Tuesday, 14 March 2023 08:32 pm
Book Review: Lady Slings the Booze
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deckardcanineI understood this to be a sequel to Callahan's Crosstime Saloon, but it bears no more resemblance to its predecessor than That Hideous Strength bears to the rest of the Space Trilogy. For starters, while set in New York City, it makes no mention of the saloon. Mike Callahan gets only occasional scenes and doesn't really affect the plot. It's not even a series of short stories; it's a novel.
The cover of my 1993 edition tells us only that it's about an esteemed brothel, which includes nonhuman employees and/or patrons. The illustration puts non-protagonist Lady Sally McGee (misnamed Lady Callahan) front and center and takes liberties with several drawn characters and incidents. For example, while there is a talking dog, he's supposed to look normal, not anthropomorphic and clad. (It's not clear to me whether he serves as a gigolo.) You might well overlook the first-person narrator, portrayed as a Sherlock Holmes cosplayer.
The private detective, who usually goes by Joe Quigley, initially knows almost nothing about his new case, which he accepts in desperation. Only after a tour does Sally spill details, because the mystery is as bizarre as a few parts of the brothel, which is non-sci-fi on the surface, and he may have to see the latter to believe the former. A "Little Man Who Wasn't There," or "The Phantom" as he says on a sort of calling card, has been wreaking havoc while evading notice. Some of his pranks, while tasteless, are potentially funny. But for all the humor, these characters take rape as seriously as anyone else does.
The tale is more properly called a detective story than a mystery, because Joe really doesn't take long to figure out who the culprit is and how. The real suspense is in dealing with the threat, which they don't trust the police to handle, so they plan a bunch of high-risk felonies. The case is closed only slightly more than halfway through the book, after which we get another fast-solved mystery with a prolonged resolution.
Joe deems himself excellent at intuition but poor on luck, something of a reverse Jacques Clouseau. Manifestations of his misfortune include an embarrassing real first name and an uncanny resemblance to a TV personality, neither of which are clarified for us early on. Part of his skill comes from familiarity with fiction, especially that of John D. MacDonald. (I got maybe two-thirds of the cultural references without looking them up.)
The back cover summary isn't entirely misleading, because we do spend a lot of time learning about the place without plot advancement. It does sound exceptional, at least in terms of how the employees could hardly ask for anything more. Joe is asked to pose as a trainee for the case, but after a while, he strongly considers joining for real. And finds true love with a superpowered woman, not caring how much she gets around.
I can only read it as Robinson's wishful thinking, albeit tempered by the moments when things go wrong. I hope he doesn't agree with Joe on everything, because some of those values really rub me wrong, especially when he says that a sane world would let little kids have sex "like God intended." I got my fill of that particular vice from Woman on the Edge of Time. Still not as warped as Stranger in a Strange Land, tho.
A few aspects haven't aged well. Most modern writers wouldn't have a good guy throw anti-gay slurs at a bad guy even for the sake of provoking him. And NYC restricts guns a lot more now.
I give the book credit for being pretty funny -- more so than CCS. It certainly has more puns, without relying too heavily on them. Unfortunately, sometimes the characters laugh their asses off at things that don't sound hilarious to me, if I even get them. There's a reason most successful humorists downplay fictitious amusement.
I might read another Robinson work someday. One that doesn't take place at a brothel so I'll be less likely to feel a little sick. Or mortified that someone in church would catch me reading it.
Without meaning to, I've begun another partly comedic book, Spindle's End by Robin McKinley. Heh, from Robinson to Robin.
The cover of my 1993 edition tells us only that it's about an esteemed brothel, which includes nonhuman employees and/or patrons. The illustration puts non-protagonist Lady Sally McGee (misnamed Lady Callahan) front and center and takes liberties with several drawn characters and incidents. For example, while there is a talking dog, he's supposed to look normal, not anthropomorphic and clad. (It's not clear to me whether he serves as a gigolo.) You might well overlook the first-person narrator, portrayed as a Sherlock Holmes cosplayer.
The private detective, who usually goes by Joe Quigley, initially knows almost nothing about his new case, which he accepts in desperation. Only after a tour does Sally spill details, because the mystery is as bizarre as a few parts of the brothel, which is non-sci-fi on the surface, and he may have to see the latter to believe the former. A "Little Man Who Wasn't There," or "The Phantom" as he says on a sort of calling card, has been wreaking havoc while evading notice. Some of his pranks, while tasteless, are potentially funny. But for all the humor, these characters take rape as seriously as anyone else does.
The tale is more properly called a detective story than a mystery, because Joe really doesn't take long to figure out who the culprit is and how. The real suspense is in dealing with the threat, which they don't trust the police to handle, so they plan a bunch of high-risk felonies. The case is closed only slightly more than halfway through the book, after which we get another fast-solved mystery with a prolonged resolution.
Joe deems himself excellent at intuition but poor on luck, something of a reverse Jacques Clouseau. Manifestations of his misfortune include an embarrassing real first name and an uncanny resemblance to a TV personality, neither of which are clarified for us early on. Part of his skill comes from familiarity with fiction, especially that of John D. MacDonald. (I got maybe two-thirds of the cultural references without looking them up.)
The back cover summary isn't entirely misleading, because we do spend a lot of time learning about the place without plot advancement. It does sound exceptional, at least in terms of how the employees could hardly ask for anything more. Joe is asked to pose as a trainee for the case, but after a while, he strongly considers joining for real. And finds true love with a superpowered woman, not caring how much she gets around.
I can only read it as Robinson's wishful thinking, albeit tempered by the moments when things go wrong. I hope he doesn't agree with Joe on everything, because some of those values really rub me wrong, especially when he says that a sane world would let little kids have sex "like God intended." I got my fill of that particular vice from Woman on the Edge of Time. Still not as warped as Stranger in a Strange Land, tho.
A few aspects haven't aged well. Most modern writers wouldn't have a good guy throw anti-gay slurs at a bad guy even for the sake of provoking him. And NYC restricts guns a lot more now.
I give the book credit for being pretty funny -- more so than CCS. It certainly has more puns, without relying too heavily on them. Unfortunately, sometimes the characters laugh their asses off at things that don't sound hilarious to me, if I even get them. There's a reason most successful humorists downplay fictitious amusement.
I might read another Robinson work someday. One that doesn't take place at a brothel so I'll be less likely to feel a little sick. Or mortified that someone in church would catch me reading it.
Without meaning to, I've begun another partly comedic book, Spindle's End by Robin McKinley. Heh, from Robinson to Robin.