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Too much effort was put into this book and it was all futile.
Not enough "real hard evidence" supports anything reported in this "tabloid" type of book.
I felt like I was reading the National Enquirer (hardback version) than a book about Elvis and his manager.
This man obviously used a lot of other people's material, from other books, and added his opinion: which doesn't amount to much.
I like Scotty Moore and what he did for Elvis, but he was always kept in the dark about Elvis' business. So his comment about how much this book was an eye-opener is expected.
This was a waste of my money, but even moreso my time.
I would rather read something more substantial.
"James Dickerson's research has confirmed more than I ever suspected"--Scotty Moore, Elvis's guitarist and first manager
"An indendiary, powerful investigative account . . . an explanation, finally, of the twisted, corrupt relationship between Elvis and Colonel Parker"--Joe Eszterhas, best-selling author, screenwriter and former writer for Rolling Stone magazine
"This jaw-dropping biography of Tom Parker confirms what I felt for years--that the Colonel was a far more fascinating rascal than Elvis ever became. This is a model of research assembled with crafty objectivity and humor"--Hal Kanter, director of the Elvis film "Loving You"
"Here is the whole sad and amazing story of 'the most accomplished con man since Barnum.' In swift, deft strokes Dickerson has sketched the greed, compulsion, and lies that drove every decision in the making of undoing of rock and roll's greatest talent. This is the book our study of popular culture's most glittering icon has lacked"--Lewis Nordan, author of "The Sharpshooter Blues"
"This riveting biography shines a hard light on the inscrutable Colonel . . . Dickerson has made it easy to understand that if rock and roll will never die, it owes its life to how Parker wrote the rules of the game"--Mark Ribowsky, author of "He's a Rebel"
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I suspect this book was pretty hot when it came out, but it's almost a parody of the genre today, sad to say. I can stand about one Ross MacDonald a year, just to give me some perspective on this part of the mystery/suspense scene, and Find a Victim is it for this year.
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There are other ways this novel is a departure for the series, and in every way it deviates from the norm is a way in which it fails. Perhaps that is merely happenstance, but I think the changes themselves are to blame, as opposed to any faulty ideas or execution.
This novel is set in Chicago, allowing interaction with Mayor Daley and mobsters such as Frank Nitti. The plot involves Toby trying to get Chico Marx out of a situation arisen from gambling debts, which he says are not his.
There is notably less humor in this book than in previous adventures. It is freezing cold, Toby is perpetually ill and in pain, and meets a succession of characters that are sad or pitiful without ever achieving much poignancy. And as for Toby himself, his pathetic lifestyle is palatable when the comedic nature of it is trumped up; here it is more serious, almost maudlin at times. In addition, though these books are modeled after Chandler, they've never really managed the cynical wit or wry dialogue; so the humor is missed even more sorely here.
My overriding complaint with this book is this: Why have the Marx Brothers in your story if they're not going to act like the Marx Brothers? I understand that they were not the same men as their stage-and-screen personas, and were even a little frustrated by inability to transcend them. But I maintain that the injection of a little of their subversive craziness into a project which bears their image is only right, and would have improved this book immensely. It goes back to the first paragraph of this review: give the Hollywood stars something to do, or at least comment on their life and livelihood through the action. (I would have loved to read Groucho flustering a room full of corrupt cops with trademark one-liners and non-sequitirs. And I am likewise intrigued by a mental picture of Harpo using his giant Duck Soup scissors to cut a bunch of mobsters' ties, then soaking his feet in a vat of their beer.)
Only at the end, after the wrap-up, does Toby check in with any members of the usual supporting cast, and then only by phone. Too bad; it sounds like some interesting events had been happening to them back in LA.
There are nice things about the book, too, though comparatively few: Ian Fleming makes a welcome cameo, rescuing Toby in a manner not unlike his fictional creation might have, and we also meet a diseased, demented Al Capone early in the story. The "love interest" (I hate that term, because they're seldom more than warm bodies) could have been an interesting character, but she is little more in these pages than the standard harlot with a heart of semi-gold.
The book is unfortunately not enough redeemed by a thoughtful solution. Chicago in this period of history was a unique place, but I still think the mystery could have played out the same almost anywhere. Kaminsky likely had a mob story in him and had no way better to use it.
Deal yourself out of this hand, at least until you've read some of the others in the Toby Peters series.
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