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A review by ravenousbibliophile
Don't Point That Thing At Me by Kyril Bonfiglioli
3.0
Rating: 3.5/5
Blurb: Light humor, that casts Dark shadows.
As with a great many plots involving espionage and situational comedy, serendipity has a rather large part to play. The same can be said for my discovery of this book. An off-chance post on a reading-group on Facebook, and I found myself on Amazon ordering a copy. I also had a vague recollection of a film by the name of "Mortdecai" which left viewers mortified at the experience. But I must confess to being taken in by the blurb by the New Yorker that sits proudly on the cover, 'The result of an unholy collaboration between P.G. Wodehouse and Ian Fleming.' Thus, I went into this book with slightly elevated expectations and for the most part I was left satisfied.
The negative is easier to express, and it's simply that Kyril stretched the plot a little too long and hard at the end. The use of language crossed over from being eloquent to being circumlocution and it put a considerable strain on the old cognitive machinery that was already overworked with the liberal use of French, Latin and the occasional Spanish phrase scattered about the text. The positive of the book is related to the negative, in that for the most part Kyril's style of writing is an excellent homage to both Wodehouse and Fleming, combining the rich tapestry of the English language found in the works of the former, with the rich tapestries found in the works of the latter. It is only at the very end when the chapters seem to drone on that the book seems verbose and irksome.
All in all it's an enjoyable read and given how the book ends, I am rather curious to see how and where the Right Hon. Charlie C. Mortdecai manages to get himself.
Blurb: Light humor, that casts Dark shadows.
As with a great many plots involving espionage and situational comedy, serendipity has a rather large part to play. The same can be said for my discovery of this book. An off-chance post on a reading-group on Facebook, and I found myself on Amazon ordering a copy. I also had a vague recollection of a film by the name of "Mortdecai" which left viewers mortified at the experience. But I must confess to being taken in by the blurb by the New Yorker that sits proudly on the cover, 'The result of an unholy collaboration between P.G. Wodehouse and Ian Fleming.' Thus, I went into this book with slightly elevated expectations and for the most part I was left satisfied.
The negative is easier to express, and it's simply that Kyril stretched the plot a little too long and hard at the end. The use of language crossed over from being eloquent to being circumlocution and it put a considerable strain on the old cognitive machinery that was already overworked with the liberal use of French, Latin and the occasional Spanish phrase scattered about the text. The positive of the book is related to the negative, in that for the most part Kyril's style of writing is an excellent homage to both Wodehouse and Fleming, combining the rich tapestry of the English language found in the works of the former, with the rich tapestries found in the works of the latter. It is only at the very end when the chapters seem to drone on that the book seems verbose and irksome.
All in all it's an enjoyable read and given how the book ends, I am rather curious to see how and where the Right Hon. Charlie C. Mortdecai manages to get himself.