Partners & Crime
Nevermore Awards
April 2004

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Revised:  May 2004

The Tradition: The Nevermore Awards Party traditionally takes place the night before the Edgars at Partners & Crime Mystery Booksellers in Greenwich Village. The Nevermore Nominating Committee zeroes in on ephemeral (and often peculiar) trends in the crime-novel business and the Partners give commemorative ravens to real authors for inadvertent achievement in a variety of categories neither dreamt nor dared by other organizations...
The Nevermores carry a singular distinction in that Everybody Wins – especially those not nominated...

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Good evening, all, and welcome to the eighth sort-of-annual Nevermore Awards.  We’re particularly glad to see you here at Partners & Crime tonight because – in case you missed the enormous sign in the window – this is our 10th birthday.  That’s right, ten years, in the Age of Amazon AND the Barnes & Noble Superstore. We really do think we have [holds up raven] something to crow about. 

 

As many of you know, our Nevermore Awards are typically given in recognition of achievements – dubious or otherwise – in the past year of mystery fiction.  This year, however, to underscore the decade-mark, we’re going to be looking back at some trends – dubious or otherwise – that have marked the past TEN years in the business.  There will also be a special musical number – and really outrageous birthday cake.  I should point out, though, that we’re only bringing out the cake AFTER we’ve gone through all the awards.  If you don’t sit through the awards, you can’t have any cake!

 

Before we segue into the awards, though, and in all seriousness, we’d like to take a brief moment to remember some of the writers we’ve lost over the past decade, whose voices gave us – and continue to give -- so much pleasure.  Sadly, there are more than we can count, but for now, please join us in saying good-bye and thank you – in no particular order -- to Ross Thomas, Sara Caudwell, Patricia Highsmith, Gretchen Sprague, Amanda Cross, Edward Gorey, Bartholomew Gill, Virginia Lanier, Robert Ludlum, Julian Symons, Hugh Holton, Ellis Peters, Olivia Goldsmith, Robertson Davies, Richard Condon, Eric Ambler, George Baxt, and Joan Aiken. This is for you, and we hope you can hear it. [start clapping,  audience will join in]

 

And now, on a MUCH lighter note, I give you Nevermores 2004.

 

We’d like to open by reviving a tradition that, sadly, had all but disappeared in recent years – specifically, by recognizing the uhh…achievements of publishers and the publishing industry in general. For example, the Achtung, Baby! Award goes to the gigantic German multinational conglomerate that has most decisively changed the face of American publishing.  The nominees are Von Holtzbrinck and Bertelsmann AG, but we didn’t bother trying to pick a winner: It’s just comforting to know that some of the great names of American publishing – Alfred A. Knopf, Doubleday, Henry Holt, Random House, Farrar Strauss Giroux, -- are now safely snuggled to the bosom of a nation that would never, EVER condone book-burning. 

 

Next up: The Readers Digest Award, for the development that has most dramatically contributed to the dumbing-down of American publishing.  The nominees are: The rise of the Barnes & Noble superstore, for its help in killing off the mid-list author; the U.S. tax code, for making it unprofitable for publishers to keep books in print; and the advent of Amazon.com’s “associative” software, which ensures that a reader seeking, for example, Frederick Forsyth’s espionage classic “Day of the Jackal,” will also be directed to its natural corollaries, such as Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s classic “One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich,” classic films such as “The Day the Earth Stood Still,” classics of the theater such as “Long Day’s Journey Into Night,” and Wendy Stehling’s blockbuster classic, “Thin Thighs in Thirty Days.” 

 

Since in our estimation both Amazon and B&N have actually made some positive contributions, the award goes to the United States Tax Code.  If there’s anyone here representing the Internal Revenue Service, we’d be happy to give you the bird.

 

On a related note, we would like to present Amazon.com – and Amazon.co.uk -- with a special “Good Fences Make Good Neighbors” Award, for helping tear down the notion that sales of foreign rights are actually worth anything.  Jeff Bezos, if you’re in the audience – hello?  Jeff?  -- there’s an attractive statuette with your name on it.

