Ray Banks: The Secret Dead Blog Interview

Everyone else is doing it, so why don’t we?

Our first guest in this new (possibly short-lived) author interview series: the redoubtable Ray Banks, author of The Big Blind, which is fresh from the incubator at PointBlank Press.

If you’re a noir fan, you owe it yourself to read this novel. If you owe Ray money, he’ll be around to collect on Thursday.

Without further pointless introduction, here’s the Man Himself on PVCu frames, haikus, Grolsch beer, and fat goths.

Swierczynski: So, Ray, your first novel is out, which must be exciting as hell. But we’ll get to that in a minute. I have a more pressing question. The Bride and I just bought new windows--7/8" double-pane insulated glass Thermal Kings, with dual cam-action locks, heavy duty weatherstripping, and a Smooth Operator™ Premium Balance & Stabilizing System. What’s the deal? Did I buy shit windows?

Banks: Nah, you didn’t buy shit windows, Duane me old mucker. Not if you live in a phantom vacuum town where the laws of nature and weather don't apply. Because the first hint of rain, sleet, snow, wind or sunshine, you'll be picking that super-duper double-pane insulated glass out of your carpet. Then, with the Thermal Kings, I don’t know if they told you about the “slight explosion problem?” Well let me tell you, it isn’t “slight.” It’s all down to the frequency that Japanese cars give off, the Toyota Echo in particular. One of them goes past your house and your windows explode. And I know you’ve got kids. I mean, no disrespect, Leblanc, but how do you sleep at nights knowing your family home is a deathtrap?

Thermal Kings, man. They opened an office over in the U.K., this bloke I know, he gets all his windows done by them. Next thing he knows, his missus gets crushed by a fridge. Now, they say it’s nothing to do with them. I say, bad luck’s like the mark of Cain on the bastards. And it sounds like they saw you coming. But you weren’t to know, were you?

Now I know you’re worried, so here's what I’ll do. I’ll get a couple of lads to come in and strip your Thermal Kings, maybe do a part-ex (I’ll see what I can swing), and I’ll get you kitted out with the Warmsafe Gold range, the fully integrated PVCu frames and Pilkington glass combo. Now the PVCu frames, they're colourfast and hard as a Salford hooker. The glass is all internally-beaded, which makes it just as tough, and you've got that Pilkington guarantee too. On top of that, if you’re feeling flamboyant, we can get the glass leaded, coloured, obscured or even gold fretted (I’d talk to The Bride about that -- the women like to pick all that shite out). And they’ve all got the kitemark on ‘em. Not necessarily the real kitemark, but we marked it with a kite, so that works, yeah?

Now if you just want to sign on the dotted line, we'll get that guaranteed for the next decade (a decade’s a couple months, right?). I know it looks like a lot of money, but when you’re paying for it over the next ten years, it won't seem so much. And the interest rate’s really low at the moment so you picked the best time to buy. My hat goes off to you for that.

But enough about windows... I’ll send you some stuff on our triple-lock security doors (a big hit with drug dealers) and the new conservatory range. And I hate to be the one to tell you, but your fascias and soffitts are a disgrace. Really.

Sounds pricey. This is going to have to come out of my book-buying budget. (Watch out... here it comes... ham-handed segue...) So why should I shell out my hard-earned simoleans for a hardback copy of The Big Blind? I mean, I’m still trying to complete my Anne Rice collection. And she’s just released Lestat 22: Electric Boogaloo. And there's Mitch Albom’s The Five People You Meet in the Sixth Level of Hell... C'mon, talk me into it, you silver-tongued, double-glazing sales-speaking devil you.

Hey, it’s not that expensive. How much money would you pay for a new family when your windows explode? Think on. And you should dip into your pocket, slap the readies on the counter because if you don’t, I’ll take your fuckin’ shins.

Seriously, though. I will.

I don’t know why anyone should buy it. I let the Marketing dwarves at PointBlank handle the mind control. And, to be frank, if it wasn’t for those compromising photos of Al Guthrie, I don’t think it would have been published. But The Big Blind has its good points.

1 – it’s short.
2 - there's plenty of swearing in it.
3 - Ken Bruen blurbed it (according to Publisher’s Weekly, that’s a massive selling point).
4 - the hardback makes a wonderful coaster for a litre bottle of Grolsch.
5 - the cover’s fantastic.

But I think the most important reason you should buy it is because I really need the cash. We’ve got four cats. Between the carnage they cause and the food they eat, I’ve barely enough to keep me in Marlboros and hard liquor. Just picture me and the Natural Brunette as those hollow-eyed refugees you’ve read about and dig deep.

And I’m eagerly awaiting that Anne Rice book too. I’ve loved her work since Interview with a Fat, Deluded Goth. Did you know she doesn’t even need an editor? She’s a genius.

So tell me about the *real* Ray Banks. Dig deep down into your soul. What fuels the pulsating core of your sensate heart? (In one word only, please.)

RAGE.

Okay, okay. You can use more than one word.

PLENTY RAGE. Ahem. Not like the miffed monkeys in 28 Days Later, either. But anger’s a big part of me, I think. I got angry reading crap, so I started writing it. But at least my crap’s shorter. I started writing in prison. There was this lad in the next cell, Big Doug. He liked to collect people’s toes. But he wrote the most heartbreaking haikus you ever read.

But yeah, rage. Rage at myself, rage at the shite that passes for fiction in some circles, rage at a lot of things. I’m an angry young man. One day I hope to be an angry old man with a stick.

There was one thing that puzzled me about Big Blind... well, never mind. You really have me worried about these damn windows. You sure you and your lads will do right by me? I’m not one for foreign labor.

What? Out with it, LeBlanc. Don’t pussy around with me, son. You were puzzled by The Big Blind? What’s to be puzzled about? Straightforward enough, innit? It’s like a certain small press said to me: “Two losers find a body, wher’s the mystery in that?” There ain’t no mystery. There ain’t no puzzle. And you’ve got balls being puzzled with my book, Mr Brain Hotel. Where’d you get that idea? Stoned off your tits, no doubt. I knew there was something sly about you. Oh yeah, you SAY you drink, but I know your type, the kind of guy who gets off his gourd on cheap acid and wanders about with a fake druid beard, a sickle and a sausage roll, yelling at everyone to get away, it’s a pagan bomb.

Got my eye on you. And as for the lads, don't worry about them, they're toasted gold. Yeah, Kelvin’s got a lazy eye and Barry had a stroke last year, but they know what they're doing if they’re left alone. And what you talking about, foreign? These lads are born and bred Geordies. Salt of the earth. Honest to God, I never took you for a racist.

Course, you might want to hide your silverware.

But don’t worry about the windows. We'll get ‘em in there and fine and dandy by Christmas or my name’s not Amanda Hugginkiss.