vacation ahead -- back in two weeks

Ahhhhh.

 By this time next week we will be off snorkeling somewhere in the Caribbean for nearly two weeks, one of my favorite things to do in life.  We're doing a long cruise -- it's the only venue where business Larry is unreachable by phone (the roaming rates are absolutely ridiculous) so it's perfect.  Between snorkeling and sailing on Hobie Cats, we will be spending a lot of our time in the ocean -- I'm definitely a water baby.   The last time we went snorkeling was in drysuits in the Gulf of Alaska in snowy, freezing weather, and we had a blast -- well, at least I did.

When we're not physically in the ocean, we'll be laying out on our balcony (a very small fraction of which you can see here):

reading, enjoying foofy umbrella drinks, reading, relaxing and just having 12 days of ahhhhh.  When we go on cruises, which is not often, we pretty much keep to ourselves and spend most of our time just stretched out in the sun. I'll be taking tons of books, including Benjamin Black's newest Quirke series installment, Even the Dead, the newest Irene Huss series novel, The Treacherous Net, and Johan Theorin's The Voices Beyond among others.  When I get back, I'll have a new novel by Deon Meyer waiting for me (Icarus)  along with John Katzenbach's latest The Dead Student.  

see you in a couple of weeks --

in the spirit of the season -- Hallowe'en Party, by Agatha Christie

My edition of this book is the blue leatherette hardcover, the whole set of which  my very understanding and indulging spouse discovered in a consignment shop and bought for me some years back. But this cover is much more interesting than my plain one, and way more interesting than the original:

Having recently watched the excellent dramatization of this book on DVD (with David Suchet, of course, as Poirot and Zoe Wanamaker the absolutely perfect Ariadne Oliver), I figured I'd give Christie's Hallowe'en Party a go in book form.  After finishing it late yesterday afternoon, I found myself agreeing with a contemporary reviewer from the Toronto Daily Star who wrote that "Poirot seems weary and so does the book."  It was a bit disappointing in that I'm used to actually seeing Poirot's little gray cells at work, and here, while he does solve the mystery, it's just not the same as the older Poirot novels -- he does indeed seem incredibly tired. Poirot's less than lackluster self combined with several missed character opportunities made this book not as fun to read as I'd hoped.

The plot itself is an incredibly good one.  The wealthy Mrs. Rowena Drake, who has her fingers in every social, civic and church-related pie in her village, throws a Halloween party at her home for the "eleven-plus" group of kids.  Ariadne Oliver happens to be in the neighborhood, staying with her friend Mrs. Butler, and they both attend the party.  Mrs. Oliver is famous, of course, and one young girl (Joyce) tries to impress by telling her about the time she saw a murder happen.  Of course, she says, she didn't realize that it was a murder that she was seeing at the time, but now she realizes the truth of it.  Joyce, who has a penchant for story telling and making things up, is pooh-poohed by everyone at the party -- no one believes her and they make fun of her for making up something so outrageous.  But someone must have believed her, because when the party ends, Joyce is discovered head down in a tub filled with water meant for apple bobbing.  Poirot is visited the next day by a very shaken Ariadne Oliver, who tells him what happened. He latches on to Joyce's tale of murder, leading him to go to the scene of the crime.

Zoe Wanamaker (Ariadne Oliver) and David Suchet (Poirot) in "Halloween Party"

While the plot is good, I think Christie missed the boat on this one -- it most certainly isn't the best of Poirot and it isn't the best in terms of clues for the amateur armchair detective to follow. I just don't feel like she utilized those skills in this book that made her such an enduring mystery writer.    When it comes down to the who and the why, things seemed rather shaky and I found myself saying things like "but what about..?" more than once.  I hate plot holes, no matter who the writer is, and there are definitely a couple or three sinkhole-sized ones here.

So the long and short of it is great plot potential, but not so hot in the execution.  I suppose even Agatha Christie can have an off day, and it definitely shows in this one.

from the UK: Before It's Too Late, by Jane Isaac

9781910394618
Legend Press, 2015
282 pp

paperback (from publisher, thank you!)

