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Hush, My Inner Sleuth
In the fall of 1947, an impressionable young scholar finds herself seduced by the spirit of a Hollywood pulp detective….
This serpentine saga opens at a New England women’s college, where the ever-playful Betty escapes a meddlesome narrator by slipping her friend a mickey and assuming her identity. Undaunted, the plucky storyteller adopts said friend—the literarily precocious Willie—and accompanies her to L.A.
Meanwhile, the pulp-inflected ghost of Skip Ryker—a recently atomized Hollywood detective—tries in vain to solve his untimely demise. What he needs, it quickly becomes apparent, is a willing instrument.
The ensuing collision of these disparate narratives sparks a battle royal for control of Willie’s suggestible psyche—and subsequently, movie rights to the book.
This serpentine saga opens at a New England women’s college, where the ever-playful Betty escapes a meddlesome narrator by slipping her friend a mickey and assuming her identity. Undaunted, the plucky storyteller adopts said friend—the literarily precocious Willie—and accompanies her to L.A.
Meanwhile, the pulp-inflected ghost of Skip Ryker—a recently atomized Hollywood detective—tries in vain to solve his untimely demise. What he needs, it quickly becomes apparent, is a willing instrument.
The ensuing collision of these disparate narratives sparks a battle royal for control of Willie’s suggestible psyche—and subsequently, movie rights to the book.
324 pages, Paperback
Published May 1, 2018
2 people are currently reading
1008 people want to read
About the author
M.E. Meegs
12 books45 followersM.E. Meegs began writing epic poetry while still in the cradle, though her first real recognition came only after the completion of her dramatic tragedy, Dolly’s Fourth, and Final, Crusade. Written when she was five, it chronicles the midnight adventure of a favorite doll, which ended sadly in the jaws of a neighbor’s mastiff.
She lives now in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn, with a first-class typewriter and a middling husband who will soon be in need of a food taster if he doesn’t begin showing a little more appreciation for her literary efforts.
A truly loving soul, she harbors neither children nor pets—fearing the temptation to make sacrifices of them to her tetchy muse might prove irresistible. She does, however, heartily enjoy the company of her devotees, so please do stop by her virtual home at: MEMeegs.com
She lives now in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn, with a first-class typewriter and a middling husband who will soon be in need of a food taster if he doesn’t begin showing a little more appreciation for her literary efforts.
A truly loving soul, she harbors neither children nor pets—fearing the temptation to make sacrifices of them to her tetchy muse might prove irresistible. She does, however, heartily enjoy the company of her devotees, so please do stop by her virtual home at: MEMeegs.com
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September 6, 2018The novel begins at the end of summer, 1947, in New England, and we first meet two young women, Betty Moran and Willie Tigue, whose attitude and voices reminded me of millennial hip fiction. These two switch identities so that one can go to grad school, and the other can cross the country to Hollywood, and get a job with Betty's Uncle Skip, a detective.
Unfortunately, Skip is dead. But his spirit lives on, mainly in the head of Trixie Moran, who is actually Willie, and the two, plus a narrator who keeps breaking the fourth wall, join forces in order to solve the mystery of Who Killed Skip.
The narrative voice vigorously smashes all the received-wisdom rules of narration, which at times is gleeful and funny and unpredictable, and at other times confusing. Perhaps needlessly confusing, requiring me to go back again to figure out what’s going on and who’s whom.
The pastiche of forties detective fiction was hilarious, and the word-picture of forties Hollywood should appeal not just to long-time Angelinos like myself, but anyone who has watched a lot of period Hollywood films. Less hilarious, at least to me, was the unrelenting bombardment of quips and cleverness that made it very difficult to distinguish between characters’ voices, and sometimes to figure out who is talking, as everyone sounded the same, and the emotional engagement tended to flatten into a same note, causing me to read in snips.
Still, if you’re complaining about the same old same old, and like a dash of panache in your wordplay, give this book a peek. It might be just the ticket for an end-of-summer read.
Copy provided by NetGalley
Unfortunately, Skip is dead. But his spirit lives on, mainly in the head of Trixie Moran, who is actually Willie, and the two, plus a narrator who keeps breaking the fourth wall, join forces in order to solve the mystery of Who Killed Skip.
