Customer Reviews

Someone Killed His Boyfriend: A Summer of Sex, Sun and Murder in Provincetown

5 star:		(11)
4 star:		(8)
3 star:		(7)
2 star:		(1)
1 star:		(11)

 

 

I just finished this book. Like the other review mentioned, it is pretty standard; "uber-gay" friend and "normal" gay protagonist. If you looking for something fun and mindless to read on the beach, this would be it. If you're looking for a good mystery set in the gay community...check out Nathan Aldyne's books.

If you are looking to kill a few hours by reading a book that you won't remember much after you finish then this is the book for you. The book tried very hard to be witty by introducing the usual stereotypical "WACKY" best friends of the "Normal" hero. "i.e. the self involved oversexual spoiled changes boyfriends like socks gay guy as well as the gigantic frizzy haired lesbian confidante. Unfortunatly they just didn't ad much. Basically the friend gets publically dumped for the first time ever, tracks the guy down to Provincetown and rents a fabulous beachouse from which he will figure out some sort of revenge. Dragging his midwestern friend along there are parties, leathermen and bad drag shows but all of it seems to be phoned in. If you love this style and want a book that does it a bit better try "My Blue Heaven" but as I said before, if you are just looking for a not unpleasent way to kill a few hours on the beach this book is fine.

Irritating is the only word to describe this sophomoric, underdeveloped, witless piece of junk. Not only is the narrator character completely unlikeable, he's the worst kind of unlikeable - the kind that thinks he's being witty and charming while he's coming off whiny and full of himself. If you wouldn't spend time with him in real life, why read about him? The rest of the characters fare no better, with one dimensional stereotypes on every page.

The mystery, if you can call it that, is so thin you could almost put it on a plate and call it beef carpaccio - except that it's far less substantial.

Finally, there are so many editing errors in the text that it's distracting, which seems to be a common problem with this publisher (Kensington, I think). Either hire an editor who knows the language or stop printing these books, please.

Readers of gay mysteries deserve far better than this tripe. Don't waste your money.

Michael Starks informs his friend feminine hygiene products' copywriter Robert Willsop that he is in love and going to marry Max. Since Michael goes through men at a rate faster than a paid professional, Robert remains skeptical that this is just the flavor of the day for his promiscuous pal. When Robert meets the gorgeous Max he thinks of ways to kill Michael because he wants the hunk in his bed and not in that of a saddle tramp like his bud.

Though jealous, Robert agrees to help Michael with the gayest wedding in the history of Manhattan. However, in front of well over a thousand guests, Max jilts Michael. Not long afterward, Max is killed with the obvious murder suspect being his fiancee. Robert and Michael accompanied by the six foot four inch lesbian Monette must find the real culprit rather soon.

Fans of gay mystery tales will probably want to pass on SOMEONE KILLED HIS BOYFRIEND as the amateur sleuth investigation takes a major rear seat to the cast's lifestyle. Robert is the key player who keeps the plot moving forward. Readers, regardless of sexual preference, will understand his depression and his concerns many common to anyone not just gays. Michael's ego makes him somewhat obnoxious (except in bed) and don't challenge Monette in any sport as she'll kick your butt further than a soccer ball (stereotypes?). The three caballeros turn David Stukas' novel into an amusing romp that focuses on the lifestyle of the rich and poor gay.

Harriet Klausner

Awakened from a dream in which Rupert Everett is mad about him Robert groggily reaches for the phone to hear the voice of his best buddy, the incredibly handsome and wealthy Michael.

It seems that Michael has met the man of his dreams in a sinewy Southerner, Max. Robert has no lover to call his own, nonetheless he is a good friend to Robert and assists in planning Robert and Max's wedding, which is certain to set New York's elite and not-so-elite on their ears.

There will be jungles of exotic flowers, fabulous refreshments; nothing will be overlooked. Going about his task with about as much brio as he can muster Robert seeks the understanding and sympathy of his tall lesbian friend, Monette. After all, while Robert has but a pittance Michael has everything - that is until the big day.

The groom is punctual but his bridegroom is nowhere to be found - nor his priceless Matisse. Thus, a trio of the most unlikely sleuths is set in motion to solve the question of the missing mate-to-be. All they discover is a dead Max. The possible killer? A Bette Davis impersonator.

As it turns out there's not too much mystery here, but there is a great deal of merriment and mirth. It's a fun off-the-wall take on life in the gay lane.

