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Murder in Paradise Monday
Sep. 25th, 2017 08:24 amWhat I've Finished Reading
The Angry Amazons by Carter Brown (1972):
To Randall "Randy" Roberts, sexual harassment isn't just a hobby, it's a way of life. When local women's separatist commune The Angry Amazons advertises for a lawyer, he seizes this golden opportunity to smirk his way through the workday. The Amazons, being straw feminists, don't really have a case (they want to sue an ex-boyfriend of their publicity director for writing condescending articles) or any kind of coherent ideology, but they do have lots of secrets. Eventually the leader (a statuesque heiress named Lanette, whom "the girls" call "Libby" in honor of her prominence in the Women's Lib movement) is revealed to be running a prostitution ring, the compound shuts down, and two of the supporting characters show up at Randy's apartment for a last-page threesome.
This is a breathtakingly and (to me) enjoyably dumb book. As a de facto detective story (Roberts is effectively a detective throughout and does no lawyering, despite being introduced as a lawyer for reasons that are never made clear) it's completely worthless, but as a simple boner-and-joke machine it propels itself blindly across the kitchen table and falls to the floor with a satisfying crash.
Of course Dumb Witness is much better from an artistic standpoint and a human one, having been written by Agatha Christie instead of by one of those clicky-ball desk toys from the 90s. The killer is unmasked, the dog gets a new home, all's well that ends well, until the next murder.
What I'm Reading Now
The Black Spaniel Mystery isn’t a murder mystery at all. It’s a children’s book from Scholastic Books, first published in 1945 and starring Intrepid Teens Joe and Judy (who are also twins, because who doesn’t love twins?) Joe and Judy find a couple of puppies running down the road, but there’s a conflict over who they belong to. Why would a rich breeder steal a couple of puppies from a girl and replace them with look-alikes? That’s what Joe and Judy have to find out, all without adult assistance or a driver’s license. So far this is an engaging story with charming line drawings all over the place and just enough menace and mystery to be cozy. The author loves cocker spaniels and is obviously very pleased to be able to pack in as many dog facts as she can fit on the page. Her love of dogs also shows through in the description of the puppies. Unfortunately, the girl has named one of the puppies Sambo, because it’s 1945.
I bought Aristotle Detective (by Margaret Doody) because I saw it at the used bookstore only a few hours after I'd been reading an essay by Dorothy Sayers about how Aristotle would have totally loved detective fiction and the only reason he was so keen on Oedipus Rex was that proper detective stories hadn't been invented yet. I don't know if this is a convincing argument because I've never read Aristotle.
The narrator of Aristotle Detective is a young man named Stephanos, whose hapless cousin, already in exile for a barfight manslaughter incident, is framed for the murder of a prominent Athenian citizen. Stephanos doesn't know what to do, so he goes to his friend Aristotle, a scrubby good-tempered philosopher, whom he hopes will use his rhetorical powers to save Philemon. He's a little put out, therefore, when Aristotle quizzes him about weird crime-scene details instead, and sends him down to the port to eavesdrop in disguise, just as if he'd been reading a bunch of Sherlock Holmes stories smuggled in from the future. This book is slow to start, but begins to pick up once Stephanos begrudgingly puts on his peasant costume and begins the investigation in earnest. I could complain that every time he undertakes to eavesdrop at the port, he hears exactly what he needs to in improbably specific detail, but I don't actually mind a little artificiality in my murder mysteries. If murder fiction were less artificial, it would be more depressing. So far Aristotle Detective is achieving a golden mean.
What I Plan to Read Next
I'm a little worried about the newest Most Comfortable Man in London. Not only is it taking us back in time to Lenox's first case instead of building on the character development ofThe Inheritance, but it's giving us a "maniacal" serial killer and Lenox "trapped in a desperate game of cat and mouse" - my least favorite kind of killer and the weakest scene in every Finch-Lenox novel.
I've got it on pre-order anyway, because Team Comfortable is still my team until proven otherwise, even if Finch-Lenox puts out an uncongenial book now and then. Who knows - maybe it'll even be good!
More immediately: Atlanta Noir, a short-story collection edited by Tayari Jones.
The Angry Amazons by Carter Brown (1972):
She raised her auburn head and regarded me with steely blue eyes I knew would melt to liquid pools of passion if I was only given the chance.