 

Getting back to the publishers, we now offer the Willy Loman Award, for the publisher that has been the most powerful promoter of the death of the sales-rep.  Really, there are an embarrassment of nominees, here, but we’ve decided to give the award to Warner Books, partly because Maggie is still pissed about her worthless stock options, and partly because of Warner’s endearing habit of sending out second-printings to bookstores hosting author signings. 

 

The issue of author-signings brings us nicely to our final “industry” award of the evening, a three-part category we like to think of as “Stupid Publisher Tricks.”  First is the Franklin Mint Award, for the publisher who has most stupendously failed to understand the mechanics of collecting first editions.  The award goes to Random House, for reportedly requiring James Ellroy to spend an entire summer signing 5,000 blank pieces of paper, which Random then inserted into first editions of Ellroy’s autobiography, “My Dark Places.” In one swell foop, therefore, Random managed A) to make James Ellroy very cranky – not, it must be said, a difficult thing to do -- and B) destroy any incentive that collectors might have for buying these so-called signed first editions.  In case this message isn’t clear, and there are any publishers out there: Tip-in pages = Not a Good Idea.

 

Then there’s the Taking It Out in Trade Award, given in recognition of the current fad for outsize  trade-paperbacks – so outsize, in fact, that they cannot be jammed onto ordinary bookshelves without damaging the book.  The nominees are Bantam, for Laurie King’s “Folly” – a book we love and are essentially unable to display; Bantam, again, for “I, Richard,” by Elizabeth George – and why should it matter? She’s not a writer anyone is interested in – and Carrol & Graf, for Denise Mina’s trilogy that began with “Garnethill.”  It’s a good thing these books feature a grubby heroine who’s been beaten up by life, because that’s pretty much what the books look like.  But purely on statistics, Bantam gets the statuette.

 

Last in this category is the Pointless Tchotchkes Award.  We feel kind of bad about including this award among “Stupid Publisher Tricks,” because we understand how easy it is to forget that the point of a promotional budget is to – well, promote books.  And we understand how easy it is to believe that the point of a promotional budget is to produce brightly colored promotional baseball caps, promotional key chains, promotional postcards, promotional coffee mugs, and promotional refrigerator magnets that slide so gracefully into booksellers’ wastebaskets. There were plenty of nominees for this award, but in a surprise upset, we decided to give it to the producers of the television series “Monk,” about a detective with obsessive-compulsive disorder.  We know they’re not a publisher, but we got a big bang out of the promotional moist towelettes.

 

You know, we’ve been giving the publishers a pretty hard time here. And we wouldn’t want our audience to think that we only poke fun at other people. That would be bad.  So, ladies and gentlemen, we give you: Fugue for Booksellers with a tip of the hat to Frank Loesser who wrote the original Fugue for Tinhorns ("I got the horse right here__ The name is Paul Revere") for Guys and Dolls in 1950.

 

Bookseller #1

Bookseller #2

Bookseller #3

Sharyn Wolfe

Michael Johnson

Kate Nesbit

 

I recognize that look:

You want a tough-guy book

With a lot of action

And a can’t-miss hook.

 

Big thrills, big thrills,

I tell ya, this has big thrills.

If I say it’s got big thrills,

Big thrills, big thrills.

 

Forget the Limey crap

And all that cozy pap

Why pay eight bucks

So you can take a nap?

 

No thrills, no thrills,

I tell ya, they got no thrills.

If I say they got no thrills,

No thrills, no thrills.

 

See, what you want’s a plot

Like what this book has got

Where every five-six pages

Someone else gets shot.

 

Big thrills, big thrills,

I tell ya, this has big thrills.

If I say it’s got big thrills,

Big thrills, big thrills.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shoot’em up

 

I got your book right here!

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m thinking something Brit

That oozes brains and wit

For a broad like you

Would be a perfect fit.

 

Drips class, drips class,

I tell ya, this one drips class.

If I say the book drips class,

Drips class, drips class.

 

That macho stuff’s passé,

So crude, so yesterday.

And as for cozy mysteries,

They’re just…oy vey.

