IQ

by Joe Ide

In South Central Los Angeles lives Isaiah Quintabe, a 26-year-old African American man, whose brilliant mind justifies his initial-nickname of IQ. After his beloved older brother was killed in a hit and run, the young IQ drifted into illegal activities until he realized he could use his computer-like mind to solve the problems of people in his neighborhood, taking on cases the police won't or can't. IQ has known, as his spiritual godfather Sherlock did, the temptation of recreational drugs, and his understanding of the criminal mentality is based on experience. (His involvement in crime was typically idiosyncratic, stealing items like feline epilepsy strips with low security but high resale value.) But all this comes in flashbacks. Satisfyingly to us Sherlockians, the main plot line of this novel adapts some elements of The Hound of the Baskervilles: a superstar rapper, Calvin Wright, faces an attempted assassination by a 130-pound monster of a pit bull, who seems to have been bred by an enemy for murderous purpose. IQ uses street-smarts, near-perfect recall, and inductive reasoning to find answers to who is behind the threat. IQ's sidekick Dodson fills a Watson-like role, in that he does his part and is capable of providing backup in the form of a gun.

The setting, the voice, and the characters are all high points of the novel. Ide has a gift for sharp observations and memorable details (the rapper's belongings include "a bundle of rolled-up antique Persian prayer rugs from his two weeks as a practicing Muslim"), and the novel is packed with lines that are funny without feeling as though they are trying too hard to be funny. IQ feels grounded as a character, fleshed-out with his own foibles and weak spots. The flashbacks showing how he became who he is are often more compelling than the central mystery. The mystery itself is solid. Ide lays out the clues fairly, and the solution emerges logically rather than through arbitrary twists. Watching IQ think is consistently entertaining. At times, however, the novel stretches credibility. Some of Isaiah's movements through particularly hostile environments feel easier and safer than they ought to. As a non-black author, Joe Ide seems fairly oblivious to how carefully a young black man must perforce maneuver through certain white-dominated situations. I don't mean that IQ shouldn't be confident, but these scenes in particular don't ring true. I also thought that a few of the character interactions seem shaped more by the needs of the plot, or even slapstick, than by reality. I enjoyed the novel's portrait of a community, its exploration of grief and responsibility, and the chemistry between IQ and the exasperating, scheming Dodson. This isn't a brilliant book, but it's a novel take on an old trope, with an engaging protagonist and an ending that promises more.  

three stars 

The Thursday Murder Club

by Richard Osman

Joyce, a recent resident of an upscale retirement home, is invited to join the Thursday Murder Club, a group of three other pensioners. Elizabeth, a woman whose past hints at secret service work, Ron, a former union leader, and Ibrahim, a retired psychiatrist, like to go over police cold cases as a hobby. When the local greedy yuppie land developer's right hand man turns up dead, the four unlikely but still sharp amateur detectives are excited to take on a current case. Managing to get into the reluctant good graces of the actual police investigating the case, they make good progress, but when more bodies start turning up, things get really complicated.

This debut mystery captivated me instantly. It's witty, fast-paced, full of twists and turns and red herrings, and had a large cast of endearing characters with their own quirks and secrets. Extremely clever, genuinely funny, and even poignant at times, when it discusses loss, friendship or death. The authorial choice to alternate between one first-person narrator (Joyce) and a third-person narrator that keeps things teasingly ambiguous is original and fun. The characters are vivid and the plot is dizzying. It just might be a five-star book, but I ding it one star for "cheating" the reader by using previously unknown information to reveal one of the mysteries (oh yes, there's more than one whodunit here). I may say this a lot, but I really do want to read more of this sly, moving, lively series. 

The High Window

by Raymond Chandler

1942

In the third Philip Marlowe book, a bilious, dipsomaniac widow hires the sleuth to track down a very rare and valuable coin, which she believes has been stolen by her estranged daughter-in-law. He soon finds out that the job includes being accosted by the woman's ineffectual son, who still loves his wife, and by her timorous, neurotic secretary, for their own reasons. There's even another detective on the case, a cheerful but clumsy fellow, and two murders later Marlowe is checking in with the criminal classes to see what they have to say. He gets along with them better than he does the widow.

