Ken Bruen has been called "hard to resist, with his aching Irish heart,
silvery tongue, and bleak noir sensibility" (New York Times Book
Review). His prose is as characteristically sharp as his outlook in the
latest Jack Taylor novel, In the Galway Silence.
After much tragedy and violence, Jack Taylor has at long last landed at
contentment. Of course, he still knocks back too much Jameson and
dabbles in uppers, but he has a new woman in his life, a freshly bought
apartment, and little sign of trouble on the horizon. Once again,
trouble comes to him, this time in the form of a wealthy Frenchman who
wants Jack to investigate the double-murder of his twin sons. Jack is
meanwhile roped into looking after his girlfriend's nine-year-old son,
and is in for a shock with the appearance of a character out of his
past. The plot is one big chess game and all of the pieces seem to be
moving at the behest of one dangerously mysterious player: a vigilante
called "Silence," because he's the last thing his victims will ever
hear.
This is Ken Bruen at his most darkly humorous, his most lovably bleak,
as he shows us the meaning behind a proverb of his own design--"the
Irish can abide almost anything save silence."