I was well over the halfway mark in this novel when I realized something -- I hadn't seen any swearing, blatant sex or gratuitous violence anywhere.  Kudos to the author for that. Not that I mind swearing so much,  but I can do without extraneous sex and violence that does little or nothing for or gets in the way of the main story line.

Before It's Too Late is a police procedural on the lighter side. It's not light enough to fall under cozy but not nearly as dark as my normal fare, and much lighter in tone than most of what's out there on bookstore shelves as we speak.   There is an angsty main character, DI Will Jackman, who is still grief stricken after an accident that left his wife paralyzed and unable to function.  Jackman has a daughter Celia, a university student whose inner strength Jackman relies on at times when his fails.  He had moved his family to Stratford-upon-Avon when Celia was young, because it was a "pretty sleepy town when it came to serious crime,"  but at the moment,  the police are currently stumped over a missing person case that turned into murder.  Smarting over the lack of information in that case,  Jackman finds himself tasked with investigating another young woman gone missing -- a university student named Min Li, whose case becomes "high profile" with quick results expected.  Sadly, not much evidence has surfaced in this case either, except for some CCTV footage that may offer clues to her last sighting.  But here's the thing -- the reader knows where Min Li is -- her narrative runs through the book parallel to that of the investigation, while the bad guy gets some brief air time here with his story as well.   Jackman and his people have to find Min Li as quickly as possible and things become even more urgent when another university student goes missing.

It's a good book that will keep you turning pages to figure out the who; there are a couple of plot twists involved that make the armchair detective's work just a little bit harder.  The story isn't overwhelmed with Jackman's angst (a plus);  the author gives you just enough information about him to start fleshing him out as a character.  Isaac also reveals the nature of "political policing," as ego, ambition and well-placed friendships override one cop's need for solid detective work, which Jackman can't stand; another well-crafted part of this novel is the focus on the Chinese community and how interactions with outsiders actually work.  Very nicely done and very insightful.  The only thing I wasn't overly fond of was the kidnapped girl's narrative -- first and foremost, it's a bit too melodramatic for my taste and second, well, I can't really explain this one without spoiling things so I'll leave it for others to discover.

I'd say if you've got one foot out the cozy door and are looking to up your crime game without diving headfirst into gritty noir, Before It's Too Late is a fine transition from cutesy to criminal, with enough edginess to make it compelling reading.  I appreciate that Ms. Isaac didn't feel the need to add in all manner of extraneous stuff that many modern writers feel is necessary -- she proves that sometimes a good story can be had without trying to attract every possible audience by using all of the usual over-the-top creepy sex and violence that seems to be a mainstay these days.  It can be done, folks, and it's a refreshing change.

Again, my thanks to the publisher for my copy.

... and speaking of Agatha Christie, a new release of Murder on the Orient Express!!

look what just came in my mail!  It's a brand new facsimile edition put out by William Morrow, released today, even down to "The Crime Club notation on the side.  I LOVE this cover!  About this particular edition, the note on Amazon says the following:

"Reproducing the original typesetting and format of the first edition from the Christie family’s archive,Murder on the Orient Express Facsimile Edition also features the first hardcover edition’s actual cover art, which has been painstakingly restored to its original beauty."

Inside is also a lovely reproduction of the original: first, the title page,  

followed by a short blurb and a list of other works by Agatha Christie:

In case you're at all interested, here's the Amazon link (I get nothing if you click through).

Sad news: Henning Mankell: 1948 - 2015

Henning Mankell passed away today at the age of 67.  

One of my very favorite Scandinavian writers has passed away today, after battling cancer.  You can read about it here at BBC news for the full story.

