They say the truth will set you free, they're lying.

 

Every time I'm reading Jake's books, I'm always, and yes, I mean, always, floating around Asia somewhere. 

It's no coincidence that I like his books.

The years are passing us by. Even Tay, from the Inspector Tay series, which is usually based in Singapore, is getting older. 

Jack Shephard, from Jake's other series, refuses to admit it. 

It would be an open admission that he wasn't that man who cleans up cases no one would dare touch.

I'm ADHD, Dyslexia, and have Aspergers, which all contribute to my in-your-face responses and general brilliance.

No, no-no.

I'm not a novelist. I would love to be. But I'm a travel writer. 

I don't write for Conde Neste, I don't pedal tripe anymore in Sunday Editions ( not sure if I ever did, actually) and I write solely for my own benefit, reaching a state of godliness in the rehearsed lines that I had wished I could muster up on the spot to either impress the ladies or insult the guys.

'You fucking spiteful bastard.' 

See, that's Mr. Aspergers speaking again, always butting in.

This reminds me of the conversations Inspector Tay has with his mother. She is deceased.

He works things out that way. And why not.

She gives him clues on the crime he's working on, and also advice on whatever she decides is deserving of the information she has provided from the other side.

Of course, Carl Jung would say that this doesn't fall into the realm of the paranormal but is  a self-projection, 'of the  subconscious mind, screaming to be heard over the noise and hysteria of the conscious mind.'

Basically talking to yourself is okay, so long as no one sees you.

Writers do it all the time.

I forgot to add, I also suffer from multiple personality disorder.

But not in the way Jake does.

He has a few heavy-weight characters, who might be named Chuck... who clearly speak a vernacular of the secret services, including the FBI. Or do they? 

It's kept vague. But boy would I like to know who he based those characters on, like August, who goes way back in the Tay series but takes a back seat in the last in the series, Mongkok Station.

I have a vague recollection of telling Jake about the house used in The Girl in the Window, a stakeout, how it somehow reached out in the real world of Half Penny Press, a similar name to a screening company you bought out to secure a big Alan Bond deal.

It's all a bit vague. 

But the way money is moved. 

That's not.

It's real.

It's so real, Jake could have been writing from experience.

Now that's what makes the Jack Shephard novels so interesting.

Just as interesting are the locations he finds himself in.

Phuket, Macao, Hong Kong, Dubai, and  Bangkok.

Yeah, I can smell that incense, the urine-stained carpets of the whorehouse, and the fake Gucci perfume of the gamblers in a casino.

It all began with The Big Mango.

Yeah, The Big Mango.

It was made for the movies.

Just read the title.

It invites you.

Fat cigars.

Fat sunsets.

And fat mangos.

The Big Fat.

See, nowhere near as alluring as The Big Mango.

The Mean Streets of Asia act as an umbrella for all of Jake's books.

They are mean.

Once you get past the tourist's joints, Asia comes alive.

Interesting.

A place to get lost in.

A dangerous allure.

A place to get the adrenalin pumping.

In short, The Mean Streets of Asia Crime Novels. 

Trust me, it's addictive.