Ryan David Jahn
Ryan David Jahn grew up in Arizona, California, and Texas. He finished school at sixteen, worked several odd jobs, from record store clerk to janitor, and spent time in the army before moving to Los Angeles, where he muddled about in television and film for several years.
He published his first novel, Acts of Violence, which went on to win the Crime Writers' Association John Creasey Dagger, in 2009, and has since published four others: Low Life (2010); The Dispatcher (2011), which was long-listed for the CWA Ian Fleming Steel Dagger; The Last Tomorrow (2012); and The Gentle Assassin (2014). Translation rights to his works have been sold in twelve languages.
He now lives in Louisville, Kentucky, with his wife Jessica Alt Jahn and two daughters, Francine and Matilda.
“If you have thirty dollars and rent is eighty, there’s no point in saving any of it. Drink till you’re drunk and pay for a ride home. You might as well enjoy your trip to the bottom. It’s when you’ve got eighty-seven dollars and the rent’s eighty that you need to save.”
“He pulls the gun away from his head and sets it on the coffee table. He wonders who first called it a coffee table. He gets to his feet and walks into the hallway. He wonders who first called it a highway. He wonder who first named anything. How did someone look at a dog and decide what to call it? It’s all so random. Everything is so goddamn random.”
“He looks at Mr. Vacanti and the man looks back at him with somehow gentle eyes. It surprises David to see the man has gentle eyes. It surprises him, even at thirty-seven, to discover that monsters can have gentle eyes. Something is terribly wrong with a world where monsters are allowed to have gentle eyes.”
“Ten minutes ago, Frank though he was going to prison. Now he knows he’s not, and part of him thinks he should just be glad he’s getting out of this at all, but he’s not. He’s not glad. He’s furious. He’s known the world is broken for a long time, he’s known that, but sometimes he’s amazed at how broken; even now, at this point in his life, nearing fifty years old, he can stumble across something that makes him realize all over again that the world is not only broken, but beyond fixing. No amount of glue can ever make it right. And yet, you have to focus on your little part of it, don’t you? You have to focus on your little corner of the world and glue what cracks you can. Otherwise there’s no hope at all.”
“Sometimes people have too much history together, history of the wrong kind, and people cannot tear pages from the book of their life. Once something is written there it is permanent.”