One Man's Opinion: KINDS OF LOVE, KINDS OF DEATH by TUCKER COE

 

There's a foreword to this one by Donald E Westlake explaining his choice of author name for this series and a little about how he wanted Mich Tobin to be an original investigator. It sounded promising. 

And the first chapter is excellent. With little to do since being kicked off the force, Tobin is building a wall. As he digs the foundations, he sees how much his work resembles a grave and digs faster to change its size. There's something about building a wall for no clear reason that is fascinating (think Paul Auster's The Music Of Chance). His efforts are interrupted by a visit from a representative of a local gangster who would like to offer Tobin a job. Tobin isn't interested. I was hooked. 

Then came chapter two. It's all back story and, as is often the case, was totally unecessary to me. The hook slipped from my mouth and I wriggled free. 

I didn't really get caught again. It's only 200 pages long and I rattled through it at a fair rate, yet it was never very satisfying. The set up is overly complicated and Tobin's justification for working for the mob isn't strong enough for me. It's also difficult to see why such a powerful criminal organisation  would turn to a washed up cop who's taken to digging walls. 

There are plenty of characters to meet during a series of interviews and Tobin's faith in his abilities to judge a person from the merest glance is almost a super power. Some of these are engaging. Few of them lead us toward the killer Tobin is searching for. 

A few exciting and unexpected incidents are thrown in to thicken the plot and help to shore things up, but it never really increases the temperature. 

It's not terrible, but lacks the quips and darkness of lots of PI novels and never really grips. Perhaps the addition of some seriously compromising situations for Tobin might have helped. More than anything, this highlights the fact that detective fiction isn't easy to write. 

So, Kinds Of Love, Kinds Of Death is the first in the series. Unless I stumble across a copy of a later addition in a charity shop or library, it'll be my last. It's biggest use to me, a reminder that it's about time I reread some early Paul Auster. The New York Trilogy would be perfectly apt.