For better or worse, when a book starts with a bang like this: "When the man pointed a gun at him, Jason Palmer was cooling down after his daily five and picturing the first beer of the day..." you don't expect a deep read that makes you think about geopolitics and socio-economics.

Better, of course, because, well, who wants to think when you pick up a juicy thriller, right? Worse, because too often writers and readers approach crime and mystery fiction as an entertainment rather than something that might enlighten or even educate.

Marcus Sakey has quickly established himself as a writer willing to entertain and enlighten at the same time. There are plenty of writers out there who can create a masterful plot peopled by two-dimensional characters who fill roles. Sakey isn't one of them. Sure, his tales are gripping, but these are fully realized 3-D people here, and the situations they encounter do more than raise the hairs on the back of your neck. If you're paying attention, they raise your consciousness, too.

Sakey debuted with the taut thriller The Blade Itself, which addressed socioeconomic disparity and the failures of the penal system to reform. It is the story of Danny, a southside Chicago hood who runs with Evan, a gun-happy thug. A botched burglary at a pawn shop sends the two in separate directions: Danny cleans up and goes straight while Evan heads to prison. Of course, nothing good lasts forever, and Danny has a hard time fitting a newly released Evan back into his life.

The author makes good on the promise of that attention-grabbing debut with At the City's Edge. Again set in Chicago, this time Sakey writes about Jason Palmer, an Iraq War vet who returns to find his city feeling very much like the firefights he left behind thanks to gang violence in his burned-out neighborhood. Very early in the story, Palmer's brother, Michael, is murdered, leaving Palmer to care for his eight-year-old nephew while trying to unravel the confusing circumstances that led to his brother's death.

Along the way, Sakey touches on the trouble vets are finding as they try to return to normal life, the problems caused by gentrification and the challenges faced by those trying to do something about gang violence. He tackles a lot, but there are no cardboard cutouts standing in for people; everyone here is fully drawn and it makes for a poignant tale.

Sakey was among the promising class that was dubbed "The Killer Year," a tool used to promote a handful of crime fiction writers that debuted last year. From what I've read of these authors, Sakey is a clear standout. Like his fellow classmate and Chicagoan, Sean Chercover, he seems destined for a long career. With his eye on more than simply telling a tale, he may be the Killer Year's George Pelecanos, standing side by side with its Michael Connelly, Chercover, whose PI series has the feel of a nascent Harry Bosch.

Sakey took the time to participate in his second Monday Interview to discuss the new book. Read the first here.

TIRBD: I know you did a lot of research for this book, as you did for The Blade Itself. Do you have specific things you're seeking when you do research, or do you immerse yourself until you feel confident about the subject matter?

MS: A little bit of both. Generally, I need answers to some specific questions – how much does a kid selling crack make (less than you'd think), how does the Gang Intelligence Unit work, etc. – but I'm also there for the stuff I don't expect. And the best, truest moments always come as a surprise.

There's a story I use in this book about a group of thieves who were holding up nail salons, and it's pretty much accurate. When the cops I was riding with told me, they had me laughing so hard I couldn't breathe. You can't invent that stuff.

Was the idea of comparing some of Chicago's worst neighborhoods to the devastation in Iraq clear from the beginning? Was there a process by which you made yourself comfortable telling the story from these two perspectives that were foreign to you?

I knew that I wanted to write a book that was political without being partisan, and I wanted to explore the idea that Jason is returning from one war and stepping into another that looks very similar. But the subtleties came through the process. I just kind of go in with a general idea and my antenna up.

Thing is, I don't really have Big Ideas. I have a collection of small ones that I rub up against each other until they start to snarl into a larger whole.

As with The Blade Itself, you deal with a lot of socio-economic issues here, and you're not shying away from what could be seen as political stances. Can the novel be a useful tool for pointing out societal ills and effecting change?

Absolutely. And the opportunity to point things out, to have a pulpit from which to say, "Hey, look – this is fucked up, and we should notice it," that's one of the reasons I love being a novelist.

That said, my first purpose is to entertain, to tell a good story that hopefully keeps people up late. Everything else comes second. Who wants to read a polemic?

A lot of crime novelists are finding opportunities in films, online, television and other avenues for storytelling. Beyond Ben Affleck optioning The Blade Itself, have you explored any of these, and what are your thoughts about each as a means of telling a story when compared to a novel?

My focus in on writing novels. I'm sure that I could learn how to write a screenplay, but like any art form, it has a thousand subtleties that only come with time and experience. In my opinion, too many people think the difference is just page format. And since I feel like there are still a thousand more things I need to learn about writing novels, I'm sticking to this arena for now.

However, it is a really exciting feeling to have my work optioned by people I trust, people who are as passionate about their work as I am about mine. And despite the fact that the written word is my first and deepest love, I get giddy at the thought of my work becoming a movie. I think it has something to do with the three-dimensionality of it, and with the fact that watching a movie of your work is perhaps the only way you can experience it as an audience member, rather than a creator. That's pretty cool.

You write in the afterword about your decision to create the fictional neighborhood of Crenwood. Couldn't one argue that the people living in the real neighborhood you modeled Crenwood after know full well the situation they're living in and might appreciate the fact that someone noticed?

Yep. I went back and forth and back and forth, and I'm still not sure I made the right decision. But in the end my feeling was that because no matter how much research I did, no matter how many reports I read or cops I rode with, I would always essentially be a tourist. And it felt disrespectful not to acknowledge that fact.

However, anyone who knows Chicago even a little bit won't have trouble pinpointing the neighborhoods I'm talking about.

You mentioned on your web site that you're finished with your third novel, and I see that it's another standalone. Do you feel comfortable with the one-a-year pace that most successful crime novelists must keep, particularly given the fact that you don't have a series character to fall back on?

Thus far I do. But there's certainly a terror that accompanies it. The thing is, a year is the right amount of time for me to write a book, assuming things go right. But I certainly worry that I might spend six months on a book that doesn't work.

Prayer is a big part of the process.

Labels: crime fiction, Monday Interview