The narrative voice vigorously smashes all the received-wisdom rules of narration, which at times is gleeful and funny and unpredictable, and at other times confusing. Perhaps needlessly confusing, requiring me to go back again to figure out what’s going on and who’s whom.
The pastiche of forties detective fiction was hilarious, and the word-picture of forties Hollywood should appeal not just to long-time Angelinos like myself, but anyone who has watched a lot of period Hollywood films. Less hilarious, at least to me, was the unrelenting bombardment of quips and cleverness that made it very difficult to distinguish between characters’ voices, and sometimes to figure out who is talking, as everyone sounded the same, and the emotional engagement tended to flatten into a same note, causing me to read in snips.
Still, if you’re complaining about the same old same old, and like a dash of panache in your wordplay, give this book a peek. It might be just the ticket for an end-of-summer read.
Copy provided by NetGalley
May 20, 2018
A delightful tale in which a young college student takes on the identity of one of her friends and ends up running a Los Angeles private eye agency, drinking hard and dodging bullets with the ghost of the agency's former boss perched on her shoulder, wisecracking in perfect 1940's noir style.
It's 1947. Willie Tigue and Betty Moran are students at a New England women’s college. Betty switches identities with Willie after slipping her friend a mickey and heads off to take the latter's place at a prestigious college in New York. Willie is left to head for Los Angeles to meet Betty's uncle Skip Ryker - a hard-boiled detective with a dark past. Before she arrives, Skip is blown to pieces in his pool house and acts as some sort of spirit guide to Willie/Betty/soon-to-be Trixie, adding his own interfering narration as his fake niece tries to find out who killed him.
We are introduced to a glorious bunch of diverse characters - low budget Hollywood producers, a sleazy tabloid reporter, would-be movie starlets, a Hollywood house boy who's really an FBI agent, crooked L.A. cops - and more plot twists than you can shake a corkscrew at!
The rapid fire dialogue switches effortlessly from late 1940's jive to "deep" literary observations about life, death and sex, some of which would make a crowd of sailors and construction workers blush.
The action fairly races along as Willie/ Betty, turns into Trixie, a fast talking, gun-toting, whisky-swilling private eye who'll stoop to the lowest level to get her way.
You'll need to keep your wits about you to follow the plot and various sub plots, one of which details an incredible love story, featuring a young woman who loses 2 potential husbands in the same week.
A story that mixes laugh out loud comedy with the darkest of 1940's noir. An absolute joy to read and I do hope there are more adventures for P.I. Trixie Moran.
My thanks go to the Publisher and Netgalley for the chance to read this book in exchange for an honest review.
It's 1947. Willie Tigue and Betty Moran are students at a New England women’s college. Betty switches identities with Willie after slipping her friend a mickey and heads off to take the latter's place at a prestigious college in New York. Willie is left to head for Los Angeles to meet Betty's uncle Skip Ryker - a hard-boiled detective with a dark past. Before she arrives, Skip is blown to pieces in his pool house and acts as some sort of spirit guide to Willie/Betty/soon-to-be Trixie, adding his own interfering narration as his fake niece tries to find out who killed him.
We are introduced to a glorious bunch of diverse characters - low budget Hollywood producers, a sleazy tabloid reporter, would-be movie starlets, a Hollywood house boy who's really an FBI agent, crooked L.A. cops - and more plot twists than you can shake a corkscrew at!
The rapid fire dialogue switches effortlessly from late 1940's jive to "deep" literary observations about life, death and sex, some of which would make a crowd of sailors and construction workers blush.
The action fairly races along as Willie/ Betty, turns into Trixie, a fast talking, gun-toting, whisky-swilling private eye who'll stoop to the lowest level to get her way.
You'll need to keep your wits about you to follow the plot and various sub plots, one of which details an incredible love story, featuring a young woman who loses 2 potential husbands in the same week.
A story that mixes laugh out loud comedy with the darkest of 1940's noir. An absolute joy to read and I do hope there are more adventures for P.I. Trixie Moran.
My thanks go to the Publisher and Netgalley for the chance to read this book in exchange for an honest review.
