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Valentine and Clarisse Lovelace Mystery Nathan Aldyne Business hasn't been so good at Daniel Valentine's gay bar, especially since more and more of the clientele are turning up dead-strangled with neckties. The police are baffled, so Valentine and his crime-solving partner Clarisse set about to find the murderer, and save Valentine from bankruptcy. There is no end to the suspects...or the victims. And you never know which is which-until they turn up with that necktie necklace.
282 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1986
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About the author
Nathan Aldyne
9 books10 followersNathan Aldyne is a joint pseudonym for Michael McDowell and Dennis Schuetz [1947-1988] aka Axel Young. They wrote four gay-themed mysteries together.
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Displaying 1 - 17 of 17 reviews
September 23, 2022
GAY CULTURAL ARTIFACTS
Clarisse: “You don’t suppose they put gay cops on this detail, do you?”
Valentine: “They can’t quite pull it off. They’ve got the hair okay, and they’ve got the
clothes down, but they can’t get the eyes right. They don’t know how to cruise.”
The Dan Valentine/Clarisse Lovelace mysteries, a four-volume series, were originally published as mass-market paperbacks during the early 1980s. I wish I had kept these original editions with their so-1980s covers. They were written by two gay men under the pseudonym of Nathan Aldyne. Today, these novels are cultural artifacts. They depict a gay world that, for the most part, doesn’t exist anymore. Take, for instance, Valentine’s use of the word “cruise” above, quoted from Canary, the last book in the series. Do gay men still use the word “cruise”? Younger gay men have asked me what the word means. During the period depicted in these books, cruising was a big part of gay life. For many, it was gay life.
Set in Boston and Provincetown during the late 1970s and early 1980s, these mysteries, Vermillion (1980), Cobalt (1982), Slate (1984), and Canary (1986), are lightweight fluff, but they are unmistakably grounded in the reality of gay life as it was then. The wit, humor, sarcasm, and sheer campiness at which gay men once excelled are in full bloom in these books and make them so enjoyable to read.
Daniel Valentine is the epitome of the 80s gay clone: handsome and hot in his flannel shirts, jeans, and boots with a bandanna (I don’t remember Nathan Aldyne telling us what color it is) sticking out of his back pocket. In Vermillion, he has a beard, but at some point in the series he shaves if off and just sports a mustache, the de rigueur fashion accessory for gay men at the time. These books teem with mustaches. I suspect that underneath Valentine’s brave and strong exterior there is a vulnerability of which even he may be unaware.
When Clarisse Lovelace (if her name is a reference to Samuel Richardson’s Clarissa, what about Daniel Valentine?) makes her entrance in Vermillion, Aldyne devotes three paragraphs to describe her pulchritude and clothes. If Valentine is a big ole clone, Clarisse is the fag hag par excellence: a flamboyant, take-no-prisoners straight woman who is at her best with gay men. She has a talent for skewering put-downs that rivals that of any gay man in these books. Is Clarisse a gay man trapped in a woman’s body, as many women at the time liked to describe themselves?
Clarisse’s character was probably more fun to write than Valentine’s. There are long sections that are Clarisse, all Clarisse. She often discovers the dead body and goes to painstaking efforts to solve the identity of the killer. Valentine sometimes just seems to be her sidekick. At times I thought the series should be called the Clarisse Lovelace mysteries.
Valentine and Clarisse do and say things that today would be considered inappropriate or cruel, if not downright politically incorrect. In Cobalt, Valentine goes to a costume party dressed as Simon Legree. His date dons blackface and goes as Uncle Tom. I cringed when I read the scene in Slate where a very, very short guy is obnoxious to Clarisse, who is tending bar. Fed up with his rudeness, she says to him, “The Dwarf Tossing Competition is not for another half hour.” Talk about these books being cultural artifacts!
Did I mention over-the-top? In Cobalt, when someone enters the shop in Provincetown where Clarisse is working for the summer, the first four notes of “Lara’s Theme” play. Also, the local movie house in Provincetown holds a Diana Dors retrospective. Each novel in the series is full of crazy references such as these.
The Dan Valentine/Clarisse Lovelace mysteries are chockfull of one-liners that you want to jot down and save for future use. Here are three of my favorites: “How could a woman with a repertoire of seven hundred show tunes be guilty of murder?” “The entire FBI doesn’t have the investigative powers of five gossiping queens.” “Mild bondage? . . . Is that like getting tied up with rubber bands?”
