Robert B. Parker (1)Reviews

“For something as large as it is, death doesn’t look like much at first.”

If those in charge of Robert B. Parker’s legacy as a writer were asked to choose one book to place in a time capsule, for future generations, a story that would highlight his crisp prose, his swiftly moving and enjoyable narratives, his sterling dialog and humorous wit, his welcome references to literature and culture that made his best detective novels more than the sum of their parts, and the resonating story-lines he was capable of early in the series, A Savage Place might not be a bad choice.

A Savage Place contains all those things, and is Robert B. Parker, and Spenser, at his best. There is a minimal amount of Susan here — thank goodness — but also no Hawk and no Vinnie. In the later books, Susan’s absence for most of a story would become rare indeed, but even more welcome. Hawk’s and Vinnie’s absence from a later Spenser story could often be a detriment, but here in A Savage Place, at this point in the series, it works in the story’s favor.

“As I moved in the darkness I noticed there was scrub growth in parts of the oil field. When I was very close, I could see them and see how the wind made their branches move restively, like animals too long restrained. Then I heard the shots.”

There is a story here, and a plot, and it’s a good one. Parker slowly paints Candy Sloan as a real person, not just a plot device, and she’s fleshed out in her attributes and her failings in such a deft way over the course of this novel that we understand what Spenser sees in her that makes him feel about her the way that he does. When things go awry near the moving and resonating end of A Savage Place, it isn’t the violence we remember or connect with, but the emotions, the loss, and the regret. In that sense, even though this bears no resemblance in tone or form to the Lew Archer novels of Ross Macdonald, there is an echo of the better Archer novels.

Spenser is out of his normal Boston element, traveling to the fake land of Los Angeles to protect a pretty reporter named Candy Sloan, at the behest of Rachel Wallace. It gives Parker, through Spenser’s voice, a chance to make pointed observations about both the shallow culture of Los Angeles and its surrealistic vibe.

Candy Sloan was the first relatable romantic interest that Parker let get away in the series; Linda, from Valediction became the next. Eventually he would double down on Susan, and the series would alter and become something less than the promise of Early Autumn and Ceremony and A Savage Place because of it. Sometimes the series entries would be almost as good, but more as entertainment; Parker’s tools as a writer were still on display, but his heart to make the stories resonate like earlier entries either too damaged or too compromised to go there, in my opinion as a reader.

“The rain was hard now, and dense, washing down on her upturned face. The wind was warm no longer.”

Hundred-Dollar Baby, the third novel in the April Kyle trilogy, which came much later in this series, almost matches A Savage Place in its resonance, and the feeling of loss at the end. Almost. I’ve reviewed a ton of Spenser novels over the years, and returning to this earlier one in the Spenser canon is just a stark reminder of what we lost when Parker passed. Avoid all the novels written since his death; despite what you might hear, they’re dreadful, and don’t come close to capturing Parker’s voice or his characters. It is sad that in a generation, so many will have read the books written by others since his passing, that few will even remember Spenser, or Parker, as they once were.

Pick up A Savage Place to get a real sense of what this series once was, and what a great writer in this genre we all lost when he left us.

"You just admitted you couldn't do shit about it."
"No, sir," Jesse said. "I said the restraining order probably wouldn’t work."
"Same thing," Jo Jo said.
"Not really," Jesse said, and kicked Jo Jo in the groin.

Book 1: it would’ve sucked to be a woman in the 70s.

Book 2: it would’ve sucked to be a woman or homosexual in the 70s.

Back on track! This one stands out in the later Spenser novels. Never thought I would be able to give 4 stars to one that doesn’t feature Hawk.

I am going to love this series. It is so obviously from 1973, from the hippie hatred to the toxic masculinity. What a blast into the fiction of the past. Can’t wait to read the next one.

My least favorite of the Spenser series thus far. I loved LGBTQ-ally Spenser, but this novel has our protagonist handling two cases at once, and neither of them are very compelling. The ending pays off and almost pushed my rating to 3 stars, but I had to remind myself what a slog the majority of the book felt like.

