I’ve been reading Proust, hence the radio silence of late.
Somehow, I don’t think you’d care much about my musings on his musings. I
certainly don’t think I have much to say other than I’ve enjoyed my meanderings
so far.
I also finally got round to reading Tortilla Flat, another
classic, and I’m glad I did. Other than some difficult slurs that kept jolting
me from the rhythm, the steady build up of layers as each new story brought a
new facet to the picture was extremely satisfying. I recommend it as a read,
with the caveat that the characters often use terms that are offensive.
SJ Rozan’s Bad
Blood (aka Stone Quarry) merits a return to the blog.
I’ve not read a PI novel for a while and had an itch for the
familiarity a only a detective could bring.
Bill Smith leaves the city to consider taking on a new case.
He meets up with his prospective client in Antonelli’s Bar where he already has
history (saving the neck of the barman’s delinquent brother, Jimmy). At the end
of the evening, the barman is taken outside, threatened and attacked by the
local gangster. Smith intervenes, and in doing so becomes involved in a feud that
just won’t let him go.
It turns out that the case he takes on is that of a famous
artist who lives incognito in the neighbourhood. Six of her early paintings
have gone missing and she wants them back before they surface on the market. It’s
not that she’s worried about losing the value of the pictures, rather she’s
concerned that the works will lessen her reputation.
The case might be relatively simple, only the body of one of
the previous night’s attackers is discovered in the basement of the bar and all
the evidence suggests that young Jimmy is the perp. Now it seems everyone wants
to find Jimmy and only his brother and Smith have his interests at heart.
When things get truly difficult, Smith calls in Lydia Chin
and the action really thickens.
As is required in such a story, there are many threads to
the tale. What I like about it is that all the complications are justified. When
everything is tied up, each set of motives is consistent with the way things
play out, whether that’s for the competing cops, the local businessman looking
for his missing daughter, the gangster, the corruption, the possible land grab,
the artist, the barman and Smith himself. Given the nature of the plot, that’s
no small thing.
I enjoyed it so much, I decided that there’s more room in my
life for the Private Investigator, which is handy because, while out walking
yesterday, I came across a beautiful 1966 Penguin Classic copy of The Big Sleep
in a book box. Sure, I’ve read it several times already and done the film to
death, but the universe seems to be pointing me in that directions and who am I
to ignore such a welcome gift?