This is an astonishing feat of writing. These books aren't whodunits in the traditional sense; they aren't even noir, really. Marlowe is a genre unto itself, with original and self-assured writing that constructs a labyrinthine plot, but isn't really about the plot at all. A man confesses to a murder he didn't commit; later he'll recant and the murder will go cold and unsolved. Marlowe helps a lady in distress as far as he can. He also maybe helps another fellow get away with murder. Maybe the victim deserved it. Who's to say? Not Marlowe. "The white moonlight was cold and clear, like the justice we dream of but don't find." 

five stars

Guilt Trip

by Ben Rehder

The fourth Blanco County mystery.  In this entry, game warden John Marlin helps the police to search for a missing SUV owner who may have drowned in a flash flood, while a local lowlife's house burns down in what seems to be a meth-related explosion. Marlin suspects that the two incidents are somehow connected, and they are – but in true Rehder fashion, the plot has dozens of disparate threads that intersect.  The main story involves a state senator who has a rather embarrassing kink, being blackmailed with photos of his proclivities, to force him to ban the controversial high fences around properties which stop deer from migrating freely.  There’s also a missing Corvette and charity money, a lowlife and a party girl on the lam, a would-be country star turned hit man, a pet psychic, a creepy stalker, and of course the loveable louts Red and Billy Don.  Marlin’s problem is that his oldest friend, Phil, appears to be implicated in the blackmail; and then there’s his crush Nichole, putting herself in danger as well.  I know that Rehder’s frequent, staccato character and setting changes, especially during action scenes, may irritate some readers, but I find his rapid-fire, red-herring style engaging.  Well-paced and intricately plotted, with sly humor, goofy characters, and a few moments of suspense, this book is on a par with the other books in the series.  Over the top mayhem makes for fast-paced, diverting fun.

four stars

The Night Gardener

by George Pelecanos
2006

The body of a black teen is found with one shot to the head in a community garden. MPD homicide detective Gus Ramone’s own teen son knew the boy, and Ramone is driven to solve the case. Two ex-cops – one who quit under morals charges and one a retired legend – think this murder might be related to a series of killings twenty years earlier in which the victims were all left in gardens, and take it upon themselves to investigate, though they have no authority. In a subplot, a young banger, inspired by the legend of ‘70s bad guy Red Fury (from the Pelecanos novel What it Was), wants to go on a spree that will have people saying his name for years to come – but he may have stolen from the wrong bad guys.

This is another hard-boiled, gritty, seamy-side-of-the-city crime novel from an established master. Engaging, suspenseful, and intricate, this is a page-turner from beginning to end. Phrases I’ve used to sing the praises of Pelecanos’ unflinching prose in earlier novels also apply here: he “creates a grim tableau of the modern city and its culture of poverty, crime, and drugs;” he “delivers the seedy underbelly of DC without rose-colored glasses or glorification;” he “knows DC streets, restaurant culture, the way criminals move and talk, types of weapons, and all the other little details that bring characters and plots to life.” I repeat myself because with every book, he proves again that he can deliver the human side of crime: the problems in the school system that foster cycles of ignorance and violence, the culture of expensive clothes and hyper-masculinity where appearance and reputation are king; the economic disparity; the undercurrent of race resentment, always bubbling near the surface. His minor characters are richly drawn and have an air of tragedy because Pelecanos knows that even drug addicts and gangsters have dreams and goals. In this book, Pelecanos tones down his irritating foible of defining masculinity in his work, though the stupid line “he checked out her backside, because he was a man” (which I found needless in Soul Circus) is here as well, and his nearly defensive preference for voluptuous women results in cartoonishly predictable body shapes for characters, as if this were a Disney cartoon: curvy women, whether wife or whore, have a lust for life and good heart, and slim hips are a near-sure sign that that woman is a humorless prude. I know this is nitpicking; I just continue to find it odd that an author who can bring empathy to killers and corrupt police can’t seem to shake his neurosis about manliness and body shape.

