There was a two-year break following the publication of Mischief (1993), but McBain picks up directly from the end of the previous volume – indeed, the first 5 pages of this new novel are taken from the end of the previous one. We also find the author in a very playful mood as we switch to a scene set in Manhattan and featuring the NYPD – has McBain forgotten to substitute Isola? No, it turns out we are watching a play in rehearsal, though I have no idea where New York lies in the fictional McBain universe – probably on the East Coast, shall we just leave it at that?
I offer the following review for Friday’s Forgotten Booksmeme run by Patti Abbott at her fab Pattinase blog
Romance (87th Precinct series #46)
First Published: 1995
Leading players: Steve Carella, Bert Kling, Fat Ollie Weeks, Nellie Brand, Peter Byrnes, Arthur Brown, Andy Parker, Teddy Carella, Monaghan & Monroe, Sharyn Cooke
“… there ain’t no way you can turn a murder mystery into a silk purse”
McBain never actually wrote a book in this series entitled Lark, but he is most definitely having a very good time here and works fairly hard to try and bring readers along with him, even those perhaps not too well-disposed towards self-conscious, self-reflexive narratives that play on the verge of postmodernism to explore just how much truth you can convey in a fictional work. So, deep breath: the book is named for the title of a new play, Romance, that is currently in rehearsal. The play is about a play entitled, you guessed it, Romance, which deals with actors performing a play … about an actress who gets threatened by an unknown stalker and who is eventually killed. This being a very serious play, none of the characters have names, just roles (the actress, the understudy, the director, the cop, etc) and we don’t find out whodunit. Then life starts to imitate art when the lead actress in the play is first attacked and then murdered exactly mirroring the play, which gains it enormous publicity. Could it be that one of the actors, the pretentious and sententious author, or the cold-blooded director committed the heinous act just to make the play a hit? The actress’ agent is arrested, but then another man kills himself and leaves a confession to the crime. But does that solve things? Of course not …
Then the actors start re-writing the play to better reflect the true-life investigation. Even Fat Ollie Weeks, the bigoted slob of the 88th, gets asked for artistic advice from a thespian and Bert Kling gets told he behaves just like the fictional counterparts of the small screen:
“Oh, my, but we do sound like a television cop, don’t we?”
Speaking of Kling … Very unusually for McBain in this era, only one crime investigation is featured in this volume, though to compensate we do have a substantial subsidiary subplot involving Bert’s latest (and, let’s face it, doubtless doomed) love affair, once again (after Eileen Burke, who merits only a fleeting mention from Teddy) with a fellow cop – or rather a high-ranking medic who works for the police and who pulls in a lot more cash than our hardworking detective, so right away there may be room for some bumps along the way. This however proves not to be much of a stumbling block, but their romance is anything but easy as she is black and Kling is white and the city is still reeling from the race riot initiated the previous weekend by The Deaf Man in the previous novel, of which this is almost a continuation (it all takes place in the subsequent week). Actually, despite being a sort of sequel, its combination of a story with a theatrical background and a budding romance for Kling recalls an earlier book in the series, Ten Plus One from 1963. The plot in this one is much less convoluted, though not necessarily any more convincing when it comes to a plausible motive, but there is much to enjoy.
Along with the crisp and funny dialogue, there are also plenty of meta-textual moments (for those like me who enjoy that sort of thing) as well as several pop culture in-jokes – at one point we learn that the actor playing the cop in the play has also played similar roles in such movies as Without Apparent Motive (1971), Fuzz (1972), and Blood Relatives (1978), all of which are real films that just happen to be adapted from previous books in the 87th Precinct series. But then this story is set in April, so a certain jokeyness is to be expected, though McBain is in deadly earnest when he explores the racial tensions in his fictional city so closely modeled on New York. Very much a book aimed squarely at fans of the series, it earns half marks for keeping nicely to a single plot, it general good humour and the handling a serious topic in its love story. It loses marks as the plot is not very plausible and offers mostly very thin characterisation. But I did enjoy the lightness of touch here, especially compared with the next book in the series, the incredibly dark and sordid Nocturne … (review coming soon).
You can check out my reviews of all the previous volumes at my 87 Precinct microsite.