Scan barcode
A review by redsg
A Dance At The Slaughterhouse by Lawrence Block
2.0
When I had gotten through about the first third of A Dance at the Slaughterhouse, I knew immediately that my review would begin with something along the lines of "this might be the most boring entry in the Matthew Scudder series." Now that I have finished it, I can unfortunately say that not only is it the most boring, but it is also, in my opinion, the worst book of them all.
At the time of this critique, I realize I have not written up reviews of the first 5 novels (I don't believe I had created a Goodreads account at the time), but to give you all a quick recap, the only Scudder book I considered outright bad up to this point was the chronological second one Time to Murder and Create. This was because that book was full of contrivances that made the resolution of the mystery bizarre, and Scudder acted in dumb ways that mad me lose respect for him.
With Dance, not only do we have worse contrivances, we don't even have any type of mystery solving by the esteemed private eye. And it's a shame, because the premise of Scudder trying to find the origins of a snuff film whilst also investigating the murder of a pregnant woman had the potential to be the darkest, most interpersonal entry in the series since 8 Million Ways to Die.
The opening chapter sets the stage for the disappointment that will follow- Scudder and Mick Ballou attending a boxing match. It's boring (a crime for boxing of all sports), pointlessly drawn-out, and only at the very end develops into a decent progressive plot point. These are the biggest issues present throughout Dance: most of the text is full of dull situations that don't amount to anything, and those that do are only marginally good. In addition, Ballou plays perhaps his largest part in a Scudder book since Out on the Cutting Edge, which, as you guys know from my review of A Ticket to the Boneyard, was not welcome: to summarize, I hate the character of Ballou. He's an immoral individual, a mobman and murderer, and his ruminations about life are flat-out annoying to listen to. That Scudder has a strong friendship with him degrades Block's esteemed protagonist.
I'll get back to Ballou later, but he isn't the only one with stories that are interminable. In a lot of ways, Dance feels like Block's attempt at pulling a Cormac McCarthy: creating elongated conversations that are meant to convey some deeper meaning about the human condition, and I just don't think he succeeded here. The tales, individually, are interesting enough, but they lack the metaphorical power he was clearly going for. I wish I could put into words why I feel they failed, but if I were to venture an educated guess, it would be that he goes for too extreme scenarios. One involves the attempted rape of a woman about to die, another a father who viciously beats his pre-adolescent daughter, another a news story about an innocent bystander killed as collateral damage in a shootout, another about kids being turned into sex slaves on the streets, and so forth. I'm not saying these things don't happen or aren't worth examining for the sake of producing some sort of philosophical analysis, but what I am saying is that they all feel too adultish.
In fact, Dance might be the closest Block has come to trying too hard to be edgy. I think he's a talented enough writer to avoid falling into that "grimdark" trap that some authors stumble into when attempting to produce a work for adult audiences, but there's no denying that the premise combined with factoids about said premise combined with the aforestated McCarthy-esque metastories hit that boundary way more than they should.
But I could've easily forgiven all of this had the main narrative been as engaging as it had the potential to be. However, I go back to my original point that most of the book is flat-out boring. Scudder will go and talk to someone and they will produce nothing of value/nothing that leads to him going anywhere. A great example of this is when he goes to meet with Chance to see if the former pimp knows anything about a guy he's looking for: surprise surprise, he doesn't, and their dialogue doesn't amount to anything worth reading.
What's worse is that, all too often, there are instances where he is delayed in an action/attempted convo, with that delay not creating any tension and feeling more like Block was trying to hit a specific word count. Two great examples: Scudder goes to a video store to find out more information on the snuff cassette he has, only for the store owner to say he's too busy and to come back tomorrow. Why not have him be available then and there? The second, Scudder follows a suspect to his place, then decides to just go to the restaurant under the guy's place and have dinner. What? What was the damn point of either of these? Either have his trailing culminate in a revelation or his dinner in the restaurant spring a clue: don't have both be a waste of the reader's time.
Some people might counter and say that these are blatant attempts by Block at implementing realism into his story: that not everything falls into place as cleanly as they appear to be in other mystery thrillers. My counterarguments would be 1) in a fictional book, pacing is everything, and the principle of Chekhov's Gun applies tendfold and 2) I wouldn't have had a problem with a couple of these being sprinkled throughout the narrative (which has been the case in prior Scudder novels). But no, here there are one too many mundane events that don't mean anything in the grand scheme of things.