 

Cheap thrills, cheap thrills,

I tell ya, they’re just cheap thrills.

If I say they’re just cheap thrills,

Cheap thrills, cheap thrills.

 

This one is so refined

It elevates the mind –

At least that’s what the

New York Times opined.

 

Drips class, drips class,

I tell ya, this one drips class.

If I say the book drips class,

Drips class, drips class.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Classy read

 

I got your book right here!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You seem a little stressed

Like you could use a rest

And at a time like that

A cozy mystery’s best.

 

No stress, no stress,

This book guarantees no stress.

If I say you’ll have no stress,

No stress, no stress.

 

Who needs the sturm und drang

Of pistols that go bang?
And you don’t want to cope

With all that Cockney slang.

 

Big stress, big stress,

Those books guarantee big stress.

If I say you’ll have big stress,

Big stress, big stress.

 

Here’s one with recipes

That promises to please

The murder weapon is a poisoned

Muenster cheese.

 

No stress, no stress

This book guarantees no stress.

If I say you’ll have no stress,

No stress, no stress.

 

 

 

 

 

Cozy cheer

 

I got your book right here!

 

Piano: Ms. Heather Edwards

 

 

 [all bow]

 

I think it’s time to talk about writers.  You know (whisper) there are several of them here.

 

There are?  Ohhh, there are.  Ok, in that case, here’s the Get a Hook Award, for the opening line most guaranteed to produce a sale.  The nominees are Stephen Hunter, for “Dirty White Boys.”

 

 [clears throat] Ahem. “Three men at McCallister State Penitentiary had larger penises than Lamar Pye...”

 

 Steve Womack, for the sadly out of print “Way Past Dead”

 

 “The night the fundamentalist redneck zealots assaulted the morgue, I
was hauling butt down I-65 from Louisville back to Nashville after
spending three days in the grass videotaping a disabled, wheel chair
bound bricklayer shooting hoops on his brother-in-law’s patio.”

 

 And Andrew Klavan, for “Don’t Say a Word.”

 

 “The right apartment was tough to find, so they murdered the old lady.”

 

 And the winner is Andrew Klavan.  He’s stuck in Paris – what a bummer – but sent us the following:

 

“I'm sorry I can only be here in spirit today, but as my spirit is one of my more attractive parts and a much cheaper date than my body, consider yourselves lucky.  I would like to recount for you the history of my life from my deceptively unassuming birth in a log cabin in the maternity ward of Mount Sinai Hospital to the moment when, chosen I know not why by the gracious muses, I conceived the first line of "Don't Say A Word..." unfortunately most of it is a blur now and may have been a blur when it actually happened as well.  So my spirit will simply say a heartfelt thanks, and return to its seat, metaphorically speaking.  Feel free to buy it a drink after the show”

 

 Breaking with our goal of focusing on the past 10 years, this next award focuses only on books published within the past 9 months.  For the Havana Go Home Award, the nominees are Stephen Hunter – again! – for “Havana,” Jose Latour for “Havana World Series,” Colin Harrison for “The Havana Room,” and Charles Fleming for “After Havana.” The winner is Colin Harrison, because in a clear challenge to the zeitgeist, his book has nothing at all to do with Cuba.

 

[Colin Harrison accepts]

 

 Next up is the I Do Vatican Award [Elizabeth presents sign] for the book that has most clearly demonstrated that, in fact, the Catholic Church is the root of all evil.  And yes, there are nominees OTHER than Dan Brown.  They are: Jane Stanton Hitchcock for “The Witches’ Hammer” – and will someone PLEASE bring that back into print – the late Thomas Gifford for the newly reissued “The Assassini” – YAY! And yes, Dan Brown, for both “Angels and Demons” and “The Da Vinci Code.”  The award goes to Ms. Hitchcock, who sent us the following:

 

"I am truly sorry that I am not with you tonight to accept this wonderful award in person.  It will always stand as a beak of light to guide me.  I thank you all and the craven raven from the bottom of my murderous little heart."

