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lobo1tomia's review against another edition
5.0
Eredetileg: http://olvasonaplo.net/olvasonaplo/2008/06/17/lawrence_block_ha_a_szent_kocsma_is_bezar/
Ismét egy Matthew Scudder történet Block tollából, ami vagy egy évtizeddel az előtt játszódik, hogy a sorozat elején megismerkedhettünk a nyomozóval. 1975-t írunk, Matt már maga mögött hagyta előző életét a rendőrséget és a családját is, járja a kocsmákat és iszogat. De nem magányosan, ahogy azt eddig megszokhattuk, hanem van néhány haverja, kocsmabarátja, néha kimondottan hangos társaságba csöppen és vesz részt a beszélgetésekben, miközben le-lecsúszik az a pár bourbon esetleg kávéval, majd tovább állnak a következő kocsmába. Mattot innen a haveri körből találják meg ketten is kéréssel: segítsen nekik. Először is, a bárt üzemeltető Skipnek ellopták a kettős könyveléséből azt a főkönyvet, amivel az adóhatóság eléggé megszorongathatja, s ő inkább fizetne, mint az adócsalás vádja. Aztán meg Telefonos Tommyhoz betörtek, megölték a feleségét amíg ő a szeretőjével volt, s bár nagyjából semmi sincs ellene, azért ha bíróság elé kerül a dolog, megszorongathatják. Matt pedig ismét csak segít, csekély díjazásért cserébe. Amit azonban talál, mert megérzései még alkoholmámorban is kiválóan működnek, nem éppen az, amit akárki is vár. Hát még a következmények. Bár az ital még nem tette tönkre Scudder és barátainak életét, azért már elkezdte a rombolást: a felszín alatt majdnem mindenkinek van valami komolyabb sebe, sérelme vagy csak a düh, kapzsiság, irigység munkálkodik bennük, de az árulás még így is mindenkinek, így Mattnek is fáj.
Ismét egy Matthew Scudder történet Block tollából, ami vagy egy évtizeddel az előtt játszódik, hogy a sorozat elején megismerkedhettünk a nyomozóval. 1975-t írunk, Matt már maga mögött hagyta előző életét a rendőrséget és a családját is, járja a kocsmákat és iszogat. De nem magányosan, ahogy azt eddig megszokhattuk, hanem van néhány haverja, kocsmabarátja, néha kimondottan hangos társaságba csöppen és vesz részt a beszélgetésekben, miközben le-lecsúszik az a pár bourbon esetleg kávéval, majd tovább állnak a következő kocsmába. Mattot innen a haveri körből találják meg ketten is kéréssel: segítsen nekik. Először is, a bárt üzemeltető Skipnek ellopták a kettős könyveléséből azt a főkönyvet, amivel az adóhatóság eléggé megszorongathatja, s ő inkább fizetne, mint az adócsalás vádja. Aztán meg Telefonos Tommyhoz betörtek, megölték a feleségét amíg ő a szeretőjével volt, s bár nagyjából semmi sincs ellene, azért ha bíróság elé kerül a dolog, megszorongathatják. Matt pedig ismét csak segít, csekély díjazásért cserébe. Amit azonban talál, mert megérzései még alkoholmámorban is kiválóan működnek, nem éppen az, amit akárki is vár. Hát még a következmények. Bár az ital még nem tette tönkre Scudder és barátainak életét, azért már elkezdte a rombolást: a felszín alatt majdnem mindenkinek van valami komolyabb sebe, sérelme vagy csak a düh, kapzsiság, irigység munkálkodik bennük, de az árulás még így is mindenkinek, így Mattnek is fáj.
psteve's review against another edition
4.0
Former cop Matt Scudder is off the force, split up from his wife (he sees his kids from Staten Island regularly) and living on the East Side of Manhattan, and drinking an awful lot. One night he's present when an after-hours place he frequents (is robbed). One of the owners asks him to help solve the case and it becomes complicated of course.
The mystery is all very interesting and the ending is great, resembling in some ways at times an English drawing-room mystery, where all the suspects are gathered to find out who the guilty party is. But what really makes the book work is its casual portrayal of drinking life on the East Side in the late 1980s. The neighborhood and milieu becomes very real, and the other neighborhoods Scudder visits in the course of the story also become very real.
