Customer Reviews

Armadillos and Old Lace

5 star:		(4)
4 star:		(10)
3 star:		(0)
2 star:		(1)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

"Armadillos and Old Lace" is Kinky's seventh novel and is his first to be set away from New York. Instead, the action takes place at 'home' - in and around Echo Hill Ranch, Texas. This means, of course, that Kinky must solve this mystery without the help of people like Ratso, Rambam and John McGovern - though he has brought the cat along with him. While the cat doesn't voice her opinion on their new home - a green trailer - it's obvious that she isn't impressed.

Kinky has, once again, cast himself as the PI hero and has continued to use family and friends as the book's supporting characters. Echo Hill Ranch was founded by his parents, Tom and Min, in the early 1950s. Min died in 1985, before the book was written - though Tom does appear and is always referred to by his first name. A summer camp is held on the ranch every year, and Kinky's sister, Marcie, appears as one of the camp counsellors. (It was Marcie's idea that Kinky should start writing mystery novels - I will be eternally grateful to her). Frances Kaiser, Kerr County's Sheriff, and Pat Knox, Kerrville's Justice of the Peace, also appear. The green trailer, Kinky's place of residence in this book, is where he wrote several of his early books. It's now (apparently) home to an armadillo, who presumably answers to the name of Dilly. Much use is also made of Dusty, his mother's old talking car. However, further comparisons with David Hasselhoff and KITT just don't stand up.

Though Kinky has returned home for a holiday, Pat Knox has other ideas. She contacts regarding hom the deaths of four old ladies who have died over the previous five months. Although the Sheriff, Frances Kaiser, has found nothing suspicious about any of them, Pat remains convinced they were murdered. She asks Kinky to look over her files and form an opinion - though he initially agrees with the Sheriff. However, his opinion starts to change when a fifth victim turns up - with her lips sewn shut.

This is the best of Kinky's books I've read to date - though, admittedly, I haven't read then all. He still delivers a fast-moving book, with more one-liners than you reasonably hope for, but it also has the benefit of a strong story. In addition, he writes with a strong sense of affection form the camp and the people who have helped out there over the years. His quips may not be to everyone's taste, but this is a book I thoroughly enjoyed.

I forgot when or where I heard of Kinky Friedman, but this was the first of his mysteries I had ever read. His politically incorrect wit, his love for animals, and his writing style in general got me addicted. After reading this book, I have read almost all of his works and I hope he writes many more.

I snarf down Kinky Friedman books like candy, Lord knows I do, but the last few leading up to Armadillos and Old Lace had started making me antsy for a new scenario or two. Kinky's adventures in the Big Apple have always been long on laughs and his special brand of folksy/freaky asides, but a little shy on new plot twists.

Adding fresh air to the series is this volume, which takes place over a summer on Kinky's Texas ranch. This neck of the woods is so gushingly dear to his heart that you can almost hear the children playing and the crickets chirping. A whole new cast of characters are on board to replace the irreplaceable Village Irregulars, including the Kinkster's father and a young green-eyed love interest. The cat, of course, comes along for the shaky ride and never fails to jump onto unfortunate spots on Kinky's sleeping body. Also keep an eye open for Kinky's new companion, a talking car that spouts bits of wisdom at appropriate times.

The "mystery" portion of our tale comes, as usual, almost as an afterthought, but it's an interesting one to say the least. Some old ladies are getting offed on their birthdays and the local judge and sheriff are clueless. What can you do? Bring in Kinky Friedman, amateur detective from the Big City. Who would've thought that you'd find serial killers and intrigue in Kerrville?

This was the best entry since Greenwich Killing Time and I laughed longer and louder than any of them. Kinky takes his time getting to the story, with plenty of tales of times gone by and bits of wisdom from the famous (and infamous) figures from his past. Kinky's vocabulary has, at this point, become almost another language filled with terms like "rain room", "agitato", "killer bee" (def: fantastic, usually referring to chicken fried steak), "taking a Nixon", and "Jewish shepherds".

You might not get it, but if you do you'll discover a friend for life in Kinky Friedman.

Look - you either dig Kinky Friedman or not. He is rude, crude, at times lewd, always a dude. His New York digs could get a little claustophobic to me, so I was glad to see him head out to his family's home and kids' summer camp - Echo Hill Ranch. As usual, whatever he turns his hand to somehow evolves into grand highjinks, but everything works out in the end. This time he get's drawn into the suspiscious deaths of 4 little old ladies. No pony for Kinky - he rides the range in Dusty, his late mom's talking Chrysler looking for clues and trying not to join the old ladies on the other side of the rainbow. Needless to say, Justice (and Kinky) triumphs, but not before his usual stirring of the hornets nest investigative style makes him equal numbers of friends and enemies. Oh, go ahead and read it - you know you want to!

This book was a nice change of pace for Kinky, since he got out of NY and the somewhat claustrophobic environment of his little flat on Vandam Street. Here Kinky goes back to the family kids ranch run by his dad in Texas, where he plans to help out and relax for the summer until he is dragged into a weird case involving old ladies dying under suspicious circumstances, all on their 76th birthday. With the help of a talking car and a former political rival, Kinky forges ahead and battles bees, society women and hermits to save the day.

