Books: Trust Me On This By Donald E. Westlake (1988)

“Sara Joslyn is fresh from journalism school and ready to take on the world. Unfortunately, she has to settle for the galaxy—the Weekly Galaxy, to be precise, the sensational gossip rag where no low is too low, and no story is too outlandish to print. From finding a dead body in a car before she even finds her desk to making her bones by interviewing a pair of one-hundred-year-old twins (never mind that one of them is dead) and jockeying for brownie points against a crew of ruthless fellow reporters who will do literally anything to make the front page, Sara soon learns the ropes—how to climb them, and how to use them to strangle the competition. But when Sara gets tapped to cover the clandestine wedding of TV idol Johnny Mercer, she will have to fight tooth and nail—and pen—for every scoop and picture if she wants to stay at the top of the bottom.”

While I read Baby, Would I Lie, the sequel to Trust Me on This first, I found this one more enjoyable. Here, Westlake set’s his satirical eye on the tabloids, those newspapers like trash that most people peruse through while waiting at the check-out at the Walmart. Back in the 80’s when they were at their height of popularity, they sold millions of copies, with 99.9% all stories being somewhat made up. Today they’re still here, but more “respectable” glossy magazines like PEOPLE and US WEEKLY sell even more, even with some of the same lies and made-up articles.

Trust Me on This starts out like a typical murder mystery. There's a dead body at the beginning, clues salted in the middle, and a solution at the end. But this is a Westlake novel, so the mystery eventually becomes the least important part of the book. It really turns into another comic caper novel about a group of tabloid reporters –who have convinced themselves that they have a right to invade the privacy of the stars they profile; despite all the amoral aspect they need to do by manipulating a story- that are trying to cover the wedding of a TV superstar on Martha’s Vineyard.

The satire is right on, but since this book is nearly 40 years old, it’s one drawback to wider acclaim is that, like I mentioned in Cop Hater, the first 87^th Precinct novel released in 1956, is how these reporters need to gather their information. It’s archaic and difficult to see that no one had mobile phones; they had to use payphones, no internet, no Google.

But that’s a minor distraction, really. Westlake has always been great at showing his readers ruthless people and enjoys poking fun at the hoops they need to leap through to get a job done, and Trust Me on This really shines a bright light on journalism integrity –or lack thereof. I mean, you can replace the printed words of these tabloids with cable “news” channels like FOX and CNN and get the same sort of dirty feelings from them.

Books: Baby, Would I Lie? By Donald E. Westlake (1994)

“Having endured the seedy world of tabloid journalism at the Weekly Galaxy, ambitious reporter Sara Joslyn has finally moved on to Trend, a hip New York magazine. But news is news, and Sara is immediately sent to Branson, Missouri, the capital of wholesome entertainment, to cover a sensational celebrity trial. Embattled country music legend Ray Jones is accused of a brutal kidnapping and killing. Making—and mucking—matters worse, Sara’s sleazy former colleagues from the Weekly Galaxy have also infested the town. Sara is surprised by how much she enjoys a bit of pure, proud Americana—as well as the ruggedly smooth Ray Jones. But when he’s suspected of a second homicide, Sara realizes there’s more to the story. And that someone decidedly unwholesome is getting away with murder in the heartland.”

Apparently, this is a sequel Trust Me on This, a previous Westlake novel I’ve yet to get to (but have), which sort of explains a lot. All through the book, I felt I was missing something, but could not figure out what it was. Pulling information on my review, I discovered why.

Westlake takes a break from his beloved New York and moves down to Branson, Missouri, for this reasonably good whodunit about a famous musician being tried for murder and the machinations that journalists (both good and bad) get up to.

By setting the story in the south, you still get occasional doses Westlake’s patented metaphors and some goofy twists. Of course, setting it in Branson, allows Westlake to mock everything about the place, but like any northern writer taking on the south’s weirdness, it sometimes comes across as mean-spirited. The characters are all pretty horrible, which is another trademark of the writer, but there is a bit of overused put-downs of fat people and fried food.

It has a clever twist at the ending, which does show not everyone is an idiot. And the fact that everything is laid out throughout the book and I still surprised at the long con, shows you what Westlake was always brilliant at –keep them guessing.