The mystery is all very interesting and the ending is great, resembling in some ways at times an English drawing-room mystery, where all the suspects are gathered to find out who the guilty party is. But what really makes the book work is its casual portrayal of drinking life on the East Side in the late 1980s. The neighborhood and milieu becomes very real, and the other neighborhoods Scudder visits in the course of the story also become very real.
epictetsocrate's review against another edition
4.0
Ferestrele de la Morrissey erau vopsite în negru. Detunătura fu îndeajuns de puternică şi de apropiată ca să le zguduie. Frânse conversaţia la mijlocul unei silabe, îl făcu pe un chelner să îngheţe în mers, transformându-l într-o statuie cu o tavă cu băuturi pe umăr şi un picior în aer. Zgomotul mare şi rotund se stinse lent, ca praful aşezându-se, iar încăperea rămase amuţită pentru o clipă îndelungată, parcă de respect.
Cineva zise: „Isuse Cristoase” şi-n clipa aceea o mulţime de oameni îşi reluară răsuflarea oprită până atunci. La masa noastră, Bobby Ruslander se întinse după o ţigară şi zise:
— A sunat ca o bombă.
Skip Devoe zise:
— Ca o bombă de artificii.
— Atâta tot?
— Ajunge, zise Skip. Marea artilerie a bombelor de artificii. Aceeaşi încărcătură, dar dacă-i pui o teacă de metal în loc de învelitoarea de hârtie, ai o armă în loc de o jucărie. Aprinde o mică blestemăţie din aia şi, dacă uiţi să o arunci, va trebui apoi să-nveţi să faci nenumărate lucruri de bază cu mâna stângă.
— A sunat mai mult ca o pocnitoare, insistă Bobby. Mai degrabă ca dinamita, sau ca o grenadă, sau aşa ceva. A sunat ca al treilea rahat de Război Mondial, dacă vreţi să ştiţi.
— Iată actorul, zise Skip cu căldură. Cum să nu-l iubim pe omul ăsta? Luptând până la capăt în tranşee, gonind pe dealurile măturate de vânt, târându-se prin mocirlă. Bobby Ruslander, veteranul acoperit de cicatricile a o mie de campanii.
— Vrei să spui a o mie de sticle, zise cineva.
— Al naibii actor, spuse Skip, întinzându-se să ciufulească părul lui Bobby. „Şşşt! Aud tunul cum bubuie”. Ştii bancul?
— Eu ţi l-am spus.
— „Şşşt! Aud tunul cum bubuie”. Cum ai putea tu auzi vreodată un foc tras cu sete? Ultima dată când au declarat ăştia război, zise, Bobby a venit cu un bilet de la psihiatru. „Dragă Unchiule Sam, te rog iartă absenţa lui Bobby, gloanţele astea îl înnebunesc”.
— Ideea bătrânului meu, spuse Bobby.
— Dar tu ai încercat să-l convingi. „Dă-mi o puşcă”, ziceai. „Vreau să-mi slujesc ţara”.
Bobby râse. Avea un braţ în jurul fetei sale şi îşi luă băutura cu mâna liberă. Zise:
— Ziceam numai că mi s-a părut că era dinamită.
Skip clătină din cap.
— Dinamita-i diferită. Sunt toate diferite, cu diferite feluri de explozie. Dinamita-i ca o notă puternică şi un sunet mai neted decât al unei bombe de artificii. Scot toate sunete diferite. Grenada-i total altfel, e ca un acord.
Cineva zise: „Isuse Cristoase” şi-n clipa aceea o mulţime de oameni îşi reluară răsuflarea oprită până atunci. La masa noastră, Bobby Ruslander se întinse după o ţigară şi zise:
— A sunat ca o bombă.
Skip Devoe zise:
— Ca o bombă de artificii.
— Atâta tot?
— Ajunge, zise Skip. Marea artilerie a bombelor de artificii. Aceeaşi încărcătură, dar dacă-i pui o teacă de metal în loc de învelitoarea de hârtie, ai o armă în loc de o jucărie. Aprinde o mică blestemăţie din aia şi, dacă uiţi să o arunci, va trebui apoi să-nveţi să faci nenumărate lucruri de bază cu mâna stângă.
— A sunat mai mult ca o pocnitoare, insistă Bobby. Mai degrabă ca dinamita, sau ca o grenadă, sau aşa ceva. A sunat ca al treilea rahat de Război Mondial, dacă vreţi să ştiţi.