 

Now we come to the Carpel Tunnel Award, for the author who, defying all laws of musculature, just cranks out a frightening number of books.  The nominees are Anne Perry and Robert B. Parker, both of whom regularly produce at least two titles per year.  But the winner, by a mile, is P.C. Doherty, who also writes as [clears throat] Michael Clynes, Paul Doherty, Paul Harding, Anna Apostolou, C.L. Grace, and – our favorite – Ann Dukthas.  In the past 20 years, he has written 56 books.  He also has seven children, is the headmaster of one of the largest high schools in England, and is working on a scholarly tome about 14th-century English royalty. Mr. Parker, Ms. Perry – we’re sorry, but you’re pikers.  And we want some of whatever it is he’s popping.

 

Continuing the theme of extraordinary achievements, we’d like to present a special Iconoclast Award to Brian Haig, for “The Kingmaker.” What’s the special achievement, you ask? Well, the book does feature your standard-issue attractive, wise-ass, 30-something hero.  And in the course of solving his case, he does work closely with not one but two standard-issue attractive, wise-ass, 30-something chicks.  But in a courageous break from hackneyed fictional tradition, our hero has sex with NEITHER OF THEM!!!! Our admiration, our thanks, and our statuette go out to Mr. Haig – though we do note that he loses points for A) not having his hero sleep with his dumpy, black, middle-aged – but wise-ass! – assistant, and B) for referring to his hero’s sadly underutilized penis as “Mr. Puddley.” 

 

[Brian Haig accepts] [paraphrased] For a graduate of  West Point, this is a most unusual award – but could also have been given to Edgar Allan Poe who attended West Point for a term … but showed up for parade one morning wearing only his rifle … and was instantly expelled… Thank you very much.

 

Next up: The Lazarus Award, for the writer who has most dramatically brought a long-dead series back to life.  The nominees are Donald Westlake for the Parker series, Roger L. Simon for the Moses Wine series, and Gregory McDonald for the Flynn AND the Fletch series. And the Winner is Gregory McDonald!

 

From Mr. McDonald: "A pun my word, thank you for finally allowing me to say, Flynn's in!"

 

Ok, moving right along…to writers who just never let their series die in the first place. The Magic of Modern Medicine Award goes to the writer whose protagonist is still kicking ass long after his or her peers have turned to shuffleboard.  Sure, Spenser and Hawk have been beating up the bad guys for more than 30 years, but we’re not impressed.  Consider these nominees:  Lawrence Block, for Bernie Rhodenbarr, who has been breaking into apartments (and bedding the babes) since 1977; Baroness P.D. James, for Adam Dalgliesh, who has been solving cases (and lusting after tortured aristocrats) since 1962; and Agatha Christie, for Miss Jane Marple, who debuted as a “white-haired old lady” in 1930, and solved her last case – while beaning the bad guy! – some 46 years later, at which time we estimate she was about 106 years old.  However, the Nevermore goes to Ed McBain for Detective Steve Carella, who has been holding up the 87th Precinct since 1956 without ever getting promoted.  Memo to Mr. Carella: We hear the NYPD has an excellent pension plan. 

 

Mr. McBain wrote in, as follows: “On behalf of the doddering, dithering, dribbling and drooling dolts of the Eight-Seven, I accept with enormous pride and gushing gratitude the Nevermore Award.”

 

We’re coming into the home-stretch and into a series of awards that all have something in common.  See if you can guess what it is.  First is the Al Jolson Award, for the Caucasian author who has most successfully proved that blackface is alive and well in American culture.  We were tempted to give the nod to James Patterson, for his Alex Cross series, but the award goes to Jeffrey Deaver for making Lincoln Rhyme not only black but also paraplegic.  Make him gay, and you’d have a trifecta.

 

We all know that Martha Grimes and Elizabeth George have spent years posing, very successfully, as English authors.  The Brits kvetch about it all the time.  So in response, we give you the Over-Paid, Over-Sexed, and Over-HERE Award, for British authors posing as denizens of American mean streets.  The nominees are Lee Child, for the Jack Reacher series; John Connolly, for the Charlie “Bird” Parker series; and Martin Amis, for “Night Train,” in which the heroine – a New York City cop – introduces herself by saying “I am a police.”  We can’t resist the exquisite authenticity of that Brooklyn elocution, so Amis gets the bird.  If anyone here can do a credible English accent – or is, in fact, an actual English person – we’d be delighted to have you accept for him.