Kinky is his usual cigar-chomping, Jameson's swilling self, but with a tad more tenderness and a bit less sarcasm since he spends a lot of time around kids in this book, and the setting brings about some much-needed nostalgia. Friedman is always funny, but in a very jaded way, so it was nice to read about his character reminiscing about childhood and his family a bit.

As for the mystery, like all Friedman books it is almost secondary to the author's trademark wit and uncanny observances. I did enjoy seeing Kinky work his way through a mystery without having Rambam (his professional PI friend) solve the whole thing for him. While some readers will miss the NY setting and long for more action involving the Village Irregulars, I for one enjoyed a respite from Ratso. 4 stars for an enjoying, very readable Kinky Friedman book.

I just discovered Kinky about 2 weeks ago and
have read the 4 books I could find. Apparently, the
other 4 are out of print (alas). As far as I'm
concerned, the plot takes a back seat to his delicious
dialogue. There were many giggles, chortles, and
even guffaws as I read. Here's to the little puppet
head, the usual suspects, and his aloof cat companion.
I'm off to some used book stores to see if I can
quench my Kinky thirst.

A who-dunnit with plenty of gruesome murders and enough red herrings to satisfy a starving NY alley cat, but solving the murders is secondary to discovering whether the author, and prodigal native Texas son, will survive the working holiday without losing his cat, his temper and his life-long friends by hightailing it back to the Big Apple. On a trip back to the "Dude" ranch of his youth, Kinky relishes childhood memories, smokes a peace pipe with his cat, coaxes a tempramental talking car to go the distance, and stays just one step behind an odious killer with a penchant for old ladies. In a town that loves to hate outsiders, and, even more, insiders who left for greener big-city pastures, Kinky proves that he hasn't lost his touch when it comes to women, cigars, or picking up the clues that only a jaundiced eye could see

I always forget that the main reason I like Kinky Friedman's books is that I know I can write one better. I just don't have a Texan, cigar-chewing, NewYorkdown&out, post-hippie, cowboy-hat detective persona. So I am stuck with Kinky.

This is probably the 5th Kinky Friedman novel I have read, but since they have been in no particular order perhaps another one took us to the Texas Hill Country and I wasn't aware of it. For me, it was a breakaway, venue-wise and having been to all of the towns and places he describes made it especially fun. I also detect a gentler, perhaps even spiritual undertone in this novel that I have not noticed in the others I enjoyed previously. Naturally, it was a guffaw a minute as the story unfolds. It contains enough plot points to keep one turning the page. And as much as I hate cigar smoke and almost gag thinking of how discolored both his and his character's teeth must be, I grieved when the story drew to a close.

The friends of Kinky Friedman gathered recently over the release of his latest mystery, and the air was positively green with screaming over it.

"Like P.J. O'Rourke on testosterone," cheered Robert Stack, noted literary critic and host of "Unsolved Mysteries." "A true American original," mused Steve Allen, modern Renaissance man.

"A real beauty mark of sinful excess," says James Crumley, author of "The Last Good Kiss."

Lord knows mystery novels are not meant to be the all-day suckers of literature, but the scorch marks on my eyelids remain mute evidence that there was less here than met the eye.

The concept behind this series is simple. Kinky Friedman, in reality a smart-alecd country singer who writes songs like "They Don't Make Jews Like Jesus Anymore" and "Get Your Biscuits in the Oven and Your Buns into Bed," plays amateur detective in New York City.

As an added conceit, his friends appear in the books, sometimes as Watsons, sometimes as victims and suspects.

There is some justification for Crumley's "sinful excess" assertion. Although of an age old enough to know better and too old to care, Friedman has the sense of humor sure to tickle the hearts of 13-year-old boys everywhere. Between the bodies are sprinkled fart jokes, crap jokes, Jesus jokes, Jewish jokes, Texas jokes, booger jokes and more fart jokes.

In addition, he drops in stories which don't mean anything to the plot and rules of life with great portentousness. His plots meander about the ranch like herds of sheep. Sometimes, he wraps it up well enough to forgive and badly enough to induce hurling (the book, not your lunch, unless you don't like dirty jokes).

This time, Friedman heads to Texas for the summer, to the combination ranch and summer camp which his family has been tending for decades. But before he can settle into his trailer and take off his boots, the justice of the peace asks him to look into the deaths of six old ladies. She thinks a serial killer is at work; the county sheriff doesn't. And Kinky is in the middle.

So while he investigates the deaths, we also get heart-warming scenes around the campfire, where Kinky campfire songs like "Ol' Ben Lucas / Had a lot of mucus / Comin' right out of his nose."

Along the way, Kinky talks about relatives who had gone to seed in nursing homes and his experiences as a Peace Corps volunteer in Borneo, sometimes dipping into lines like: "I was a hunter who traced the wide open spaces between the ears of a madman, just barely within shouting distance of reality."

This time, Friedman keeps his mind on the plot and wraps it up not only satisfactorily, but adds a coda capable of inducing heartbreak.

If you have a taste for sick humor, sacrilegious talk and bawdy observations, then the Kinkster comes highly recommended.