— Iată actorul, zise Skip cu căldură. Cum să nu-l iubim pe omul ăsta? Luptând până la capăt în tranşee, gonind pe dealurile măturate de vânt, târându-se prin mocirlă. Bobby Ruslander, veteranul acoperit de cicatricile a o mie de campanii.
— Vrei să spui a o mie de sticle, zise cineva.
— Al naibii actor, spuse Skip, întinzându-se să ciufulească părul lui Bobby. „Şşşt! Aud tunul cum bubuie”. Ştii bancul?
— Eu ţi l-am spus.
— „Şşşt! Aud tunul cum bubuie”. Cum ai putea tu auzi vreodată un foc tras cu sete? Ultima dată când au declarat ăştia război, zise, Bobby a venit cu un bilet de la psihiatru. „Dragă Unchiule Sam, te rog iartă absenţa lui Bobby, gloanţele astea îl înnebunesc”.
— Ideea bătrânului meu, spuse Bobby.
— Dar tu ai încercat să-l convingi. „Dă-mi o puşcă”, ziceai. „Vreau să-mi slujesc ţara”.
Bobby râse. Avea un braţ în jurul fetei sale şi îşi luă băutura cu mâna liberă. Zise:
— Ziceam numai că mi s-a părut că era dinamită.
Skip clătină din cap.
— Dinamita-i diferită. Sunt toate diferite, cu diferite feluri de explozie. Dinamita-i ca o notă puternică şi un sunet mai neted decât al unei bombe de artificii. Scot toate sunete diferite. Grenada-i total altfel, e ca un acord.
johnnygamble's review against another edition
3.0
Really wanted to love this one, his sixth in the series. Didn't. Found it unsatisying and the most predictable of the set. Won't deter me from reading the next, however.
redsg's review against another edition
2.0
“When the Sacred Ginmill Closes” was famous back in the day for causing Block to return to the character of Matthew Scudder after a four year hiatus, but it is from here that I have to begin my criticisms starting with Block’s reasoning for doing a prequel instead of a follow-up to “8 Million Ways to Die”. "8 Million" was phenomenal, not only because it had a damn good story, but because it significantly moved forward the Scudder character with him trying to quit drinking by attending AA meetings. So why is it that Block was only able to renew interest in his creation by regressing him?
I know regressing isn’t technically the right term since this is deliberately set in the past (a year before “The Sins of the Father” in fact), and there is a bit of a frame story incorporated throughout the book (though that has its own flaws, which I’ll talk about later) that constantly reminds us that this is Scudder reflecting on an event in his past. But it still doesn’t make sense why Block would do this- did he think the character had become less intriguing without his alcoholism? I doubt it, considering the many sequels that followed. Did he feel he could use Scudder’s drinking to tell some larger metaphorical tale that couldn’t be done with a sober protagonist? Possibly, and there is evidence in the text to somewhat suggest this, but also evidence against it. Scudder roaming the bars of New York and finding himself wrapped into several troubles generated by them could be seen as a metaphor about his lack of identity, as well as the consequences of drinking. But, at the same time, there are plenty of bars Scudder enters and exits throughout the narrative that are presented as good and/or neutral in terms of moral relevance (there is even a line at the very end of the novel where Scudder openly states he doesn't regret a single drink he drunk during his alcoholic days!".
No, the only logical reason I can see for Block going with this period setting is because it allowed him to do a soft reboot to engage new readers. I say soft because the events of the previous novels did take place, but rather than rely on newcomers having gone through those entries, Block must have figured that it would be easier to bring everyone up to speed with a new rendition of "Sins", for lack of a better phrase.
The problem, from my perspective, is that Block was clearly a different writer when he wrote "Sins" compared to "Sacred Ginmill". It’s almost a 10 year difference- people change, it’s understandable. However, the Block doing "Sacred Ginmill" lacks the same mindset that enabled him to pour a fluid stream of consciousness about an alcoholic PI in "Sins". Don’t get me wrong, Block remains a talented writer here, but there was something about the prose of "Sins" that just made it flow better off the tongue, especially when it came to Scudder's consumption of alcoholic beverages. The best way I can describe it is it came off as more "natural" whereas here it is more forced, as though Block was trying too hard to make Scudder a drinker. One could counter that this is technically an older Scudder narrating about a younger Scudder, thus explaining why it feels more haphazard, but I personally find that to be nonsensical since Block is the one writing at the end of the day.