While I was reading Slate, I realized that something was missing from the story: AIDS. Then, in Canary, there is mention of a group In the Gay Pride parade distributing condoms to promote “safe sex,” and Valentine says, “People are worried enough about picking up AIDS.” Did Nathan Aldyne intend to continue the series after Canary, or was it meant to be the last in the series? Did the onset of AIDS contribute to whatever decision they made? Regardless, Aldyne gives us a time capsule of gay life and culture, as campy and over-the-top as they portray it, before the scourge of AIDS took over. Michael McDowell and Dennis Schuetz, who were Nathan Aldyne, were both lost to AIDS: Schuetz in 1989 and McDowell in 1999.
Clarisse: “You don’t suppose they put gay cops on this detail, do you?”
Valentine: “They can’t quite pull it off. They’ve got the hair okay, and they’ve got the
clothes down, but they can’t get the eyes right. They don’t know how to cruise.”
The Dan Valentine/Clarisse Lovelace mysteries, a four-volume series, were originally published as mass-market paperbacks during the early 1980s. I wish I had kept these original editions with their so-1980s covers. They were written by two gay men under the pseudonym of Nathan Aldyne. Today, these novels are cultural artifacts. They depict a gay world that, for the most part, doesn’t exist anymore. Take, for instance, Valentine’s use of the word “cruise” above, quoted from Canary, the last book in the series. Do gay men still use the word “cruise”? Younger gay men have asked me what the word means. During the period depicted in these books, cruising was a big part of gay life. For many, it was gay life.
Set in Boston and Provincetown during the late 1970s and early 1980s, these mysteries, Vermillion (1980), Cobalt (1982), Slate (1984), and Canary (1986), are lightweight fluff, but they are unmistakably grounded in the reality of gay life as it was then. The wit, humor, sarcasm, and sheer campiness at which gay men once excelled are in full bloom in these books and make them so enjoyable to read.
Daniel Valentine is the epitome of the 80s gay clone: handsome and hot in his flannel shirts, jeans, and boots with a bandanna (I don’t remember Nathan Aldyne telling us what color it is) sticking out of his back pocket. In Vermillion, he has a beard, but at some point in the series he shaves if off and just sports a mustache, the de rigueur fashion accessory for gay men at the time. These books teem with mustaches. I suspect that underneath Valentine’s brave and strong exterior there is a vulnerability of which even he may be unaware.
When Clarisse Lovelace (if her name is a reference to Samuel Richardson’s Clarissa, what about Daniel Valentine?) makes her entrance in Vermillion, Aldyne devotes three paragraphs to describe her pulchritude and clothes. If Valentine is a big ole clone, Clarisse is the fag hag par excellence: a flamboyant, take-no-prisoners straight woman who is at her best with gay men. She has a talent for skewering put-downs that rivals that of any gay man in these books. Is Clarisse a gay man trapped in a woman’s body, as many women at the time liked to describe themselves?
Clarisse’s character was probably more fun to write than Valentine’s. There are long sections that are Clarisse, all Clarisse. She often discovers the dead body and goes to painstaking efforts to solve the identity of the killer. Valentine sometimes just seems to be her sidekick. At times I thought the series should be called the Clarisse Lovelace mysteries.
Valentine and Clarisse do and say things that today would be considered inappropriate or cruel, if not downright politically incorrect. In Cobalt, Valentine goes to a costume party dressed as Simon Legree. His date dons blackface and goes as Uncle Tom. I cringed when I read the scene in Slate where a very, very short guy is obnoxious to Clarisse, who is tending bar. Fed up with his rudeness, she says to him, “The Dwarf Tossing Competition is not for another half hour.” Talk about these books being cultural artifacts!
Did I mention over-the-top? In Cobalt, when someone enters the shop in Provincetown where Clarisse is working for the summer, the first four notes of “Lara’s Theme” play. Also, the local movie house in Provincetown holds a Diana Dors retrospective. Each novel in the series is full of crazy references such as these.
The Dan Valentine/Clarisse Lovelace mysteries are chockfull of one-liners that you want to jot down and save for future use. Here are three of my favorites: “How could a woman with a repertoire of seven hundred show tunes be guilty of murder?” “The entire FBI doesn’t have the investigative powers of five gossiping queens.” “Mild bondage? . . . Is that like getting tied up with rubber bands?”