The worst of these, by far, is a subplot involving Scudder finding this street urchin named TJ he had met months ago and using him to gather information that he apparently is unable to get himself. For a mystery novel that is all about getting to the bottom of things through investigations, this is a flat-out lazy tactic by Block: having it done off-page by ANOTHER character (he had had Scudder do off-page investigative things in prior books that I didn't like either, but this takes it to a whole 'nother level of dumbness). But here's the best part: NOTHING TJ GETS AMOUNTS TO ANYTHING. That info is at best a useless backstory, and at worst a gigantic waste of pages. Seriously, it doesn't matter what the origin story of one of the victims was because it doesn't help Scudder in any way, shape, or form. The way he finds out is through one of the suspects opting to confess to him. It's so disappointing given past situations of Scudder deducing it all. TJ himself just feels out of place and weirdly juxtaposed into the story. My theory is he was Block's attempt at rectifying having Scudder thrash the boombox kid from A Ticket to the Boneyard.
For all the boredom, I might've considered bumping up Dance to a 2.5/5 had the climax been superb, but no, it's horrendous. Scudder recruits Ballou to do a full-on assault against the perpetrators and commits immoral acts of his own without remorse. It feels like the resolution you'd find in a Jack Reacher novel over a Scudder one. I don't know what Block was thinking, turning his recovering alcoholic PI into a wannabe vigilante.
So yeah, Dance is the first time since Time to the Murder that the Scudder series has had a bad entry. Tying the two mysteries together was slightly contrived on its own, but considering there is no actual putting together of clues to solve it, it's not like either of them matter. Mix this flaw with tedious conversations/observations, sluggish pacing, and a title that doesn't make any sense, and you got yourself a bad story.
There were a few good things here and there. I do think Block does a great job at writing standalone novels whilst still giving enough breadcrumbs to fans who have stayed with the series since the beginning. The inclusion for Chance, for example, was nice: Block gave a quick summary of 8 Million Ways that didn't feel like a dense recap, giving enough information to new readers whilst keeping older fans happy with small developments in his relationship with Scudder. In fact, there are a number of throwbacks to past novels that you will only appreciate if you read those prior entries, but that, if you didn't, don't impede your reading. And considering my hatred of Ballou, it was nice to see Block twice acknowledge that he isn't a good person (Durkin calling him a son of a b*tch, and Ballou admitting he's going to H E double hockeysticks). I also like how Block maintains Scudder's habit of consistently going to AA meetings and reflecting upon missing some.
But unfortunately, none of these counter my aforementioned issues. I think the biggest disappointment is the degradation of Scudder's morality, something that was amazingly set-up in Sins of the Father. I get that characters change, but this aspect of them shouldn't. There were things Scudder did like tithing a church a portion of his payment and lighting candles at the end of his journey for the girl he accidentally killed. Block tries to replace these with giving to the homeless and going to a mass for butchers with Ballou, but the former is inconsistently implemented and the latter feels shallow and disconnected from Scudder personally compared to what he used to do.
I don't know. Like most things, your mileage will ultimately vary. As a longtime reader, all I can say is that I was definitely disappointed.
At the time of this critique, I realize I have not written up reviews of the first 5 novels (I don't believe I had created a Goodreads account at the time), but to give you all a quick recap, the only Scudder book I considered outright bad up to this point was the chronological second one Time to Murder and Create. This was because that book was full of contrivances that made the resolution of the mystery bizarre, and Scudder acted in dumb ways that mad me lose respect for him.
With Dance, not only do we have worse contrivances, we don't even have any type of mystery solving by the esteemed private eye. And it's a shame, because the premise of Scudder trying to find the origins of a snuff film whilst also investigating the murder of a pregnant woman had the potential to be the darkest, most interpersonal entry in the series since 8 Million Ways to Die.
The opening chapter sets the stage for the disappointment that will follow- Scudder and Mick Ballou attending a boxing match. It's boring (a crime for boxing of all sports), pointlessly drawn-out, and only at the very end develops into a decent progressive plot point. These are the biggest issues present throughout Dance: most of the text is full of dull situations that don't amount to anything, and those that do are only marginally good. In addition, Ballou plays perhaps his largest part in a Scudder book since Out on the Cutting Edge, which, as you guys know from my review of A Ticket to the Boneyard, was not welcome: to summarize, I hate the character of Ballou. He's an immoral individual, a mobman and murderer, and his ruminations about life are flat-out annoying to listen to. That Scudder has a strong friendship with him degrades Block's esteemed protagonist.
I'll get back to Ballou later, but he isn't the only one with stories that are interminable. In a lot of ways, Dance feels like Block's attempt at pulling a Cormac McCarthy: creating elongated conversations that are meant to convey some deeper meaning about the human condition, and I just don't think he succeeded here. The tales, individually, are interesting enough, but they lack the metaphorical power he was clearly going for. I wish I could put into words why I feel they failed, but if I were to venture an educated guess, it would be that he goes for too extreme scenarios. One involves the attempted rape of a woman about to die, another a father who viciously beats his pre-adolescent daughter, another a news story about an innocent bystander killed as collateral damage in a shootout, another about kids being turned into sex slaves on the streets, and so forth. I'm not saying these things don't happen or aren't worth examining for the sake of producing some sort of philosophical analysis, but what I am saying is that they all feel too adultish.
