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Posts Tagged ‘writing’

The dark truth about book signings

In publishing on May 8, 2013 at 9:08 am

When you’re banging away at the keyboard, working on that manuscript and harboring dreams of becoming a published author, there are certain sacred notions you may hold to be true where publishing is concerned. You may, for example, believe the publisher will send you on a multi-city book tour, where you’ll be thronged at events by large crowds of wildly enthusiastic readers. It’s a nice fantasy.

The hard truth is publishers don’t have the budgets these days to send authors off on national book tours—unless, of course, the publishing house has invested a large amount of cash in a particular book or you’re a major bestselling brand. That said, every author I know has not only arranged for their own book-signing events, but has personally funded their own travel. But is all that worth your time and effort? The cold answer is probably not—unless, of course, your book has received a large amount of publicity or you’re a recognized name. Think about it. How many times have you been in your local bookstore and witnessed a lonely author sitting at a table, surrounded by stacks of his or her books, imploring passers-by with a silent, pleading stare?

Take it from someone who knows.

There’s nothing more humbling than showing up at a reading and seeing that of the twenty chairs they’ve set up for the event, only three are occupied. Wait—scratch that. It’s even more humbling when two of the three people are there because you invited them. In a way, having one or two people show up is worse than having no one attend. If no one makes an appearance, you can scurry from the premises, retreat to the nearest bar, and get lost in a bottle. If just one or two people show up, it’s awkward for all involved. The attendees are either embarrassed for you or feel slightly foolish no one else is there, while you’re embarrassed only two people turned out to hear you blather on about your book. Of course, you’re still thankful they made the effort.

At one event I did several years ago, the only people in attendance were two high school girls who, for an English assignment, had to hear an author speak. Dutifully, I read a page from my book, In the Dark, while my audience smacked chewing gum and seemed totally disinterested in the whole thing. When I finished, they both got up from their chairs and—without saying or purchasing anything—left. I drank several scotches after that one. I did another event several years later, where a homeless guy came into the store, took a seat in the last row of mostly empty chairs, and fell asleep. At least it meant a warm body in a seat.

Here’s some advice: Instead of book signings, consider a speaking event somewhere that has a ready-made audience, such as meetings of your local Kiwanis or Sons of the American Revolution chapters. These organizations, and others like them, often host speakers and are always on the lookout for someone interesting to address their gatherings. I did this to help promote my recent book, Human Game. The audiences were not only attentive, they were extremely appreciative. The feeling, I must say, was mutual.

Writing and the wisdom of Huey Lewis

In Uncategorized, Writing on May 6, 2013 at 9:07 am

Well, I shipped off the manuscript for my latest book a couple of days ago. My home office looks like a tornado ripped through it: research documents, books, and crumpled manuscript pages scattered everywhere. My first order of business will be to clean the mess up this week. Second order of business will be to enjoy a break from the keyboard this summer and ponder my next project.

The Case That Foiled Fabian will be my seventh book. A lot of people assume that once you publish a book, you become instantly wealthy and can quit your day job. Alas, this is not the case. I have an office job I report to each morning. One, of course, can always hope—but as the years have worn on, and I’ve become more knowledgeable of how publishing works, I’ve sort of abandoned the dream of having a major bestseller—but I have not surrendered the idea of someday being able to write books fulltime.

I’m a long-time fan of Huey Lewis and the News. I recently watched an online interview with Lewis in which he said something that struck a chord. Talking about the music industry, he said a lot of people get into it for the fame and glory. Eventually, however, the passion for what you’re doing overcomes everything and what you end up wanting most is just a decent career doing what you love while remaining true to yourself.

Years ago, I pined for a bestseller—and while I’d still love to score one someday, what I really want more than anything is to just be able to write fulltime and make enough to provide for my family. Of course, the odds of achieving such a thing are rare. Slowly, I’m learning to appreciate the fact I’m simply lucky enough to be published, as there are many great writers out there who never get the chance to enjoy that thrill.

Doubt: It’s every writer’s companion

In Writing on April 26, 2013 at 8:51 am

It’s something every writer deals with while banging away at the keyboard: doubt. We’re our own worst critics. It’s a terrible moment to read something you’ve put down on paper only to realize there’s nothing but a mess on the page. Of course, it’s not always as bad as you think—it’s just doubt mercilessly kicking your self-confidence in the groin. The next time you worry something you’ve written is not up to your usual high standards, consider this letter penned by a first-time author to a friend:

I had the idea that one could write a thriller with half one’s mind, and I simply wrote 2,000 words a day to show myself that I could. I didn’t read it through as I wrote it, and when I returned to England and did so I really was appalled.