four stars

The Burglar In the Closet

by Lawrence Block
1978

Bernie Rhodenbarr, the debonair and non-violent burglar, is back, again implicated in a murder that takes place in the very domicile he is stealing from.  Bernie’s dentist knows he’s a burglar, and convinces him to rob the dentist’s ex-wife’s apartment, where she keeps a lot of jewelry.  She returns unexpectedly, and hiding in a closet, Bernie hears her death, but does not see her killer.  The dentist is not a likely suspect, since Bernie hit the place on a different day than the one agreed upon, but that leaves a list of possible lovers and acquaintances Bernie needs to look at to take the heat off himself.  It’s another charming, witty mystery; with his self-effacing yet urbane burglar, Block is as masterful at the comic caper as he is at the rough noir of Matthew Scudder’s world.  Bernie’s narration is highly entertaining, with zany plot turns and some offbeat characters to add to the lighthearted tone.  The main “reveal” of the killer’s name is less than ingenious, but on the whole it’s a clever book; it gets by on wit and charm.

four stars

[follows Burglars Can't Be Choosers] 

Burglars Can't Be Choosers

by Lawrence Block
1977

Bernie Rhodenbarr, a dapper and skilled burglar with a taste for fine things and no propensity for violence, is found by the police in a Manhattan apartment which is not his own, with the legal occupant in the next room bludgeoned to death. He flees the scene and hides out in a friend’s building, where he meets a suspiciously helpful girl who urges him to find the real killer. Tracking down the man who apparently framed him, Bernie gets caught up in a scheme involving blackmail, kinky sex, and lots of money.

This is Lawrence’s more light-hearted series, the flip side of Matt Scudder’s gritty rough justice, and it’s an enjoyable “noir lite” leavened with wit and humor, courtesy of Bernie’s wry, self-effacing narration. The mystery is clever, and although one of the twists requires a rather far-fetched coincidence (of all the apartment buildings in all of New York, she had to walk into mine…), but the solution to the main whodunit was a pleasant surprise. Bernie is a sympathetic character because he’s intelligent and benevolently self-serving, so I’m not surprised Block went on to write a number of sequels.

four stars

[followed by The Burglar In the Closet] 

Bone Dry

by Ben Rehder
2003

The second Blanco Country mystery.  Game warden John Marlin is again drawn reluctantly into a homicide investigation.  It starts quirkily enough and in his wheelhouse: a drought has made two prominent local men, Emmett Slayton, crusty old rancher (with loveable bumbling would-be crook hillbillies Billy Don and Red from the previous book working for him), and Sal Mameli, an ex-mafioso in the witness protection program, compete for the suddenly in-demand cedar brush-cutting business; Mameli and his nasty son are willing to turn violent to get the monopoly.  Meanwhile, there are reports of a beautiful blonde anti-hunting activist pretending to seduce hunters and then vandalizing their gear.  But when a hunter ends up shot to death, with one of John’s hunting buddies the prime suspect, things turn grim.  John is forced to take a hand when the suspect grabs a hostage and demands that the game warden help clear his name; with the sexy activist now on his side, he digs for a motive while trying to forget Beth, his separated girlfriend.

This is a briskly paced, amusing, silly, and quite over-the-top ride, with a rather crowded cast of dozens, more than a few plots burning at once, and a handful of twists.  Some of the characters are unfortunate caricatures (Sal’s dialogue, peppered with “dis” and “dat” and references to New Jersey, is poorly rendered and gets tiring, Inga the activist is a one-note fun sexy hippie chick type), but a core group of fleshed-out principals are sympathetic and multi-faceted.  The mystery, hidden beneath all the mayhem and blundering, is solid and Rehder adds a twist that had me smiling admiringly at the end of the book.

four stars

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

Stieg Larsson
2005
translated by Reg Keeland

Mikael Blomkvist, a journalist for a progressive magazine who has just been convicted for libel, is hired by a wealthy businessman to find out what happened to his niece, Harriet Vanger, forty years ago.  Assumed long since to have been murdered, Harriet vanished from the town where her dysfunctional, eccentric family lived and worked; her uncle Henrik is convinced one of his family members did it.  Blomkvist takes the job reluctantly, seeing few options elsewhere; he is joined by tattooed, withdrawn hacker genius Lisbeth Salander, a freelance investigator who clearly is facing demons from her own past.  Together they uncover an evil that not only lurks within the family, as Henrik feared, but is still very much active.

