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Lawrence Block
Goodreads Author
Born
in The United States
Website
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Member Since
May 2011
This just in—Old Dog Learns New Trick
Two of them, actually. Each is a part of the burgeoning universe of audiobooks, and both of them surprised me, as a Damon Runyon character would phrase it, more than somewhat.
The first surprise found me becoming for the first time an enthusiastic audiobook listener.
Now I’ve always respected the medium, and have even been a cheerleader for audio as I’ve watched it grow from severely abridged casset
Read more of this blog post »
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The Sins of the Fathers (Matthew Scudder, #1)
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published
1976
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11 editions
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Eight Million Ways to Die (Matthew Scudder, #5)
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published
1982
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75 editions
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Burglars Can't Be Choosers (Bernie Rhodenbarr, #1)
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published
1977
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56 editions
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A Walk Among the Tombstones (Matthew Scudder, #10)
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published
1992
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79 editions
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Hit Man (Keller, #1)
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published
1998
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46 editions
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When the Sacred Ginmill Closes (Matthew Scudder, #6)
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published
1986
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64 editions
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A Stab in the Dark (Matthew Scudder, #4)
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published
1981
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25 editions
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Time to Murder and Create (Matthew Scudder, #2)
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published
1976
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54 editions
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A Dance At The Slaughterhouse (Matthew Scudder, #9)
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published
1991
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60 editions
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The Burglar in the Closet (Bernie Rhodenbarr, #2)
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published
1978
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55 editions
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Related News
Looking for a new thrill? A twisty page-turner? Well, the hottest new mysteries and thrillers published so far this year promise to keep...
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I unexpectedly got this ARC in the mail from Lawrence Block's camp. When you get an ARC from your favorite living crime writer (or one of his guys), " Read more of this review » |
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"I was lucky enough to receive an early copy of this book from a GoodReads giveaway. This is a book I've been looking forward to reading for a long time. For those who don't know, Matthew Scudder is one of the most compelling characters that Lawrence "
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“Serendipity. Look for something, find something else, and realize that what you've found is more suited to your needs than what you thought you were looking for. ”
―
―
Polls
December 2013/January 2014 Group Read
Topics Mentioning This Author
| topics | posts | views | last activity | |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Challenge: 50 Books: Maxi's 50 Books in 1/2 a year | 66 | 461 | Dec 30, 2009 04:09AM |
“I don't know about the rest of the country but in New York more people have learned anonymity from rent control than ever discovered it in a twelve-step program.”
―
―
“Aubade
I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what’s really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.
The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
—The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused—nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.
This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear—no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anaesthetic from which none come round.
And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.
Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can’t escape,
Yet can’t accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.”
― Collected Poems
I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.
Till then I see what’s really always there:
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,
Making all thought impossible but how
And where and when I shall myself die.
Arid interrogation: yet the dread
Of dying, and being dead,
Flashes afresh to hold and horrify.
The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse
—The good not done, the love not given, time
Torn off unused—nor wretchedly because
An only life can take so long to climb
Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never;
But at the total emptiness for ever,
The sure extinction that we travel to
And shall be lost in always. Not to be here,
Not to be anywhere,
And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true.
This is a special way of being afraid
No trick dispels. Religion used to try,
That vast moth-eaten musical brocade
Created to pretend we never die,
And specious stuff that says No rational being
Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing
That this is what we fear—no sight, no sound,
No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with,
Nothing to love or link with,
The anaesthetic from which none come round.
And so it stays just on the edge of vision,
A small unfocused blur, a standing chill
That slows each impulse down to indecision.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace-fear when we are caught without
People or drink. Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others. Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined at than withstood.
Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape.
It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know,
Have always known, know that we can’t escape,
Yet can’t accept. One side will have to go.
Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring
In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring
Intricate rented world begins to rouse.
The sky is white as clay, with no sun.
Work has to be done.
Postmen like doctors go from house to house.”
― Collected Poems
Ask Bestselling Author Lawrence Block a Question
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— last activity Apr 03, 2012 06:32AM
Grandmaster thriller writer Lawrence Block will answer your questions! This group is in celebration of the release of Block's latest book, A Drop of t ...more
The Edgar Awards Panel
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— last activity Mar 16, 2020 06:02AM
Join us on Monday, April 23, for a discussion with some of the finest mystery and crime writers on the scene today. This group is in celebration of th ...more
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message 2:
by
Kari
Oct 23, 2014 06:25PM
I just ordered and received your first 4 Matthew Scudder books and am soooo excited! I started with A Drop of the Hard Stuff, not realizing it was in the middle of something and loved it. Now I have to get all the rest :)
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Hi Lawrence,Thanks for befriending this fellow crime writer on Goodreads!