A Spenser novel focused on Hawk should’ve been one of my favorites of the series. But it’s clumsy at times, boring throughout, and awkward considering it’s still from Spenser’s point of view.

This is just a Spenser version of The Expendables, and I loved it. The ending left a bit to be desired, but overall, it was super fun.

If this isn’t my favorite in the Spenser series, it’s an extremely close second to Mortal Stakes.

At first I didn’t care for this Babysitter’s Club version of Spenser, but by the end I found myself hoping that the kid pops up in following novels.

Spenser is the coolest mf ever (aside from Hawk).

Oh goodness, definitely a good thing I was a helicopter parent. Not a good fit for dad. Suddenly I understand why Parker has the Jesse Stone series: as Spenser is the noir-ish (heavy on the -ISH, post-1990) side of mystery, Stone lets him cater to a reader that wants a more lawful sort of experience.

This is the one where Spenser gets a call from someone he helped in the past, first as a deeply troubled and abused teen, then as a call girl. This time, April is running her own house of prostitution in Boston. An unknown person is harassing her and she calls Spenser for help. Spenser, despite having been doing this for at least twenty years by now, remains extraordinarily gullible. Hawk is at his side, however, and keeps him in line. Tony Marcus makes a brief appearance, as does Patricia Utley.

Obviously, the reader needs to be comfortable with all sorts of hypotheticals, although Parker takes pains to make this the rightest of setups. The sex-workers are all women who enjoy sex, working for fun and cash (/eyeroll), April screens her clients and has protections in place so no one does what they don't agree to, 'girls' are medically screened (but not the johns), blah-blah.

In fact, Spenser and Susan are going strong in this one, which gives Susan a chance to psychoanalyze April and the sex-for-money issue for the reader, proving that it is probably exploitative in some manner (I kind of appreciate her leading the reader to that conclusion). We also get to hear a number of times how awesome their relationship is and how healthily they've adjusted to bumps in other books. This aspect may prove annoying to fans who have limited Susan tolerance. I will note that she does eat part of a doughnut in this one, as well as cooks some beet risotto, so that's kind of fun.

These are short, four to five page chapters on the whole, but there's a great ending, and some even better dynamics between Spenser and Hawk that make it series notable. But I think I'll be exchanging these for the Jesse Stones for the dad.

Two-and-a-half stars, rounding up because today I felt like it.

Oh, Parker. I swear, there must have been a standard in the 70s (1974, to be exact) where 25% of a detective novel had to be description. I think it's driving Jilly nuts over in Kinsey-Malone land, but I'm finding Parker's version of it kind of eye-watering. I mean, my idea of dressing myself back then was Garanimals, so I shouldn't judge. But just you try and see this:

He was dressed in what must have been his wife's idea of the contemporary look... He had on baggy white cuffed flares, a solid scarlet shirt with long collar points, a wide pink tie, and a red-and-white-plaid seersucker jacket with wide lapels and the waist nipped. A prefolded handkerchief in his breast pocket matched the tie. He had on black and white saddle shoes and looked as happy as a hound in a doggie sweater.

That's just the start, though; later in the book, Spenser puts on a white trench coat. Spiffy! There's also one paragraph that is literally a description of every single store seen as Spenser drives along a commercial 'canyon,' and it's actually kind of fun. I mean, had I been reading it in 1980, maybe not so much. But now, sure: "restaurants that look like log cabins, restaurants that look like sailing ships, restaurants that look like Moorish town houses, restaurants that look like car washes, car washes, shopping centers, a fish market, a skimobile shop, an automotive accessory shop..." The paragraph takes up most of a page. No joke. I can't think why it was relevant. It builds the setting of leaving the city to the Happy Sunda 'burbs, and it lets Parker sneak in a snide comment about how "Squanto might have made a mistake" (in allowing the whites to settle).

