Earlier, I posted an excerpt from this book (which you should read if you haven’t yet), now here’s what I thought about the book.
What’s The Blues Don’t Care About?
Bobby Sexton is a young Los Angeleno, of military age (who is not serving but wants to) during the height of World War II. His greatest desire in life is to be a piano player—he can’t get on with a serious band (mostly due to age, it seems—but there’s something else, too). So he starts spending time in black jazz clubs and finally works out the nerve to try to get in with the Booker ‘Boom-Boom’ Taylor Orchestra. He’s given a shot, and during his first gig, a white man is murdered. One of the other band members is arrested for the murder, but Booker (and Bobby) are sure he’s only arrested because he’s a convenient black man.
So, Booker makes Bobby a deal—use his whiteness in a way that no one else in the band can—find the killer. Or, at least, find a way to get James out of jail. Drawing on knowledge of detecting gained solely out of films, Bobby gives it a shot.
He catches a break by striking up the beginning of a friendship with a Deputy assigned to the case (who is not all that sure that James is guilty, but isn’t free to find an alternate suspect). Given the hints from that deputy, Bobby plunges in and soon finds himself lost in a maze of smuggling, big business, refugees, intelligence about the Concentration Camps, Nazis, and more. Bobby quickly learns (and relearns and relearns) that real life and real detective work isn’t like it looks in the movies, still he seems to have some talent for detecting (or is he just too stubborn to realize he doesn’t?).
A Couple of Thoughts about the Setting
It occurs to me, that every book I’ve read that takes place in World War II (and doesn’t involve the armed forces) takes place in or around New York City (or wherever the Pevensie children go). Seeing Los Angeles at this time was a nice change. I’d never really thought about what it was like during this time in L.A.—or anywhere that wasn’t where my grandparents lived or NYC.
For a book that’s largely about tolerance and acceptance of others, the era-appropriate racial and ethnic slurs fly pretty freely in this book. I can see a lot of people being made uncomfortable by it, being offended, or objecting to it. Not me, it’s how people talked—the slurs directed toward the African Americans Bobby plays with or spends time around did feel ugly, and those who used them weren’t depicted favorably. But the epithets for Axis powers (or their citizens) were casually used by just about every character. It didn’t strike me as hateful, just as slang. Maybe it says something about me (or maybe I read too many books written in the 1940s and 50s) that I didn’t care about it, it just seemed like context-appropriate dialogue. But I do know that not all readers will appreciate that aspect.
A Note about the Framing Device
There’s a framing device used here to introduce us to Bobby, Booker, Bobby’s music, and to give us a glance at their future. I’m not sure it was needed, I don’t know what it added—but I didn’t mind it. But as I thought about the book, I wondered, “why?” I just didn’t see the value.
I can see where in any sequels it could come back, and maybe turn into something I don’t wonder about, but I’m not convinced we need that device.
I’m not saying it was bad…just extraneous.
Has Bobby Never Heard of a Notepad?
Sure, I get it. There were shortages of everything, rations were the name of the game, but Bobby couldn’t have used a notepad, scratch paper, the back of sheet music, anything? Every time he looks something up, like an address in a phone book*, he rips out the page that has the information to take it with him.
* Kids and younger adults should ask your parents.
I remember reading other, older, PI novels where this happens some—and even some TV shows/movies. But Bobby’s a serial vandal—I lost count of who many phone books he ruined. Please, please, Mr. Marks, get the guy a pencil and a notepad for the sequel.
So, what did I think about The Blues Don’t Care?
First of all, I would’ve liked more about the jazz/band. Bobby playing, thinking about, or listening to music was the best part of the book. Yeah, I know, it’s a murder mystery, not a band novel, so the focus needs to be on the murder and hunt for the murderer. But, I tell you what, we could’ve used a lot more of the music scene for flavor, for grounding the story—and just for fun.
There are aspects of the novel, particularly about Bobby, that I don’t feel comfortable talking about at this point—I can’t do it without ruining some reveals. But I do appreciate the way that Marks deals with the characters and their circumstances. That’s really all I can say.
I see that this is listed as the first of a series, and I’m not sure how long you can use the “fish out of water” musician-turned-detective idea before it stops working, but I’m interested in seeing how Marks tries to do it. I’ll be back for at least the first sequel.
On the whole, though, I enjoyed this book. I enjoyed the amateur (very) detective stumbling his way through the L.A. underworld, through the racial divide, and through his first case—and through a degree of maturation and self-acceptance. It’s got the heart of a hard-boiled mystery, but isn’t as grim or violent as you’d expect (not that it’s a cozy by any means). Marks hits the right notes* with his prose and characters, creating a mystery that appeals on many levels. I recommend this for mystery readers looking for the kind of thing they haven’t read before.
* You know I had to.
Disclaimer: I received this book from the author via Saichek Publicity in exchange for this post and my honest opinion—thanks to both for this.
This post contains an affiliate link. If you purchase from it, I will get a small commission at no additional cost to you. As always, opinions are my own.
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