The dialogue, a lot of the descriptions and the main characters are dreadfully banal and three-quarters of the writing is informed with what I can only describe as vulgarity. Such good action moments as there are in the story have been more or less thrown away and so far as I can see the element of suspense is completely absent.

After riffling through this muck you will probably never speak to me again, but I have got to take that chance. For God’s sake don’t mention this dreadful oafish opus to anyone else, and for heaven’s sake believe, as I am sure you will after you have read a few pages, that this is not mock humility.

The author, opining on his first manuscript, goes on for another couple of paragraphs and rips his work to shreds. Long story short, the manuscript wound up in the hands of UK publisher Jonathan Cape, who thought highly of the story and the writing. And on April 13, 1953, Ian Fleming’s first James Bond novel, Casino Royale, was published.

See? Even the best writers harshly judge their own abilities.

It’s been a while . . .

In Writing on April 17, 2013 at 10:15 pm

Coffee

Well, I’ve been lagging somewhat in the blogging department. Bookwork has been keeping me busy. I have a May 1 deadline with my British publisher, so I’ve been frantically trying to finish the manuscript for The Case That Foiled Fabian: Murder and Witchcraft in the Heart of England. It’s involved downing a lot of coffee. The writing is actually done; I’m now in proofreading mode and hope to have all final edits complete by this weekend.

I’ve written my last three books back-to-back, so I plan on taking a break when I’m done with this current project. This will be the first summer in about five years I haven’t been under some sort of publishing deadline. It’s a welcome thought—but one that’s slightly scary. As an author, you can’t help but wonder where your next writing contract is coming from.

That said, I have what I consider to be two strong book ideas and have promised my agent to get him proposals on each in the not-too-distant future. In other publishing news, my book Dark City, which came out in the UK three years ago, will be released as an audio book later this year, which is exciting. Also of note: I had another run-in with the entertainment world that once again went nowhere. A major British production company contacted my film agent, saying they wanted to option Human Game for a multi-part miniseries and a multi-part documentary. Long story short, they never followed through with the offer and never clued us in as to why. Nice. I’ll never understand how that industry works.

My top priority this summer will be to catch up on my recreational reading. So far, I plan to tackle:

    The Ghost Riders of Ordebec by Fred Vargas (one of my favorite mystery writers)

    River of Doubt: Theodore Roosevelt’s Darkest Journey by Candice Millard

    The Collected Stories of John Cheever

    The Woman Lit by Fireflies and The Farmer’s Daughter by Jim Harrison

    Skeletons of the Zahara: A True Story of Survival by Dean King

    A Bridge Too Far by Cornelius Ryan

    True Grit by Charles Portis

There are more books on my list, but I figure this is a pretty good start. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to get through these—but I’m going to give it my best shot. Anyone out there have books they’re looking forward to reading poolside?

Another Hollywood tale

In books, Random thoughts on January 31, 2013 at 2:39 pm

Inglourious_Basterds_poster

Since the publication of my first book in 2005, I’ve had several run-ins with Hollywood that I suppose one could call “interesting”—or, perhaps more truthfully, “frustrating.” You can read about one such Tinsel Town adventure here. Today, something happened I feel compelled to share. My film agent is currently pitching my latest book, Human Game: The True Story of the ‘Great Escape’ Murders and the Hunt for the Gestapo Gunmen. Regular visitors to this site know the book picks up where the 1963 Steve McQueen film “The Great Escape” ends. It details the British manhunt for a Gestapo murder squad in post-war Germany.

The story is dark, tragic, and—of course—true. Today, however, a Hollywood producer turned the book down because he felt the subject of hunting Nazi war criminals had been adequately covered in the Quentin Tarentino flick “Inglourious Basterds.” Seriously. Now, I realize producers are under tremendous pressure to produce hits—and I realize the odds of having a book turned into a film are slim . . . but “Inglourious Basterds”?!

