The voice is everything. Instead of the typical pomposity of a haughty OBE accent, spouting that mixture of bad faith, betrayal, and malice so characteristic of the displaced British upper class, we have a whisper, a tempered, middle brow tone telling a tale about a slightly fat slightly alcoholic Nottingham housewife who falls in love with the burglar who robs her house. The robbery is problematic. Gone is the stash of Coke her failed director-husband was holding for a slightly murderous slightly psychopathic drug thug. The housewife and the thief meet, fuck, and renegotiate the stolen goods. Inspector Charles Resnick, divorced, badly dressed, with bad table manners, figures it out — kind of — but still somehow does the wrong thing. BRILLIANT.
“Grabianski didn’t know…He felt about music what his partners felt about birds. Large ones and small ones. With music it was small ones and fast ones.”
Your average everyday Mohammedan maniac, trained
by your friendly neighbourhood terrorist, puts on a baseball cap,whistles
‘Freebird’ and disintegrates the 14th street bridge, the Dallas-Ft Worth
Airport, and suburban D.C. before his Tourist Visa even expires. Welcome
to America, stay as long as you want, come back anytime.
I know girls who listen to Frank doing the girl-punk-slut Sylvie just to see how its done. How a girl talks when shes talking with her pussy. How to tease an ear with a tongue, at a distance. There’s nobody like Frank doing pussy.
“What do you like, Thorn? What do you like to
DO? You know, in the green grass….Outside… Or, inside…”
Or, “Wanna take the afternoon off? Put your mind on hold for a while? Take the stairway to heaven?”
With that low, raspy, throaty voice that is a man’s voice pretending to be a woman’s mouth, this reading is an infinite, indeclinable invitation.
Aristotle says that there are three sexes: men, women, and short women.
This book is about that third sex: short, married, murderous women with
happy helpful husbands and perky breasts. The kind who play tennis in the
morning and spend the afternoon decorating the guest bathroom. The
kind who think that wife #3 means she gets 3 furs. These women may be found in
“… Shelter Magazines – the ones that feature homes of couples so rich you know they don’t sleep together.”
But something goes very wrong in the life of one member of this sheltered sex. Something not very motherly, not very wifely, and the handsome, widowed 50 year old Elizabeth who happens to be in love with a cop, finds out what it is. In short, a fun, amusing murder in the suburbs.