Category: Mystery/Detective Fiction/Crime Fiction/Thriller Page 152 of 154

Dusted Off: Fer-de-Lance by Rex Stout

Rex Stout’s Fer-de-Lance is the first of 40+ books (novels or short story collections) featuring the exploits of private investigator Archie Goodwin (2 parts Huck Finn, 1 part Philip Marlowe) and his eccentric employer, Nero Wolfe (1 part Sherlock Holmes, 1 part Mycroft Holmes)–yes, I am one of those who think that Archie’s the main character in the mis-nomered Nero Wolfe Mysteries.

In reading about Rex Stout/Nero Wolfe (either by fans or professionals) there’s an oft-quoted line from Walter D. Edmonds that you simply cannot avoid seeing, “I shall never forget my excitement on reading Fer-de-Lance, sprung like Athena perfect form the Jovian brow, fresh and new and at the same time with enough plain familiar things in scene and setting to put any reader at his ease.” Aside from Oliver Wendell Holmes’ margin note (“This fellow is the best of them all.”), there’s nothing that sums up Fer-de-Lance better, sprung like Athena indeed.

It really doesn’t matter how many times you’ve read it, but upon re-reading (and probably even initial reading if this isn’t your first encounter with Wolfe and Archie–my initial read was more than 20 years ago, so I don’t remember) you can’t help be struck by how much Fer-de-Lance fits the model of a mature Wolfe novel–almost all the elements are there. These characters are introduced in practically their final format–a little tweak here and there over the course of the first few novels (off the top of my head I can’t say how many) will get them in their final form, plus the addition of a few other characters will be necessary, but the cast of characters is already over 90% complete. In the first chapter we already have Wolfe, Archie, Fritz, Theodore, Fred and Saul presented in a manner fully recognizable to the familiar reader. The story follows a fairly typical route (‘tho the identity of the murderer is revealed far earlier than is the norm), and the essential environmental elements are there–the beer, Wolfe’s eccentric schedule, the orchids, a relapse, the food, a cocky scheme to land a client, an outrageous stratagem for getting that last essential piece of evidence (not that Wolfe needs it to solve the crime, merely to prove he was correct)–the only thing missing is the gathering of the witnesses/suspects/clients for Wolfe to reveal everything in his characteristically dramatic fashion. One recurring thought I had while reading it this time was that this could just as easily have been the fifteenth installment in the series as the first.

As I don’t recall reading about Stout consulting notes–and he’s known not to rewrite any part of these stories–the fact that he can keep all the idiosyncrasies he establishes here well-intact over the next 40 years is a testimony to his mental prowess as much as anything else could be. (Contrast Stout to contemporary authors who find themselves re-writing their own protagonist’s biographies thanks to their refusal to check their facts/fix errors).

Enough of that–what about the book itself? Wolfe takes a small case as more of a favor/indulgence/get-him-off-my-back to one of his operatives and in doing so, stumbles upon a fact or two that leads him to conclude that a university president has been murdered in a preposterous manner. Seeing (and seizing) the opportunity to earn a large fee from this, Wolfe sends Archie to place a $10,000 bet with the District Attorney responsible for the area the president died in–wagering that an exhumation of the body will produce two particular evidences of homicide. No bet is made, but since it’s Nero Wolfe suggesting it, the body’s dug up, the evidence found and we’re off…

A fun read, a decent mystery (Stout will get better at this), great characters, and a good introduction to a wonderful world fit for revisiting over and over again.

Dusted Off: The Ides of April

which means it’s time for me to post this quote again.

A man condemning the income tax because of the annoyance it gives him or the expense it puts him to is merely a dog baring its teeth, and he forfeits the privileges of civilized discourse. But it is permissible to criticize it on other and impersonal grounds. A government, like an individual, spends money for any or all of three reasons: because it needs to, because it wants to, or simply because it has it to spend. The last is much the shabbiest. It is arguable, if not manifest, that a substantial proportion of this great spring flood of billions pouring into the Treasury will in effect get spent for that last shabby reason.