I mean, that's really why we read these oldies, right? To sort-of-sink into the mentality of the past? And I kind of dig this glimpse into the past, with Parker's Spenser's asides, except for the part where Spenser notes that the high school guidance counselor, Susan Silverman, has a "thin dark Jewish face." Um, I don't even. But onward. She does a lot of shrugging, throws in some "I don't know's" in response to his questioning and when they have dinner--and this was wonderful--has a second helping of gravy. It's truly interesting to see the first appearance of a character who will one day annoy me as she nibbles on a lettuce leaf and makes enigmatic statements.

It's also quite interesting to have a Spenser that is a bit... slow on the uptake, and who gets/allows himself to be manipulated, and doesn't intuit the solution. Oh, but then it gets slightly weird again with a homosexual angle. Spenser even hangs out at a local divey gay bar trying to run into a suspect. Is it judgey? Maybe indirectly in the descriptions, but if it is, it's less so than the implied judgement at the drunken hetro bash thrown by his clients.

Still, I'll read a few more. I'm curious to remember how Hawk comes into the picture, and when the writing starts to shift to the streamlined version. Maybe he eventually found an editor that said, "we need to take out all the description," and the 1990s Spenser is what was left. Overall, an entertaining way to spend a couple of hours, although I probably should have been more productive.

Two and-a-half-stars, rounding up because I read most of the words.

Having read this over a decade ago, it wouldn't normally make the re-read list. However, the dad enjoyed the last Parker book I gave him, so I thought I'd try another, and like any helicopter parent, I had to read it first.

This is the one where Spenser's hot red-headed friend Rita--who is also an incredibly good lawyer--asks him to find out the truth for a case she and another new lawyer are feeling a bit guilty about, though they both did their jobs. A low-life black man was arrested for the murder of a white female college student, but nothing about the case seems right.

It's notable for its casual insight into racial and economic issues--only scratching the surface, but still notable for the genre. Also notable for going waaaaay off the rails after someone hires the Grey Man to kill Spenser, which leads to an arc of vengeance plot resulting in a number of chapters that literally have nothing to do with the murder. Also notable for Susan's temporary journey into insanity when she decides she wants to adopt a child (I love how these two are in their late 30s/early 40s forever).

Still, it's not Parker's worst. I'll pass it on to dad, but I'm guessing it will not be as enjoyable as the last book. Two and a half stars.

The One Where Spenser is Schooled on the Dangers of the Souless Suburban Life by Susan. Also The One Where We Meet Hawk, Who Is a Total Legit Badass.

It helps to keep these series books separate, you know?

Many of the early themes of the Spenser mysteries appear here: the emotional dangers of the suburbs, ethical nobility, women's general sexiness, and the foolishness of various anti-establishment movements. Spenser is hired by Harv Shepard, a wheel-and-deal land-developer-contractor to find his wife who has disappeared without a note, and leaving their two children behind. Spenser is all alone in the suburbs of the Cape, and he is hoping that Susan will come up and join him for a relatively simple case. Only it turns out not so simple when they run into Hawk leaving Harv's home. Spenser gets some legit information from the local cops and is able to track down Pam and her vigilante buddies. Pam's feeling super-suffocated in the 'burbs and Susan gets angry at Spencer's seemingly casual dismissal of her midlife-identity crisis.

In comparison to prior books, the writing feels tighter. For instance, while we do have a fair amount of scenic description of the road to Hyannis, it's kept down to three sentences, one briefly sarcastic. ("The soothing excitements of scrub pine and wide sea gave way to McDonald's and Holiday Inn and prefab fence companies, shopping malls and Sheraton Motor Inns, and a host of less likely places where you could sleep and eat and drink in surroundings indistinguishable from the ones you'd left at home. Except there'd be a fishnet on the wall. If Bartholomew Gosnold had approached the Cape from this direction, he'd have kept on going.")

