Review

The mystery anthology seemed to be dying a slow death in the '90s with the onset of the fast-food, summer beach, cats-and-recipe detective novel and the reluctance of bestselling authors to waste their sweat on the short story form.

But the anthology's now coming back with a vengeance. Penzler's sports mystery anths. and McBain's knockout new collection Transgressions come to mind. But this one came out of nowhere: A straight-to-paperback, little-trumpeted (pun intended) theme anthology that features a new Harry Bosch tale (Connelly's the one true modern heir to Chandler and a great break from the armies of Top 10 hacks out there). I'd have paid the book's price for this one alone: A police procedural with a clever mystery, a hearteningly Chandleresque Christmas moral, and a glimpse into Bosch's troubled past and affection for jazz. Connelly demonstrates here that you can write short and still deliver the goods. There's also a rare Milan Jacovich story (Les Roberts deserves more of that fame we seem to ladle on burgermeisters like Grisham, Cornwell, and Robin Cook), and additional P.I. treats by Julie Smith and Laura Lippman. That ain't enough for you, we got original Lutz, Randisi, Gorman, and Max Allan Collins. $6.99 for a feast like this? I'm glad I skipped my double-Thickburger lunch that day. You should enjoy