Sunday, February 26, 2017
If you took a Bob Dylan song full of surreal imagery, say "Desolation Row" or "Just Like Tom Thumb Blues," and turned it into a crime story the result might be a bit like "Mad Still."
The anonymous narrator is a retired boxer (mostly a sparring partner). He is newly arrived in New Orleans and he is meeting with the Clown.
The Clown is the leader of a group of street performers and they are having a problem with a human statue, the one nicknamed Mad Still because he can stand unmoving all day, hogging one of the best places to attract crowds. "He doesn't even take tips." The Clown and his associates want him moved by any means necessary.
But it turns out there is a rival group of performers that want Mad Still to stay where he is. They are the ACTors, movie star look-alikes who earn their daily bread posing for photos with tourists. There leader is Clint Eastwood, more or less. Both groups want our boxer hero to enforce their will.
Violence happens. Someone is kidnapped. Golems are invoked. Then things turn weird.
What I am saying is, if you want a straight road to a logical conclusion you shouldn't be on Highway 61 in the first place.
I enjoyed this story a lot.
Sunday, February 19, 2017
This is the fourth time my friend and fellow SleuthSayer has made it into this column.
Raymond Wilde is a private eye in a small town in Connecticut where high school football is a big thing. His client is Harold Bain, a wealthy and abrasive man, who wants Ray to prove that the school quarterback is a ringer, not really living in the town. He says that he's concerned about the taxpayers being ripped off, but he really wants to get the outsider out of the way so his own son can move up to quarterback.
Ray investigates but quickly gets distracted by another house on the same block where mysterious goings-on are, uh, going on. Some of them involve Harold Bain, Jr.
What I liked best about this story is the ending, in which several characters show unexpected sides of their personalities. You might even call it a happy ending.
Sunday, February 12, 2017
What a long story title. This, by the way, is Bracken's third appearance in this column. It takes place in Waco, Texas, where Blake is a former cop (he arrested the son of the wrong millionaire) turned private eye. Mrs. Watkins hired him to get proof that her fat rich husband is cheating on her. She might want more from Blake than just that.
And so might Ashley, a wealthy blond he meets in downtown, near the food trucks. For one thing, she would like to accompany him on a case... We will leave it there, I think. It's a good story.
But let's talk about the art of building an anthology. There is a story earlier in this book that, shall we say, runs from Point A to Point B, with B being the revelation of a particular plot device.
Bracken's story includes the same device, but it runs past it to Point C. (Which does not automatically make it a better story, by the way.)
If the editors had put Bracken's story earlier on than the other tale would be a disappointment. But by running it first the alert reader says "Ah, I see where Bracken is going" - and is pleasantly surprised when he goes past it. So, good job, editors.
Sunday, February 5, 2017
This is the seventh appearance here by fellow SleuthSayer, Terence Faherty. He remains the World Champeen in my blog.
Let's talk about pastiches. Again. It seems like there is something in the air, or the zeitgeist that is pulling htem at a high rate and high quality.
Last week it was Jonathan Turner's mash-up of characters created by Steve Hockensmith and Arthur Conan Doyle. Faherty himself has written clever send-ups of Doyle's work. And Evan Lewis dazzled us with a reboot of Dashiell Hammett's Continental Op stories.
But today's story more closely resembles another series of Mr. Lewis: those about state legislator David Crockett who is the unfortunate bearer of the consciousness of his ancestor Davy Crockett.
Mr. Faherty introduces us to Kelly and David, a married couple who visit Hawaii. David has some annoying habits, wanting to tell his wife everything he knows, especially about whatever book he is reading. (Why no, I am nothing like that myself. Just ask my wife. Or better yet, don't.)
But David is reading one of S.S. Van Dine's novels about that most irritating of Golden Age amateur sleuth's, Philo Vance. (Ogden Nash wrote that he needed a kick in the pance.) And when David suffers a concussion he becomes convinced that he is the great and annoying detective. Bad for his wife, but good for justice since a mysterious death has just occurred...
Very funny and clever.