–Nero Wolfe

Dusted Off: The Little Sleep

Paul Tremblay‘s debut novel, The Little Sleep, not only sports a eye-catching title, but a premise that’s just as intriguing.

Obviously, the title’s supposed to get the reader thinking of noir classic, The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler–so one expects the lone-wolf, tougher than nails, sardonically witty gumshoe typified by Philip Marlowe. But Tremblay’s protagonist, Mark Genevich, has one challenge his predecessors in the genre doesn’t have…he’s a narcoleptic. So he’s falling asleep, hallucinating and losing control of his body and the most inconvenient times (for Genevich, anyway…the occasionally seem a convenient deus ex machina to get Tremblay out of a scene).

Initially, the book didn’t do much for me–had a hard time caring for Genevich or his problem, his client, and the early chapters seemed a little too erratic. But I hung in there, and eventually, Genevich explains his disorder enough that you can accept the bouncing-around nature of the first chapters. I’m still not sure how sympathetic Tremblay ever makes him, but you do at least start to want him to figure out what’s going on–which is close enough.

I remember when I started working the graveyard shift (I guess 3rd shift is the term we’re supposed to use now), I had a lot of days where I couldn’t be sure that I wouldn’t fall asleep w/o warning–in a theater, during a slow after-dinner conversation, on the road(!)–and I recognized the embarrassment, anger and confusion Genevich displayed. No matter what precautions he took, the very real danger of waking in a different place or his body not acting like he intended always loomed large. I’m assuming Tremblay has no first-hand knowledge of the disorder, but he sure acts like he does.

Genevich’s path to solving this particular case follows many of the typical hardboiled paths, but he cannot travel those paths like his forefathers because of his disorder. Unlike with Monk, Genvich’s problem is never fodder for humor–unlike Monk’s OCD, which would’ve been very easy, and probably very entertaining. Tremblay sticks to the high road, however, resulting in a deeper, probably more satisfyingk, read.

Dusted Off: Exactly what I’d Write if I was Erudite

Terry Teachout’s blogpost today, “Forty years with Nero Wolfe” is one of those posts I really wish I could’ve written.

Give it a read, hopefully Teachout can convince you to pick up Wolfe. Outside The Bible, a handful of Reformed and Puritan writers, Stout’s the only author I’d recommend to every person I know w/o a disclaimer or a second thought.

Dusted Off: Happy Birthday, Archie!

On Oct 23 in Chillicothe, Ohio, Archie Goodwin entered this world–no doubt with a smile for the pretty nurses–and American detective literature was never the same.

I’m toasting him in one of the ways I think he’d appreciate most–by raising a glass of milk in his honor.

Who was Archie? Archie summed up his life thusly:

Born in Ohio. Public high school, pretty good at geometry and football, graduated with honor but no honors. Went to college two weeks, decided it was childish, came to New York and got a job guarding a pier, shot and killed two men and was fired, was recommended to Nero Wolfe for a chore he wanted done, did it, was offered a full-time job by Mr. Wolfe, took it, still have it.” (Fourth of July Picinic)

Long may he keep it. Just what was he employed by Wolfe to do? In The Black Mountain he answers the statement, “I thought you was a private eye” with:

I don’t like the way you say it, but I am. Also I am an accountant, an amanuensis, and a cocklebur. Eight to five you never heard the word amanuensis and you never saw a cocklebur.

In The Red Box, he says

I know pretty well what my field is. Aside from my primary function as the thorn in the seat of Wolfe’s chair to keep him from going to sleep and waking up only for meals, I’m chiefly cut out for two things: to jump and grab something before the other guy can get his paws on it, and to collect pieces of the puzzle for Wolfe to work on.

