Rating: 2.5* of five
The Book Description: Meet Nick Monday: a private detective who’s more Columbo than Sam Spade, more Magnum P.I. than Philip Marlowe. As San Francisco’s infamous luck poacher, Nick doesn’t know whether his ability to swipe other people’s fortunes with a simple handshake is a blessing or a curse. Ever since his youth, Nick has swallowed more than a few bitter truths when it comes to wheeling and dealing in destinies. Because whether the highest bidders of Nick’s serendipitous booty are celebrities, yuppies, or douche bag vegans, the unsavory fact remains: luck is the most powerful, addictive, and dangerous drug of them all. And no amount of cappuccinos, Lucky Charms, or apple fritters can sweeten the notion that Nick might be exactly what his father once claimed—as ambitious as a fart. That is, until Tuesday Knight, the curvy brunette who also happens to be the mayor’s daughter, approaches Nick with an irresistible offer: $100,000 to retrieve her father’s stolen luck. Could this high-stakes deal let Nick do right? Or will kowtowing to another greedmonger’s demands simply fund Nick’s addiction to corporate coffee bars while his morality drains down the toilet? Before he downs his next mocha, Nick finds himself at the mercy of a Chinese mafia kingpin and with no choice but to scour the city for the purest kind of luck, a hunt more titillating than softcore porn. All he has to do to stay ahead of the game is remember that you can’t take something from someone without eventually paying like hell for it. . . .
My Review: I like noir novels. I like silly, funny premises with little, if any, connection to reality. I like some supernatural plot bunnies, like the “you can't see it but he's Not Like You.” This should be outta the park!
Nope.
S.G. Browne is new to me, so I don't know if his previous books, Breathers and Fated, would appeal to me more. I rather doubt it, based on this book's impression on me. The humor in the book is mildly amusing, not laugh out loud funny; I don't think the writer was going for full-on Wodehouse, but he never got to ironic Robert Benchley-level chortles, or Joe Keenan-level madcappery. Lots of running around on this one very bad day for Nick Monday, our hardboiled sleuth. Oh my yes, fuss and feathers and kerfuffle! None of it to much point, though, and no particular reason it all happened on this day. All hell busted loose on Wednesday. Huh. Why's that?
I thought, as I read along, where are the memorable lines...the turns of phrase that are so apt and witty that I'll want to quote them in my review? Where indeed.
Nick Monday, the P.I.-cum-luck poacher, is in the same stubborn, contrary mode as Hammer or Spade, but one doesn't buy it. He's not a hard luck, hard case, tough guy loner with a gun and a drinking problem and a 'tude. He's an emotionally deprived kid brother with a mean streak whose moral compass points to “me.”
His qualms about poaching people's luck...that is, taking from them the thing that has made them fortunate and allowed them to have success in their lives...have nothing whatever to do with the wreckage that leaves behind him, but instead has to do with how Nick Monday sees himself.
I guess it's a perfect fit for the times. Noir heroes reflect the concerns of society. Chandler and Spillane and Hammett reflected the fact that men are supposed to do the Right Thing by the weaker members of society. Sometimes that meant killin' them as needs killin', and humanity being humanity, there will always be those. In those writers' books, it was invariably the rich and the powerful, the greedy selfish ones, who needed killin'. Nick Monday steals people's inborn gifts. Sam Spade gives back the ill-got gains co-opted by the vicious, selfish fucks who are never satisfied, never have enough.
I'll take Spade and Company.