May 16, 2018
Where to begin in this review of a most unusual book?
First of all, let me reiterate: This IS a most unusual book. I can best describe it as a combination of a parody of 40's hard-boiled pulp detective stories and a parody of 40's pulp romances, with an element of paranormal murder mystery and a lot of humour thrown in for good measure.
There's an abundance of colourful lingo here, and if you're even slightly familiar with Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, or Mickey Spillane, or indeed the mid-20th century pulp magazines themselves, you'll have a bit of a head start in deciphering the thoughts and conversations of the characters.
Oh yes, the characters. It's the end of the summer of 1947 in New England, and we first meet two young women, Betty Moran and Willie Tigue, recent college graduates who switch identities. Betty becomes Willie, and heads off to the post-graduate studies she covets, while Willie becomes Betty, thus avoiding the undesired academic future arranged by her family, and departs for sunny L.A. and a job with (Betty's) Uncle Skip.
Skip is, sadly, not long for this world. His career as Hollywood detective comes to an abrupt end when he is literally blown to bits in his own pool house. Not to worry, though, his spirit lives on, mainly in the head of Trixie Moran, the newly-minted California identity of our girl Willie. The two combine to solve the mystery of Who Killed Skip Ryker.
Willie-Trixie has also, to her puzzlement, taken an intrusive narrator along for the ride. Blend in our heroine's often-nonsensical thoughts (rendered in boldface for the benefit of the reader!) and you have a complex yet captivating murder mystery.
Two things to keep in mind: Don't take this book too seriously, and, if you find the beginning just a little too bewildering, stick with it. You'll be glad you did. The smoke will begin to clear by the end of Chapter 3, I promise!
First of all, let me reiterate: This IS a most unusual book. I can best describe it as a combination of a parody of 40's hard-boiled pulp detective stories and a parody of 40's pulp romances, with an element of paranormal murder mystery and a lot of humour thrown in for good measure.
There's an abundance of colourful lingo here, and if you're even slightly familiar with Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, or Mickey Spillane, or indeed the mid-20th century pulp magazines themselves, you'll have a bit of a head start in deciphering the thoughts and conversations of the characters.
Oh yes, the characters. It's the end of the summer of 1947 in New England, and we first meet two young women, Betty Moran and Willie Tigue, recent college graduates who switch identities. Betty becomes Willie, and heads off to the post-graduate studies she covets, while Willie becomes Betty, thus avoiding the undesired academic future arranged by her family, and departs for sunny L.A. and a job with (Betty's) Uncle Skip.
Skip is, sadly, not long for this world. His career as Hollywood detective comes to an abrupt end when he is literally blown to bits in his own pool house. Not to worry, though, his spirit lives on, mainly in the head of Trixie Moran, the newly-minted California identity of our girl Willie. The two combine to solve the mystery of Who Killed Skip Ryker.
Willie-Trixie has also, to her puzzlement, taken an intrusive narrator along for the ride. Blend in our heroine's often-nonsensical thoughts (rendered in boldface for the benefit of the reader!) and you have a complex yet captivating murder mystery.
Two things to keep in mind: Don't take this book too seriously, and, if you find the beginning just a little too bewildering, stick with it. You'll be glad you did. The smoke will begin to clear by the end of Chapter 3, I promise!
March 29, 2018
I could not put this book down! It is a combination screwball comedy/golden age detective novel with all the slang to go with it.
The mystery was engaging and the characters, true characters. The twist at the end was entirely unexpected.
I highly recommend this book to anyone who needs a good laugh and a jolly romp through the hard drinking, slang slinging, Hollywood detective scene. My biggest problem was keeping the large cast of interesting individuals straight with all their secrets, motives and deceptions.
The writing is very descriptive so all the scenes came vividly to life before the reader's eye. You could almost smell the gun powder in the air and there was plenty there to assault the senses.
This book is pure fun and I am so glad the author allowed me a chance to read it pre-publication in return for an honest review. I was left wanting more of Willie Tigue's Trixie Moran's detective adventures through time and dimensions.
The mystery was engaging and the characters, true characters. The twist at the end was entirely unexpected.