This is an addictive page turner, with well-drawn, flawed characters who elicit sympathy by virtue of a stubborn desire to see justice done, as well as the sheer quality of being the underdog.  With a dozen or so suspects and a crime so long cold, the mystery gets a bit raveled, but Larsson shows Blomkvist’s careful reconstruction step by step, and it feels fairly natural that he should have uncovered something new after so much time.  On the other hand, Lisbeth’s hacker skills are treated a bit like magic – she gets everything they need, without any trouble; especially near the end when she helps wrap up the libel case, this is hard to swallow (a hunted man who deals in electronic funds would surely grow a bit more circumspect regarding his computer security?).  As for the main plot, it comes to a very satisfying (if easily guessed) conclusion – though this, too, has its flaws: the victim’s continued total silence on her tormentors seems improbable, given that Henrik might have been alerted with a single quick untraceable call assuring him all was well.  But despite these nitpicks, the book is engrossing and generally well-plotted.  Besides, as with most stories of this type, it’s the characters who matter, not so much the minutiae of the plot.  Worrying, womanizing Blomkvist, and sullent, taciturn, uncompromising Lisbeth, are the real draws of the book.

four stars

What It Was

by George Pelecanos
2012

The fifth Derek Strange novel.  In this, he relates a tale from 1972, when the 1968 riots were still fresh in everyone’s minds.  Strange, just starting out in his PI business, is hired to find a stolen ring.  This puts him on the trail of a notorious killer known as “Red Fury” Jones and his madam girlfriend.  Strange works alongside a tenacious white detective, Vaughn (a relic of the old days of cop work, but hiding a heart of gold under that un-PC exterior), to track down Jones as he grows ever bolder; meanwhile two vicious Italian syndicate boys follow the same trail to get the money back that Jones stole.

I'm not quite as taken with this book as I was with the previous two Pelecanos crime books I’ve read.  It's a decent police procedural, with a cast of cold killers, scared junkies, small-time hoods, and informers that add color to crime stories.  And I enjoyed the complexities of Vaughn's character.  But the "masculine" tone of the prose chafed me a bit – like Pelecanos was trying a bit too hard to emulate Hemingway's "simple declarative sentences."  Someone would take out a pack of cigarettes, take out a cigarette, and light it.  Or get out a record, place it on the turntable, and drop the stylus in the groove.  That step-by-step narration grows thin easily.  Also, while Pelecanos is highly skilled in depicting the practicalities and realities of seedy underworlds, his main deficiency as a writer – the sameness of his heroes' tastes – is on full display here.  Everything is mother worship, big tits and ass, manly "needs" and muscular, sexy funk music.  A preference for slender women is likened to pedophilia, a preference for non-spicy food is dismissed as sissy.  There’s nothing wrong with having a hero or two with specific tastes and habits, but not everyone worth knowing in the book should share them.   At bottom, an author’s true calling is to find empathy in all that is human: humani nil a me alienum puto. 

three stars

Right As Rain

by George Pelecanos
2001

The first Derek Strange novel.  Strange, an ex-MPD cop getting into the PI business, is approached by the mother of a fellow black police officer who was shot during an arrest by a white cop, now off the force also.  The shooting was cleared, but the mother wants to clear her own son’s name, to counteract the popular image of him raving and pointing a gun at police officers.  Strange questions the shooter, a wiry bundle of rage named Terry Quinn, now working at a bookstore.  They get along, despite Quinn’s reputation and the very real racial divide.  Convinced that there is more to the shooting than appears, Strange and Quinn track the original perp in the incident and discover a connection to drug dealers both white and black, crooked cops, and maybe the dead officer’s estranged, drug-addled sister.

This is a powerful, exciting, and visceral novel.  Pelecanos knows DC streets, restaurant culture, the way criminals move and talk, types of weapons, and all the other little details that bring characters and plots to life.  He gives motivations and dreams to minor characters, dwells on the kinds of cars that a man likes only to have him killed a page later, and so on.  And of course, as with his other work, he doesn’t shy away from race.  Quinn is a good guy, but he did shoot the officer because a black man – not simply a man – was screaming at him with a gun; and everyone around him knows this.  Sure, Pelecanos writes his own interests into his characters as well – this is a world where all the women are hot and sensual and always interested and there is no foreplay; everyone worth knowing likes Western music or college rock; everyone eats oysters and spicy food and reads quality fiction.  (And also I wonder whether he meant to set this in the past, with the answering machines and tape decks – in 2001?)  But those are minor authorial quirks.  Strange and Quinn are memorable characters and serve as interesting foils; and the snappy, taut dialogue, along with a fascinating plot, kept me avidly turning the pages and rooting for the good guys, whoever they are.