While I was reading Slate, I realized that something was missing from the story: AIDS. Then, in Canary, there is mention of a group In the Gay Pride parade distributing condoms to promote “safe sex,” and Valentine says, “People are worried enough about picking up AIDS.” Did Nathan Aldyne intend to continue the series after Canary, or was it meant to be the last in the series? Did the onset of AIDS contribute to whatever decision they made? Regardless, Aldyne gives us a time capsule of gay life and culture, as campy and over-the-top as they portray it, before the scourge of AIDS took over. Michael McDowell and Dennis Schuetz, who were Nathan Aldyne, were both lost to AIDS: Schuetz in 1989 and McDowell in 1999.
July 16, 2023
This fourth and final entry takes the Lovelace / Valentine series out with an impressive bang. It appears that 'Aldyne' learned something crucial from #3 ('Slate') - namely that less is not necessarily always more. Sometimes - with a murder mystery - more is mandatory.
'Canary' not only carries the kind of structural (and comedic) punch that puts it on a par with #2 ('Cobalt'); it moves with a sense of increasing dread which, though welcome on the one hand, simultaneously threatens to be a bit much.
However, that comes from a particular skill that uniquely serves this particular storyline. I believe this entry has the most murders in it. It also has a surfeit of suspects - and all of them (some more than others) have homicidal potential.
Characterization is sharp on all counts, with the rather-endearing Clarisse and Daniel riding the crest of the proceedings. The element of surprise is bounteous. The conclusion is leisurely stretched for the purpose of page-turning fury.
'Canary' satisfyingly walks a fine line between fizzy fluff and nerve-wracking suspense. As with the previous entries, of course, this ain't literature per se. But, overall, it's part of a series that's confident in what it's about and one that carved out a subgenre in a class by itself.
'Canary' not only carries the kind of structural (and comedic) punch that puts it on a par with #2 ('Cobalt'); it moves with a sense of increasing dread which, though welcome on the one hand, simultaneously threatens to be a bit much.
However, that comes from a particular skill that uniquely serves this particular storyline. I believe this entry has the most murders in it. It also has a surfeit of suspects - and all of them (some more than others) have homicidal potential.
Characterization is sharp on all counts, with the rather-endearing Clarisse and Daniel riding the crest of the proceedings. The element of surprise is bounteous. The conclusion is leisurely stretched for the purpose of page-turning fury.
'Canary' satisfyingly walks a fine line between fizzy fluff and nerve-wracking suspense. As with the previous entries, of course, this ain't literature per se. But, overall, it's part of a series that's confident in what it's about and one that carved out a subgenre in a class by itself.
March 28, 2019
Been meaning to read the gay mystery novels in this series for years, finally got around to reading this one. It was good, in fact, the more I think about it, the better it I'd rate it. But somehow it just did not provide the spark of interest that makes reading mysteries fun. That may be my fault, rather than that of the novel. But I was looking forward to reading this, so maybe it was the novel as well as me. Perhaps I should have started the series at the beginning and worked up to this one, then I might have enjoyed it more? If nothing else, it's an interesting window into the time when it was written (mid-1980s), so if you are nostalgic and/or interested in history, that's a reason to give this a go.
October 20, 2016
I think I liked this one the best in the series - sorry that there are only four books. And thank goodness the San Francisco Public Library finally got a circulating copy.
Read
January 25, 2009There are four books in this series by "Nathan Aldyne," and this is the final one. I found it several months ago but have postponed reading it, knowing there'll never be anything like it again.
Nathan Aldyne is the joined nom-de-plume of two gay men, Michael McDowell and Dennis Schuetz, both of whom died from AIDS-related illness.
The series began with "Vermillion" as the 70s transitioned into the 80s, and it's a wonderful snapshot of shared cultural givens among gay men of that time: pervasive antipathy towards police and authority (memory of Harvey Milk's murder was still fresh), a general sense of outsiderness, guilt-free promiscuity, etc. The protagonists are engaging and likable, the prose moves things along quickly.... fun reading that takes on a sad light when you consider what was on the horizon come 1984.
Nathan Aldyne is the joined nom-de-plume of two gay men, Michael McDowell and Dennis Schuetz, both of whom died from AIDS-related illness.
The series began with "Vermillion" as the 70s transitioned into the 80s, and it's a wonderful snapshot of shared cultural givens among gay men of that time: pervasive antipathy towards police and authority (memory of Harvey Milk's murder was still fresh), a general sense of outsiderness, guilt-free promiscuity, etc. The protagonists are engaging and likable, the prose moves things along quickly.... fun reading that takes on a sad light when you consider what was on the horizon come 1984.
July 29, 2015
I'm disappointed this series is over, now I have to find another series.