I highly recommend this book to anyone who needs a good laugh and a jolly romp through the hard drinking, slang slinging, Hollywood detective scene. My biggest problem was keeping the large cast of interesting individuals straight with all their secrets, motives and deceptions.
The writing is very descriptive so all the scenes came vividly to life before the reader's eye. You could almost smell the gun powder in the air and there was plenty there to assault the senses.
This book is pure fun and I am so glad the author allowed me a chance to read it pre-publication in return for an honest review. I was left wanting more of Willie Tigue's Trixie Moran's detective adventures through time and dimensions.
May 11, 2018
Hush My Inner Sleuth is an unusual book, fueled by early Hollywood scandals, pulp detective stories, and the original hipsters and cool cats. The framing mechanism used is very clever, but I don’t want to give the surprise away. Readers become acquainted with Willie after her friend Betty takes her place. Gamely, Willie heads to Hollywood, where she is to work for Betty”s uncle, Skip Riker, a famous detective. Before she arrives, an explosion takes Skip out, and Willie is cast in the role of sharp talking, whiskey swigging detective. Of course she has competing help in the form of Skip’s ghost and a strange narrator intent on commenting on her thoughts and actions. Is she in a novel? Or are novels dead now that Hollywood talkies are all the rage?
Readers are in for a wild ride, regardless of what they decide. Hush My Inner Sleuth celebrates Hollywood in its heyday, the glory of pulp detective fiction, and the beginnings of modern feminism. It is strange, funny, and lots of fun to read. It won’t appeal to everyone, but I expect it will have a home in an academic setting.
4 / 5
I received a copy of Hush My Inner Sleuth from the publisher and Netgalley.com in exchange for an honest review.
— Crittermom
Readers are in for a wild ride, regardless of what they decide. Hush My Inner Sleuth celebrates Hollywood in its heyday, the glory of pulp detective fiction, and the beginnings of modern feminism. It is strange, funny, and lots of fun to read. It won’t appeal to everyone, but I expect it will have a home in an academic setting.
4 / 5
I received a copy of Hush My Inner Sleuth from the publisher and Netgalley.com in exchange for an honest review.
— Crittermom
April 6, 2018
I received a review copy of this book from the author.
If Lewis Carroll had been possessed by the spirit of Raymond Chandler – or, if it were, perhaps, the other way around. . .no, I had it right the first time – the result might have been this remarkable novel, Hush, My Inner Sleuth, by M. E. Meegs. This is down-the-rabbit-hole whimsy for lovers of Golden Era detective fiction.
This book, set in the late 1940's will be cherished by anyone who enjoys raucous wordplay, especially the 40's-era hard-boiled slang of newly dead sleuth Skip Ryker, who is – sadly – blown to smithereens just as his story is getting started. Happily, his story continues.
Meegs specializes in stories populated by people who are not what they seem, and this one is no exception. Secret and scandals abound in this this tale of mystery that works as well as farce as it does as detective story.
I won't deny that I stopped being able to juggle the characters rather early in the book, somewhere around Chapter 6, but this didn't spoil the novel, as it turned out that it was even more fun letting them juggle themselves. Well, really, Meegs doesn't leave them any choice, what with the stolen identies, a disembodied detective and the endless mind games.
The dialogue sparkles with sophisticated literary allusions and witty bitchiness between and among the women in the college setting, contrasting with the previously mentioned hard-boiled detective-speak of Ryker and some others.
And what of the main character, Willie Tigue, the not-at-all all there young woman around, and within, whom all the action takes place? Well, I'm just going to admit that I didn't really like her very much. In spite of Meegs' yeoman effort on Willie's behalf, I just didn't find the 'there' there. However, Willie is in some ways, such a dissolute personality that not liking her doesn't harm the story, itself. And, of course, I think many readers would like her very much, would root for her, as she seems so psychologically, er. ..fragile.
I highly recommend this novel to anyone who enjoys ingenious puzzles, clever dialogue and farcical fantasy. You will not be disappointed.
If Lewis Carroll had been possessed by the spirit of Raymond Chandler – or, if it were, perhaps, the other way around. . .no, I had it right the first time – the result might have been this remarkable novel, Hush, My Inner Sleuth, by M. E. Meegs. This is down-the-rabbit-hole whimsy for lovers of Golden Era detective fiction.
