"An entertaining true-crime period piece built around a chillingly odd sociopathic villain."—Kirkus Review

How an obscure song from the Hammer-of-the-Gods band grew from teenage anthem to the heart of Pasadena fiction

Up in the foothills was a wasteland of smoke. You could barely see, and breathing took concentration. Took coughing and eye-rubbing and delusion that we could…

The baseball cracked off the bat, vanishing into the smoggy, gray sky over east Pasadena’s Eugene Field Elementary School. Squinting and craning for it, I…

Pasadena’s fabled Colorado Street Bridge consumed eleven thousand cubic yards of cement, each yard weighing roughly two tons, during its lengthy—and sometimes…

E.C. Webster, it was said, could’ve sold plots on Mars for a profit...

By the time she settled into her South Pasadena dream house, Lucretia Garfield was a longtime member of an exclusive, bloodstained club uniquely American.

Since it's Halloween, and the witching hour is nearly upon us, it's time to address the elephant over the Arroyo Seco.

"A riveting and enjoyable look at how local myths are constructed, and a vivid depiction of a time and a place that felt full of possibilities"—Booklist