Bad Actors: The eighth book in the series behind SLOW HORSES, an Apple Original

Description: Bad Actors by Mick Herron THE EIGHTH BOOK IN THE SERIES BEHIND SLOW HORSES, AN APPLE ORIGINAL SERIES NOW STREAMING ON APPLE TV+ Mick Herron, "the le Carré of the future" (BBC), expands his world of bad spies with an even shadier cast of characters: the politicians, lobbyists, and misinformation agents pulling the levers of government policy. "Confirms Mick Herron as the best spy novelist now working."—NPRs Fresh AirIn Londons MI5 headquarters a scandal is brewing that could disgrace the entire intelligence community. The Downing Street superforecaster—a specialist who advises the Prime Ministers office on how policy is likely to be received by the electorate—has disappeared without a trace. Claude Whelan, who was once head of MI5, has been tasked with tracking her down. But the trail leads him straight back to Regents Park itself, with First Desk Diana Taverner as chief suspect. Has Taverner overplayed her hand at last? Meanwhile, her Russian counterpart, Moscow intelligences First Desk, has cheekily showed up in London and shaken off his escort. Are the two unfortunate events connected?Over at Slough House, where Jackson Lamb presides over some of MI5s most embittered demoted agents, the slow horses are doing what they do best, and adding a little bit of chaos to an already unstable situation . . . There are bad actors everywhere, and they usually get their comeuppance before the credits roll. But politics is a dirty business, and in a world where lying, cheating and backstabbing are the norm, sometimes the good guys can find themselves outgunned. FORMAT Hardcover LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Author Biography Mick Herron is a British novelist and short story writer who was born in Newcastle and studied English at Oxford. He is the author of the Slough House espionage series, four Oxford mysteries, and several standalone novels. His work has won the CWA Gold Dagger for Best Crime Novel, the Steel Dagger for Best Thriller, the Ellery Queen Readers Award, and the Theakstons Novel of the Year Award, and been nominated for the Macavity, Barry, and Shamus Awards. He currently lives in Oxford and writes full-time. Review Praise for Bad ActorsNominated for the Barry Award for Best ThrillerA Washington Post Best Mystery & Thriller of 2022A CrimeReads Best Espionage Novel of 2022CrimeReads Best New Crime Fiction for May"What spurs me to keep reading each new installment is Herrons absurdist voice, which could devolve into cheap cynicism but never does. Thats why the Slough House denizens, from Jackson Lamb to Roddy Ho to newcomer Ashley Kahn, maintain pathos in the face of parody—they may be bitter, but they have pride in themselves and their work."—Sarah Weinman, The New York Times Book Review"This motley group would never be mistaken for James Bond, but they could easily be compared with the paper sales staff of The Office . . . Herron mixes dry humor, musings on British and global politics, and superbly developed characters."—Oline Cogdill, The South Florida Sun-Sentinel"Herrons plots are masterpieces of convolution and elegant wrong-footing. Beyond that, his action scenes are fast-paced and thrilling—there are a couple of high-octane doozies in this installment. But the real draw of the series is its dark, dark humor . . . One of the most enjoyable series I have ever read."—Katherine A. Powers, Minneapolis Star-Tribune"Eight novels in, Herrons Slough House books prove hes one of the best and wittiest writers to follow in the tradition of Len Deighton and John le Carré . . . The twists and fights are both bloody and funny and done with Herrons own spy lingo, which gives it all panache. In short, a delight."—Margaret Cannon, The Globe and Mail"Just as good as its predecessors . . .The magnificently gross but also frighteningly shrewd Jackson Lamb is one of the espionage fictions great characters."—Laura Miller, Slate"More proof that, though there may be spy novels with sentences as impeccable as Herrons, its unlikely there are spy novels that are also as funny . . . Exemplary."—Shelf Awareness, Starred Review"Sensational . . . Herron brings his inimitable style to cat-and-mouse action and continues with his vivid portrait of the so-called intelligence world."—CrimeReads"Highly entertaining."—Seattle Book Review"A send-up of contemporary British international espionage that turns a jaundiced, droll eye on the undercurrents and corruption of government."