by Colin Harrison
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A man dies under mysterious circumstances. A second man is called in to solve the mystery. But the second man fails to heed the implicit warnings left by the first man and soon tumbles into the rabbit hole. He is in grave danger. He solves the crime. Stasis is returned; life, of a sort, goes on. These are the old bones on which Colin Harrison fills out Risk, his marvelously compact seventh novel.
And yet Harrison has only a passing interest in pulp protocol. He seems to use it because it is sturdy and compelling, the same reason Jim Thompson used noir and Paul Auster used the detective novel. But the real subject of Risk, and the six books that came before, is money. Old money, new money, big money. Dirty money.
Risk opens in New York sometime after "the fiscal apocalypse of the century." The Yankees are slumping,
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