At 158 pages, Drive is the most compact novel I've read in some time, so I'll make this brief: James Sallis has written a perfect piece of noir fiction. In telling the good-man-gone-bad story of a Hollywood stunt driver named, appropriately enough, Driver ("I drive. That's what I do. All I do."), this master stylist uses a cinematic idiom of jump-cut, nonsequential scenes to focus on those hollowed-out moments when a man's moral landscape suddenly shifts and he's plunged into darkness. If there's a message in this, I don't want to know about it. I read. That's what I do. All I do.

Marilyn Stasio, New York Times

Imagine the black heart of Jim Thompson beating in the poetic chest of James Sallis and you'll have some idea of the beauty, sadness and power of "Drive," the title of which comes from the same Robert Creeley poem Jeremy Larner used for his memorable novel (made into a film directed by Jack Nicholson) "Drive, He Said."

"Drive" is short - a novella - but has more thought, feeling and murderous energy than books twice its length.

Dick Adler, Chicago Tribune

IN James Sallis' new novel, "Drive," we meet Driver, a humble boy from Phoenix who has made good in the film industry as a stunt driver. The best car driver in the business, he also offers his services to crooks for the occasional heist. When we meet him, he's wowing Hollywood directors, who are impressed that complicated chase scenes can be filmed in just one take. He's pals with a brainy director. He's also just gotten another getaway gig.

Wait, no. That's not when we meet Driver. Because that's not how Sallis, who likes his noir elliptical, operates. Sallis has written poetry and a shelf full of novels, including the New Orleans-based Lew Griffin series, as well as a biography and musical criticism. He makes his stories careen and double back like the high-speed chases in this novel, zooming from surface streets to freeways to past, present and future with daring agility.

As it happens, the book begins more than halfway through the plot chronology, with Driver watching blood seep from a woman who was an accomplice to his recent heist.

They've been double-crossed; the deal's gone bad; somebody wants him dead too.

"Much later, as he sat with his back against an inside wall of a Motel 6 just north of Phoenix, watching the blood lap toward him," Sallis writes, "Driver would wonder if he had made a terrible mistake."

Indeed he has. And thank goodness, because Driver's troubles make for a great story.

Which takes us back to Los Angeles and his stunt jobs, and we begin working forward toward that Motel 6. Driver's not much of a talker, the kind of guy often described as laconic. But he has a vicious right hook, and he's observant. Although he figures out who is trying to kill him, that's not really the point of this slim novel. The point is what he does about it. Let's just say he's no therapist.

Driver is, well, driven. And pursued. And witty. One of the guys who has ordered a hit on him owns a pizza parlor. As Driver encounters the goons sent by the pizza man, he initiates a series of Hallmark moments. After dispatching each hit man, he leaves a brochure from the pizza parlor as a calling card. Strangle a fellow with piano wire, leave an ad for a special on pepperoni and mushrooms in his pocket.

Along the way, the reader gets to explore some L.A. scenery, which Sallis is adept at describing. A restaurant in Culver City is "packed to bursting with mission furniture, plaster shields and tin swords on the wall, red carpeting, a front door like something you'd see on a movie castle¦. Wooden tables and chairs distressed, ceiling beams etched with acid, concrete floor ground down by polishers, cracks laid in. Thing is, the food was great."

The author also is accomplished at quick character description. A stunt man Driver meets on set is set up for the reader with a few deft punches: "He had a duck's ass right out of the Fifties, wore an I.D. bracelet that had Your Name engraved on it, and spoke so softly you had to ask him to repeat half of what he said."

"Drive" is full of sly humor, poetic details and plenty of rude violence, as is necessary when a man is fighting and driving for his life. The novel is a terrific ride, and true to form, Sallis leaves us with an enigmatic teaser of an ending.

Does Driver survive? Yes and no. Until the next installment, it's been awfully fun to watch the kid behind the wheel.

Scott M Morris, Los Angeles Times

James Sallis is a prolific and cruelly under-recognized writer - a poet, novelist, essayist and biographer (of the great crime writer Chester Himes). His new book, 'Drive' is a doozy: a compact, beautifully written little noir gem. It whips along as coolly and efficiently as the guy it's named for. Driver is (what else?) a professional driver - for the movies by day, for armed robbers by night. Driver's the best, but he has some strict ground rules - he doesn't carry a gun or participate in rough stuff. He just drives, that's all. But when a heist goes bad and he's double-crossed, Driver doesn't hesitate to break his rules and exact implacable revenge.

Seattle Times

"I drive. That's what I do. All I do." So declares the enigmatic Driver in this masterfully convoluted neo-noir, which ranges from the dive bars and flyblown motels of Los Angeles to seedy strip malls dotting the Arizona desert. A stunt driver for movies, Driver finds more excitement as a wheelman during robberies, but when a heist goes sour, a contract is put on his head and his survival skills burn up the pavement.

Author of the popular six-novel series set in New Orleans featuring detective Lew Griffin (The Long-Legged Fly, etc.) and such stand-alone crime novels as Cypress Grove, Sallis won't disappoint fans who enjoy his usual quirky literary stylings. Reading a crime paperback, Driver covers "a few more lines till he fetched up on the word desuetude. What the hell kind of word was that?" Lines such as "Time went by, which is what time does, what it is" provide the perfect existential touch.

In this short novel, expanded from his story in Dennis McMillan's monumental anthology Measures of Poison, Sallis gives us his most tightly written mystery to date, worthy of comparison to the compact, exciting oeuvre of French noir giant Jean-Patrick Manchette.

Publshers Weekly