four stars

Buck Fever

by Ben Rehder
2003

Texas game warden John Marlin is called in about a strange-acting deer.  It legally belongs to crooked mogul Roy Swank, but it’s his friend’s old pet deer, so he takes it for the night.  When the deer is stolen back and his friend sent to the hospital, Marlin knows Swank is hiding something out in his ranch.  With the first day of hunting season and a big hunting party approaching, Marlin tries to find out what Swank is up to, but runs up against two greedy hillbillies and a handful of Colombian assassins and is himself held prisoner.  Swank is using the deer as drug mules, with a crooked drug-addled vet to get the cocaine out of the deer.  But the Colombians are growing impatient, and with only one honest deputy in Blanco County, Marlin has to figure a way out on his own.

This is a fun read, an almost surreal thrill ride in the style of Tim Dorsey and Carl Hiaasen, more interested in humor and mayhem than logic.  The idiot hillbilly mercenaries (whose hilarious backstory is given in a late chapter) are shot and bitten by a rattlesnake; corpses are put in trunks and forgotten; an insane ex-husband stalks the Colombian drug lord, sure he is Antonio Banderas; and so on.  This is another series worth continuing.

four stars

Think Of a Number

by John Verson
2010

Recently retired NYPD detective Dave Gurney, known for his serial killer collars, is approached by Mark, a college friend, now running a behavioral modification institute for the wealthy.  Mark, a Joel Osteen-type, has gotten some bizarre threatening notes, in one of which the writer has apparently guessed what number he was thinking of and written it down.  Gurney, chafing at retirement and the quietly judgmental presence of his wife, applies his obsessively analytical mind to the puzzle.  He’s inclined to dismiss the letters as the work of a crank, but then Mark is murdered in the most baffling manner, with the only clues being the careful, cunning killer’s own mocking obfuscations, such as backward footprints and wordplay.  Then, other bodies are found, killed in the same trademark fashion; and the killer leaves notice that he’s going to go after the police as well.

Overall, I enjoyed this book.  Gurney, burdened with guilt, living to work, and analytical in the extreme, is a great character, and Verdon does a terrific job showing his skills through early conversations with Mark and his wife.  The mystery is, of course, beguiling and baffling, and Verdon misdirects the reader in a lot of clever ways, with red herrings and the old “Psycho” trick of dwelling a long time on the motives and life of a character who ends up just being one of several deaths.  Indeed, I suspected Mark himself at first, and then a cop who seemed not to have proper credentials.  But the mystery is too great in scope, and Verdon drops a few balls at the end.  With the climax yet to come, it becomes very clear that a certain relatively unnoticed character is the killer, and it doesn’t jibe with Verdon’s crack team of Gurney, another dogged detective, and a forensic psychologist who are so very clever, but don’t stop to ask about what might happen to all those letters the killer sent that didn’t lead to victims.  That is to say that (1) if the killer sent out hundreds of letters, someone, probably many people, would have called the police about it, and this person would be investigated; and (2) or at the very least, they’d be indignant and contact the person at the return address.  So logically and practically, it all falls apart.  Still, though, I admire Verdon’s ambition for a first novel (and why are so many first novels about fathers with son issues or vice-versa?), and I would read a second Gurney novel.

three stars

The Long Fall

by Walter Mosley
2009

Leonid McGill is a P.I. with a shady past, a lot of guilt, a wife he doesn’t love whom he stands by anyway, a lot of powerful friends in low places, a devastating punch, and a need for money.  So when he’s asked to track down some kids who got in trouble years ago, he reluctantly agrees, even though he knows all isn’t what it appears to be.  The same is true of hunting down a mob accountant – he wants no more death on his hands, but he’s hardly in a position to refuse powerful gangsters.  A short, overweight black man with education and a funny name, McGill is looked down on and underestimated a lot, but he often uses that to his advantage.

