Thoroughly Modern Murder Monday
What I've Finished Reading
Love Lies Bleeding turned out to be pretty good! Fen remarks at one point that he's calmed down a lot in the past ten years, which is accurate. More accurately: it's just much better constructed than The Moving Toyshop, so we don't end up stuck in a lot of cul-de-sacs with Fen doing half-formed stand-up routines, there's a complete and complicated plot instead of two-fifths of a plot and some chase sequences, and more of the humor holds up, in large part because it's less random and more plot-directed, but maybe also because it was better to begin with.
It had an unusual problem (in my experience) for murder mysteries: I wasn't convinced by the motive for murder. It wasn't an unusually petty motive as these things go, so I'm not sure what the problem is there. And given the light-n-breezy tone of the Fenverse, it probably doesn't matter much. As in The Moving Toyshop, there is a madcap car chase and [Non-central spoilers for Love Lies Bleeding]the dog dies, though the car chase is better written and the dog's death better justified. But I was very pleased with the way the Missing Wayward Teen plot worked out, after some misgivings early on. The offhand reference to "Crispin's readers" really is odd -- it comes out of nowhere and escapes into thin air. There's no harm in it, but nothing else, either. I was hoping for a little more -- robust? -- metafiction, I guess. Well, I might have to read some more Crispin to see if it ever materializes, but it probably won't be soon. Love Lies Bleeding was fun, though, and Fen's not the worst detective after all.
By far the best part of The Thin Man was the relationship between Nick and Nora Charles: unmistakably adult without being conventional or even particularly responsible. Nick is a retired detective whom events have temporarily un-retired; Nora is his independently wealthy wife. They go to parties, drink incessantly, take their dog for walks, and poke around at the underworld. I like their casual, comfortable trust in one another, and the complete absence (as far as I could tell) of an undercurrent of despair in their entertainments. The rest of The Thin Man is also pretty good: energetic and convoluted, a little sordid in the corners, but not so that it hurts. Hammett has abandoned the distracting tendency he had in The Maltese Falcon to call attention to every character's unnaturally bright eye color and eye-movements, possibly because Nick is the narrator and it would be out-of-character for Nick to keep harping on people's cobalt blue eyes like a teenage romantic.
What I'm Reading Now
Third Girl by Agatha Christie is a later Christie, in which Poirot Meets the Sixties. I have had some warning against late Christies, but I liked the creepiness of Halloween Party quite a lot, and Third Girl is off to a great start. An untidy young woman shows up at Poirot's office with an intriguing problem: how can she find out whether she's committed a murder? Poirot indulges in some judgmental thoughts about her generation and the falling standard of grooming, and before he can say anything out loud, she concludes, apologetically, that she's made a mistake; he can't possibly help her; he's too old. Poirot is hurt. He hates to be too old, even though his patent-leather shoes pinch his feet and by this point he would be over a hundred if not for Detective Stasis. He goes to see his old friend Ariadne Oliver -- there's a great bit where she yanks out one of her hair extensions in her excitement and Poirot discreetly picks it up and sets it on the table -- and they decide to investigate the problem anyway.
What I Plan to Read Next
More Cormoran Strike Adventures! I'm going to get The Silkworm out from the library, and then I'm going to read it! I really hope there will be an awkward conversation with Robin about The Leg Incident.
Love Lies Bleeding turned out to be pretty good! Fen remarks at one point that he's calmed down a lot in the past ten years, which is accurate. More accurately: it's just much better constructed than The Moving Toyshop, so we don't end up stuck in a lot of cul-de-sacs with Fen doing half-formed stand-up routines, there's a complete and complicated plot instead of two-fifths of a plot and some chase sequences, and more of the humor holds up, in large part because it's less random and more plot-directed, but maybe also because it was better to begin with.
It had an unusual problem (in my experience) for murder mysteries: I wasn't convinced by the motive for murder. It wasn't an unusually petty motive as these things go, so I'm not sure what the problem is there. And given the light-n-breezy tone of the Fenverse, it probably doesn't matter much. As in The Moving Toyshop, there is a madcap car chase and [Non-central spoilers for Love Lies Bleeding]the dog dies, though the car chase is better written and the dog's death better justified. But I was very pleased with the way the Missing Wayward Teen plot worked out, after some misgivings early on. The offhand reference to "Crispin's readers" really is odd -- it comes out of nowhere and escapes into thin air. There's no harm in it, but nothing else, either. I was hoping for a little more -- robust? -- metafiction, I guess. Well, I might have to read some more Crispin to see if it ever materializes, but it probably won't be soon. Love Lies Bleeding was fun, though, and Fen's not the worst detective after all.
By far the best part of The Thin Man was the relationship between Nick and Nora Charles: unmistakably adult without being conventional or even particularly responsible. Nick is a retired detective whom events have temporarily un-retired; Nora is his independently wealthy wife. They go to parties, drink incessantly, take their dog for walks, and poke around at the underworld. I like their casual, comfortable trust in one another, and the complete absence (as far as I could tell) of an undercurrent of despair in their entertainments. The rest of The Thin Man is also pretty good: energetic and convoluted, a little sordid in the corners, but not so that it hurts. Hammett has abandoned the distracting tendency he had in The Maltese Falcon to call attention to every character's unnaturally bright eye color and eye-movements, possibly because Nick is the narrator and it would be out-of-character for Nick to keep harping on people's cobalt blue eyes like a teenage romantic.
What I'm Reading Now
Third Girl by Agatha Christie is a later Christie, in which Poirot Meets the Sixties. I have had some warning against late Christies, but I liked the creepiness of Halloween Party quite a lot, and Third Girl is off to a great start. An untidy young woman shows up at Poirot's office with an intriguing problem: how can she find out whether she's committed a murder? Poirot indulges in some judgmental thoughts about her generation and the falling standard of grooming, and before he can say anything out loud, she concludes, apologetically, that she's made a mistake; he can't possibly help her; he's too old. Poirot is hurt. He hates to be too old, even though his patent-leather shoes pinch his feet and by this point he would be over a hundred if not for Detective Stasis. He goes to see his old friend Ariadne Oliver -- there's a great bit where she yanks out one of her hair extensions in her excitement and Poirot discreetly picks it up and sets it on the table -- and they decide to investigate the problem anyway.
What I Plan to Read Next
More Cormoran Strike Adventures! I'm going to get The Silkworm out from the library, and then I'm going to read it! I really hope there will be an awkward conversation with Robin about The Leg Incident.