In case you’re wondering if this post was simply an excuse to go through some collections of Archie Goodwin quotations, you wouldn’t be totally wrong…he’s one of the fictional characters I like spending time with most in this world–he’s the literary equivalent of comfort food. So just one more great line I’ve quoted here before:

I would appreciate it if they would call a halt on all their devoted efforts to find a way to abolish war or eliminate disease or run trains with atoms or extend the span of human life to a couple of centuries, and everybody concentrate for a while on how to wake me up in the morning without my resenting it. It may be that a bevy of beautiful maidens in pure silk yellow very sheer gowns, barefooted, singing “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning” and scattering rose petals over me would do the trick, but I’d have to try it.

Dusted Off: Chasing Darkness by Robert Crais

I was able to steal 10 minutes here and there, and was able to finish Elvis Cole’s latest adventure. This is the best Cole in years (The Watchman, technically a Joe Pike novel, doesn’t count).

Pike is Pike (Hawk to the 3rd power); Elvis is still the less-funny, more-broody of the later novels; the nameless cat is still the nameless cat, and the regular supporting cast is at least mentioned.

The status remains quo with Elvis’ relationships with Carol and Lucy. Elvis won’t let go of Lucy, who is trying to distance herself from him (with a degree of success). Carol’s still hung up on Elvis, but seems in more control of her emotions. I’ve liked Starkey in every one of her appearances, this time, perhaps more than others.

Crais was near the top of his game when it came to plotting–I suspected the culprit early on, but it was still well plotted. What appealed to me most about this was that what drew Elvis into the case wasn’t something in his personal history, a friend’s past, Pike’s past, etc. Yes, there was a historical draw–but it was professional, making this a case of Elvis finishing a job, not exploring what made him who he is today, etc.

The ending was also pleasantly small. There was no apocalyptic battle between Elvis, Pike and several gunmen, or whatever. A simple, solid resolution. Yes, something that resonated, something that read well and contained the requisite suspense…just not an ‘end of the world’ scenario.

Sadly, have to wait another year for the next installment–but am sure it’ll be worth it.

Dusted Off: Mr. Monk in Outer Space

If I had more energy, I’d go through the archives and see how many of Lee Goldberg’s Monk novels I’ve talked about, but I’m pretty sure my take on all of them is pretty much the same: theyyyyy’re grrreaaat! The latest, just released in paperback (making it cheap enough for Frodo to give it to me for Father’s Day) is no exception.

Essentially, the novel centers on the death of the creator of a Star Trek-like show at a con. Monk has a hard time understading the obsessive nature of the fans and is convinced these adults walking around in costumes are tripping on acid. Hilarity ensues. Goldberg is able to spoof fandom, TV reimaginings, not to mention TV in general. He doesn’t do so meanly, there’s respect, affection, and understanding. Which is a pleasant change–normally fanboys are painted with the broadest brush in these circumstances and played for only cheap laughs, Goldberg resists this impulse (generally), which results in better jokes.

Outer Space‘s mystery holds up a little better than it’s fore-runners, but as with the show, the mystery is secondary to watching Monk navigate through society–particularly one as strange as SciFi fandom. I laughed out loud a lot at this one–but it was more than just a comedic romp. There were some good, more serious, moments that really get ya in the cockles—-as they do in the TV episodes featuring Ambrose (oh, did I forget to mention that Ambrose makes his first appearance in the books? Silly me). They, along with Monk’s final appraisal of fandom, really elevate the book.

Another solid outing for Goldberg–his best yet, actually. Can’t wait for the next installment.

Dusted Off: Big City, Bad Blood by Sean Chercover

Somewhere, maybe it was a Robert Crais discussion list, I saw the debut novel of Sean Chercover mentioned in the same breath as Michael Koryta, so I instantly got it put on hold for me at the library. Kortya’s debut (and two follow-ups) was one of the best reads I had last year and I relished the idea of having a similar experience with another first novel.

I almost did, but not quite.

Don’t get me wrong–Big City, Bad Blood rocked. A really good–maybe great–first novel. I just didn’t connect with Ray Dudgeon and his friends and clients the way I did with Lincoln Perry and his crew.