This book, set in the late 1940's will be cherished by anyone who enjoys raucous wordplay, especially the 40's-era hard-boiled slang of newly dead sleuth Skip Ryker, who is – sadly – blown to smithereens just as his story is getting started. Happily, his story continues.
Meegs specializes in stories populated by people who are not what they seem, and this one is no exception. Secret and scandals abound in this this tale of mystery that works as well as farce as it does as detective story.
I won't deny that I stopped being able to juggle the characters rather early in the book, somewhere around Chapter 6, but this didn't spoil the novel, as it turned out that it was even more fun letting them juggle themselves. Well, really, Meegs doesn't leave them any choice, what with the stolen identies, a disembodied detective and the endless mind games.
The dialogue sparkles with sophisticated literary allusions and witty bitchiness between and among the women in the college setting, contrasting with the previously mentioned hard-boiled detective-speak of Ryker and some others.
And what of the main character, Willie Tigue, the not-at-all all there young woman around, and within, whom all the action takes place? Well, I'm just going to admit that I didn't really like her very much. In spite of Meegs' yeoman effort on Willie's behalf, I just didn't find the 'there' there. However, Willie is in some ways, such a dissolute personality that not liking her doesn't harm the story, itself. And, of course, I think many readers would like her very much, would root for her, as she seems so psychologically, er. ..fragile.
I highly recommend this novel to anyone who enjoys ingenious puzzles, clever dialogue and farcical fantasy. You will not be disappointed.
August 21, 2018
2.5 stars.
Cute concept with a lot of flaws in the execution.
The writing is absolutely exhausting. All the slang and alliteration and quippiness would have been fun in small doses, but the constancy of it got obnoxious quickly. Characters' individual voices are also difficult to distinguish during long stretches of dialogue, rendering it confusing and forcing the reader to go back over it to discern what's actually happened.
The book certainly has a sense of humor and some of the witticisms are charming and clever, but on the whole, reading what should have been a light, campy adventure felt like way too much work.
*I received an ARC of this book via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.*
Cute concept with a lot of flaws in the execution.
The writing is absolutely exhausting. All the slang and alliteration and quippiness would have been fun in small doses, but the constancy of it got obnoxious quickly. Characters' individual voices are also difficult to distinguish during long stretches of dialogue, rendering it confusing and forcing the reader to go back over it to discern what's actually happened.
The book certainly has a sense of humor and some of the witticisms are charming and clever, but on the whole, reading what should have been a light, campy adventure felt like way too much work.
*I received an ARC of this book via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.*
June 11, 2018
If you're in the right frame of mind, Hush, My Inner Sleuth is a very funny book. It is not something to read while tired or distracted, however. There are what seem like layers of parody here which, like the proverbial forest, can become lost among the trees. Add to this the fact that the "author"
is, in fact, the product of someone else's imagination, and you have a lot to take in in one novel.
To those in the know, this book is linked to a series. It could have stood up well on its own, or perhaps as a first entry in a new series by its real creator. This was clearly an ambitious undertaking on what was an unusual and, undoubtedly challenging, writing proposition. Although I found the P.I. patois a tad on the heavy side, there are some very, very good sentences here. But then, I've come to expect no less from this terrific author.
is, in fact, the product of someone else's imagination, and you have a lot to take in in one novel.
To those in the know, this book is linked to a series. It could have stood up well on its own, or perhaps as a first entry in a new series by its real creator. This was clearly an ambitious undertaking on what was an unusual and, undoubtedly challenging, writing proposition. Although I found the P.I. patois a tad on the heavy side, there are some very, very good sentences here. But then, I've come to expect no less from this terrific author.
May 3, 2018
Are you a fan of the hard-boiled dectective mystery? Then you might want to add Hush, My Inner Sleuth to your collection complete with its authentic 50s cover art. Imposters, murders, femme fatales, corrupt cops and the FBI all play a role in this caper with a dash of the supernatural, and a veritable wealth of prurient purple prose. An entertaining read for mature audiences.
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