The film, in short, highlights the adventures of a team of Nazi hunters who scalp their prey. I enjoyed the movie—but I find it odd one would think it seriously addresses the issue of retribution for Nazi war atrocities! As far as I can tell, the similarities between Human Game and Tarantino’s film are:

• Both take place in Europe.
• Both are set against the backdrop of World War II.
• Both feature Nazis as bad guys.
• Both feature Hitler.
• Both involve good guys hunting aforementioned Nazi bad guys.

That’s about it. In all honesty, I’m not bitter about the producer’s rejection—I just find his reasoning to be strange. Oh, well . . .

More book news

In publishing, Writing on January 8, 2013 at 8:26 am

FountainPen

With the new year under way, I find myself fully entrenched in my latest book project, The Case that Foiled Fabian: Murder and Witchcraft in Rural England. The manuscript is due on the publisher’s desk May 1. I noticed last night the book is already listed on the UK Amazon site, even though it won’t be out until June 2014. The product description reads:

On Wednesday 14 February 1945, the body of Charles Walton was discovered in the sleepy Warwickshire village of Lower Quinton, his torso pinned to the ground by a pitchfork that had been viciously driven through him. Walton, a life-long resident of Lower Quinton and a retired labourer, was believed by many to be a clairvoyant who could talk to birds and exercise control over animals. Indeed, with the vast majority of villagers believing that Walton’s death was carried out according to ritual witchcraft, such was his unusual past, the most famous police officer in Britain, Robert Fabian (Fabian of the Yard), was promptly dispatched by Scotland Yard to help solve this increasingly peculiar and foreboding mystery. Fabian was not a man prone to superstition and who had dealt with some of the most notorious killers of his time. However, there was something in the Walton murder that proved to be unnerving. Moreover, with all the clues continuing to point towards ritual witchcraft as the modus operandi and faced by a wall of silence from the villagers, Fabian faced, for the first time in his glittering career, the daunting prospect of failure. Renowned crime historian Simon Read will piece together the now-infamous events at Lower Quinton in an effort to provide an answer to the unrequited question: who killed Charles Walton, the victim of the last ritual witchcraft murder in Britain?

I’ll say it: I like being referred to as a “renowned crime historian.”

I should have the first draft done in another 10,000 words or so. I spent the holiday season in Britain, researching and taking photographs, and am quite happy with the way things are progressing. I have a feeling this will be my last book for quite a while, as—for the first time since I became a published author—I have no idea what I want to work on next. While I have a few ideas rattling around in the back of my head, none of them genuinely excite me. It’s a rather nerve-wracking thing to be bereft of ideas, for a writer can’t really write without them! That said, a break will do me good. Since 2005, I’ve written seven books (including the one I’m working on now) back-to-back. My brain and my carpal-tunneled fingers need a rest.

Turning the book in by the beginning of May means I won’t have to worry about writing over the summer. In addition to banging out books, I work a day job (unless you’re a major bestselling author, tapping at the keys doesn’t earn you enough to feed a family and pay the mortgage). This means I work on the books in the evenings after my wife and son have gone to bed. I’m actually looking forward to having time to crash on the sofa and watch movies—and, of course, catch up on my reading.

In other books news, there is now less than two months to go until the British publication of Human Game. I’m very happy to announce that Live Magazine, which is published in the Mail on Sunday (one of Britain’s major national newspapers) will be publishing a 2,500-word excerpt of the book just prior to the March 7 release. As frequent visitors to this site may already know, Human Game details the brutal, non-fiction aftermath of the events depicted in the classic film “The Great Escape.” The movie has always been popular in the UK and—until recently—always aired on television on Christmas day. I’m hoping this bodes well for the book’s UK performance.

My New Year’s resolution is to try and be more disciplined when it comes to the blog. My writing duties have cut into my blogging time, but I hope to be posting more regularly in the weeks ahead!

Until next time . . .

Defending the self-published

In publishing on December 5, 2012 at 11:31 am

books

As I work on my current book project for UK publisher The History Press and prepare for Constable & Robinson’s British release of Human Game in March, my thoughts have been turning—with increasing frequency—to self-publishing. My first book, On the House, was released by Penguin in 2005 and went out of print a couple of years ago. Since the rights have reverted back to me, I have toyed with the idea of publishing the book myself in Amazon’s Kindle Store to give it a second chance at life.

