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While Christopher Moore continues
to be a reliable funny writer of human quirks, his latest novel, Noir, suffers from a somewhat muddled
plot that seems to a while to kick in. The book starts off great, with the
writer’s patent zingers and one-liners bouncing around and hitting their
targets to make me smile. Not laugh out loud, as he used to do, but enough for
me to enjoy at least half the book.
While satirizing a genre that
is noir, he is able to bring the atmosphere of San Francisco of 1947 alive. Its
heavy fog, its cold summers and reliable weirdness come off the pages and wrap
its tendrils around you. But that’s as close as it comes to the classic genre. And
while it has a lot of Moore’s trademark wit, it really does not feel like Moore
books of the past (something I’ve felt for a while). Which is good for new
readers, but makes me wonder where the writer of Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal diverged. He still has well researched
books, appealing characters, and the sparkling jokes, but I don’t think he’s
talking a risk anymore. Then again, when he started publishing novels back in
1992, not many people were doing what he did –books about men and women’s
relationships, mixing the supernatural and satire to create some funny novels. Those
early books, Practical Demonkeeping,
Coyote Blue, Island of the Sequined Love Nun, The Lust Lizard of Melancholy Cove and Lamb seemed to more original and even risky. Now, well, we see a
lot out there.
Still, even his weakest books are
still good, and I’ll still recommend it.
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