Mankell, of course, authored the Wallander series, which I've been collecting and reading for years now.   He has long been one of my favorite crime writers , not just from Scandinavia but in crime fiction as a whole. Crime readers everywhere will mourn his passing -- he brought something new and completely different to the genre.  Today is a sad day.

requiescat in pace

Is Fat Bob Dead Yet? by Stephen Dobyns

9780399171451
blue rider press/Penguin, 2015
351 pp

hardcover (from the publisher -- thank you!)

Before anyone gets all freaked about the dog on the cover smoking a cigarette, no animals were harmed  (or caught smoking) in this novel.  The smoking dog represents just one scam run by a couple of very odd people who solicit money over the phone, telling selected callers that their help is needed to Free Beagles from Nicotine Addiction.  Another selected group of unwary customers gets calls to support Prom Queens Anonymous (directed at fading beauties who never quite grew out of their prom queen days) while yet another specifically-targeted group receives pleas to support Orphans from Outer Space.  So don't worry about the dog or go and boycott the book because the dog may incite teens to take up smoking -- nothing like that goes on here.  But I just know someone will complain or take offense -- you heard it here.

I laughed myself silly throughout the first half of this book and a little beyond.  When I'd finished the book very very late last night, I took a look at what readers on goodreads had to say and discovered that I must have a strange, quirky sense of humor because not a whole lot of people found this book at all funny.  Then again, I'm known for enjoying the unconventional and the strange. My point is that it's a novel that may not appeal to everyone, but if you like snark and sarcasm, you'll find plenty of it here.

I won't get too much into plot but the novel begins with a horrific accident in which a motorcycle rider is sliced to ribbons and decapitated.  How is that funny, you may ask. Well, it's not, but everything that follows starts from this incident.  Based on several factors, the investigating officers are not so sure that it was indeed an accident but rather a carefully-planned murder.  The main character in this novel (Connor) just happens to be on scene  and gets stuck there; while standing around he meets another guy (Sal) who is stranded waiting for the accident to be cleared.  This fateful meeting will have major repercussions when Connor, certain that he knows the guy or that he's at least seen him before at a Detroit casino where he used to work, calls his brother to ask about him. He doesn't realize it but Connor has just stepped into a major hornet's nest involving the FBI, the witness protection program and a crazy Harley fanatic who goes by the name of Fat Bob.

a Fat Bob Harley, photo from Adam Campbell, 2014 at Cruiser. 

It's not so much the story but the characters who really drive this novel -- and there are any number of lunatics who populate this book. The two cops have a serious "passive-aggressive" thing going on in their work partnership.  Manny Streeter is crazy about karaoke and has spent a lot of money turning one of the bedrooms into a karaoke lounge complete with tables and rules; his partner, Benny Vikström really wants out of the partnership but finds that the only way out is to become a bike cop.  He also catches a lot of flak on the job when people joke about him being a "famous Swedish detective."   The scam artists at Bounty Inc. are just insane but they have given Connor a job working for them and say they are prepping him to take over the business; even the bad guys are sort of silly, with one exception, a crazy lunatic named Chucky. There's also a homeless guy who thinks he has a tail every time he gets through a bottle of Everclear.   Then there's Connor himself, the guy who through no fault of his own ends up in more than one situation he's having trouble keeping under control.  There really isn't one sane person in this book and when you combine them all what you get is a rather crazy mix of characters who keep things beyond lively.  You also get a murder mystery in and among all of the absurdity here, but it's more about the people than the story.

Now the downside to this book is that even though it's terribly clever, at the end it was like I was watching a movie. It's like the novel was really fun up to that point, but the ending had all of the trademarks of those films that feature the hapless hero and all of the crazies in his/her orbit. I could actually see things playing out in my head exactly to form.   If you've read this book you'll know precisely what I'm saying; if not, well you will.  I would like to think that the author did this on purpose, but who knows. So the bottom line is this: as the dustjacket blurb notes, it is an "entertainingly absurd" novel, and it made me laugh out loud for most of the book.  I don't know that I'd say it's a novel for everyone, because clearly some readers couldn't get into the humor of it all.  I say if you come into it with no expectations, making your mind a blank slate and not worrying about the whole mystery/crime thing, it will probably make for fun reading.  I have this tendency to root for the offbeat, so it was a good read for me.