—Foreword Reviews"If le Carré brought moral ambiguity to the spy novel in place of Bondian glamour, Herron one-ups the master by showing us that ambiguity has its uncouth comedic side."—Booklist, Starred Review"An outstanding mix of arch humor, superb characterizations, and trenchant political observations."—Publishers Weekly, Starred ReviewPraise for the Slough House Series "Intricate plotting, full of twists . . . Herron can certainly write a real spy story, with all the misdirection and sleight of hand that requires. But its the surly Slough House mood, the eccentric characters, and Herrons very black, very dry sense of humor that made me read one after the other without a break."—Laura Miller, Slate.com"Ill tell you what, to have been lucky enough to play Smiley in ones career; and now go and play Jackson Lamb in Mick Herrons novels—the heir, in a way, to le Carré—is a terrific thing." —Gary Oldman "Confirms Mick Herron as the best spy novelist now working." —NPRs Fresh Air "Compulsively readable, tightly plotted."—Los Angeles Times"Out of a wickedly imagined version of MI5, [Herron] has spun works of diabolical plotting and high-spirited cynicism, their pages filled with sardonic wit . . . Happily for Mr. Herron—if alas for us—events continue to produce rich material for his special gifts, and we hope he is scribbling away making good use of it all." —The Wall Street Journal "Heroic struggles, less-heroic failures and a shoot-out-cum-heist . . . with no let-up in the page turning throughout." —Esquire"The best in a generation, by some estimations, and irrefutably the funniest."—Jill Lepore, The New Yorker "Herrons strength is in examining at close hand the absurdities, conflicts, and dangers of the intelligence agency as an institution at the center of some of the most central conflicts in the 21st century." —Los Angeles Review of Books "Unbeatable entertainment for thriller fans." —Library Journal, Starred Review Review Quote Praise for the Slough House Series "Ill tell you what, to have been lucky enough to play Smiley in ones career; and now go and play Jackson Lamb in Mick Herrons novels--the heir, in a way, to le Carr Excerpt from Book The woods were lovely, dark, and deep, and full of noisy bastards. From his foxhole Sparrow could hear the grunting and thrashing of combat, of bodies crashing through foliage. Some things breaking were branches, and others might be bones. Sound travelled more cleanly in the countryside. This might not be true but it was interesting, which mattered more. Sound travelled more cleanly, so what he was hearing could include the fracturing of legs and fingers as well as splintering twigs. His foxhole wasnt constructed; was simply a ditch in which hed secreted himself while the opening sallies played out. The initial clash of armies was where you lost your cannon fodder. Once the dumb meat had been carted from the field, war passed into the hands of the thinkers. Something clattered overhead, in a trees topmost branches. Only a bird. Meanwhile, battle continued: two forces of roughly equal size, blatant weaponry outlawed but anything that came to hand regarded as fair use. Sticks and stones for instance--and any experienced foot soldier had a favourite stick, a favourite stone, within easy reach when the starting whistle blew. Time, date, place, courtesy of social media. The old days, when you just rocked up to a car park near the stadium a few hours before kick-off, all of that was buried in history books and Channel 5 documentaries. Sparrow himself had been a toddler. Interesting, though: people thought, because they didnt see football fans rucking in public anymore, that it didnt happen. Just knowing that much about human nature was like having a big shiny key. It was an education in itself, exploring the depths of other peoples ignorance and gullibility. Some shouting in the near distance now. Nothing as coherent as words: just the familiar Esperanto of grunt and injury, the outward expression of a hatred that was absolutely pure and totally impersonal. Amateur violence signalled national character. Just as the French variety, with its short jabs and rabbit punches, seemed as crabbed and hunched as French handwriting, so English violence had the hallmarks of a ransom note: capital-lettered and often misspelt, but getting the message across. As for Italians--todays opponents--they rucked the way they sang, their brawling round and bold and big-voiced, and if not for a relatively small turnout, theyd wind up kings of the woods today. Benito--the new Benito, whose predecessor had interestingly