While researching the benefits and pitfalls of releasing a book without a traditional publisher’s backing, I stumbled across a Forbes article in which a couple of mega-selling authors trash self-published writers (the article was published in August, so I’m a bit late coming to it). Here is what Sue Grafton, author of numerous mysteries–such as A is for Alibi and C is for Corpse–had to say on the subject. Judging from the following quote, I assume “B is for Bitchy”:

To me, it seems disrespectful…that a ‘wannabe’ assumes it’s all so easy s/he can put out a ‘published novel’ without bothering to read, study, or do the research. … Self-publishing is a short cut and I don’t believe in short cuts when it comes to the arts. I compare self-publishing to a student managing to conquer Five Easy Pieces on the piano and then wondering if s/he’s ready to be booked into Carnegie Hall.

Maybe “S is for Snotty.” This quote astounds me. Why would Ms. Grafton assume a self-published author is a “wannabe” who thinks writing and publishing are easy? Anyone who has the discipline to sit down, write every day, and complete a manuscript knows there’s nothing easy about it. People can read, study, and do research into traditional publishing, but it doesn’t mean they’re going to get published. Think of how many great writers there must be out there who have been unable to land a traditional writing contract. Maybe someone did do their research and decided traditional publishing wasn’t for them. What’s wrong if they want to share their work with others? Ms. Grafton says self-publishing is a short cut—and that there should be no short cuts in art. James Joyce self-published Ulysses. Does that make Joyce a “wannabe”? Self-published authors have to hire graphic designers to do the book covers, editors to go over the manuscript, and they have to try and market and promote the book themselves–there’s nothing easy about any of that.

This brings me to the next quote—this one from thriller writer Brad Thor, author of Black List and Full Black, among others:

The important role that publishers fill is to separate the wheat from the chaff. If you’re a good writer and have a great book you should be able to get a publishing contract.

If traditional publishers “separate the wheat from the chaff,” how does one explain Fifty Shades of Gray or Twilight (my apologies to fans of James and Meyer)? What about books supposedly written by Snooki or Paris Hilton? If you’re a good writer, you hope you’ll land a publishing contract. What Mr. Thor seems to ignore, however, is that a publishing contract in no way guarantees success. You could have your book released by a major publishing house, only to face the frustration of seeing said publisher do nothing to promote or market the work. I spent three years working on one book only to see it come out in a blaze of obscurity: zero publicity and miserable distribution. It was a shattering experience. Yes, it was released in hardcover by a major publisher. And while I did everything I could to get the word out, one can only do so much.

Thor and Grafton must be oblivious to the fact that they’re the exception—not the rule. They’ve achieved a level of success most struggling authors will never attain. It seems contemptuous to verbally smack around authors who are simply trying to get their work into the hands of readers. Now, yes, I agree there’s a lot of crap that’s self-published. But there’s a lot of crap that’s been released through traditional publishing houses, too. In the end, it should be for readers to decide what’s good or bad. One reader’s James Patterson is another’s Raymond Chandler.

I’ve had six non-fiction books released thus far by major publishers in the United States and Britain, and am considering self-publishing. I don’t believe that makes me a “wannabe.” I don’t believe talented authors who’ve been unable to land publishing contracts and decide to self-publish are “wannabes,” either. They’re just as passionate about what they do as Grafton or Thor. I’ll even venture to say some are just as—if not more—talented.

What I’m working on now . . .

In Writing on November 5, 2012 at 9:33 am

On the morning of February 14, 1945, a seventy-four-year-old farm laborer named Charles Walton left his thatched-roof cottage in the English village of Lower Quinton and went to work in the nearby fields, cutting hedges for a local farmer. When he didn’t return home by sunset, his niece—Edith—got worried and went searching for him. It was a cold, misty night. Accompanied by a neighbor and the farmer who employed Walton, Edith went looking in the fields where her uncle worked. In the far corner of one meadow, the light from their torches fell on a horrible site. There lay poor Charles, pinned to the ground with his pitchfork, which had been plunged through his face. The slashing hook he used to trim the hedges was buried in his throat.

The local constabulary was ill-equipped to handle a case of such magnitude and requested assistance from Scotland Yard’s Murder Squad. The Yard sent their most famous manhunter, Detective-Superintendent Robert Fabian—known nationally through his policing exploits as “Fabian of the Yard.” In 1940s Britain, Fabian was almost a celebrity, having cracked some of the country’s most high-profile cases. How hard would it be to track down a killer in a village of 493 people?

