Some of the best fiction of the 20th century is crime fiction. Jim Thompson, Patricia Highsmith, and Dashiell Hammett don't stylistically have much in common with each other, but they share a nihilistic sensibility that says more about what it was like to be alive in the 20th century than just about any mainstream literary talent I can name. They write stories of flawed men and women, on the verge of being crushed in the gears of machines too complex for them to understand. The narrators are likely as not schizophrenic or sociopathic, and things are not guaranteed to end well.

Step into any mystery/thriller section in any modern bookstore and you'll find that this is no longer the case. Most mysteries, it seems, are serials, built around human but heroic—or, worse, heroically human—protagonists who always, eventually, save the day. While the serial mystery has long roots, all the way back to Conan Doyle and Christie, the descent from literature into entertainment franchise has only happened in the last 25 to 30 years. New Ross MacDonalds are seemingly nowhere to be found.

But a friend introduced me to Murdaland, a magazine now on its second issue, and it's that almost-impossible achievement: a brand-new literary magazine that's actually good. Subtitled Crime Fiction for the 21st Century, Murdaland is a collection of novel excerpts, short fiction, and a bit of nonfiction about crime and criminal activity.

Murdaland's not exactly crammed tight with Big Names of Literature: Mary Gaitskill, Jayne Anne Phillips, and Rudolph Wurlitzer are the most famous authors of the lot, discounting a classic short story by David Goodis. But it's just the kind of magazine that Cornell Woolrich would've stolen, killed, or kidnapped for, back in the day: one devoted to well-written stories from America's seamy underbelly.

Not all the stories in Murdaland are golden representatives of crime fiction, but many of the stories are as sick and violent as anything ever written by the masters: "Vivian and Bobby Ray," by Harry Hunsicker, combines an elaborate heist plot with voluntary amputation and other atrocious personal habits in a way that leaves the reader vaguely, excitedly nauseated. Other stories, about man-sluts dressed in Boy Scout uniforms, burglaries of reclusive music producers, and a man who repeatedly kills his neighbor's corpse, are similarly tawdry. Outside of Us Weekly, it's the darkest bit of nasty that's hit newsstands in a good long while. recommended

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