withdrawn from public view--would have led his troops away rejoicing. But that didnt, from what Sparrow had seen so far, look likely. For his own part, his interest was clinical. Untethered to any football team, he was nevertheless fascinated by the loyalties they inspired, regardless of history, abilities and triumphs, or lack thereof. By the Till I Die tattoos supporters sported. This was a self-fulfilling promise, one that couldnt be reneged on without expensive laser treatment, and demonstrated the kind of drive that pre-empted second thoughts. And once you got a handle on it, you could steer it in any direction you chose. Aim it at a rival set of fans or . . . elsewhere. From deep among the trees Sparrow could feel an approaching beat, not as stealthy as it thought it was, and underneath that a more primal rhythm, one close to Sparrows heart. In the breast pocket of his camo-gilet, in fact: the thrumming of his mobile phone. With the unhurried ease of a gunslinger he slipped it free of his pocket. "You pick your moments." The crashing came nearer; the sound of a large, urban type imagining it was possible to be silent in a wood. "Oh, you know. Day off. I like to get close to nature." Excuse him a moment, he thought but did not say, and instead of listening to whatever his caller said next, fastened the phone into a -secured sheath at shoulder level, so he could speak and be heard and mostly hear, a long-established set of priorities. That done, he settled into a crouch and wrapped both hands round the stubby branch from which he had stripped all unnecessary twigs and leaves. "Okay, this is the usual daily bullshit, nothing to worry about. Just because theres a problem doesnt mean we need a solution. We simply reframe the narrative. Hang on a sec." A figure crashed into Sparrows clearing and halted, scanning the terrain. Being of average height he was easily four inches taller than Sparrow, an advantage in most hostile situations except those where both parties have testicles but only one is wielding a club. Sparrows caught the newcomer sweetly in the crutch. He made a noise like a baby seal and collapsed in a heap. "Yes, or dispense with the narrative altogether. This time tomorrow its yesterdays news . . . No, Im fine. Just doing some stretches." While his caller launched into a soliloquy, Sparrow focused on his immediate situation: weapon in hand, fallen warrior at his feet, trees everywhere . . . Planet of the Apes . He prodded his would-be attacker with a foot, eliciting a groan, then noticed the silence on the line. ". . . Yeah, still here. And I have ideas, dont worry. You know me. Ideas is what I do." Which was as well, because Anthony Sparrow had some work-related issues of his own that hed rather his caller didnt know about. Some, though, might be alleviated by discussion with Benito once the more aggressive aspects of the afternoons agenda had been settled. The fact that you were mortal enemies didnt mean you couldnt do business. If that were the case, youd never get anything done. Besides, Benito was a fellow alpha. Sparrow mostly worked among malleable idiots, so it was something of a pleasure to negotiate on his own level. Speaking of malleable idiots . . . On closer inspection, he noticed that his victim wasnt one of Benitos crew at all, but on Sparrows own side. Still, there he was, prone and useless, and Sparrow holding a club. His caller was still talking, so he tapped a finger against his phone three times, a signal both knew meant the conversation had passed all useful purpose. Then waited a moment. "Not at all. What Im here for." He waited some more. And then: "Yes, prime minister. See you in the morning." And, call over, Sparrow raised his club and brought it down as hard as he could, and then again, and again, until this anonymous creature was where all his opponents ended, dumb and dusted at his feet. Details ISBN1641293373 Author Mick Herron Series Slough House Language English Year 2022 ISBN-10 1641293373 ISBN-13 9781641293372 Format Hardcover Series Number 8 Country of Publication United States Publisher Soho Press Inc Publication Date 2022-05-10 Imprint SohoCrime,US Place of Publication New York AU Release Date 2022-05-10 NZ Release Date 2022-05-10 US Release Date 2022-05-10 UK Release Date 2022-05-10 Pages 360 DEWEY 823.92 Audience General Subtitle The eighth book in the series behind SLOW HORSES, an Apple Original series now s treaming on Apple TV+ We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:141758898;

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