It may not be the best-known organization, but the International Association of Crime Writers has a history of excellent taste in the books it nominates for its annual Hammett Prize, given for a work of literary excellence by an American or Canadian author.

It is not a group for which I hold a warm spot in my heart, as it was organized in 1986 by a bunch of communists (like Paco Ignacio Taibo, the Mexican, and Julian Semenov, the Russian) and far-left Americans (like Roger Simon, who subsequently had a child and utterly changed his political views). One early annual meeting was held in Cuba, which should tell you all you need to know, and most of the speakers used the podium to deliver lengthy anti-American diatribes, as reported by several American writers who attended.

Still, good books are good books. While there is (probably inevitably) overt or subtle political bias in the nominated titles, it is less overt and more subtle than in some other years. And I take comfort in the notion that support of the books does not enhance the fund-raising of the IACW, so you should check these out:

*John Brady, “Islandbridge”
*Joseph Kanon, “Alibi: A Novel”
*Martin Limon, “The Door to Bitterness”
*Cormac McCarthy, “No Country for Old Men”
*Don Winslow, “The Power of the Dog”

I’ve not read Mr. Brady’s book (published by McArthur & Company only in Canada), but I have never failed to enjoy thoroughly every novel written by the excellent Mr. Kanon. As with all his books, “Alibi: A Novel” (Henry Holt, 416 pages, $26) has a World War II-era background, this time just after the end of the war, with the glorious enhancement of being set in Venice, physically unscathed by the war but having suffered great human damage.

An American Nazi hunter finds himself in this most romantic of all cities and is confronted with the challenge of sorting out the collaborators from those who merely turned a blind eye, and the moral dilemma of defining justice. Is the murder of a terrible criminal acceptable?

Alas, I also have not read Mr. Limon’s “The Door to Bitterness” (Soho, 280 pages, $23) but would be surprised if it failed to meet his previous standards. A favorite novel when it was published in 1992 was “Jade Lady Burning,” the first in his series about Army CID cops George Sueno and Ernie Bascom, who are stationed in 1970s Korea. Mr. Limon’s police procedurals are enhanced with a real sense of the exotic locale in which these GIs perform their difficult duty.

When Mr. McCarthy published “No Country for Old Men” (Alfred A. Knopf, 320 pages, $24.95), it was reviewed in every newspaper and magazine in America, unfailingly described as a thriller and as his most accessible work. Both appear to be true, though this was not welcomed by all critics, many of whom felt betrayed that the literary icon produced a novel that didn’t require their interpretive genius to make it comprehensible to the simpletons who comprise the American reading public.

The fact is that it is a perfectly good chase thriller, almost in the same league as the novels of James Lee Burke, James W. Hall, and James Crumley.

Set in the American West of 1980, it is the simple tale of a generally moral man who stumbles across the scene of a drug deal gone horribly wrong, with dead bodies everywhere, as well as a load of drugs and a big stack of money. Llewelyn Moss knows the difference between right and wrong and generally prefers the former, but he’s not an idiot, so he takes the money. Naturally, there are people who want it back, including a vicious killer. A wise old sheriff offers aid and homilies, which make up in intelligence what they may lack in originality.

“If you were Satan,” he intones,”and you were settin’ around tryin’ to think up somethin that would bring the human race to its knees what you would probably come up with is narcotics.”

Mr. McCarthy, as usual in his novels, has produced a noir morality play with a nihilistic view – his way of shining a light on an American culture that he regards as amoral, which suggests he might want to get out of New Mexico.

Mr. Winslow’s “The Power of the Dog” (Alfred A. Knopf, 560 pages, $25.95) is a long thriller that somehow manages to stay thrilling, no small accomplishment. It too is about the drug world and is set largely in the past.

An American agent working for the Drug Enforcement Agency befriends a wealthy and powerful Mexican who helps him break up a drug cartel, then betrays him by setting up a bigger and better organized gang to fill the void.

The novel is a kitchen sink book in which everything is thrown in, including the Mafia, the Iran-Contra affair, a prostitute with a heart of gold, and some of the most violent crime scenes that have turned my highly sensitive stomach in a long time. The agent takes the betrayal personally and carries on a vendetta against the trafficker that lasts for more than two decades.

Based loosely on the real life story of a DEA agent captured, tortured, and murdered by Mexican drug runners in 1985, Mr. Winslow’s complex saga has an unfortunate political subtext.The efforts to curb the flow of narcotics into the United States are mocked as ineffectual (sadly, true). So what – give up the battle? Moreover,the big bad nation of gringos is portrayed as the cause of all the woes of South and Central America, intent on subjugating and exploiting the poor, honest, decent, brownskinned victims below the border.

I find the fact that an American has such a negative view of his own country as frightening as my doctor putting on one latex glove.

Mr. Penzler is the proprietor of the Mysterious Bookshop in Manhattan and the series editor of the annual “Best American Mystery Stories.” He can be reached at ottopenzler@mysteriousbookshop.com.