a second first novel for me.