The plot "Sins" also had a much better flow, but I attribute that differentiation to Block's strange decision to tackle three different crimes in "Sacred Ginmill" compared to the usual single one he used to do in the past five books. Now, of course, an author is encouraged to constantly push and challenge themselves when it comes to their writing career. However, Block bit off more than he could chew here because he was coming back to the Scudder series after, as I said, a hiatus. Had he written "Sacred Ginmill" soon after "8 Million", I have no doubt in my head that it would have been better. But because he was taking on the task of not only creating three distinguishable plot threads but also re-presenting the Scudder character to a new group of readers, he got overly ambitious and the story lacks the cohesive factor it should have contained.
The biggest problem from the get-go is that "Sacred Ginmill" simply has too many characters. The first chapter alone confused me because there were over 7 different individuals participating in the dialogue. Having a large supporting cast isn't an instantly foolhardy thing to implement, but it has to be done over the course of several chapters. The Homeric epics and Shakespearean plays are great examples of this, boasting tens of different characters, each with their own dialogues, diatribes, and monologues. Yet they worked because the authors had a grasp over what each person's role was and how they would impact the overarching narrative. Most importantly, they didn't throw them all in in the beginning, slowly incorporating them over the course of the exposition.
Block doesn't do this. As I said, they're all introduced in that introduction, with none of them being given much of a character arc or three-dimensional characterization in the subsequent chapters. That's not to say they aren't entertaining, but it is to say that Block tossing them in ad nauseam probably could have been spared.
I also wasn't a particularly big fan of any of the three distinct mysteries. Part of the reason most of the Scudder series has grown on me is because Block takes conventional genre plot lines and adds a twist to it. "The Sins of the Father" featured Scudder trying to figure out why a murderer did what he did; "In the Midst of Death" had Scudder trying to absolve a rat policeman of his innocence; "A Stab in the Dark" had Scudder trying to figure out a victim a serial killer admitted to NOT murdering.
Here, however, the mysteries are pretty cut and dry whodunits- Scudder has to figure out who robbed two people and who murdered a guy's wife. They weren't as engaging, from a concept standpoint, as they could've been.
That being said, and as harsh as it seems I am being on "Sacred Ginmill", the truth is Block remains a great writer. His prose may not be as strong here as it was in past entries, but he still weaves good conversations and paces his story well-enough that I never once thought things dragged. As someone who is dyslexic when it comes to reading, I am somehow able to move through Block's works, and I attribute that to his writing style. One of the most impressive things I've found about the Scudder series, in particular, is my love for when Block goes into detail about Scudder's movements along New York's streets and corners. I have no visible idea about how NY's geography works, yet whenever Block describes things in particular, I find myself smiling because this is the trademark of a writer who has done their research and/or is speaking from a source of genuine passion.
Block even manages to keep his overly large cast likable, no matter how stupid or ignorant they could be about the world around them.
The resolution itself is a mixed bag. I found the two robberies to be mostly satisfactory, but I wish Block had thrown more bread crumbs throughout the narrative leading to the spiderweb wrap-up. While not as bad as "Time to Murder and Create's" endgame, I thought Block left too much of the integral details off page (I got into detail below regarding this point of contention).
The resolution of the murder, however, was downright silly. It was severely underdeveloped throughout the book and thus even more disappointing when the climax didn't excite it at all. What's stranger is that, throughout this subplot, Scudder goes through these weird mood swings that he isn't able to attribute to anything in particular, and I was hoping that Block was setting some stones to build up to something from these emotional turns. But it is all for naught and feels half-baked overall. The worst part about this thread, however, is that it reminded me too much of a Jack Reacher ending, which Block is painfully above indulging in. Yet that's what happens, turning Scudder from a moral person into an amoral guy (though he admits in the "present" day that he would've done things differently back then, I wonder if Block intended any of that to pertain to this particular act).
Overall, I enjoyed Block's prose and some of the developments in "When the Sacred Ginmill Closes," but not enough to overcome my dislike of the other elements. If I were to rate this on my own scale I would give it a 2.5/4, but as it stands I round down because I don't think "Sacred Ginmill" lived up to past Scudder books. I'll have to check out the short story to see if it's any better.
SPOILERS:
-The main thing is the revelation regarding the actors and the shared plays that Bobby did with the two perps. That's something that should've been name dropped earlier on in a passing conversation, rather than chalk it all up under Bobby being a generic actor.
