Jim Nisbet is one of the most talented writers I came across last year. In fact, I think his off-kilter book, "Dark Companion" was maybe the third best read on my top-ten of 2017 list. And while his talent is more than evident in parts of "The Syracuse Codex," those parts are just so few and far between that I can't bring myself to recommend it. I actually had some trouble finishing the book.
The plot concerns a man named Danny Kestrel who frames fine artwork and lives near the bottom of San Francisco's very tony (and very insufferable) society scene. The book's eponymous Macguffin enters the picture (I'll spare you the puns) and Mr. Kestrel soon finds a target on his back. The intrigue deepens and the cast of characters widens. It seems that by the end of the second act Nisbet has too many plates spinning at once and they begin to come crashing down. To make matters even worse, massive unexpurgated whacks of Edward Gibbon's "The History of the Decline of the Roman Empire" are interleaved throughout the book, grinding the narrative to a halt. It all reminded me a bit of the eccentric writer Harry Stephen Keeler, who would sometimes sneak his wife's writing into his books by having one of his characters conveniently discover something written by Ms. Keeler and start to read. Keeler of course was a true original, but then again so was Ed Wood.
Finally, although I admire Nisbet's ability (when he's in form) to buck the trend in noir fiction by flouting minimalist conventions, his descriptions border on the logorrheic and the obsession with proving erudition (along with a constellation of characters with a similar penchant, who name-drop Proust as if they're getting paid for it) finally becomes too much. Someone once said, "Don't use the word 'azure' when you mean 'blue.'" "The Syracuse Codex" feels like it was written by someone who has a software program that automatically replaces a first choice for a word with the longest multi-syllabic, foreign-sounding one that can be found. This is, ultimately, the kind of misfire that can only be created by someone with a lot of talent and knowledge but little editorial oversight. It's admirable in someways, but it's maddening, and, worst of all, it's not fun to read.