“A” Is For Alibi by Sue Grafton
My Rating: 3/5 Stars
Me and Kinsey on Santa Teresa Boulevard. And Las Vegas Boulevard. Sorry wrong decade, but I was having a nostalgic Paul Simon moment, and I just couldn’t turn it down. And yeah I figured I would use improper grammar and discreetly reference KINSEY AND ME: STORIES which I haven’t yet read and I may never get to based on my current TBR shelf and future book endeavors. For those of you curious about the Paul Simon reference that would be “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard,” which graced the world with its presence in 1972 exactly 10 years before “A” IS FOR ALIBI was first published. If you’re looking for another piece of random trivia, the first printing was 7,500 copies, of which about 6,000 were sold. Needless to say, Sue Grafton took a ride up mystery mountain (she didn’t actually quit her day job until “G” IS FOR GUMSHOE”) where she currently looks down at the rest of us mere mystery mortals and probably laughs occasionally. Or at least that’s what I’d do if I were her since I can smile and laugh on command. And we’re back on track.
What immediately struck me with this novel was the voice that popped off the page. Kinsey Millhone reminded me of the hardboiled voices of old, which isn’t surprising since Ms. Grafton’s strongest influence was Ross Macdonald. Being fascinated with mysteries of related titles, similar to John D. MacDonald and Harry Kemelman, led her to create a mystery series of linked titles and shackled her to one series and character for 26 books, 22 of which have been published as of this review. Of those, I have the first 15 on my Kindle, so Kinsey and I will be joined at the hip through letter O. But I’ll be taking my time as I slowly meander my way up the mountain.
In her first outing, Kinsey reminded me of a piece of wood that hadn’t been sanded or varnished or even painted for that matter. I know there’s a splinter in there somewhere, and if I poke around too long, I’ll find it, or it’ll find me. Either way, I’ll need the tweezers, and there’ll be more poking and prodding and I’m probably not going to like that much either. But she does show promise and potential if she can just manage to get her house in order and sand off those rough edges. She’s thirty-two years old and twice divorced, which means she has bad taste in men, or men unwisely choose her as marriage material, or she likes the thought of being married but doesn’t like the whole commitment aspect. Based on the fact that she’s a loner and unsentimental, I’ll toss option C out the window. I haven’t learned enough about her character to really give a definitive answer, but she does exhibit signs she might be a praying mantis or a tarantula. I don’t really have a problem with her being slightly unlikable, since interest and intrigue keeps me turning the pages, and she does exhibit both qualities rather nicely.
The plot felt a bit nebulous to me, instead of being compact and fully-formed. Sure, there’s a murder—well, multiple ones actually—and there’s a case of insurance fraud that Kinsey investigates, but it all proved a bit simpler than I would have liked. Maybe it was the climax and ending that whipped me completely out of alignment, with their rifle-like resolutions where my ears were still ringing from the blasts.
While this is Kinsey’s story, her female compatriots—Gwen and Nikki Fife and Sharon Napier and even Marcia Threadgill, whose boobs “sagged down like flesh melons bursting through the bottom of a string bag”—proved more interesting than the male counterparts, who always seemed about a half mile behind and rather worse for wear.
I’m interested enough to continue on with the series, especially since Ms. Grafton is a three-time Anthony and Shamus Award winner and is a recipient of the Grand Master Award from the Mystery Writers of America. But I won’t rush right to my Kindle and pop open the next book.