Big City is the story of a movie location manager stumbling into an Organized Crime operation–one that seems pretty minor at the beginning, but doesn’t stay that way for long. He comes to former journalist, now P.I. Dudgeon for protection. After some slow establishing chapters, the action picks up and doesn’t slow down until the end. I don’t think Chercover missed a beat or hit one false note–it’s a great read, leaving me checking his website for details on his next book.

Dusted Off: Bringin’ Da Funny

I read and watch a lot of things considered comedic, humorous, funny, etc. but it’s not often that I’ll find something that his worth more than a handful of laughs–recently, I’ve stumbled onto a few things that are laugh out loud funny from beginning to end. Been meaning to talk about them for awhile, might as well get to it now, 3 books that I still laugh at weeks after finishing

Books:

    • The Rabbit Factory by Marshall Karp – This is the first installment of what I hope is many in the adventures of two LA Homicide Detectives, Mike Lomax and Terry Biggs. The detective story is solid–a serial killer(killers?) is attacking people associated with a Disney-like company (complete with theme park), leading the detectives through both the messy world of the animation industry and its even messier history. At the same time, Lomax is dealing with the recent death of his wife and some other family issues. BUT the story is told with flair, heart and a lot of laughs. This isn’t one of those books where the serious or violent aspects of the events are played for laughs. It’s like Harry Bosch having a great day (‘tho I don’t know if Harry could handle such an eventuality). Better yet, it’s like those ‘comic relief’ episodes of The Closer where Detectives Flynn and Provenza get themselves in the middle of some silly situation (like “To Protect & To Serve” or “Saving Face“)–the murder stuff is serious, but everything around it is hilarious. It was touching, it was hysterically funny, with a dead-on mystery. Probably the best book I’ve read this year.
  • Bloodthirsty by Marshall Karp Naturally, after The Rabbit Factory I rushed out to get the next Lomax and Biggs case. Thankfully, it was almost as good as the first. The humor still crackled, the insider’s view of Hollywood again felt genuine, the crimes…well, they were more violent, more gruesome. Sadly, I could see the solution to the mystery a few miles away, but that didn’t detract from my enjoyment watching the heroes get there themselves. Honestly, I can’t really see the events of the first book happening in the real world–but this one? I’m surprised we don’t hear about that kind of thing every day. A solid sequel that leaves you wanting more, I can’t wait for the next thing Karp brings out.

I Love You, Beth Cooper by Larry Doyle

      Take the ultimate Teen Movie in the vein of

Better Off Dead

      ,

Say Anything

      , or

Can’t Buy Me Love

    , make it funnier yet more heartfelt, and then commit it to print rather than film, and you’ve got this novel. Denis Cooverman, alpha-geek, uses his valedictorian speech at graduation to announce to the world–including Beth Cooper–his love for the titular character, the requisite gorgeous, rich, blonde cheerleader. There are a few problems with this…1. Beth is barely aware Denis exists; 2. Beth has a boyfriend with a nasty jealous streak; 3. Boyfriend is an Army soldier–with Special Forces training–on leave. Hilarity ensues. The novel is a chronicle of the day that follows graduation, that one last night of revelry. Well, revelry, violence, and young love. I wasn’t reading it long before Samwise started saying, “you’re about to start laughing” when I’d pick up the book (he was right).

Dusted Off: Recent Reads – Fiction

Okay, I realize my post last week on TV has probably got some of you thinking I’ve turned my brain completely off and become nothing but a tube watching vegetable. Never fear, am still literate. Here’s a quick sample of things I’ve been reading, just haven’t had the energy to write anything long on…

Boomsday by Christopher Buckley – I’ve read all but one or two of Buckley’s novels, and it’s fair to say he’s my favorite satirist. In Boomsday, he takes on the impending failure of Social Security (particularly timely as the first Baby Boomer applied for SS benefits this past week). Political blogger and PR rep Cassandra Devine (a disciple of a disciple of Thank You for Smoking‘s Nick Naylor), has dedicated her off-hours life to the issue. After accidentally inciting riots at retirement homes/golf courses, she proposes a plan for older Americans to help out their children and grandchildren by choosing to “transition” from this life to the next. In return for this, transitioners would receive large tax benefits. Throw this idea into a presidential campaign featuring a rich fire-brand, an incumbent overseeing too many foreign wars and a horrible economy, a prolife evangelist (who may or may not have killed his mother) and hilarity ensues.

