To Finish or Not to Finish?

If you don't like a book, don't finish it. Or skim through the rest to find out what happened for your own edification and then leave it behind forever.

It sounds easy, but not when you're devoted wholeheartedly to a character or a series, like I am to Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe, that seventh of a ton, orchid-loving, shut-in-by-choice gourmand. Oh, I like Archie Goodwin, Wolfe's legman, well enough, especially his love of milk, and all the stories are always from his perspective (I may be wrong about this, so be gentle if I am), but I love spending time in that Manhattan brownstone with its floors containing Nero Wolfe and Archie's office, Fritz Brenner's holiest-of-holy kitchen, with all the culinary masterpieces that emerge from it; Wolfe's and Archie's bedrooms, and, of course, the plant rooms where the orchids are, where, without fail, with some extreme exceptions (such as gunfire bursting through the plant rooms, decimating them), Wolfe is there from 9-11 a.m. and 4-6 p.m., all of it tended by his gardener, Theodore Horstmann.

I haven't yet read all of Rex Stout's journeys into one of my favorite worlds, nor have I read all of Robert Goldsborough's continuations, taken up 11 years after Stout died. I did read Goldsborough's first continuation, Murder in E Minor, but probably have to reread it again because I don't remember much about it. I do remember that it placed Wolfe and Archie in the 1970s, which was an interesting change. I loved his prequel to the series, Archie Meets Nero Wolfe, so I thought I'd have something to look forward to every time Goldsborough has a new Wolfe novel out, although Archie Meets Nero Wolfe was the first one since 1993.

His latest Wolfe novel is called Murder in the Ball Park, and it seems to place Wolfe and Archie quite a while after they first met, which, judging from Wolfe reading Eisenhower's Crusade in Europe, is 1948.

I'm on page 112. I've been on page 112 for the past day and a half, partly because I've been busy with freelance research work, but mostly because every page brings a new frustration. The mystery of who assassinated state senator Orson Milbank during a baseball game at the Polo Grounds does not move along. And by placing this story at a time that I'm sure Stout himself covered feels to me as if Goldsborough, by this act, wants to be considered in the same league as Stout. To me, he isn't. A different author can play with what a previous author has left behind, but with reservations, if that world has been so well-established, as this one was by Stout.

In this novel, Goldsborough plays too fast and loose with how Wolfe and Archie operate, even who they are. I could never imagine Wolfe saying "Egad" in reaction, as he does at the beginning of chapter 14. "Phooey" yes. I've read that and it works. Maybe Wolfe has said "Egad" during Stout's time writing him, but it most likely was smoother than it is here. Also, I love reading Wolfe's speeches to potential murder, or otherwise, suspects for that reason. Goldsborough had a fine handle on it in the prequel, so I don't understand why there's a sudden inability to do it here.

With Wolfe's eating habits, I can accept Georgia ham broiled, as he has for breakfast in bed one morning. but I wince at squash with sour cream and dill and avocado with watercress and black walnut kernels. That seems very un-Wolfe like and certainly un-Fritz like. And it does not at all speak to the enormous love Wolfe has for fine food and the opinions he holds forth on it. It's as if Goldsborough just drops them in to meet what's expected of a Wolfe story, without getting into why.

But once again, it's the snail's pace of the story that nearly kills my interest in this novel. Wolfe and Archie do investigate every angle in every novel and novella and short story, but it is never this slow. There have been novels in Stout's repertoire that have not been entirely up to snuff, but still move along swiftly enough. Here, we meet every possible suspect, each less interesting than the next, including a barely-written mob boss who would have been more fascinating in Wolfe's presence if he and Wolfe had been permitted to have a discussion about their different sides of life, their ways of living. Something like that. Not very long, but Wolfe is worldly, and there would have been a lot of potential in that.

I'm up to the part where the late state senator's lover and former press secretary has decided to run for his vacant seat, and still I crawl through one page and then another. It's not that I feel I'll be doing Wolfe a great disservice if I don't finish this. This is a different Wolfe, a Wolfe that was better in the prequel, and maybe he's just as good in Goldsborough's '70s-set versions. Plus, there's so much talk here between Archie and others, including New York Gazette man and Wolfe resource Lon Cohen, but it's not even entertaining or useful talk. It's just enough to push the story along without feeling, without what usually makes these stories a joy to read. There's not much joy in this one.

Throughout the rest of the day, I'll think about whether to push along, to see it through to the end, or skim. I'm such a fan of this series that in the now-rare times that we go to a buffet in Las Vegas or Henderson, I always order milk to drink, as a salute to Archie Goodwin. I know this is Goldsborough and not Stout here, but Wolfe is still Wolfe to me, despite the "Egad." It's hard to shake off devotion.

Where Was I When I Read That?: A Potential Series

One feature I'd like to add to my blog in the coming weeks is "Where Was I When I Read That?" I was looking through the "mystery series" section of my Goodreads account to see when I read Fonduing Fathers, the previous White House Chef Mystery novel by Julie Hyzy, and if I had marked Hyzy as one of my favorite authors, so I could add the latest novel, Home of the Braised, to my "Currently Reading" section and mark it accordingly.

