allow me to read you your rights.

It’s a dull evening in late winter. Outside, clouds cover the moon and the street lights are shrouded in the thick leaves of the neighbourhood trees. In the house, the lights flicker. You sit up. The notion of a blackout strikes fear in your heart: in the dark, you won’t be able to read that terrifying crime book on your lap, even though you’re only seventy-three pages from the end and shit has just got real.

But that’s okay. It’s the end of August in 2013. You’ve got a laptop (going flat) and a phone (at 64%), so you can still go on Goodreads to read some reviews, or look the author up online to see if they’ve tweeted anything hilarious. But maybe, instead—you make your way here, to Reading Kills. Because it does. Every time you pick up that Agatha Christie, you murder some poor butler in a country mansion. Whenever you read a Scandi crime, you’ve just cursed someone to die in an icy river. Well, at least it’s better than doing it in reality.

Here, I’ll be talking crime books, with a bit of a lean towards Australian crime because, and I’m only mostly biased, it’s just great. There will be reviews from me and from my crack team of random people I accost on the street-slash-internet. There will be news, and events, and general discussion about crime. What’s new? What’s old and repetitive? Why do the covers suck? (Seriously, why do they? Sigh.) What do you think? Tell me now, tell me later, shoot me an email at Don’t worry, I don’t bite. I’m more a make-a-list, plot-a-lengthy-revenge type.