A review by trudilibrarian
When the Sacred Ginmill Closes by Lawrence Block

4.0

First of all, Carol knows what she's talking about. This is another great installment in the Scudder series and I really wavered over whether to give it five stars or not. It's a flashback novel, back to Scudder's hard drinking, bar crawling days of wee morning hours and head splitting hangovers. This is Scudder in all his glorious dysfunction, surrounded by the other barflies that make up his small cadre of "friends". It's 1970's New York, where Irish bars have Republican Army connections.

Because this is the most intricately plotted of the series thus far, I feel like I didn't get as much Scudder this time around. There's so much going on in this book that Scudder is nearly lost in the details and dialogue required to drive the action forward. Don't get me wrong; he's there, just not as there when it comes to his private ruminations and general observations about life. Turns out that's what I really love even more than a richly constructed plot. My favorite thing about this one is that ending. Holy moses. Betrayal and backstabbing, revenge and a couple of suicides.

Spoiler

I was surprised that Skip went ahead and turned in the actors, including best friend Bobby Ruslander. Betrayal is a horrible thing, and Bobby is a huge asshole for what he did, but for Skip to turn them in to the Irish heavies knowing full well they would be killed, well, that's going to be tough to live with. Scudder takes the reward though "and somewhere along the line it stopped being blood money and became...just money."

Carolyn's suicide was a bit of a shock, but Scudder using her death to frame Tommy really shocked me. He was pretty positive Tommy killed his wife after all, and Tommy is a huge sleazeball, but still. Just desserts? Poetic justice? Scudder justice anyway. I can't help question though whether Scudder would have made the same choice sober.

The last few pages of the novel are the best. Scudder's voice is so strong, the bittersweet nostalgia acute as he recounts all the landmarks that have crumbled and disappeared, all the lost souls lost for good to the hereafter: "So many changes, eating away at the world like water dripping on a rock." It's a strong man looking back from a better place in his life, yet it's a man who still finds himself longing, just a little bit, for "the good old days" of bourbon and coffee, and nights spent drinking til the sacred ginmill closes.

And so we'll drink the final drink
That cuts the brain in sections
Where answers do not signify
And there aren't any questions.

I broke my heart the other day.
It will mend again tomorrow.
If I'd been drunk when I was born
I'd be ignorant of sorrow.

And so we've had another night
Of poetry and poses,
And each man knows he'll be alone
When the sacred ginmill closes.

(Last Call, Dave Van Ronk)