Just now, while writing this, I reached Fonduing Fathers and discovered that I indeed marked her as one of my "favorite authors," making her part of that section. But on the second page of the "mystery series" section while searching for that one, I spotted Archie Meets Nero Wolfe by Robert Goldsborough, his prequel to the entire Nero Wolfe series by Rex Stout, which tells of how Archie Goodwin, while an ex-security guard, met Nero Wolfe, based on the bits of insight dropped by Stout through his novels. I started it on May 11, 2013, a Saturday, and finished it the next day. I remember that Saturday well, because it was one of the days of the San Gennaro Feast on Blue Diamond Road in Las Vegas, held in a large swath of parking lot in a shopping center containing a decrepit looking Sears, for one, and a Fuddrucker's nearby. We went not only to see what Italian food there was, but I wanted to meet Lena Prima, the daughter of the great Louis Prima, who, besides being an excellent trumpeter and singer, was the voice of King Louie in The Jungle Book. I wanted to ask Lena if it was true that her father and Phil Harris actually recorded "I Wanna Be Like You" separately due to schedules that could never meet. It seems impossible that they could have, since the call-and-response between them toward the end of the song is so immediate, but apparently, it's true. The editing of that song is flawless.

The time to meet Lena Prima was when the concert portion of the day was going on, from dusk until well into the evening. There were a few acts before Prima took the stage, and during the second-to-last act, I spotted her at the side of the stage and went to meet her. She told me she had never knew about that story, but figured that it might have been true, and was impressed at my enthusiasm for The Jungle Book. She also autographed the two-disc Jungle Book DVD set I brought with me.

But Archie Meets Nero Wolfe remained closed during the concert. It had the most action when we four were sitting at a table under one of the many tents spread around for people to be able to sit and eat. Dad and Meridith had gone to walk around to see what there was, Mom was resting from the walk from an adjacent parking lot to this point, and I was reading.

I haven't read any of Goldsborough's other Nero Wolfe novels, which continued the series after Stout died, but I want to. I was impressed by this one because of Archie and Nero Wolfe meeting, and also the instant rapport between them, even when Archie was just one of the crew Wolfe employed to look into the kidnapping of the son of a wealthy New York hotel tycoon. Yes, Wolfe can get brusque with Archie at times, but his respect never wavers, and here it forms. There were times while reading at the San Gennaro Feast that I was vaguely aware of where I was. I was deep in the tycoon's mansion, witnessing the crew being assigned their roles, Archie as the chaffeur.

The one time I put down the book was when I went to look to see what I wanted to eat. I found a stand selling sausage and pepper sandwiches and bought one. it was over $6, and I wish it had been cheaper, because I wanted another and another and another. Mom agreed, because even from her one bite, she was amazed at how good it was. The sausage snapped in all the right places, and the red and green peppers were perfectly grilled. The bread should have been more crusty, though. And even though there were other stands selling sausage and pepper sandwiches too, including one that was selling them at a discount at the end of the night, the last night of the feast, in fact, one was enough. We didn't go to the September San Gennaro Feast, and aren't likely to go back to another one, because once was enough. It felt disorganized, and the one major booth selling pasta did not know how to do it well. It was mushy more than it was pasta. And with the prestigious exception of Lena Prima, and Italian singer/tenor Aaron Caruso, whose CD I bought for my mom, who autographed it, and who graciously spent a few minutes chatting with my mom and I, the rest of the concert was worryingly mediocre. There was one woman on before Prima who has never met a song she couldn't murder. Even the quietest, most subtle love song would not stand a chance against her.

But Archie Meets Nero Wolfe remains, every time I look through that list, reminded of the San Gennaro Feast and the time I had with it that day, well-spent time.

My next post in this attempted series will either be about Ten Years in the Tub: A Decade Soaking in Great Books by Nick Hornby, or The Neon Rain, the first Dave Robicheaux novel by James Lee Burke, which relates to what seems to be our annual visit to Steak 'n Shake at the South Point Hotel Casino Spa on Las Vegas Boulevard South, because one novel I read just before this past Christmas, The Silence of Bonaventure Arrow by Rita Leganski, was with me on that latest visit. In fact, if it is The Neon Rain, I might cover The Silence of Bonaventure Arrow in the same post.

The Traveling Book Debate, Part 2: Who Needs Presidents?

Toward 2 this morning, I was lying on my bed, watching "The Doorbell Rang," the first series episode of A&E's Nero Wolfe, on DVD, giving myself over completely to the delightful use of language in the series, how measured Nero Wolfe is when he speaks, that when he gets ticked over something, it's the equivalent of an act of war and easily understandable considering who he's usually up against. I also love the combination of Maury Chaykin's Wolfe (Chaykin became one of my favorite actors through this series and his brief role in Entrapment, the latter of which, to me, demonstrated his fearlessness as an actor) and Timothy Hutton's Archie Goodwin, as truly inseparable as Holmes and Watson.

As I listened to the dialogue, I looked around my room as I always do, not out of boredom, but doing some figuring of my own, looking at the stacks of books I have for my research, determining what I should start on when I get back from Nevada, looking at my Las Vegas stack and thinking about whether I should read one or two of them today, and looking at other stacks with so many novels pressed against each other, trying to remember if there are any that demand my immediate attention. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close is one, not only because of the trailer for the movie and the commercials for it on TV, but also because right when I finished Greyhound by Steffan Piper and put it in my permanent collection, I wanted another book involving a young boy's exploration of the world. That one would appear to be it, even though I've not opened it yet, and will likely save it for when I get back.

I also looked at the stacks that are so close to my bed on my left side that I barely have to extend two fingers to touch them, exactly as I like it. I looked down the stack closest to me and found a book that makes me cancel out any presidential books I was thinking about bringing with me.

This book is called Personal Pleasures by Rose Macaulay, originally published in 1936, and published again in 1990. She was a satirical British novelist, and in this book, she writes about her pleasures, such as "Eating and Drinking," "Cinema," "Clothes," "Finishing a Book," "Meals Out," "Play-Going," "Walking," and "Writing." I'm going on a trip to where I find the most pleasure in my life. This book will join 28 Barbary Lane in my canvas bag (I'm still deciding on which two first mystery novels to bring). The presidents can wait until I get back.