 

Lauren Henderson, British writer in the audience, steps up to the mike and says,  “What is the name of this award again?

The Over-Paid, Over-Sexed, and Over-HERE Award

Lauren: "I’m not over-paid!"

 

Now we come to the Myra Breckinridge Award, for the male author who has most completely channeled his inner babe, and put her on the page as a protagonist.  The nominees are Thomas Perry for the Jane Whitefield series, Robert Eversz for the Nina Zero series; Peter O’Donnell, for the eternally fabulous Modesty Blaise; Paul Eddy, for the Flint series; and A.J. Holt, alias Christopher Hyde, for the Jay Fletcher series.  Because most of us at Partners & Crime want desperately to be Jane Whitefield, the award goes to Mr. Perry, who accepted by email.

 

 "Esteemed colleagues and friends:  I regret that I am unable to join you this evening, since I live on the other end of the continent.  You know--the good end, where there are 350 days a year of sunshine, valet parking was invented, and our governor can bench-press your governor.

    I received news of the award with genuine humility and a twinge of equally genuine chagrin.  I'm not sure yet what I want to be remembered for, but I'm certain that it hasn't got much to do with the words, "Myra Breckinridge."

    But what the hell.  An award is still an award.  Please have a great evening, and take advantage of the fact that you are in the only city where you can drink too much and not have to get behind the wheel of a car."

 

Since turnabout is fair play, next up is the Strap-On Award, for the female author who has stiffened her sinews….or, whatever needed to be stiffened, and banged a male protagonist right there onto the page.  The nominees are Rebecca Pawel, for her series featuring conflicted Spanish cop Carlos Tejada Alonso y Leon; Barbara Nadel, for her series featuring conflicted Turkish cop Cetin [CHAY-tin] Ikmen; Donna Leon, for her series featuring conflicted Italian cop Guido Brunetti; and Catherine Clark, for “Wise Guys in Love,” in which nobody is conflicted at all.  And the award goes to Catherine Clark, who not only wrote about guys, but – as C. Clark Criscuolo [Chris-CO-lo] -- had to pretend to be one.

 

[Clark accepts, we hope] – she did!

 

This next-to-last award of the evening is The Want List Award – for books we want to see, read and sell – but authors have stubbornly refused to write.  And the nominees are Lawrence Block, for the book in which Scudder falls off the damn wagon; Robert B. Parker, for the book in which Spenser finally dumps the irritating Susan Silverman; Andrew Vaachs, for the book in which Burke discovers his inner girl; M.C. Beaton, for the book in which Hamish MacBeth discovers his inner boy; Lillian Jackson Braun, for the book in which The Cat Who discovers his inner Rottweiler; and Sue Grafton, for the book in which Kinsey Milhone discovers facials, manicures, and the joys of a really good day-spa.  The way we figure it, everybody would be a winner.

 

And Sue Grafton accepts via email: TK

 

Finally, we come to the Better Dead Than Read Award, for which we challenged our customers to invent the worst possible opening paragraph for a cozy, historical, or hard-boiled mystery. (Please note, by the way, that the following winning entries may have been edited as an aid to writers who failed to understand the meaning of the word “paragraph.”) The winner of the Worst Hard-Boiled category is....

 

“She sat across my desk from me, her eyes swimming like a pair of three-minute eggs.  She was blonde, but she’d never see the right side of 40 again.  “I gotta know,” she whined, “If he’s two-timing me.  I gotta know.”  She was wringing her hands like Monday’s wash. “My friend Velma? She says I don’t gotta know.  She says if it ain’t broke, why pay for it?” The egg-white eyes were starting to slide all over her face. “I know what she means, cause if I do know then – how’s it go – then I’ll own it.  But at least if I do know, then I’ll know for sure, and there ain’t anything worse than not knowing, you know?”