This book is a mixed bag, but its pros outweigh its weak points.  I’ve read three previous Mosley books, and while McGill doesn’t have the straight-shooting approachability of Socrates Fortlow, he’s a great character.  Unfortunately, though this is the first McGill novel, he’s appeared in earlier stories that are referenced here, which gave me the feeling of being lost at first, or that Mosley was trying to artificially inflate his character’s past.  There are a few scenes that don’t quite work, either – the police are presented as stupid straw men for the most part; hit men are glorified in rather juvenile fashion; and at one point McGill’s lawyer is present at his being picked up by the police for attempted murder, but he is not present at the questioning, which is utterly absurd.  Still, though, this adventure – which is heavily redolent of Hammett’s Continental Op, from the short portly strong protagonist to the baffling array of characters, motives and family secrets – has gravitas and suspense.  First, the mystery is complex and rewarding.  Secondly, McGill is a man wrestling with guilt, love, and lust.  He’s a man with few options and a lot of pressure.  In that way, it’s a very relatable, human story, not an action adventure.

four stars

The Thin Man

by Dashiell Hammett

Hard-drinking retired detective Nick Charles is pulled reluctantly into a case involving an old client, eccentric inventor Clyde Wynant who appears to have shot his assistant Julia. Despite wanting nothing to do with it, he uncovers a tangled web of deception and connections, including the fact that Wynant’s ex-wife’s new husband is actually Wynant’s bitter ex-partner in disguise, out to get Wynant’s money, and that Julia seems to have had a number of boyfriends in the underworld, as well as being romantically involved with Wynant.

This is a slightly darker story than the excellent movie – Nick still quips playfully with his wife, and they drink constantly, but Hammett’s Nick is a sight grimmer and gruffer than the debonair, easygoing fellow portrayed by William Powell. In any case, it’s a truly excellent novel, at least as good as The Maltese Falcon if not his very best. There’s a truly intricate but understandable puzzle, made all the more interesting by every character’s own motives and madness – Wynant’s ex wanting to cast suspicion on him, then avenge herself on her new husband for using her, for example, or Julia’s involvement with other men which disrupts the killer’s master plan. Snappy dialogue, tough action, a variety of idiosyncratic characters, and a whole barrel of red herrings make for a wonderful light detective story. 

five stars 

Uncivil Seasons

by Michael Malone
1983

In Hillston, North Carolina, Justin Savile, police detective, dipsomaniac, and black sheep of the ruling plutocracy of the town, partners with fast-talking, lower-class Cuddy Mangum to investigate the beating death of the wife of a state senator (his uncle).  A petty thief is found with her stolen silver, but it doesn’t add up, and Justin starts uncovering some secrets that the family would rather keep hidden.

Written in a playful, stylish, literate tone, this is a delightful mystery, an actual whodunit with tight plotting, lots of red herrings and convoluted suspense.  But it’s also a sophisticated romance, a character study, an evocation of old-money southern mores, and a comedy in the style of the fast-talking, quick-witted films of the ‘40s.  Although a slightly jarring note, to me at least, rang in Cuddy, who is presented as a hulking blue-collar vet and auto-didact, but who talks in a never-ending spout of aphorisms, highly erudite references, and puns, like a straight Oscar Wilde.  I suppose there are all kinds in every walk of life, but it struck me as a bit off given his background.  Self-taught and disarmingly smart, certainly, but a blatherer?  It seems off-type.  That aside, this book is a rarity: a smart, engaging police procedural that also delves successfully into the wider world of love and the meaning of life.

four stars

A Drop Of the Hard Stuff

by Lawrence Block
2011

Late one night, Scudder tells his old friend Mick Ballou a story.  About a year after he’d joined AA and was taking up with Jan, Scudder runs into Jack, a childhood pal who has become a minor crook, but who is now reformed and trying to make amends, AA-style.  Someone doesn’t like the way Jack is bringing up the past, and he is killed.  Jack’s sponsor hires Matt to look into who might want Jack silenced and why, and he falls uneasily into the late-night world of drinkers, druggies, and seedy contacts, as the threat gets closer to him personally.