...

I think that I am a fair person, and I try to see the good in everything. However, I really think there is nothing good about this book; I did read the complete book, but found myself wishing it was over. This whole book smacks of something thrown together for a gay audience, but I think the gay community is more intelligent than that, and that it deserves much better.

The plot is thin and very underdeveloped. There are supposed plot twists that lead to nothing and are never explained - for example, who had rifled through Robert's bag whilst he and Michael were staying at Michael's mother's? No murder mystery should have a murder committed by a character that is only introduced as he is revealed - where is the fun for the reader in that?

I don't entirely agree with other critics who have said that the characters are not likeable. I liked Monette, and quite liked Michael, but hated lead character Robert. I could not understand what the relationship between Michael and Robert was based upon, certainly their stilted conversations did not reveal much warmth. They both seemed to be tired and despairing of each other the whole time.

The "comedy" in the book was tired and lamentable. I cannot believe that the Booklist reviewer proclaimed this, "laugh-out-loud entertainment."

The book is also very badly edited, there were about four mistakes within the first two pages. Later on, dialogue is mis-attributed, which probably suggests that the proofreader was bored by this novel and may not have completed the job.

I sincerely hope that this is not David Stukas's best work. That aside, it is extremely unlikely that I shall ever read another of his novels...

I really, really, really, really hated the character Michael in this book. He's selfish, gorgeous, dumb, rich, and lives a successfully oversexed life with total inability to commit to more than a few-nights-stands and perverse threesomes.

The thing is, you love to hate Michael. You adore hating Michael. You secretly want to be Michael. Even better, the narrative voice of this story, Michael's friend Robert, is caught in the same twisted hate/envy of Michael as the rest - and his wise-cracking (and mystery-novel devouring) lesbian friend Monette is right beside him in the "Love/Hate Michael" fan-club.

So, when Michael finally decides to settle down, and - of course - scores a perfect southern hunka hunka burning love named Max, you can't help but burst out laughing when Robert imagines himself poisioning Michael (his Martini, of course) and then "helping" Max through the grieving period - and ending up with him, of course. Alas, Michael and Max are marrying in a big gay wedding, and Robert, illusions of murder aside, helps out the best he can as he always does...

...except Max leaves Michael at the altar, and skips town with Max's priceless Matisse, and suddenly, Love'em'and'leave'em Michael is the jilted one, and things take a turn for the fun.

Michael decides to go hunt down Max, and [do away with] him, and Robert goes with him to try and calm him down. Alas, when someone else [does away with] Max first, and everything points towards Michael and Robert, things get even crazier, and funny, and wild, and wacky. It's a blast. It's a campy thrill. And when Monette joins our hardly Hardy Boys as a sort of butch Nancy Drew, it just gets better. Bette Davis drag divas abound, cryptic notes, baffling red herrings, and all night perverse [love]-a-thons make this the campiest of mysteries I've read in a very long time.

Grab it. You'll hate Michael too.

'Nathan

This is one of the worst books I have ever read. I thought it would be a good beach read, but was I ever wrong. The characters are cliched gay stereotypes--the hot muscle god who lays everyone he sets eyes on, the pudgy best friend who never gets a piece, the sassy lesbian who's best friends with the pudgy guy but loathes the hot guy. The writing style awful. Stukas rushes through what could be interesting scenes--like when Michael seduces the rookie cop to extrat information from him--and spends multiple paragraphs describing how fabulous the various characters outfits/houses/sex lives are. This awful book makes me appreciate even mediocre writing.

Rich, gay, hot and VERY dumb Michael Stark decides to marry equally hot Max Crawford. He gets his average gay best friend Robert and lesbian Monette to help him. However Max skips out on the wedding, steals a priceless painting from Michael and hightails it to Provincetown. He's followed by Michael, Robert and Monette and things get out of control.

It is mostly funny and does have plenty of twists and turns...but it also has outrageous stereotypes that got annoying. Gay men are portrayed as bitchy, arrogant, sex-starved or drunks. Also all of them LOVE drag! To say the least that's stupid and WAY off. Also the Provincetown portrayed here is NOTHING like the real PTown. Still the book does have its funny lines and moves quickly. It's just not as funny as I wished it could be. Also Michael gets tiresome at times. An OK beach read. I give it a 3.

Characters spend oo much time spent trying to be campy and only coming across bitchy and self-absorbed.