Not as good as Cobalt but a little better than Slate, it's still great fun coming back to these two again and spending time in their world.
Lots more bodies this time and again the humour is unfortunately dialed back, still a fast easy and satisfying read.
An end to a series I will miss and would recommend.
The number of men in this town he hasn't gone to bed with "you could count on the fingers of one maimed hand."
Not as good as Cobalt but a little better than Slate, it's still great fun coming back to these two again and spending time in their world.
Lots more bodies this time and again the humour is unfortunately dialed back, still a fast easy and satisfying read.
An end to a series I will miss and would recommend.
The number of men in this town he hasn't gone to bed with "you could count on the fingers of one maimed hand."
March 2, 2011
Not as good as the others, but still funny!
February 5, 2013
Just a fun, campy romp through '80s Boston gay life as the setting for this Thin Man style noir reluctant detective novel.
May 5, 2014
Fun! I wish there could have been more...
August 23, 2023
I’ve saved the last Valentine and Lovelace mystery… for last. I held off as long as I could. These books have been a fun glimpse into a lost world. I’m a generation or two behind this Boston and it seems much more interesting and brighter and complicated. The South End of the 80s is definitely not the South End of today. (Like gay bookstores, gay neighborhoods were also an unforeseen sacrifice at the altar of marriage.)
For some reason Valentine and Lovelace spend most of this book investigating on their own. And mostly it’s Lovelace’s show, although Valentine tackles the climax. I don’t know what that’s about. Maybe the two writers split writing chores and took turns, who knows. I’m not sure how it compares with the other three books since it’s been a few years since I’ve read them.
The mystery itself was a little meh. Murders are happening and our duo are asking questions, but the answers to those questions never really springboard into newer questions. There’s really no daisy chain of deduction here. Same with the suspense. It’s there, but it never gets the chance to mount. Almost every chapter that ends with something dangerous is succeeded by a chapter that undercuts the tension with frivolity. I feel like the earlier books balanced light and dark better, and I also feel like they handled the mystery aspect better. Lovelace and to a lesser extent Valentine, only because the reader isn’t really privy to his investigation, feel like the plot is carrying them, when their actions should be driving the plot. It’s all definitely a little unfocused.
Other thoughts: I also found it strange how chaste Valentine was in this book. I wonder if AIDS had something to do with that. I got a kick out of the canary scenes, but I’m not sure it was relevant enough to snag the title. Maybe if all the neckties were canary yellow. And I have to say I was a little disappointed with how little we learn about the motive for the crimes. And that ending! Very Melrose Place. I liked it but I believe it needed a tad more of an explanation (especially from Sean, who “wasn’t really gonna kill ya, buddy!”) Maybe they would have written another book given the chance but for a series it ends a little abruptly. I would have liked an epilogue setting up the characters’ near future. It would have been nice to get some closure on the secondary characters too, like Niobe and the priest. Certain tics of the writing were more pronounced here: in a few instances crucial information was unnecessarily delayed by too much description of irrelevant details. Who cares what color her dress is and what shoes she’s wearing, just tell us what the frig happened! Oh, and why was Lovelace carrying in a conversation with the radio, was that just a long gag to break up the murder investigation?
Regardless, I highly recommend this little series and I wish there were more of ‘em. My rating may be more for my love of the characters and their world, but I still think—hands down—this is the best gay mystery fiction series. It’s well written, it’s fun, it’s specific. Farewell, Valentine and Lovelace. Godspeed.
For some reason Valentine and Lovelace spend most of this book investigating on their own. And mostly it’s Lovelace’s show, although Valentine tackles the climax. I don’t know what that’s about. Maybe the two writers split writing chores and took turns, who knows. I’m not sure how it compares with the other three books since it’s been a few years since I’ve read them.
The mystery itself was a little meh. Murders are happening and our duo are asking questions, but the answers to those questions never really springboard into newer questions. There’s really no daisy chain of deduction here. Same with the suspense. It’s there, but it never gets the chance to mount. Almost every chapter that ends with something dangerous is succeeded by a chapter that undercuts the tension with frivolity. I feel like the earlier books balanced light and dark better, and I also feel like they handled the mystery aspect better. Lovelace and to a lesser extent Valentine, only because the reader isn’t really privy to his investigation, feel like the plot is carrying them, when their actions should be driving the plot. It’s all definitely a little unfocused.