Strangely, it's a story that is more resonant in series context than in any particular value as a mystery. It is very much a relationship book, where Spenser and Susan explore their own growing relationship and struggle with the comparisons to the unfortunate Harv and Pam and their love-based but dysfunctional relationship. Pam's perspective on her self-actualization and Harv's perspective on their history contain poignant but frustrated feelings. It's also the start of a Spenser and Hawk friendship. Hawk is introduced here as a free-lance enforcer who has a shared boxing history with Spencer, but an exchange of solid favors lay the foundation of their future working relationship.

Of course, numerous time-period oink moments remain, with Spencer deliberately 'not-ogling' various female characters. But is seems pretty benevolently oinkish, as opposed to creepy. Recommended for series fans, but definitely not for the 'mystery.' There's also an extended bit about women and 'frigidness.' No thank you very much, Dr. Not-Freud.

No, I did not read all the words. Because visualizing their dumb outfits hurt my eye-brain and I can't read about 1970s conception of sexuality without hurting my thinking-brain. Our first look at Hawk illustrates the clothes:

"With him was a tall black man with a bald head and high cheekbones. He had on a powder blue leisure suit and a pink silk shirt with a big collar. The shirt was unbuttoned to the waist and the chest and stomach that showed were as hard and unadorned as ebony. He took a pair of wraparound sunglasses from the breast pocket of the jacket and as he put them on, he stared at me over their rims until very slowly the lenses covered his eyes and he stared at me through them."

Ok, maybe I read all the words there. Two and a half silk stars, rounding down for oinkiness.

Not the worst book I ever read.

I went through this period in my mid-twenties when I was trying to work out on the elliptical and the bike at the gym, but it was SO BORING that I ended up trying to read. You ever read a book when you are stepping up and down with hips shifting side to side? Yeah, super-challenging with small print books. Oh, this was the mid-to-late 90s, kids, before audio books were a thing beyond the Bible and the classics and phones could be linked to a tv channel or a favorite movie. I discovered mental diversion in the form of thrillers, a genre previously largely unexploited by me. They worked extremely well; I was particularly fond of Robert Parker's Spenser series and Lee Child's series. Fast plotting, larger print, lots of white space, not a lot of extraneous detail; perfect for a fluctuating attention level. My physical copy of School Days is an artifact of those days, but unsurprisingly, I remember nothing about it. I decided to clear it off my shelves, passing it on to my dad, but thought I'd give it one quick perusal before it embarked on its next journey.

It's definitely quick, a one-evening read. This feels like most of the Spenser books as he aged, outlines waiting to be fleshed in, and as such is barely an investigation wrapped in book nostalgia. Chapters generally last four to five pages. We get cursory nods to Spenser patterns; cooking a meal, mention of Hawk, assistance from Healy of the State Patrol, a fight, him being a wiseass and the person he's interacting with resenting it. Friend appearances are mostly limited to Rita the Super Hot Super Smart Lawyer. That is, besides Pearl the Wonder-Dog, able to sniff out yogurt containers in an office. For those that hate Susan, Spenser's long-time lady-love, she's off-screen at a conference for most of the book.

The bare bones is that a rich grandma hires him to prove her grandson 'didn't do it,' a horrific mass shooting at a school in a very wealthy, conservative suburb. The book has aged poorly, in light of the real mass shootings we've since witnessed. The parents, the cops, the teachers and everyone want the kid to 'go away and disappear,' unanswered questions and all, a marked contrast to the dissection and blame we saw after the Columbine shooting. The kids at the private school are nonplussed by the incident, a mere six months ago. In fact, Spencer and the cops are remarkably undisturbed. Puzzling that Spenser doesn't even talk to families of the people killed or the wounded when trying to learn more.

As a final trigger for some folks, the resolution hinges on the kid being diagnosed 'retarded.' Seriously, no joke; by a psychologist, no less. The rest of the resolution consists of the adults discussing whether or not the kid is 'retarded' enough to understand right/wrong but not enough to understand an inappropriate relationship. It makes the book seriously dated.

