You know you’re in for something special when you pick up a Jordan Harper novel. And by “something special,” I mean that his books are reliably dark, unique, precise gems of crime fiction. These are not the kinds of books you rush through. No, you savor every word and phrase, turning it over in your mind while shaking your head with a kind of awe or letting your jaw drop in either wonder or jealousy. OK, both of those. Consider this riveting piece of hip-hop poetry that opens Harper’s latest, A Violent Masterpiece:
“[Los Angeles] is a Frankenstein’s monster—all these felonies sewn together into something like a city. Stolen land gulping stolen water. Streets paved with corpses. We even went and massacred the sky: Smog strangles the air; light pollution buries the stars.”
Such an exquisite way to introduce the setting of this unrelentingly dark tale of the City of (Fallen) Angels. And with Harper it’s never a case of meticulous writing in the opening pages giving way to a more pedestrian style for the rest of the book. This is a guy who fashions every syllable of his books with care. Every single word is in its rightful place, all in service of a punchy, jet-engine narrative.
A Violent Masterpiece—a term Harper bestows on the city itself—is split into three distinct narrative voices, offered up in mostly alternating chapters. First up is Jake Deal, a nightcrawling investigative podcaster whose allegiance is solely to his subscribers. He screams his way from murder scene to lurid celebrity-focused compromising position, broadcasting color commentary to his too-eager audience and providing a stream-of-consciousness play-by-play about the state of the underworld. Think of Jake’s voice as the modern equivalent of Danny DeVito’s character Sid Hudgens in L.A. Confidential, except Jake’s commentary is quite the opposite of “Off the record, on the QT, and very hush-hush”! We’re next introduced to Doug Gibson, a public defender who gets in waaaaaay over his head representing a Hollywood pedophile with disturbingly powerful allies. (A scene showcasing this violent power later in the book will make you physically recoil in your seat.) Finally, we have Kara Delgado, rising star in the business of catering to Hollywood’s ultra-rich and ultra-sleazoid; she’s so jaded that she’s not even sure how to feel when her friend goes missing—the likely victim of a serial killer dubbed the L.A. Ripper, who’s active—right now—on the sordid streets of SoCal. A serial killer who just happens to be the obsession of one of our other narrators.
And that becomes the thrust of A Violent Masterpiece, particularly as Harper takes us into the second and third acts, when the three separate narratives begin to coalesce. The long first act functions as vital scene setting for a novel that thrives on its sense of place. Harper communicates his own love/hate relationship with the town, not afraid to illustrate (vividly) the ripped-from-today’s-headlines horrors and everyday corruption set starkly against the silver-screen glamor and rapture (and attendant decadence). It’s a similar approach to the one he brought to his own violent 2023 masterpiece, Everybody Knows, this book’s predecessor. In A Violent Masterpiece, Harper even slyly inserts character and plot connections to the previous novel, for those of us well-versed in this era of the Harperverse. Both novels are inspired by the style of James Ellroy, though they’re perhaps a little less batshit in their conception. Whereas Ellroy writes with a frenzied, fuck-all flourish, Harper is furiously exacting: no bullshit, all pedal-to-the-metal brutal prose. But the two writers are certainly cousins.
In some ways, it’s hard to believe this is the same Jordan Harper who wrote She Rides Shotgun (like Everybody Knows, also a modern crime classic). Everybody Knows and A Violent Masterpiece are such an evolution of style and substance—as if Harper is using an entirely different set of brushes on a much broader canvas. The earlier novel is an intimate, relationship-focused book in which crime is almost secondary to the powerful father-daughter story. This later work shifts to incredibly vivid setting work, and the central relationship is the one between the characters and that setting.
BEWARE ONE PARAGRAPH OF SPOILERS.
Strangely, it’s in the later acts of A Violent Masterpiece when the narrative falters a bit—at least, for this reader. I say strangely because that’s also when two of our main characters connect in an otherwise satisfying way. Joining forces to investigate the L.A. Ripper, Jake and Kara attack the challenge from interestingly unique perspectives, and it doesn’t hurt that their suddenly blooming attraction is an undeniable bright point in the story. But their detective work leads them immediately to one specific (and unlikely) suspect, with great certainty, and thus the mystery of the third act is less about suspense that should reach a crescendo and more about simply going about the mundane tasks of proving themselves right. In the end, there’s almost the feeling that such a fantastic piece of writing didn’t really need a plot point as sensational as a serial killer. As if the specter of the L.A. Ripper (and his reveal) cheapens the book to a certain degree (say, the value of 1 star in this review).
END SPOILERS.
I’ll close with a warning: This is a brutal, relentless book. Some readers may find themselves a bit queasy with this one, particularly given the style and pace. As I said, it’s a book to savor, and an aspect of that may be the need to consume these chapters gradually lest they overwhelm. You have to be a certain kind of reader to dig this kind of widespread depravity! (Count me in.)
Regardless, A Violent Masterpiece is a terrific read. It’s as invigorating and meticulous as Everybody Knows, manifesting a blistering authorial voice that commands every sentence. The book masterfully weaves three evocative perspectives, gradually bringing them together in a meaningful way that provides counterbalance to the corruption that proliferates the storytelling. Most important, it delves deeply into its sense of place, a deplorable underside of Los Angeles and Hollywood that feels forbidden, a place more about nightmares than dreams. Jordan Harper is one of the few crime-fiction stylists today whose books I always eagerly await. I’ll remain on the edge of that particular seat till the day I kick.