This is an outstanding thriller, absolutely pitch-perfect.  The book is utterly steeped in noir mood; rough, witty dialogue crackles throughout, as in a fast-paced Sam Spade film.  But since this a Scudder tale, alcohol is a cast member, an ever-present character; Scudder is reminded of the smells of bourbon, of his old hangouts, with every step he takes in his investigation.  Scudder is here, as in some of the earlier books, somewhat of a fatalistic witness to his life rather than a prime mover.  With five people dead, the resolution he hits upon is hardly satisfactory, but, well, it’s simply the best he can do at that point in his life.  The final coda, where Mick and Matt discuss absent friends and their current loves, is beautiful, nearly worth the price of the book alone.

five stars

The Gun Seller

by Hugh Laurie
1996

Cynical, wry freelance soldier of fortune Thomas Lang is hired to kill a man, but being a nice chap, refuses the money and goes to warn the intended victim.  His discovery that the victim, an American industrialist, is also the man who hired him is only the beginning of a series of bizarre surprises and twists in store for Lang, as he is reluctantly involved in a plot to instigate a terrorist act so that a new attack helicopter can be tested out in actual combat.  He falls for the industrialist’s daughter, is captured, shot at, and goes undercover with a band of misguided extremists in an attempt to prevent the gun sellers from benefiting from a bloodbath.

This parody of the spy genre is about three parts P.G. Wodehouse, two parts Douglas Adams, and one part James Bond.  Laurie writes in a breezy, amusing style that draws in the reader at once, and while Lang is not 100% likeable, he’s a devil-may-care noir roué with a heart of gold.  His snarky narration, constantly puncturing the stuffiness of the genre, keeps the pages turning, so the few bits that are really too over the top can be overlooked.  It’s a very funny book in places, and the plot is wonderfully convoluted, with real drama near the end.  The book could use a heavier-handed editor – perhaps Laurie’s star power prevented anyone from suggesting reasonable cuts – and now and then Laurie makes unnecessary, disparaging comments about fat and short people, which will probably not lose him any fans: but come on, Hugh, we can’t all be multi-talented, tall, adorable stage and television stars.  Despite these flaws, it’s overall a delightfully funny novel, light and readable yet reasonably sophisticated.

[read twice: 12/23/06, 4/30/11]

four stars

Murder On the Links

by Agatha Christie

The second Hercule Poirot novel. To explain its plot accurately would take half an hour and a whiteboard, but briefly: the Belgian detective and his aide Hastings are summoned to the house of M. Renauld, a millionaire who fears for his life. They arrive too late, finding him already dead, half-buried in an unfinished golf bunker, supposedly at the hands of bearded foreign thugs, and possibly at the hands of a jilted lover. But Poirot soon unearths not one, but two of the principals are living under assumed names and have criminal pasts, while the jilted lover may not have belonged to M. Renauld at all, and then another corpse pops up.

I enjoyed this book quite a bit, as I did its predecessor; Christie puts so much charm and wit into her tortuous, labyrinthine plots filled with deception and red herrings that the joy they bring makes one forgot the craziness of the coincidences and cover-ups. I did roll my eyes at the depictions of the police other than Poirot; I don’t mind Hastings being a besotted fool (and he certainly is, from first page to last), but when the police dismiss what is obviously evidence such as discarded clothes or the woman who visited the crime scene; or when the doctor fails to realize the most basic of forensic points (that a man was stabbed after death), it makes Poirot’s cleverness merely the rationality of the not-stupid. Still, nit-picking leaches the fun out of the mystery, and it is indeed quite fun.

four stars

Full Dark House

by Christopher Fowler

Arthur Bryant and John May, two young police detectives, meet during the Blitz of London when May joins the Peculiar Crimes Unit.  Bryant’s unusual methods (contacting mediums, thinking largely in symbolism) and his unsettling social skills rankle May, but soon their personalities and strategies mesh.  They investigate a string of gruesome, perhaps symbolic, murders at the Palace Theatre, during a scandalous production of Offenbach’s “Orpheus In the Underworld.”  Meanwhile, in present-day London, an explosion at the unit takes the now elderly Bryant’s life, and May traces his old partner’s footsteps, trying to find out who killed him, and how in connects to their first case.

It’s a beguiling setup, very richly atmospheric, especially the 1940 scenes, which are clearly researched to the tiniest detail (brands of cigarettes, how women wore their hair, and so on).  While I took the “big twist” at the end pretty much for granted throughout the book (what, the main character isn’t really dead?), other twists and turns were highly enjoyable.  All the little hints and witty touches come together: Fowler plays fair with the reader, but this is much more a moody thriller than a whodunit, though it succeeds at both.  

four stars