I gotta say, it's really only worth it for completionists. I'm happy to send it out on the world to find its own way.

AKA: The one where Spencer Thinks the Defendant is Guilty.

Three stars--about what I expect from a Spenser story, without much that distinguishes it from others. Spencer's out to fix an art ransom gone awry, and has to work with his old friends in the police force to do it. Belson, Quirk and Healy all make appearances, but we don't see of his more unusual outside-the-law friends on this one. Susan, of course, is ever present, but the scenes with her became rather repetitive. He cooks, she pretends to eat, they have sex then refer to it in arch tones the rest of the scene. I thought it also odd that her 'Jewishness' wasn't brought up sooner when they were discussing Holocaust issues, since Spenser and Parker usually make a mention of it at some point, and her ethnic identity has played a role in other books. It's not a large absence, but it's small notes like that that help individual Spenser books rise to the top. The mystery wasn't too surprising--I had actually figured out the situation--but was believable. There's a charming scene with Pearl and a new friend Otto that becomes a reoccurring event, and provides a link to an expert.

Later Spenser books mostly make me miss early Spenser books, which are rich in detail and thought; Painted Ladies, like most recent Spenser stories, sometimes seems more of an outline than a full book.

Spencer and baseball, one of his first loves. I always enjoy early Spencer, with it's rich description and fleshed out mystery. Nothing says period piece quite like "paisley jacket." He goes undercover at the Boston Red Sox, travels to a small town in Illinois, then on to New York in his background investigation. I enjoyed his sense of humor that no one else appreciates, and all the details that get pared down in later books. It's a sticky mystery with a mix of real-world not-quite perfect and emotionally satisfying revenge resolutions. Notable for minimal inclusion of Susan, and daliance with another beauty who utterly fails to fall for his wit.

Ah, the first Spenser mystery, the one to start a series of almost forty books in forty years. Having started the series somewhere in the middle, I went back to the beginning in 1973 to see where it all began. The short version? Read if you are a series completionist or you want an eye-blink view into the 1970s scene, which was something, man.

I discovered Parker's writing appealed more than mid-series when it had been distilled to the bare bones. Though I'm a fan for the art of minimizing in my physical life, there's something to be said for richness in mood and setting, particularly in a mystery, and this supplies it in spades. Unfortunately, at times the description takes a bit of a list form over integrated scene-building.

"I'd come down mainly to check my mail, and the trip had been hardly worth it. There was a phone bill, a light bill, an overdue notice from the Boston Public Library, a correspondence course offering to teach me karate at home in my spare time, a letter from a former client insisting that while I had found his wife she had left again and hence he would not pay my bill, an invitation to join a vacation club, an invitation to buy a set of socket wrenches, an invitation to join an automobile club, an invitation to subscribe to five magazines of my choice at once-in-a-lifetime savings, an invitation to shop the specials on port at my local supermarket, and a number of less important letters. Nothing from Germain Greer or Lenny Bernstein, no dinner invitations, no post cards from the Costa del Sol, no mash notes from Helen Gurley Brown. Last week had been much the same."

See? Time period. Also classic deadpan Spencer. (Also, the more things change, the more they stay the same).

It is also coarser, to be certain; late Spenser was sanitized and heroic, faithful to Susan, dogs, and knightly values. It's clearly early Spenser, evidenced by a gratuitous torture-porn scene that literally did nothing for the plot, and Spenser's general attitude of a swinging 70s ladies' man Yes, he has sex with both a mother and a daughter--at different times--and finds himself dialing a third woman by the end of the book. Also notable for a 'fag' exchange between Lt. Quirk and a member of the squad (indirectly supportive of gay people in a very passive way).

There's a bit of social commentary as well, which late Spenser also seems more comfortable avoiding. Spenser is consulted by a college dean who wants him to find a missing illuminated manuscript which is apparently being held for ransom. He has to spend his time hanging around radical, anti-establishment college students who are all about the dogma, man. It allows for some solid, world-weary reflections: "I felt the beer a little, and I felt the sadness of kids like that who weren’t buying it and weren’t quite sure what it was." One of the radicals gets framed for murder, so the case rapidly shifts from a missing McGuffin to a Find the Real Killer.

