There've only been three disappointments in a stack of about
50 novels.
Unfortunately, Ross MacDonald was one of them. I had to work
harder to get
through Drowning Pool than any of the others I read.
(Ellroy's Suicide Hill
was a close second, though.) Particularly relative to the
laudatory quotes
on the jacket, my lack of appreciation of the Archer novel
has been a real
head scratcher for me. Why did I find the book so darn
dull?
I still don't have much of an answer. From a plot standpoint,
my overall
impression was that Archer sort of did things aimlessly until
the book ran
out of pages and it was time to reveal the murderer. I hardly
ever lost
myself in the book. Instead, I kept saying, "Yes, I'm reading
a book."
When that happens to me, the characters always seem like
puppets on
strings. There were occasional interesting vignettes. I liked
the motel
owners' contrasting views of the sleepy, upscale town versus
the rowdy,
growing village, for instance.
The noir element wasn't very apparent to me, either -- and
that's what I've
been trying to read of late. Perhaps the book is better
evaluated as a
mystery novel that happens to have a private investigator as
the lead
character. That is, not all novels which feature a
tough-talking private
dick are necessarily noir. Those reading Drowning Pool
expecting a good
whodunit might meet their expectations better than those
wanting to take a
ride on a roller coaster of impending doom.
Dunno. I'll keep reading your comments and maybe someone will
hit the nail
on the head and I'll say, "Yeah, that's why!"
Back to lurking,
Greg
swan@poboxes.com
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