"The trouble with you, Randall Roberts," she said coolly, "is you have a definite isea about how women should be subservient to their male masters. You think just because I'm your secretary I should fulfill a specific role in the care and stimulation of your ego. Well, let me tell you, I'm not just a woman. I'm a person too, in case you hadn't noticed."
"I certainly noticed you were a woman, Mandala," I said placatingly.
To Randall "Randy" Roberts, sexual harassment isn't just a hobby, it's a way of life. When local women's separatist commune The Angry Amazons advertises for a lawyer, he seizes this golden opportunity to smirk his way through the workday. The Amazons, being straw feminists, don't really have a case (they want to sue an ex-boyfriend of their publicity director for writing condescending articles) or any kind of coherent ideology, but they do have lots of secrets. Eventually the leader (a statuesque heiress named Lanette, whom "the girls" call "Libby" in honor of her prominence in the Women's Lib movement) is revealed to be running a prostitution ring, the compound shuts down, and two of the supporting characters show up at Randy's apartment for a last-page threesome.
This is a breathtakingly and (to me) enjoyably dumb book. As a de facto detective story (Roberts is effectively a detective throughout and does no lawyering, despite being introduced as a lawyer for reasons that are never made clear) it's completely worthless, but as a simple boner-and-joke machine it propels itself blindly across the kitchen table and falls to the floor with a satisfying crash.
Of course Dumb Witness is much better from an artistic standpoint and a human one, having been written by Agatha Christie instead of by one of those clicky-ball desk toys from the 90s. The killer is unmasked, the dog gets a new home, all's well that ends well, until the next murder.
What I'm Reading Now
The Black Spaniel Mystery isn’t a murder mystery at all. It’s a children’s book from Scholastic Books, first published in 1945 and starring Intrepid Teens Joe and Judy (who are also twins, because who doesn’t love twins?) Joe and Judy find a couple of puppies running down the road, but there’s a conflict over who they belong to. Why would a rich breeder steal a couple of puppies from a girl and replace them with look-alikes? That’s what Joe and Judy have to find out, all without adult assistance or a driver’s license. So far this is an engaging story with charming line drawings all over the place and just enough menace and mystery to be cozy. The author loves cocker spaniels and is obviously very pleased to be able to pack in as many dog facts as she can fit on the page. Her love of dogs also shows through in the description of the puppies. Unfortunately, the girl has named one of the puppies Sambo, because it’s 1945.
I bought Aristotle Detective (by Margaret Doody) because I saw it at the used bookstore only a few hours after I'd been reading an essay by Dorothy Sayers about how Aristotle would have totally loved detective fiction and the only reason he was so keen on Oedipus Rex was that proper detective stories hadn't been invented yet. I don't know if this is a convincing argument because I've never read Aristotle.
The narrator of Aristotle Detective is a young man named Stephanos, whose hapless cousin, already in exile for a barfight manslaughter incident, is framed for the murder of a prominent Athenian citizen. Stephanos doesn't know what to do, so he goes to his friend Aristotle, a scrubby good-tempered philosopher, whom he hopes will use his rhetorical powers to save Philemon. He's a little put out, therefore, when Aristotle quizzes him about weird crime-scene details instead, and sends him down to the port to eavesdrop in disguise, just as if he'd been reading a bunch of Sherlock Holmes stories smuggled in from the future. This book is slow to start, but begins to pick up once Stephanos begrudgingly puts on his peasant costume and begins the investigation in earnest. I could complain that every time he undertakes to eavesdrop at the port, he hears exactly what he needs to in improbably specific detail, but I don't actually mind a little artificiality in my murder mysteries. If murder fiction were less artificial, it would be more depressing. So far Aristotle Detective is achieving a golden mean.
What I Plan to Read Next
I'm a little worried about the newest Most Comfortable Man in London. Not only is it taking us back in time to Lenox's first case instead of building on the character development ofThe Inheritance, but it's giving us a "maniacal" serial killer and Lenox "trapped in a desperate game of cat and mouse" - my least favorite kind of killer and the weakest scene in every Finch-Lenox novel.
I've got it on pre-order anyway, because Team Comfortable is still my team until proven otherwise, even if Finch-Lenox puts out an uncongenial book now and then. Who knows - maybe it'll even be good!
More immediately: Atlanta Noir, a short-story collection edited by Tayari Jones.
