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A review by book_concierge
Don't Ask by Donald E. Westlake
3.0
Book # 8 in the John Dortmunder series has the gang hired by a small country to “retrieve” a religious relic – the femur of St Ferghana. Seems that there is only one spot available at the United Nations and two neighboring and always warring countries – Tsergovia and Votskojek – are both determined to get that seat. The head of the selection committee is an archbishop who will likely side with the country who possesses the authenticated relic. The poor countries have equally unimpressive “embassy” headquarters, so it should be pretty easy for Dortmunder and his team to get in, get the bone and get out. And it is … but then …
I love this series. I marvel at Westlake’s imagination in coming up with these convoluted scenarios. John Dortmunder is a rather gentlemanly burglar; he’s a mastermind and a great planner, but his plans, however well thought out and featuring split-second timing, never quite work out. The gang may succeed at first glance, but you can be sure that some twist will result in their ultimate defeat.
The joy comes in watching the various plans, fumbles, and regroupings unfold. I also love how Westlake describes things. For example:
"(He) wore a vaguely military tunic kind of thing, the Nehru jacket’s homicidal cousin, in dark olive green;…”
“… his usual airplane engine of a voice modulating down to a kind of heavy purr, like a well-fed lion.”
“This woman was about the size and shape of a mailbox, with a black-haired white lunch box on top for a head.”
In short, it’s a fun, fast, entertaining read.
I love this series. I marvel at Westlake’s imagination in coming up with these convoluted scenarios. John Dortmunder is a rather gentlemanly burglar; he’s a mastermind and a great planner, but his plans, however well thought out and featuring split-second timing, never quite work out. The gang may succeed at first glance, but you can be sure that some twist will result in their ultimate defeat.
The joy comes in watching the various plans, fumbles, and regroupings unfold. I also love how Westlake describes things. For example:
"(He) wore a vaguely military tunic kind of thing, the Nehru jacket’s homicidal cousin, in dark olive green;…”
“… his usual airplane engine of a voice modulating down to a kind of heavy purr, like a well-fed lion.”
“This woman was about the size and shape of a mailbox, with a black-haired white lunch box on top for a head.”
In short, it’s a fun, fast, entertaining read.