It's interesting, sometimes, to read these older books and feel the time period soaking through. This is a booze-soaked Spencer story, to the point of a cop offering him a pint as he's recovering in the hospital. Spencer is frequently drinking or hungover. Speaking of cops, there's another period moment when the police officers transported a gunshot victim. They did that, you know, pre-ambulance days. Emergency medical services didn't really get underway until 1970, and paramedics a bit later.

I'll be honest; the female characters are accessorizing sex objects or victims, none of them heroic, which would annoy me more if it had been long-standing through the series. Some day, the psychologist Susan will come in and annoy us all with her anorexic eating habits, so I suspect my tolerance was indirectly the result of my irritation with future direction. Parker is also weirdly fascinated by clothes and describes what each character is wearing, even extraneous ones. Again, fun in the retrospective sense. "He looked like a zinnia. Tall and thin with an enormous corona of rust red hair flowing out around his pale, clean-shaven face. He wore a lavender undershirt and a pair of faded, flare-bottomed denim dungarees that were too long and dragged on the floor over his bare feet."

Overall, a solid P.I. mystery, good start to a series and a fun window into a time period. Of note, this is one that introduces the heroic Lt. Quirk as part of Boston PD's Detective Bureau, Sgt. Belson, a red-faced beat officer named Kenneally, and the infamous Joe Broz.

Good fun little P.I. book. I loved the ridiculous one-liners, the silly slang and banter. The outrageous police and security brutality and the dirty playing. It was all so funny and enthralling. This held my attention. I'm sad #20 something is the first book in this series I'm trying out. I didn't feel like NOT having read the first books in the series held me back at all.

His relationship with his girlfriend was interesting too. I like that, although he seemed to objectify every other woman in the book, he did seem to really respect and love her and listen to her when she talked.

As usual for these older Spenser books it's quite short.

But this is an important part of the series, as Spenser first meets Susan Silverman.½

The only redeeming factor of this book was that it jumped right into the action, so you were immediately swept into the investigation. What killed me was that, the ENTIRE story, they felt like they knew who it was or that they were very close to knowing who it was, but also didn't know a darn thing and stated as such. Oh, and they had no physical evidence to actually say "Yes, it's THIS person." In all honesty, very little of what is written in this actually feels like it pertains to the murders themselves and catching the killer.

To be fair, this is the first in this series I've read, so this could be the norm for Parker. It was recommended to me by someone I don't actually know very well, but who hasn't steered me wrong on the couple other recommendations he's thrown my way and, from the synopsis, it did, in all fairness SOUND like a good book. I definitely don't intend to read any more in this series though. The chemistry between Spenser and his girlfriend is a bit odd and one exposure to it is good enough for me. Additionally the utter lack of information related to the actual murders, killer, etc was plenty enough to turn me away from the rest of the series.

Amusing as usual.

Some of the stories come close to approximating Chandler's prose, but a few stick out for excessive profanity (which I don't object to, it is just that in Chandler's prose profanity was rare and always redacted) and over-the-top action. I am getting pretty sick of Marlowe to be honest.

I haven't ever read a Robert B. Parker novel, and I can understand what everyone is saying about his incredible dialogue. Terry is not an overly complicated boy, with the basic motivations of an essentially good person. He is head-over-heels for the flirtatious, intelligent Abby, and the two of them banter continually about sex even though they've never had it and aren't sure they want to have it. The zen-like wisdom of the capable George balances the easy back and forth of the pair and the chatter of their friends. The mystery is not particularly mysterious, violent, or particularly surprising at its conclusion, but that takes nothing away from Terry's investigations, which unites kids from all classes and cliques. Wonderful book.

Popcorn! A real hoot.