Customer Reviews

The LOVE SONG OF J EDGAR HOOVER (Kinky Friedman Novels)

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

 

 

You can tell that the title of Kinky Friedman's ninth novel, "The Love Song of J. Edgar Hoover," hints at an educated author who is also a humorist with a flair for the politically incorrect. The title is a take-off of T.S. Eliot's poem "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," and the story was written by the man who fronted a band called the Texas Jewboys and penned country songs like "Get Your Biscuits in the Oven and Your Buns in the Bed" and "They Ain't Making Jews Like Jesus Anymore" (which is not as offensive a song as you'd think.) Obviously, Kinky Friedman is a man who is not afraid to offend. You have been warned.

Friedman's novels are the most unconventional in detective fiction. His hero is a carbon copy of himself who becomes an amateur detective after saving a woman's life during a robbery attempt at an ATM. He lives with his cat in a badly heated warehouse loft on 199B Vandam St., New York City, and surrounds himself with an unconventional set of friends like journalist Michael McGovern, who has both a drink and a chicken dish named for him, Ratso, who sometimes wears a coonskin cap complete with head and Rambam, a mercenary "wanted in states whose names begin with an I."

They're an eccentric group of friends, so when McGovern says he's seeing little green men and receives threatening phone calls from an old friend named Leaning Jesus, it's understandable why Friedman wants to avoid him, especially since he has been hired by a beautiful woman to find her missing husband. The case becomes troublesome after Friedman is caught in a narcotics raid in D.C. and a flaming limo in Chicago. His sleuthing uncovers a clue that McGovern's troubles might be connected to the missing husband.

This is not the best book in the series. Friedman seems to be going through the motions here. While first-time readers will be either enchanted or repelled by Friedman's stream-of-consciousness prose and wicked, frequently scatological wit, regular readers will sense a flagging of energy. Friedman's plots are usually simple frameworks on which he hangs his jokes, but here it becomes annoying that the story doesn't begin moving until halfway through the book. Too little is too much this time; this is one love song that strikes a sour note.

If you're still interesting in sampling Kinky's work, I would suggest his Hank Williams Jr. tribute "A Case of Lone Star," or his more recent "Roadkill," featuring Willie Nelson.

...I stumbled across this book on a bargain rack, and it was also my first experience reading the "Kinkster". However, I must confess that I found this novel to be well worth the couple of bucks I paid for it, and well worth my time in reading it (although it surely won't take very long, Friedman's books are a very quick and painless read).

Friedman's writing style is infectious- you either like it right from the start, or it's not for you. Virtually every page has a wisecrack and witty retort, and the author throws in references to such diverse characters as Charles Dickens, Tom Bodet (of Motel 6 fame), Martin Luther King, J. Edgar Hoover and mass murderer John Wayne Gacy. No topic is off-limits. The narrator lives in a 4th floor apartment in NYC, and a lesbian dance instructor lives over him. He mentions, as he goes through the papers of a missing man, that one check stood out "like a Jew with an antfarm." Friedman pokes fun of everyone, but in a playful and witty manner that I really enjoyed.

The novel's main storyline revolved around a missing person, the husband of Kinky's client, as well as a secondary theme involving suspicious characters that seem to be following Kinky's Irish journalist friend McGovern. I am unfamiliar with the author's prior works, but I understand that many of his usual cast of characters are here, as well as the habits and style that have made his loyal fans look forward to Friedman's annual novel.

I should add a word or two about the rating, since I gave the book 4 stars yet I certainly don't think Friedman is a better novelist than say John Irving or Howard Norman, whose books I have given 3 stars. I think you have to judge a book like this in the context of his genre, and for those looking for a witty mystery novel with an occasional unexpected plot twist, interspersed with humor and biting sarcasm, I think this book ranks up there with similar novels by Carl Hiassen.

Richard "Kinky" Friedman, irreverent country singer turned irreverent mystery author, is back in action with his ninth novel, "The Love Song of J. Edgar Hoover." First-time readers of the Kinkster - who practiced political incorrectness long before anyone bothered coining the phrase - will no doubt be jarred by the author's quick, scatalogical wit. Regular readers will be pleased to find each of the Village Irregulars in attendance, to assist their leader in a case involving pal McGovern, the FBI and a mysterious character known only as Leaning Jesus. The novel proceeds at a breakneck pace, with the author happily skewering everything in his path. An exercise in controlled hilarity, this book is worth the manic trip

This is my first foray into Kinky Friedman's strange little world of cats, puppet heads, cigars and a host of strange characters. I found this book on tape to be an enjoyable bit of listening - full of odd turns of phrases and turns of events. A nice change of pace. A cleansing of the palate.

I doubt if I'll seek out Mr. Friedman's work in the future, but I'll be sure to consider it if I happen across it on Amazon.com or at my local bookseller.

If you like infantile, vulgar, cheap-shot, left-wing, sniggering, woman-objectifying, whitetrashculture, adolescent, near-the-edge-gay glomping, 60s radical leftover, scatological, cigar chomping, male-man humor from sexagenarian Texan, Jewish country singer (Did I leave anything out? Oh he worked for Willie Nelson running for governor, and tried it himself too), this book is for you. You get references to schoolboy celebs from the 50s: Big John and Sparky(radio), Captain Midnight(B&W TV); a quick reference to Ann Richards, masturbation, and the texture of cheap, grimy new York apartment living. In his unconscious stream of babble you get a pearl in a pile, every so often. And he solves the mystery after duly (for a detective) getting knocked out, shot and messed with by a femme fatale client. What a book!

I read everthing that Mr. Friedman puts out and am always very amused. This book is no exception.

Admitedly this is my first Friedman book and I bought it because it was in the bargain bin for $1.96 and I've heard of him. Maybe his books are an acquired taste, but I think I got about $1.93 of my money's worth. Yes, the author can ramble and rant and turn a phrase with the best writers, but the whole "mystery" turns into a red herring and leaving me with a big "huh?" on my face. A lot of comments on everything around the wry detective with what little plot there was used as an excuse to pontificate some more. Sorry, fans. I can read Dennis Miller's comedy rants in book form or, better yet, watch him on HBO. No need for "the Kinkster" in my life but at least I gave it a shot. Perhaps his other books are better.