Buckley’s novels tend to run away from him–he generally loses control (think those rickety coal carts at the end of Temple of Doom) towards the end. His last few novels have shown a lot of improvement in this area–and I think this is his best ending yet. Best novel he’s written–but the characters and satire aren’t his best (but they’re nothing to complain about, either). Give this one a B+/A-

The Deader the Better by G. M. Ford – The latest (last?) installment in the Leo Waterman series, is definitely the darkest. About half-way through this novel Leo stops going about this the way he normally does and instead assembles a team of criminals to start a major sting/blackmail operation. It bugged me while reading it, and by the time it was over, it bugged me a lot. I can’t really put my finger on it, but it didn’t feel like Leo, more like one of Spenser’s weaker escapades. The romantic subplot really worked for me, as did the b-plot with the runaway, but the A-plot…eh. I really hope that Ford gets back to this series so I can see how he’s going to take things with Leo’s love life–part of me is glad to see him risking the status quo; but the other part of me really likes Rebecca as a character, and I’d rather see more of her than less. But mostly I want to see if Ford continues to take this series in the darker direction this novel heads down (and his newer series seems to take), or if he lets Leo return to being Leo. Personally, I hope he takes the latter route–I miss the fun Elvis Cole (not that I totally mind the darker Elvis), don’t want to lose the fun Leo, too.

Falling Man by Don DeLillo – I really wanted to like this book–DeLillo’s one of my favorites. But this thing? Blah. This is DeLillo’s take on 9/11 and the aftermath. The scenes about the protagonist leaving the scene of the WTC attacks, and those showing how his son and his friends are reatcing to the attacks–those are really well done. And there were sentences, or paragraphs, that were great to read. But on the whole, this was a dreary novel, about dreary people reacting to horror in a dreary way. Worst thing I’ve read by him–which is strange, as many critics hail it as one of his best–who knows, maybe bluewoad’s rubbing off on me.

How to Talk to a Widower by Jonathan Tropper – Tropper delivers yet another fun novel about a young man dealing with death (and how often can you say that?). This time, Tropper’s protag married an older woman with a teenage son. A plane crash cuts short their life together and now the widower has to put his life without her together. Of course, the teenage son is a complication that he’s not ready for. Tropper’s characters frequently have a strong woman character as friend/love interest (no matter how taboo). This time a twin sister takes care of the friend part of the equation–and is one of the more interesting characters he’s created. The quirky disfunctional family is along for the ride–the father, of course, being the most screwed up (not that mom is that together). Tropper doesn’t miss a beat, hit a wrong note, or flub the rhythm once in this book. Charming, funny, bleak, and hopeful. Probably his best work to date.

Leepike Ridge by N. D. Wilson – Wilson proves that you don’t have to be named J. K. Rowling to write children’s fiction that’s worth reading if you’re over 13. Good, imaginative, adventure story. Wilson’s got a natural (genetic?) way with words, that he’s honed well–would likely be a pleasure to read even if the plot and characters were weak.

Twilight by Stephenie Meyer – This one’s a “Young Adult” novel, which again, puts me out of the target audience. Ooops. Actually, I think the target is teenage girls, so I’m really out of the target. Really don’t care. Meyer can tell a story. Even if the story is an implausible love story about a loner teen girl and a vampire whose Byronic personality is on loan from a Bronte novel. Probably one of the better vampire novels I’ve read (and I seem to be reading a lot of them lately for no apparent reason).

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