-I mentioned flaws in the frame story above. Well, those flaws particularly refer to the end where Block rapidly advances prior background storybeats in previous novels as a way of, I guess, playing catch-up to his hiatus. Anita is remarried, Scudder's cop buddy retires, and Scudder's two boys go to college and the army, and he officially stops sending money to his family. I felt like these things should've been incorporated into the backdrop of subsequent Scudder novels/novellas, not jammed into the ending of a single book that itself wasn't set in the present day. Oh well.
I know regressing isn’t technically the right term since this is deliberately set in the past (a year before “The Sins of the Father” in fact), and there is a bit of a frame story incorporated throughout the book (though that has its own flaws, which I’ll talk about later) that constantly reminds us that this is Scudder reflecting on an event in his past. But it still doesn’t make sense why Block would do this- did he think the character had become less intriguing without his alcoholism? I doubt it, considering the many sequels that followed. Did he feel he could use Scudder’s drinking to tell some larger metaphorical tale that couldn’t be done with a sober protagonist? Possibly, and there is evidence in the text to somewhat suggest this, but also evidence against it. Scudder roaming the bars of New York and finding himself wrapped into several troubles generated by them could be seen as a metaphor about his lack of identity, as well as the consequences of drinking. But, at the same time, there are plenty of bars Scudder enters and exits throughout the narrative that are presented as good and/or neutral in terms of moral relevance (there is even a line at the very end of the novel where Scudder openly states he doesn't regret a single drink he drunk during his alcoholic days!".
No, the only logical reason I can see for Block going with this period setting is because it allowed him to do a soft reboot to engage new readers. I say soft because the events of the previous novels did take place, but rather than rely on newcomers having gone through those entries, Block must have figured that it would be easier to bring everyone up to speed with a new rendition of "Sins", for lack of a better phrase.
The problem, from my perspective, is that Block was clearly a different writer when he wrote "Sins" compared to "Sacred Ginmill". It’s almost a 10 year difference- people change, it’s understandable. However, the Block doing "Sacred Ginmill" lacks the same mindset that enabled him to pour a fluid stream of consciousness about an alcoholic PI in "Sins". Don’t get me wrong, Block remains a talented writer here, but there was something about the prose of "Sins" that just made it flow better off the tongue, especially when it came to Scudder's consumption of alcoholic beverages. The best way I can describe it is it came off as more "natural" whereas here it is more forced, as though Block was trying too hard to make Scudder a drinker. One could counter that this is technically an older Scudder narrating about a younger Scudder, thus explaining why it feels more haphazard, but I personally find that to be nonsensical since Block is the one writing at the end of the day.
The plot "Sins" also had a much better flow, but I attribute that differentiation to Block's strange decision to tackle three different crimes in "Sacred Ginmill" compared to the usual single one he used to do in the past five books. Now, of course, an author is encouraged to constantly push and challenge themselves when it comes to their writing career. However, Block bit off more than he could chew here because he was coming back to the Scudder series after, as I said, a hiatus. Had he written "Sacred Ginmill" soon after "8 Million", I have no doubt in my head that it would have been better. But because he was taking on the task of not only creating three distinguishable plot threads but also re-presenting the Scudder character to a new group of readers, he got overly ambitious and the story lacks the cohesive factor it should have contained.
The biggest problem from the get-go is that "Sacred Ginmill" simply has too many characters. The first chapter alone confused me because there were over 7 different individuals participating in the dialogue. Having a large supporting cast isn't an instantly foolhardy thing to implement, but it has to be done over the course of several chapters. The Homeric epics and Shakespearean plays are great examples of this, boasting tens of different characters, each with their own dialogues, diatribes, and monologues. Yet they worked because the authors had a grasp over what each person's role was and how they would impact the overarching narrative. Most importantly, they didn't throw them all in in the beginning, slowly incorporating them over the course of the exposition.
Block doesn't do this. As I said, they're all introduced in that introduction, with none of them being given much of a character arc or three-dimensional characterization in the subsequent chapters. That's not to say they aren't entertaining, but it is to say that Block tossing them in ad nauseam probably could have been spared.
I also wasn't a particularly big fan of any of the three distinct mysteries. Part of the reason most of the Scudder series has grown on me is because Block takes conventional genre plot lines and adds a twist to it. "The Sins of the Father" featured Scudder trying to figure out why a murderer did what he did; "In the Midst of Death" had Scudder trying to absolve a rat policeman of his innocence; "A Stab in the Dark" had Scudder trying to figure out a victim a serial killer admitted to NOT murdering.
