Most mysteries are the same, aren’t they?
Whether or not the writing is compelling, the desire to find out—whatever it is—overrides whatever the book lacks in originality or style. Now, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Of course, a great many mysteries are well-written novels that stand on more than just the power of the page turn for plot resolution. But, if we’re being truthful with ourselves, that is the case many times.
A note of warning, however: The Detective & The Pipe Girl by Michael Craven isn’t your typical mystery.
I know this to be true now, having finished the story, but I sensed this almost as soon as I picked up the book itself. I was at a blogger party put on by Harper Collins in New York City. It’s one of those events where they invite hermits like myself and my blogging brethren to a well-catered, well-stocked lounge. Publicists and industry people are also there (they’re the ones that are smiling more than is reasonable to be expected) and are, by nature, pushing whatever book they’re most recently involved with. However, it wasn’t until I left the party and came across a table stacked with books that I found the one that truly caught my eye.
Flipping to the back cover, I read the following, in line one:
“Private detective John Darvelle is a man of specific tastes—simple design, smart women, cheap American beer. He’s a man of specific opinions—drive a car nobody can remember, avoid brunch at all costs, and don’t live in Brentwood.”
I was hooked, from “avoid brunch at all costs”. You see, what makes Craven’s mystery so much more entertaining than its typical sort is its style. Right from the jump, you sort of get the sense that Craven either did standup comedy at one point or is one of the funniest guys in his group of friends. Plot points and future setups for twists are intertwined with asides and quirks that, frankly, make me laugh more than I ever have (or ever thought possible) inside a mystery novel.
Quick example, when describing the sort of warehouses they have auditions for movies in:
“[They’re] hard to believe if you’ve never seen it. If you took a tourist here and said: Do they cast big movies here or torture people? You’d get a 70-30 split—in favor of the torture.”
Craven wastes little time getting right into the action—PI John Darvelle is hired by famous movie director Arthur Vonz (think Scorsese meets Spike Jonze meets Wes Anderson) to track down a former extramarital affair, an actress named Suzanne Neal. Darvelle finds her with general ease (and help of some very colorful side characters serving as his Hollywood connects) but only a few days into his mission, Neal ends up dead and the fun, dare I say it, begins.
Who killed her? Who was the man Neal left to visit just before she was murdered? Did uber-celeb Jimmy Yates (who Darvelle had spotted leaving Neal’s apartment the day prior) have anything to do with it? How about Danny Baker (Craven’s version of Charlie Rose), was he involved? And what the hell is a pipe girl anyway? There’s a ton of questions, and, unlike so many frustrating similar stories, Craven ties up the loose ends.
I’ll admit there was a time, with about 50-75 pages remaining, where I was sold that I had figured everything out. In fact, I was actually annoyed at the author, thinking he spent too much time making Darvelle’s narrative a humorous one, more so than crafting a really strong finish.
Trust me when I tell you, I was wrong. You’re going to want to stick around to the end, to find out what happens.
Best of all though, getting there is just as fun.
