Preston Lang’s discreetly funny debut crime novel The Carrier is an amoral story about semi-decent, semi-depraved, mostly-human people who eat and argue and screw genuinely enough as they pursue their proverbial pot of gold in parts unknown of the U.S.A. Some get what they got coming, some get less, others more, but always around the corner is another day and another twist of the knot and who knows if it’s money, drugs, gold, or death that awaits.

Readers may not know that the man behind Preston Lang spent the late 90’s living in a dusty little corner of Southern Africa, where both his unique outlook on crime and his affinity for the off-beat were entered into evidence: his home-alarm system of Carlsberg empties mustered around an unlocked wooden door; his entertainment for high-end guests at the ambassador’s Fourth of July reception – tickling the ivories to the tune of Oh, Canada.

Slow at times, often dead funny, the book entertains without pretense before racing through a brutal, breathless, corkscrew finish.

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