And now for some unrepentent self-promotion

Got some reviews of The Dirty Secrets Club and the U.S. edition of China Lake.

The Dirty Secrets Club:

“A crackerjack thriller.” Seattle Post-Intelligencer.

“Steeped in nonstop action, psychological terror and an evocative use of the San Francisco background, The Dirty Secrets Club brims with surprises and unpredictable twists. Gardiner succinctly explores soul-numbing grief and forgiveness (especially the inability to forgive oneself) as well as greed, thrill seekers and revenge. She also layers on a contemporary issue — in this age of Facebook and MySpace, where every private thought and deed is laid out for everyone to view — what’s the price of secrecy?” Chicago Tribune.

“Sometimes it seems like England gets all the good stuff first: the Beatles, the Mini Cooper, ‘The Kumars at No. 42′… American readers will now have the chance to experience one of the finest contemporary writers in the genre.” BookPage.

“Now [Gardiner] has the chance to show her birth country what she can do in this appealing, entertaining thriller.” Sarah Weinman, Newsday. (Weinman likes Jo Beckett best when she’s investigating, rather than remembering her late husband, and adds, “Gardiner’s no-nonsense style allows her free rein to drop twist after twist.”)

“Highly recommended.” Library Journal (starred review).

China Lake:

“Gardiner nimbly turns what could be a tired plot into a suspenseful thriller, thanks in part to the quick-witted—and even quicker tempered—Evan.” Publishers Weekly.

“Gardiner… renders a cast of compelling characters and a hair-raising plot that never stops.” Booklist (starred review).

“Bottom line: Is Meg Gardiner worth the investment of your reading time? Yes. Yes she is. As these two works aptly demonstrate, she is a confident, creative and entertaining storyteller with a skillful sense of pacing, a sure hand with characterization and an evocative sense of her northern California settings.” Bookgasm.

Now. To shrink my swollen head so that I can fit through the door of the bus, I note that the Washington Post was driven crazy by Dirty Secrets, calling it “less a novel than a clever little contraption designed to seize readers, extract $25, punch their various buttons and eventually release them with a dazed look in their eyes and, ideally, a smile on their faces.” The problem? The book is commercial. Commercial, commercial, COMMERCIAL. It contains awful commercial attributes such as villains, good guys, and “our next Major Plot Element, the Heroine.” The reviewer figures I could have written something better, “but London’s expensive these days, and a writer’s gotta do what she’s gotta do.” Yes, the Post thinks I’m a word whore. And not the kind with a heart of gold. Oh, well.

On the other hand, Time Out New York picks Dirty Secrets as one of the summer’s Top 20 Beach Reads. And it commissioned poet Matthea Harvey to turn lines from the 20 books into a poem.