 

Is Joyce Delayney here?  [ad lib if she is or isn’t]

 

 In the category of Worst Cozy…Hard-Boiled mystery,” the winner is Donna Moore, for “The Big Sleep-Over.”

 

 “She was a strawberry blonde, and I knew she was trouble.  When she walked into my room that day, she had a bottle in her hand and mischief in her eye.  “Hey, sister,” I said, opening my desk drawer.  I pulled out my own bottle from my desk and took a thirsty swig.  I was like a dying man in the desert.  The liquid hit my throat and went down with a burn.  I looked at the dimpled knees of the babe in front of me.

“What’s new, sister?”

“Goo!,” she said, smacking her building block down on my desk without a by-your-leave.

My Mom walked in at that precise moment,  “Phillip, dear,” she said, “I do wish you wouldn’t call your sister ‘Sister.’  She DOES have a name, you know.  And WILL you get a glass.  I hate seeing you drinking soda from a bottle like that.”

I looked at my watch.  “Sorry to love you and leave you like this, ladies.  I gotta hit the streets.  There’s a hot lead I gotta follow, and I may not be back in time for tea.”  I shrugged into the raincoat hanging on the back of my bedroom door.

“Phillip, you are NOT wearing that old thing.  I’ve thrown it away twice.  What about that lovely anorak that Grandma bought you for Christmas?”

I narrowed my eyes. “The raincoat suits my mood, lady.  Now where’s my fedora?”

Mom sighed.  “For God’s sake, Phillip, you don’t HAVE a fedora.  You don’t even KNOW what a fedora is. And don’t squint.  The wind will change and your face will freeze that way.”

 

Is Ms. Moore in the house?  [ad lib to her response] Ms. Moore was present (from Scotland!) and graciously accepted.

 

The lovely and talented Ms. Moore also wins the award for Worst Historical….Hard Boiled.

 

 “Being a PI in 2010 BC really sucked.  Of course, we didn’t call it 2010 – we called it The Year the Woolly Mammoth Ate My Brother.  Things were slow at Stone Investigations.  That’s me – Stone – so called because when I was born, a stone was the first thing I grasped.  It could have been a lot worse.  My brother, Cowpat, never had any luck.  As I was saying, the PI game in prehistoric Britain was as slow as a Diplodocus with a limp.  I sighed and longed for the day when someone would invent fire, so that I could deal with a nice juicy arson case.  Just then the door opened, and in walked a vision of loveliness.  She sashayed into my office, her buttocks looking like a pair of baby brontosauri fighting in a sack.”

 

[Ms. Moore accepts}

 

And on that note, we hope you’ll join us in a rousing rendition of The Nevermore Song.  The lyrics are in your program, you’ll recognize the tune, and there’s very good chocolate cake coming after the last chorus. But before we sing, let’s give a big hand to the Nevermore Players, but especially to all the readers in our midst  -- who make this all possible!!!

 

[Nevermore Song, sung to the tune of My Favorite Things,  followed by cake]
 

THE NEVERMORE SONG

 

Silenced revolvers and intricate plotting,

Backroom intrigue in a city that’s rotting,

Verisimilitude, fast repartee...

These are all signs of a book meant for me.

 

The suicide note was a fake; it was malice

Aforethought. Who knew that she used digitalis?

The vicar’s been strangled, strychnine’s in the gin...

All of these things make us sit up and grin.

 

Jessica Fletcher and puns in the title,

Neglecting to mention a clue that is vital...

The genre’s not perfect, we’re first to admit,

But it still beats the hell out of most modern lit.

 

So bring on the treacherous broads, the McGuffin,

Coppers and wide-boys who swear they know “nuffin,”

Nazis convinced they’ve the world by the balls,

The heart-stopping plunge over Reichenbach Falls,

 

The hopelessly bumbling detective inspector,

Karla and Smiley and Hannibal Lecter,

Gumshoes and gunplay and St. Mary Mead...

Got some of this, I got all that I need.

 

When the headlines

Are so awful

I can’t bear to look,

It simply confirms my deep-rooted suspicion that mayhem belongs

In books.

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by Partners & Crime, Inc. 
All rights reserved.

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