If you’ve ever had top-shelf tequila—Cabo Wabo, Don Julio, Patron—you know it can be a smooth spirit that you can sit, sip, and relax with, or that can transform an ordinary margarita into a transcendent experience.
Blue Labyrinth is not top-shelf tequila. It’s more like…Montezuma Tequila.
Two decades ago, I worked in the commercial publishing industry in Manhattan. Two obvious but relevant facts: 1) living in Manhattan is kind of expensive; and 2) entry-level publishing gigs do NOT pay well.
One other obvious but relevant fact: when you’re in your early 20s, you want to go out and do the things the young people enjoy, such as fraternizing with like-minded Bohemians at drinking establishments. Being short on cash, however, one must find ways to do this economically. That’s where Montezuma Tequila—the anti-top-shelf tequila—comes in.
When my roommate at the time (now a well-respected publishing professional whom I won’t embarrass) moved in, he brought with him a leftover supply of liquor from his undergraduate days at a school well known for its copious consumption of poor quality spirits. Amongst that collection was a bottle of Montezuma, which became our pre-game drink of choice because, somehow, it was the least offensive bottle in the collection. When you have to pony up $20 per drink for yourself and the object of your romantic affection, you don’t want to buy any more drinks than you have to, so we did our level best to ensure that we didn’t need to buy much for ourselves by nipping from that never-ending handle of the most vile tequila ever to be placed into a bottle. It was so bad that we took to placing it in the freezer in the hopes that the extreme chill would help nullify the larynx-melting torture of swallowing it.
But, after the first shot, it wasn’t so bad. Maybe that’s because your taste buds had been rendered inert, maybe it’s because the part of your brain that renders conscious thought had been obliterated…but the second and, if one could handle it, third shots weren’t too bad. You even started to look forward to and enjoy them in that sort of, “Yeah, man, let’s do this—come on! Let’s go! Bring it! Let’s make it happen!” kind of way.
That’s why Blue Labyrinth is Montezuma Tequila. At first, it’s kind of like, “Dear lord, I can’t even…gah! GAH! It burns! WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!” But, after you start to get into it—after you swallow the unbelievable burn of those first few chapters and disconnect the logical part of your brain, you’re like, “AHAHAHAHA! Oh, YEAH—you go, Constance! You drop acid! And not in the hallucinogenic sense! Get literal with that, girl! Melt the flesh from their bones and make Rambo look like Mr. Rogers!”
Look, we all know Pendergast books can veer into ridiculous, over-the-top territory. It’s not so much the Baskerville-esque blurring the line between reality and the supernatural that makes some of these stories go off the rails; it’s the Bond-meets-Terminator-meets-Bourne action sequences.
And, yet, they remain compulsively readable because Preston and Child are so damn good at their craft—no matter how absurd the action gets, you have to know what happens next and, when it’s all over, you’re ready for more.
So, pop this one in the freezer, plug your nose, and get it down your gullet—you’ll thank me.
Though you may not feel great the next morning.