Here, however, the mysteries are pretty cut and dry whodunits- Scudder has to figure out who robbed two people and who murdered a guy's wife. They weren't as engaging, from a concept standpoint, as they could've been.
That being said, and as harsh as it seems I am being on "Sacred Ginmill", the truth is Block remains a great writer. His prose may not be as strong here as it was in past entries, but he still weaves good conversations and paces his story well-enough that I never once thought things dragged. As someone who is dyslexic when it comes to reading, I am somehow able to move through Block's works, and I attribute that to his writing style. One of the most impressive things I've found about the Scudder series, in particular, is my love for when Block goes into detail about Scudder's movements along New York's streets and corners. I have no visible idea about how NY's geography works, yet whenever Block describes things in particular, I find myself smiling because this is the trademark of a writer who has done their research and/or is speaking from a source of genuine passion.
Block even manages to keep his overly large cast likable, no matter how stupid or ignorant they could be about the world around them.
The resolution itself is a mixed bag. I found the two robberies to be mostly satisfactory, but I wish Block had thrown more bread crumbs throughout the narrative leading to the spiderweb wrap-up. While not as bad as "Time to Murder and Create's" endgame, I thought Block left too much of the integral details off page (I got into detail below regarding this point of contention).
The resolution of the murder, however, was downright silly. It was severely underdeveloped throughout the book and thus even more disappointing when the climax didn't excite it at all. What's stranger is that, throughout this subplot, Scudder goes through these weird mood swings that he isn't able to attribute to anything in particular, and I was hoping that Block was setting some stones to build up to something from these emotional turns. But it is all for naught and feels half-baked overall. The worst part about this thread, however, is that it reminded me too much of a Jack Reacher ending, which Block is painfully above indulging in. Yet that's what happens, turning Scudder from a moral person into an amoral guy (though he admits in the "present" day that he would've done things differently back then, I wonder if Block intended any of that to pertain to this particular act).
Overall, I enjoyed Block's prose and some of the developments in "When the Sacred Ginmill Closes," but not enough to overcome my dislike of the other elements. If I were to rate this on my own scale I would give it a 2.5/4, but as it stands I round down because I don't think "Sacred Ginmill" lived up to past Scudder books. I'll have to check out the short story to see if it's any better.
SPOILERS:
-The main thing is the revelation regarding the actors and the shared plays that Bobby did with the two perps. That's something that should've been name dropped earlier on in a passing conversation, rather than chalk it all up under Bobby being a generic actor.
-I mentioned flaws in the frame story above. Well, those flaws particularly refer to the end where Block rapidly advances prior background storybeats in previous novels as a way of, I guess, playing catch-up to his hiatus. Anita is remarried, Scudder's cop buddy retires, and Scudder's two boys go to college and the army, and he officially stops sending money to his family. I felt like these things should've been incorporated into the backdrop of subsequent Scudder novels/novellas, not jammed into the ending of a single book that itself wasn't set in the present day. Oh well.
bitterindigo's review against another edition
4.0
I love Block's Matthew Scudder novels. The mysteries are incidental; the characters and the clear-eyed but loving rendering of New York are the real success.
whatmeworry's review against another edition
5.0
The very best kind of book, a story that rattles along, prose that jumps off the page and a heart that beats so strongly through the tale that it almost hurts.
carol26388's review against another edition
5.0
Oh Scudder novels, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways:
1) Period New York. This time it's a walk down memory lane to 1975. While Scudder remembers more about the sports scene than national politics, he also recalls that it was a big year for Black Russians and tequila sunrises. It's also a time of Irish dominance in Hell's Kitchen (anecdotal origin quote: "Hell's a mild climate. This is Hell's Kitchen"), a small rough, industrial down-and-out section of New York. Irish toughs with connections to the IRA have a strong influence in the area, not the least of which are the owners of Morrissey's after-hours club. Then there are the timeless city people: "I generally bought the paper there, unless I bought it from the shopping-bag lady who hawked them on the sidewalk in from of the 400 Deli. She bought them for a quarter each from the newsstand--and she sold them for the same price, which is a tough way to make a living."
2) Characterization that makes me feel like I was there. These are Scudder's bar-crawling days, and he has some good-time relationships with his bar tenders and fellow drinkers. There's Buddy, the actor; Skip, bartender and co-owner of Miss Kitty's; Billie Keegan, who tends bar at Armstrong's; Telephone Tommy, the salesman with the small, calculating eyes; Caroline, "with a soft you-all accent that, like certain culinary herbs, became stronger when you steeped it in alcohol." Dialogue is spot-on, that clever good-time mix of stories, social commentary, and good-natured mocking that a group of congenials have.