pure (icky) pulp: Solomon's Vineyard, by Jonathan Latimer

159640168
Black Mask, 2009 (reprint)
[originally published 1941]
132 pp

paperback

With the call to read banned books about to start up again here shortly (banned books week starts the 27th), crime readers may wish to move off the beaten path and read something really different.  Solomon's Vineyard was originally published in 1941, and banned not too long afterwards.  My my how times have changed.  Today we have so much explicit rough sex in novels that it's sort of old hat and skimworthy, but my guess is that the Boston matriarchs and the bible belters of the day rejected it in print, at least in public.

The very short preface to this novel states the following:

"Listen. This is a wild one. Maybe the wildest yet. It's got everything but an abortion and a tornado. I ain't saying it's true. Neither of us, brother, is asking you to believe it. You can lug it across to the rental library right now and tell the dame you want your goddam nickel back. We don't care All he done was write it down like I told it, and I don't guarantee nothing."

That little tongue-in-cheek blurb is signed by Karl Craven, the narrator and main character of this novel. His attitude toward women sucks -- he is the poster boy (and quite possibly king) of misogynists everywhere. Ex-football player and now PI,  the only thing going for this fictional jerk in my opinion is that he was a fervent reader of Black Mask magazine. His creator was evidently a reader of Dashiell Hammett -- if you read Hammett's The Dain Curse, you'll notice that there's a beyond-huge similarity between the two books.  Both (although Hammett's was first, obviously) take the reader on a wild ride centered around an odd religious cult -- here it is the titular Solomon's Vineyard taking center stage, a "religious colony," where they "raise grapes and hell."  Craven's rolled into the corrupt little burg of Paulton to meet up with his partner, Oke Johnson ("a smart Swede", the only smart one I ever saw"), who is there trying to convince their client's niece to leave Solomon's Vineyard and return home.  A lot of money is riding on their success, so when Johnson turns up dead, Craven has to try to get the girl out of there by himself.  But he also wants to nail the people who killed Johnson. And that is not going to be easy, by any stretch.  He makes enemies of the town tough guy pretty much the minute he hits town by bedding his girlfriend Ginger; his real interest though lies in "The Princess," who is "the head of the women" up at the Vineyard.  Craven noticed her the minute he got into town:

"From the way her buttocks looked under the black silk dress, I knew she'd be good in bed." 

and then of course, his eyes move further up:

"She had gold-blonde hair, and curves, and breasts the size of Cuban pineapples."

Ick.

Then in a scene highly reminiscent of Cain's The Postman Always Rings Twice, when Craven finally gets the blonde, he's surprised when he discovers that not only is she willing, but that she likes it rough, telling him

"Hit me!" after she slaps him and then beats him with her fists.

[As a sidebar, I've just finished Cain's novel -- and the first physical scene between Frank and Cora is her telling Frank to bite her.]

 It gets pretty out there sometimes, not just in terms of the masochistic sex but also in what's really going on in the town and more importantly, up at the Vineyard.  But to get through it, you absolutely have to leave whatever amount of  PC-ness and modern sensitivities at the door. It's not for the faint of heart -- in this book misogyny and racism rule the day.   If you're a plot-based crime reader, you'll also notice that this book starts moving into the incredulity zone pretty quickly and just sort of hangs there like an inversion layer over the LA basin until the ending.

Solomon's Vineyard is likely the most hardboiled (and icky) novel I've ever read and I'm hoping, judging from the short preface,  is that it's meant to be kind of a wisecracking, skewering take of that genre especially since it's pretty obvious that Latimer sort of "borrowed" elements from at least two other books I've read.  All in all while I hated the main character, I did enjoy the novel.  Once you pick it up, you cannot put it down. It actually scares me that I just said that.