Other thoughts: I also found it strange how chaste Valentine was in this book. I wonder if AIDS had something to do with that. I got a kick out of the canary scenes, but I’m not sure it was relevant enough to snag the title. Maybe if all the neckties were canary yellow. And I have to say I was a little disappointed with how little we learn about the motive for the crimes. And that ending! Very Melrose Place. I liked it but I believe it needed a tad more of an explanation (especially from Sean, who “wasn’t really gonna kill ya, buddy!”) Maybe they would have written another book given the chance but for a series it ends a little abruptly. I would have liked an epilogue setting up the characters’ near future. It would have been nice to get some closure on the secondary characters too, like Niobe and the priest. Certain tics of the writing were more pronounced here: in a few instances crucial information was unnecessarily delayed by too much description of irrelevant details. Who cares what color her dress is and what shoes she’s wearing, just tell us what the frig happened! Oh, and why was Lovelace carrying in a conversation with the radio, was that just a long gag to break up the murder investigation?
Regardless, I highly recommend this little series and I wish there were more of ‘em. My rating may be more for my love of the characters and their world, but I still think—hands down—this is the best gay mystery fiction series. It’s well written, it’s fun, it’s specific. Farewell, Valentine and Lovelace. Godspeed.
September 22, 2022
McDowell wrote two of my favorite horror books (The Elementals and Cold Moon Over Babylon) and a few of his others have been enjoyable. This fourth in the Valentine/Lovelace series was a big let-down, however.
I found the character of Niobe extremely annoying and thought maybe I’d give up on reading as her antics took center stage. Happily, she fades a bit as the story goes on. (But I grew to despise her thanks to her treatment of that bird.) I also began to feel Clarisse acted a bit childishly for my taste.
There is way too much describing of what people were wearing and too little of the murder investigation plot, and after reading I wasn’t all that sure about the killer’s motives. Also surprising was the downplaying of how AIDs impacted the gay community, although the story is set before the epidemic became fully understood.
Despite it being the last book in the series, it appears it maybe wasn’t meant to be, since there is no tie up (no pun) to the saga of Dan and Clarisse or the bar they run.
I found the character of Niobe extremely annoying and thought maybe I’d give up on reading as her antics took center stage. Happily, she fades a bit as the story goes on. (But I grew to despise her thanks to her treatment of that bird.) I also began to feel Clarisse acted a bit childishly for my taste.
There is way too much describing of what people were wearing and too little of the murder investigation plot, and after reading I wasn’t all that sure about the killer’s motives. Also surprising was the downplaying of how AIDs impacted the gay community, although the story is set before the epidemic became fully understood.
Despite it being the last book in the series, it appears it maybe wasn’t meant to be, since there is no tie up (no pun) to the saga of Dan and Clarisse or the bar they run.
December 1, 2025
The last of the Valentine & Lovelace mystery series. It’s a shame that the Plague kept these two charming characters from appearing again. I read that the authors didn’t feel right about writing them and their carefree lifestyle as AIDS ravaged the gay community. In any event the book is as charming as the other 3 but not quite as good as them either. Well worth reading, just to have one final adventure with the two of them.
August 27, 2024
As a member of the mystery genre, it was fair. The plot wasn't tight enough for the reader to have a fair chance at figuring out whodunit. As an early 80s gay day-in-the-life, it was excellent. And there are some aspects of gay ghetto, bar life that felt of the moment today.
Read
June 16, 2008Final one. 1986. More red herrings this time till right at the end. Also more deaths. Publisher of this re-edition says it's "fun, fun, fun" but then he also liked 3 better than 1, while I prefer a bit of grim - yet this is still no superficial camp froth. Structured around four major US holidays, with the decline of the new bar perhaps in answer to critics of DV and CL having it all too easy. I'm actually not sure of the symbolism of the (poor caged) carnivorous canary now.
But I'm sad four books were all. It wasn't one of the co-author's deaths that ended the series, they decided that earlier, but I'd have liked to delve a little deeper into them. If that had been possible.
But I'm sad four books were all. It wasn't one of the co-author's deaths that ended the series, they decided that earlier, but I'd have liked to delve a little deeper into them. If that had been possible.
Read
August 2, 2011Part of a 4 part series of gay-themed comic murder mysteries, this time stamp from Boston in the 80's is a fast, light read. To compare to others in the same or similar milieus, dialogue is not as snappy as the Bernie Rhodenbarr (Lawrence Block) novels, nor are the situations as funny or campy as the Rick Copp (Actor's Guide) books. But still, especially for someone who was in Boston in the 80's, it was a good time.
March 19, 2007
One of a series of VGood mysteries.
March 15, 2013
I want more!
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