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I don't know if authors read everything people write about their books, but in the event Lawrence Block should stumble onto this review, I have a message for him:

Mr. Block, please write more Matthew Scudder books. I really like the sober, middle-aged Scudder, who seems to have matured along with his author. TJ, the street kid whose mind moves like a breakdancer, is absolutely delightful. And other, often tough-as-nails characters you invent along the way--such as the antique dealer in Hope to Die--are sometimes heart-breakingly real.

Bernie Rhondenbarr, the gentleman burglar, has been fun, but he doesn't grow and his tricks are getting old. I haven't been able to work up a whole lot of empathy for Tanner or Keller. Reading about a guy who can't sleep makes me tired, and I just can't buy into the notion of a sensitive, self-reflective hit man. But I miss Scudder during the five or six years' hiatus between installments.

Oh, and thanks for the nonfiction books about writing. Aren't we about due for another?

Respectfully yours,

DB