There's Walter Moseley's Fearless Jones, which is alright even if it isn't an Easy Rawlins book.
There's Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere, which is a delightful English dark fantasy.
But the best one so far has been John Steinbeck's Cannery Row. Now this man can write.
Witness this description of some of the underwater goings on along the coast of Monterrey, California:
Then the creeping murderer, the octopus, steals out, slowly, softly, moving like a gray mist, pretending now to be a bit of weed, now a rock, now a lump of decaying meat while its evil goat eyes watch coldly. It oozes and flows toward a feeding crab, and as it comes close its yellow eyes burn and its body turns rosy with the pulsing color of anticipation and rage. Then suddenly it tuns lightly on the tips of its arms, as ferociously as a charging cat. It leaps savagely on the crab, there is a puff of black fluid, and the struggling mass is obscured in the sepia cloud while the octopus murders the crab.Damn.