In fact, Dance might be the closest Block has come to trying too hard to be edgy. I think he's a talented enough writer to avoid falling into that "grimdark" trap that some authors stumble into when attempting to produce a work for adult audiences, but there's no denying that the premise combined with factoids about said premise combined with the aforestated McCarthy-esque metastories hit that boundary way more than they should.
But I could've easily forgiven all of this had the main narrative been as engaging as it had the potential to be. However, I go back to my original point that most of the book is flat-out boring. Scudder will go and talk to someone and they will produce nothing of value/nothing that leads to him going anywhere. A great example of this is when he goes to meet with Chance to see if the former pimp knows anything about a guy he's looking for: surprise surprise, he doesn't, and their dialogue doesn't amount to anything worth reading.
What's worse is that, all too often, there are instances where he is delayed in an action/attempted convo, with that delay not creating any tension and feeling more like Block was trying to hit a specific word count. Two great examples: Scudder goes to a video store to find out more information on the snuff cassette he has, only for the store owner to say he's too busy and to come back tomorrow. Why not have him be available then and there? The second, Scudder follows a suspect to his place, then decides to just go to the restaurant under the guy's place and have dinner. What? What was the damn point of either of these? Either have his trailing culminate in a revelation or his dinner in the restaurant spring a clue: don't have both be a waste of the reader's time.
Some people might counter and say that these are blatant attempts by Block at implementing realism into his story: that not everything falls into place as cleanly as they appear to be in other mystery thrillers. My counterarguments would be 1) in a fictional book, pacing is everything, and the principle of Chekhov's Gun applies tendfold and 2) I wouldn't have had a problem with a couple of these being sprinkled throughout the narrative (which has been the case in prior Scudder novels). But no, here there are one too many mundane events that don't mean anything in the grand scheme of things.
The worst of these, by far, is a subplot involving Scudder finding this street urchin named TJ he had met months ago and using him to gather information that he apparently is unable to get himself. For a mystery novel that is all about getting to the bottom of things through investigations, this is a flat-out lazy tactic by Block: having it done off-page by ANOTHER character (he had had Scudder do off-page investigative things in prior books that I didn't like either, but this takes it to a whole 'nother level of dumbness). But here's the best part: NOTHING TJ GETS AMOUNTS TO ANYTHING. That info is at best a useless backstory, and at worst a gigantic waste of pages. Seriously, it doesn't matter what the origin story of one of the victims was because it doesn't help Scudder in any way, shape, or form. The way he finds out is through one of the suspects opting to confess to him. It's so disappointing given past situations of Scudder deducing it all. TJ himself just feels out of place and weirdly juxtaposed into the story. My theory is he was Block's attempt at rectifying having Scudder thrash the boombox kid from A Ticket to the Boneyard.
For all the boredom, I might've considered bumping up Dance to a 2.5/5 had the climax been superb, but no, it's horrendous. Scudder recruits Ballou to do a full-on assault against the perpetrators and commits immoral acts of his own without remorse. It feels like the resolution you'd find in a Jack Reacher novel over a Scudder one. I don't know what Block was thinking, turning his recovering alcoholic PI into a wannabe vigilante.
So yeah, Dance is the first time since Time to the Murder that the Scudder series has had a bad entry. Tying the two mysteries together was slightly contrived on its own, but considering there is no actual putting together of clues to solve it, it's not like either of them matter. Mix this flaw with tedious conversations/observations, sluggish pacing, and a title that doesn't make any sense, and you got yourself a bad story.
There were a few good things here and there. I do think Block does a great job at writing standalone novels whilst still giving enough breadcrumbs to fans who have stayed with the series since the beginning. The inclusion for Chance, for example, was nice: Block gave a quick summary of 8 Million Ways that didn't feel like a dense recap, giving enough information to new readers whilst keeping older fans happy with small developments in his relationship with Scudder. In fact, there are a number of throwbacks to past novels that you will only appreciate if you read those prior entries, but that, if you didn't, don't impede your reading. And considering my hatred of Ballou, it was nice to see Block twice acknowledge that he isn't a good person (Durkin calling him a son of a b*tch, and Ballou admitting he's going to H E double hockeysticks). I also like how Block maintains Scudder's habit of consistently going to AA meetings and reflecting upon missing some.
But unfortunately, none of these counter my aforementioned issues. I think the biggest disappointment is the degradation of Scudder's morality, something that was amazingly set-up in Sins of the Father. I get that characters change, but this aspect of them shouldn't. There were things Scudder did like tithing a church a portion of his payment and lighting candles at the end of his journey for the girl he accidentally killed. Block tries to replace these with giving to the homeless and going to a mass for butchers with Ballou, but the former is inconsistently implemented and the latter feels shallow and disconnected from Scudder personally compared to what he used to do.
I don't know. Like most things, your mileage will ultimately vary. As a longtime reader, all I can say is that I was definitely disappointed.