In the event, the Lower Quinton murder would prove to be one case Fabian couldn’t solve. The crime remains an open homicide in the files of the Warwickshire Constabulary. The murder is considered by many to be the last ritual witchcraft killing in Britain. It’s claimed by some that Walton was a witch slain because of various activities tied to black magic. Others believe he was simply the unfortunate victim of an exceedingly brutal killer. The book I’m currently working, The Case That Foiled Fabian, to be released in 2014 by UK publisher The History Press, will examine Walton’s murder and the various theories that continue to swirl around it. I’m 45,000 words in and hope to have the first draft done by the end of January. It’s due at the publisher on May 1.

I’ve been so busy with researching and writing, I’ve had little time to update my blog. My apologies—but at least I have a somewhat decent reason for my lazy blogging habits as of late. As I move closer to the finish line, I’ll post more details on the book. I’ll be in England over Christmas and will be venturing to Lower Quinton to conduct a bit more research (I did some there this past February). Through Scotland Yard case files and an old photograph I found, I’ve located the actual field and the spot where Walton died, so I plan on snapping a few pictures.

Apparently, the villagers are awfully sensitive when it comes to the crime. I have to be honest and say I don’t know why. If it was a recent event, I’d certainly understand—but it happened nearly sixty years ago. You don’t see people in London’s East End still bent out of shape over Jack the Ripper—nor do you see San Francisco residents still up in arms over the Zodiac killer. Oh, well. Stay tuned for more details!

Thoughts on an under-appreciated author

In author on October 16, 2012 at 8:22 am

Copyright Screenplay How To

A couple of weeks ago, while sorting through a box of paperbacks in my garage, I stumbled across a novel by crime writer Roderick Thorp. The last time I read this particular book was twenty-three years ago when the movie version hit theaters. I loved the film—and after noticing in the credits it was based on a novel, I went out and tracked the title down. Having rediscovered this gem from the past, I sat down to read it again and found it just as enjoyable—if not more so—the second time around.

Originally published as Nothing Lasts Forever in 1979, the book was renamed Die Hard in its second edition and became the basis for one of the greatest action flicks of all time. The story, of course, involves an off-duty cop stuck in a Los Angeles skycraper that’s taken over by a dozen terrorists.

There are some major differences between the book and the film. In the book, the protagonist is an aged and retired New York City cop named Joe Leland who has flown to Los Angeles to see his estranged daughter–not a brash, young John McClane visiting his estranged wife. While the film featured some great humor to alleviate the tension, there is nothing funny about the book—the ending being a far cry from the film’s happy conclusion. The story is dark and brutal, and the violence is handled with a gritty realism. I was fifteen when I first read it and thought back then the violence was particularly savage. That’s actually one of the things I liked about it. I think it was the first book I read where violence had a visceral impact on one of the characters perpetrating it. Here, Leland is forced to kill a young terrorist:

[Leland’s] Browning struck a glancing blow off the side of the boy’s head, knocking him backward. He was still conscious, trying to get the Thompson up between them, when Leland hit him again, throwing his weight on him. The kid’s head struck the vinyl floor; the submachine gun went flying. The kid got to his hands and knees. He was stunned, trying to crawl away. Leland locked his forearm around the boy’s neck. He caught the windpipe. The kid’s hands came up. There was no time to waste. Leland got his shoulder against the base of the skull . . . The boy’s neck broke with a sound like a sapling being twisted in a strong man’s hands. His head flopped like a chicken’s. Leland’s bladder opened. He thought he was going to be sick.

You didn’t necessarily see that kind of brutality in the movie. Two of the terrorists Leland kills in the book are women, which takes a strong psychological toll on him. What I loved about the book—and the film—is the protagonist is an ordinary guy scared of the extraordinary circumstance thrust upon him. He’s no super-hero type:

He was feeling pain again, more than ever . . . He went up, one step at a time. He had been able to make a cup of coffee that had tasted awful, and then after that he had ducked into a ladies’ room to relieve himself and wash his face. All in the dark. He had not wanted to see himself. Afraid . . . He was so dirty, he could feel the crust on his eyelids when he blinked, in his crotch when he moved his legs. If he lived through this, he was going to feel pain for the rest of his life.

