The release of Christopher Moore’s new novel, Noir, should be celebrated. Not because it’s his crowning literary achievement, but because every Moore release is cause for celebration. This is my first Moore, and I find his writing style and my reading preferences don't quite jive.
Research shows that over the past 25 years, he has consistently been one of the funniest and most prolific authors in America. And since Noir comes three long years after his last novel, Secondhand Souls, the excitement is palpable.
Beyond maintaining a level of wit throughout a book, however, is the pitfall of raising the bar so high so early in the narrative that it’s nearly impossible to clear it again. Noir starts on page one in such a fashion as the hero, bartender Sammy “Two Toes” Tiffin, reflects upon how to delay a scream when he finds his boss lying dead on the floor of Sal’s Saloon:
“So, first I closed the back door, made sure it was solidly latched, then I glanced through the doorway into the front of the bar, which was still dark, and only then did I scream. Not the scream of a startled little girl, mind you, but a manly scream: the scream of a fellow who has caught his enormous dong in a revolving door while charging in to save a baby that was on fire or something.”
Moore is a master of metaphor and a sultan of simile and, well, a fine describer of the shriek that finding your boss dead might elicit (even if the mechanics of rushing into a burning building penis-first seem ill-advised). One of the great pleasures in Noir is trying to decipher the myriad comparisons that Moore employs, which are often nonsensical but no less entertaining for the effort.
After Sammy gathers himself, he realizes that his boss was likely killed by the snake Sammy ordered through the mail. Sammy has discovered that there is a booming black market in San Francisco for “snake whiz,” which many Asian men with erectile dysfunction are willing to pay handsomely for.
But while trying to capture his cash-cow venomous reptile, Sammy also uncovers a club of powerful, nefarious rich men who participate in some rather abhorrent rituals in the woods outside of the city.
Unfortunately for Sammy, his new love interest, Mrs. Stilton (or the “Cheese,” as she becomes affectionately known) agrees to participate in a gathering of these men, and Sammy must extricate her from their clutches or lose the love of his life — even if she’s only been in his life for a few days.
In keeping with the noir style, there are many divergent plotlines that ultimately have to be tied up, and Moore’s solution — no spoilers here — is unique to the genre. But anyone who has ever laughed their way through one of his novels knows that unique is what he does best. The Good Book, Shakespeare, and now noir will never be the same.
Beyond maintaining a level of wit throughout a book, however, is the pitfall of raising the bar so high so early in the narrative that it’s nearly impossible to clear it again. Noir starts on page one in such a fashion as the hero, bartender Sammy “Two Toes” Tiffin, reflects upon how to delay a scream when he finds his boss lying dead on the floor of Sal’s Saloon:
“Now, I am the younger brother of an older brother who often measured the worth of a guy by his ability to not scream under pressure, and insisted, in fact, that if any screamlike sounds ever reached Ma and/or Pa, this younger brother, me, would receive a pasting such as I had never known, including severe and painful Indian burns to the bone — a threat my older brother, Judges, may he rest in peace, backed up with great enthusiasm through most of my boyhood.
“So, first I closed the back door, made sure it was solidly latched, then I glanced through the doorway into the front of the bar, which was still dark, and only then did I scream. Not the scream of a startled little girl, mind you, but a manly scream: the scream of a fellow who has caught his enormous dong in a revolving door while charging in to save a baby that was on fire or something.”
After Sammy gathers himself, he realizes that his boss was likely killed by the snake Sammy ordered through the mail. Sammy has discovered that there is a booming black market in San Francisco for “snake whiz,” which many Asian men with erectile dysfunction are willing to pay handsomely for.
(Any criticism of Noir as being overly derivative of Hammett pretty much evaporates once the lucrative serpent pee is introduced.)
But while trying to capture his cash-cow venomous reptile, Sammy also uncovers a club of powerful, nefarious rich men who participate in some rather abhorrent rituals in the woods outside of the city.
Unfortunately for Sammy, his new love interest, Mrs. Stilton (or the “Cheese,” as she becomes affectionately known) agrees to participate in a gathering of these men, and Sammy must extricate her from their clutches or lose the love of his life — even if she’s only been in his life for a few days.
For my first pass it was an interesting reading attempt. I may try another.