"He hadn’t been a practicing journalist for years, although people remembered him and he still has a few contacts. And he’s pretty sure he hasn’t paid his dues to the American Journalism Alliance anytime recently. But somebody has. Enjoying himself on the French Riviera, developing a killer tan, and sleeping with the neighbor’s wife, Fletch is feeling pretty flush. But when agents Eggers and Fabens show up with a little more information about Fletch than is comfortable and an invitation to the A.J.A. convention, how could he refuse? So he finds himself enlisted as a spy among his peers. But before he can even set up his surveillance, there’s a murder. And almost everybody’s a suspect. Because a lot of people were employed by Walter March, and most of them had a reason to hate him."
Fletch’s Fortune, the third, but chronologically the seventh, volume
of Gregory McDonald’s mystery series plays out like an old Agatha Christie whodunit,
where a bunch of people come together at a hotel where someone is murdered and
everyone has a motive, has he means, and as it turns out, can all be suspects.
The problem here is that the book is somewhat dull, despite fun dialogue and
farcical setting. As I’ve noted before, McDonald’s portrayal of Fletch changes
from book to book, and here he’s still the playboy with ill-gotten money
(Fletch), but he’s also somewhat of a ridiculous peacock, walking around
shirtless, and is being clearly written as the smartest man in any room. Also, I’m
not sure I agree with the way McDonald framed the story –the bugging devices
given to him by the CIA were a bit too convenient for the information they
revealed. Then again, he was not a cop or even a reporter, but these passages revealed
not a lot of information. Still, I suppose, in those old Agatha Christie
novels, these exposition scenes would’ve played out with rumors and people
spying on others.
A bit of a disappointment, but still better than most.
No comments:
Post a Comment