In early April of 2015, I heard David Morrell give a talk in Denver. He said he spent three years researching London of 1854—and reading nothing but books about that time and place—before he began writing this book.
The work paid off. At least, Morrell convinced me that he knew this particular world and time period. Reading Murder as a Fine Art, you will feel completely transported. Morrell sees everything. We see and smell the streets, the alleys, the neighborhoods, the dank jail cells.
Even better, Morrell found a powerful central character to drive the story—the real-life Thomas De Quincey. At the time of this story, he’s 69 years old. He’s five feet tall. He’s slight. And he pounds laudanum in quantities that would kill others who hadn’t built up a tolerance for the stuff. De Quincey wrote “Confessions of an English Opium-Eater.” His world, shall we say, is…
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