Thomas Perry: The Butcher's Boy

Praise for The Butcher’s Boy

“Brisk energy and confidence in the telling … complicated twists.”

—Sunday Times (London)

“A brilliant suspense thriller, reminiscent of Graham Greene.”

—The Washington Post Book World

“Clever, knowledgeable, inventive and suspenseful.”

—The New York Times

“Thomas Perry has hit the mark his first time out with the skill at storytelling that promises more successes to come.”

—The Houston Chronicle

“Original, clever, intricate.”

—Publishers Weekly

“An ingenious crime thriller.”

—Library Journal

THOMAS PERRY won an Edgar for The Butcher’s Boy , and Metzger’s Dog was a New York Times Notable Book. Perry’s novel Vanishing Act was chosen as one of the 100 Favorite Mysteries of the Century by the Independent Mystery Booksellers Association, and his novel Pursuit was a national bestseller. Perry lives in Southern California with his wife and two daughters.

ALSO BY THOMAS PERRY

Metzger’s Dog

Big Fish

Island

Sleeping Dogs

Vanishing Act

Dance for the Dead

Shadow Woman

The Face-Changers

Blood Money

Death Benefits

Pursuit

Dead Aim

Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Perry

Introduction copyright © 2003 by Michael Connelly

INTRODUCTION

Michael Connelly

It used to be that the quickest way for me to descend into a creative depression would be for someone to approach me and identify him- or herself as a fan of my work, but to then add the dreadful line “But your first one is still my favorite.”

It didn’t matter if the approach was in person at a bookstore or on the street, or through the U.S. mail or the Internet. I always took it very badly, and the compliment would serve to make me question what I was doing. This of course was completely unknown to the cheerful giver of the supposed compliment, because I was always able to maintain a frozen smile or the distance of mail, electronic or otherwise.

There was a time when I would actually respond, hoping to dissuade the reader of his or her own words, saying things like “That’s impossible!” or “You don’t really mean that!” But I soon realized it wasn’t impossible and they did really mean it.

And that is the source of the depression; that’s the rub. Writing, whether you consider it a craft or an art or both, is something that should get better with practice. It stands to reason. Writing comes from experience, curiosity, and knowledge. In short, it comes from life. The writer must improve with age and experience and life. So too the writing. Therefore, if I were to accept the compliment of the reader, wouldn’t I be accepting the decline of my work? As of this writing, I have published twelve novels. If my best work was my first, what am I doing here?

Well, I don’t feel that way anymore. I don’t get depressed. It took me a long time, but I understand something now. First novels are like first loves. They are moments of discovery and celebration of things hopefully to come. They are windows. They carry with them the long reach of promise. Now when readers tell me they still like my first novel the best, I can take the compliment. I don’t argue. I smile and say thank you.

All of this leads me to say that The Butcher’s Boy might be my favorite novel by Thomas Perry. I say might because I am not certain—the man has written several very fine novels. (And of course I don’t want to be responsible for making the author depressed in case he has not made the same journey and come to the same conclusion I have.) And I say might because I know there is still much good stuff to come from this writer.

But in rereading The Butcher’s Boy in order to prepare for the writing of this introduction, I was struck over and over by the assuredness of this work and by its long reach of promise. I was amazed by what Perry knew when he knew it. I see it in the prose, the pacing, the choices. It’s taken me a long time to learn what the cornerstones of this craft are, and yet there they are at work in Perry’s first outing. Hey, sure he has gotten better since. But he sure started out near the top floor of the building.

Over the years and the millions of words, I have come to learn that it is all about character and velocity. A book is like a car. It pulls up to the curb and the passenger door swings open to the reader. The engine revs. Do you want a ride?

Once you get in, the car takes off, the door slamming shut and tire rubber burning in its wake. Behind the wheel the driver’s got to be highly skilled, heavy on the pedal, and most of all, oh man, most of all, somebody you want to be with. He’s got to drive near the edge of the cliff but never over. He’s got to turn sharply just as you think you know where you are going. He’s got to gun it on the final lap. And he’s got to tell you the story all along the way.

If not, it is going to be a short ride.

I’m here to tell you that The Butcher’s Boy is not the short ride. No matter whom you are cruising with in this story, you’ve got your hands braced on the dashboard. There is not a single throwaway character in this book. They are all real, they are all captivating. Perry approaches his people with a less-is-more philosophy, never confusing description with character, cutting all of that away and leaving only the telling details that open a window onto a true world.

This economy creates momentum. The story gathers speed and moves with an unalterable urgency. All characters, all action, relentlessly moving toward the same vanishing point on the horizon. They asked me to write a few pages here, but I think I could have covered it with one word: relentless . This book is a relentless journey in a car with no mirrors. No looking back.

This velocity is also created by the masterly intertwining of multiple narrative tracks. Perry came out of the gate with a narrative that would offer a great challenge to any writer. How do you bond the reader to a professional hit man? How do you get the reader to get in the car with a killer? Perry answered the call by creating a character who is meticulously detailed in all ways but his name. The telling details of life on the road and on the run connect him to us. His ingenuity and skills win the day.

Perry also balances the outlaw portrait with another strong character, that of the heretofore deskbound crime analyst Elizabeth Waring. She’s unsteady in her new surroundings yet just as professional as her quarry. The juxtaposition of these two characters as they move separately but ultimately closer and closer is the gasoline that drives this car. It is rare that I have seen this pulled off successfully, and never with such success in a first novel.

Riding along all through this journey is Thomas Perry’s command. The authenticity is on display on every page, in every paragraph. From how hot desert air feels on the skin in Las Vegas to how paperwork is shuffled in the Justice Department to how a hired killer slips into a locked hotel room to fulfill a contract, the author’s skill in creating his world repeatedly awes the reader. Verisimilitude. Every page is absolutely authentic, and that creates a velocity of its own.