3) The emotional punch of a likeable lead struggling with alcohol and past demons. Scudder's a little edgier in this one, walking a thin line between anger and depression. Alcohol threads through all the scenes, the backdrop and motivation to most of his routine, the siren that draws him from bar to bar. There is one very ironic scene where Skip tells Scudder that "But even so [alcohol's] a choice for us. That's the difference between you and me and a guy like Billie Keegan." Though Scudder of the past sounds skeptical, the discussion impacts even more strongly knowing the Scudder ten years forward and the extent to which he was deluding himself.
4) Oh-so-subtle foreshadowing and the resolution of three clever little mysteries: a hold-up at Morrissey's, Tommy's marital troubles and Skip's financial troubles. There are hints of trouble from the start, but it isn't until the end that you realize how nicely they all blended in. Nothing is wasted here. The book comes full circle, making the ending even more poignant.
5) The bitter flavor of justice. I read the book again just so I could re-read the ending. Stunning.
I had to request this one from my library's "lower stacks." I wonder if they would notice if I never returned it?
1) Period New York. This time it's a walk down memory lane to 1975. While Scudder remembers more about the sports scene than national politics, he also recalls that it was a big year for Black Russians and tequila sunrises. It's also a time of Irish dominance in Hell's Kitchen (anecdotal origin quote: "Hell's a mild climate. This is Hell's Kitchen"), a small rough, industrial down-and-out section of New York. Irish toughs with connections to the IRA have a strong influence in the area, not the least of which are the owners of Morrissey's after-hours club. Then there are the timeless city people: "I generally bought the paper there, unless I bought it from the shopping-bag lady who hawked them on the sidewalk in from of the 400 Deli. She bought them for a quarter each from the newsstand--and she sold them for the same price, which is a tough way to make a living."
2) Characterization that makes me feel like I was there. These are Scudder's bar-crawling days, and he has some good-time relationships with his bar tenders and fellow drinkers. There's Buddy, the actor; Skip, bartender and co-owner of Miss Kitty's; Billie Keegan, who tends bar at Armstrong's; Telephone Tommy, the salesman with the small, calculating eyes; Caroline, "with a soft you-all accent that, like certain culinary herbs, became stronger when you steeped it in alcohol." Dialogue is spot-on, that clever good-time mix of stories, social commentary, and good-natured mocking that a group of congenials have.
3) The emotional punch of a likeable lead struggling with alcohol and past demons. Scudder's a little edgier in this one, walking a thin line between anger and depression. Alcohol threads through all the scenes, the backdrop and motivation to most of his routine, the siren that draws him from bar to bar. There is one very ironic scene where Skip tells Scudder that "But even so [alcohol's] a choice for us. That's the difference between you and me and a guy like Billie Keegan." Though Scudder of the past sounds skeptical, the discussion impacts even more strongly knowing the Scudder ten years forward and the extent to which he was deluding himself.
4) Oh-so-subtle foreshadowing and the resolution of three clever little mysteries: a hold-up at Morrissey's, Tommy's marital troubles and Skip's financial troubles. There are hints of trouble from the start, but it isn't until the end that you realize how nicely they all blended in. Nothing is wasted here. The book comes full circle, making the ending even more poignant.
5) The bitter flavor of justice. I read the book again just so I could re-read the ending. Stunning.
I had to request this one from my library's "lower stacks." I wonder if they would notice if I never returned it?
ibeforem's review against another edition
3.0
I decided to start this series from the beginning because I read All the Flowers are Dying, the 16th book, and enjoyed it.
If I had read this book without reading #16 first, I probably wouldn’t read any others. I found the Scudder character to be very rough around the edges, though by the end of the book I could see a little of the Scudder from later in the series. The mysteries were interesting, but I had one of them figured out early. None of the characters were particularly likable. I’ll continue the series based solely on #16 and hope for quick improvement!
If I had read this book without reading #16 first, I probably wouldn’t read any others. I found the Scudder character to be very rough around the edges, though by the end of the book I could see a little of the Scudder from later in the series. The mysteries were interesting, but I had one of them figured out early. None of the characters were particularly likable. I’ll continue the series based solely on #16 and hope for quick improvement!
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