Thorp was a great writer (he passed away in 1999). At the time of his death, he was known for several gritty crime novels, including The Detective, which became a Frank Sinatra movie in 1968, and the excellent Rainbow Drive. Sadly, most of his books are now out of print (Nothing Lasts Forever, fortunately, has just been made available on Kindle). In reading the book, I was struck by the fact that if it wasn’t for the film “Die Hard”—and, to a certain extent, the Sinatra flick—hardly anyone today would know of Thorp’s work. Back in the day, when Thorp was writing, his novels were something of a big deal. This is from a 1986 profile in the Los Angeles Times following the release of Rainbow Drive:

Early indications are that Thorp will do well financially with the novel, which the publisher made its lead book for the fall season. Out of a first printing of 90,000 copies, 70,000 had been ordered by booksellers before “Rainbow Drive’s” publication date this fall. Bidding on paperback rights for the novel will start at $500,000.

The novelist added that the money probably won’t change his no-frills habits. A native of New York who moved to Southern California 10 years ago, Thorp lives in a two-bedroom apartment in North Hollywood, smokes plain-wrap cigarettes and drives a car that looks like an overweight roller skate.

“The quality of my life isn’t in shopping for gold-plated cars,” he said. “I value friendship, loyalty, truthfulness, honor–you know, the intrinsics that seem to have gone by the board. . . . I don’t care whether the neighbors know I’ve made it or not. I know who my neighbors are. Neighbors in my life have been some pretty goofy people I never cared about.”

Thorp had a real talent for writing hard, gritty crime stories. It’s sad that today most of his books are all but relegated to oblivion.

Human Game: A (very) brief excerpt

In publishing on October 8, 2012 at 7:19 am

Well, Human Game was officially released last Tuesday. At this stage, it’s impossible to say how it’s doing—though the Amazon sales ranking has been hovering between 5,000 and 10,000 for most of the week. I realize that number doesn’t really tell authors what’s going on, but it’s a decent enough ranking out of the 4 million-plus books on Amazon. Publication day is a funny thing. If you’ve never experienced it before, it’s probably not at all like you imagine. Life pretty much goes on as normal!

I’ve received a couple of emails from readers who’ve already finished and enjoyed the book. That’s always a great compliment. If you’re reading this and currently have the book sitting on your bedside table waiting to be read, I hope you enjoy it, too! The book’s mention in this month’s Wired has certainly helped my cause. From my website stats, it’s clear more people are checking out my blog!

This brief excerpt from the book deals in part with atrocities committed against German civilians by the French. If keeping in mind the context of the times, one can understand the hatred harbored by the French, though it does nothing to excuse the actions described in the Human Game passage below. Resorting to the same brutal behavior as your enemy, makes you no better than the heinous regime you’ve been fighting against. The British, in their hunt for the Gestapo gunman who murdered fifty participants of “The Great Escape,” had to deal on a routine basis with the French. It was not an easy alliance, as French war crime investigators were not always willing to help and wanted to keep certain war criminals to themselves. It also emerged that some Nazis were released from French custody in exchange for not revealing the names of French officials who assisted Germany during the wartime occupation of France.

While the investigation made slow but steady progress in the British and American zones, efforts were under way to uncover leads in the French sector. Records at the French War Crimes and Political Prisoners Bureau in Paris were poorly organized—a result of the French frequently moving prisoners from one camp to another. The French were busy dismantling their smaller camps and transferring prisoners to larger facilities. Not until this process was complete and the smaller camps had been abolished was there any hope of the files being properly organized. In their sector, the French had assumed the role of conqueror and did little to hide their disdain for the vanquished population. As far as they were concerned, being a German—regardless of whether or not one was a Nazi—was crime enough. They had a grudge to settle. In the latter stages of the war, French forces—following behind the Americans—marched into Stuttgart and raped an estimated three thousand women and eight men. Likewise, in the small town of Freudenstadt, they raped women as old as eighty, burned homes and shot civilians. It was this sort of behavior one associated more with the Red Army, which, in the vast areas of Germany it overran, unleashed a frenzy of “looting, destruction and rape.” Noted one Danish journalist, “It was not that a sex-starved Russian soldier forced himself upon a girl who took his fancy. It was a destructive, hateful and wholesale act of vengeance. Age or looks were irrelevant. The grandmother was no safer than the granddaughter, the ugly and filthy no more than the fresh and attractive.”

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