Memories of Stuart Kaminsky

The first time I met Stuart Kaminsky was in Spain, about twenty years ago. I was new to the mystery game and basking in the warm greetings to my first novel when I was invited to attend the Semana Negra, that grand carnival held each year to celebrate the “black” or crime novel. Authors from around the world gathered in Madrid and got aboard the “black train” for the long ride to Gijon on the northern coast. The train was a special one, normally set aside for the king of Spain, with beautiful woodwork, linen-covered dining tables, and free-flowing wine. Despite all the attention Stuart was drawing from the international writers and critics, as well as the Spanish press, Stuart seemed much more concerned with the comfort of his wife, Enid Perll, and their young daughter Natasha, whom I remember wearing a dress like Alice in Wonderland’s and charming even the most supercilious authors.

Paco Ignacio Taibo II, the celebrated Mexican novelist and driving force behind the Semana Negra promised Stuart a special gift on his arrival at the festival grounds, and it turned out to be a big gift—literally. The gates to the festival grounds were built in the form of giant books, tall as the Gate of Ishtar, and one of them was Stuart’s Never Cross a Vampire. If I remember correctly, there were only three other “books”: The Long Goodbye by Raymond Chandler, a novel by Spain’s Manuel Vázquez Montalbán, and, I think, The Maltese Falcon. Stuart seemed amused by the honor, but he had to be pleased. Annually for several years, thousands of people walked past an Oldenburg-sized Jamás te cruces con un vampiro, with Bela Lugosi staring out at them from the cover.