Darren O’Shaughnessy’s Ayuamarca reads like noir dialogue. It’s as gritty as sand in your bikini. O’Shaughnessy handles a more supernatural subject like Neil Caiman or Clive Barker, blending ancient myth and the occult with dark near-future mystery. The novel treads a bit too much into the “cool Brit” pop style of guns and drugs and capers, taking well-worn American genres and spicing them up with dialect and UK locales. Think Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels in 30 years. But I have a soft spot for the British. I don’t know why. I like the Manic Street Preachers. So sue me.