I'm also deep into ski writing — those editorial meetings were for the ski magazines I edited. And when skiers learn this about me, they always ask the same question: “What’s your favorite ski area?”
(For years I used various subterfuges to avoid directly answering that. Then I finally, definitively answered it here: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2010/02/25/SPRP1BM9BU.DTL)
Now, crime-fiction lovers ask me, “Who’s your favorite author?” I know how to deflect that question, too, but fer sure, one of them is the late, great Robert B. Parker, creator of the Spenser series.
It was Parker I wrote about in Yankee, and Parker who's always been my greatest delight to read. I chuckle out loud about every third page. He's my guy.
But that meant I approached his final Spenser novel, the posthumously published Sixkill with real trepidation. I so wanted to love it. But hey — it was number 39, and written as he lay dying. Or — since he died in the saddle, at his desk, fingers on the keyboard — fixin’ to lay dying.I'm relieved to report that Sixkillis pure Parker. Still funny, still wise, still written 90% in dialog, still a delight.
Parker isn't everybody’s delight, not by a long shot. One writer, very close to me indeed, uses the phrase “light and slight” to describe his prose.
Maybe so, but it’s my light and slight, and I love it. Here's a tiny sample of why:
Boston P.I. Spenser has been asked by his old pal and occasional adversary, policecaptain Quirk, to look into a murder case against a movie star named Jumbo.
“What kind of guy is he,” I said.
“Awful, Quirk said. “Food, booze, dope, sex. Never saw a girl too young. Or a guy.”
“Long as it’s alive?” I said.
“I don't know if he requires that,” Quirk said.
“But a nice guy aside from his hobbies,” I said.
“Loud, arrogant, stupid, foulmouthed,” Quirk said.
“You think he’s foulmouthed?”
“Fucking A,” Quirk said.
— jules