I also wanted to tell you about Jon Loomis who recently published his second mystery novel featuring Frank Coffin, the Provincetown maverick detective. I found his first novel, High Season, promising. Mating Season (Minotaur Books, 2009, 304p) the second installement, is as well written as the first, but lacks something, I don't know what, to strike a chord. Maybe it's just the Auther's Note, which precedes the novel:
I would have liked, at least, to have the illusion of following his characters in the real Provincetown, and learn more about such a fascinating place. To make things worse, some of the protagonists talk about 'P'town,' a nickname the locals are not supposed to use...
The last two pages of the novel, though, are hilarious. Kotowski, Coffin's old friend, an old gay artist who has recently met some financial success by making paintings of famous Republican politicians (think of Bush, Palin, Cheyney) in awkward settings, starts:
'I am not an optimist,' Coffin said.
Of course you are,' Kotowski said. 'Otherwise you wouldn't be trying to have a kid. I mean, my god - you've got global warming, economic collapse, war everywhere you look, bird flu, energy shortages, food shortages, that crazy particle accelerator in France, the honeybees dying off - you know what Einstein said, right?'
'Particle accelerator? What particle accelerator?'
'He said that if the honeybees all die, humans pretty much go extinct in four years. Four years!'
'What particle accelerator?'
'But there you are - being a freaking mammal like everything's just fine. How can you say you're not an optimist?'
Coffin raised an eyebrow.
'Jesus,' Kotowski said. 'You're relentless - no wonder you're good at being a cop. There's a new particle accelerator under the French Alps that's seventeen fucking miles long. If the guys who are running it aren't careful, they could produce a black hole that'll destroy the planet.'
'Oh,' Coffin said. 'Let's go outside and have a smoke.'
'Oh?' Kotowski said. 'Oh? A bunch of French physicists might accidentally generate a killer black hole under the freaking Alps and all you can say is oh?'
'What do you want me to say?' Coffin said, pulling Kotowski outside by his shirt.
'Well, some expression of concern would be nice,' Kotowski said. They stood in the sculpture garden, in the long shadow of a tall abstract bronze.
Coffin lit a cigarette and offered the pack to Kotowski. 'Okay,' he said. 'I'am concerned. Happy now?'
'Reasonably content,' Kotowski said, puffing at his cigarette, 'More of less. For the moment.'
A fat skunk waddled across Commercial Street, ignoring them. The Long Point foghorn skwonked, even though there was no fog. Coffin looked up at the night sky. The stars were in sharp focus: Big Dipper, Orion's belt. A meteor blazed and then winked out above the Pilgrim Monument. A good sign, a dark omen. 'Well,' Coffin said, 'you can't ask for more than that.'
I wanted to tell you about all that, but I started to read, this sunny and warm afternoon, Giants - The Parallel Lives of Frederick Douglass and Abraham Lincoln by John Stauffer, and was not able to pause. I have not finished it, but it seems to be a great book. More about it next week...
2009.08.16