The Barnes & Noble Review
It's been said that there are only three truly indigenous American art forms: the Western, the musical comedy, and the private eye story. The first two have passed through several cycles of rising and falling popularity, but the P.I. thriller has endured -- even flourished -- with remarkable consistency. Since its inception in the 1920s, the form -- together with its defining figure, the autonomous, wise-cracking private detective -- has assumed the status of 20th-century archetype and has continued to attract a steady stream of gifted new interpreters. Recent notable examples include Robert Crais, Walter Mosley, and Dennis Lehane. We can now add to that list Texas-born novelist Rick Riordan, whose excellent third mystery, The Last King of Texas, has just hit the shelves.
Riordan has been on a fast-track since the beginning of his career. His first two novels, Big Red Tequila and The Widower's Two-Step, were both paperback originals. Between them, they won virtually every major award the field offers, including the Shamus, the Anthony, and the Edgar. The Last King of Texas marks Riordan's overdue hardcover debut. Like the first two books, this one features Tres Navarre, a San Antonio private investigator with a Ph.D. in English.
As the novel opens, Tres is considering a position that utilizes all of his professional qualifications. Aaron Brandon, a professor of English at the San Antonio branch of the University of Texas, has just been murdered. The motive behind that murder remains unknown and may have been either personal or political. Following a job interview that is violently disrupted by the arrival of a letter bomb, Tres agrees to replace Brandon and assume his interrupted courseload while San Antonio homicide detectives continue to pursue his murderer.
The initial investigation into the victim's background reveals that, six years before, his own father -- a shady Texas entrepreneur named Jeremiah Brandon -- had also been murdered, shot down in a local bar by Zeta Sanchez, his employee and personal protégé. When police learn that Sanchez, who disappeared immediately after the shooting, has recently returned to town, the new investigation suddenly develops a focus. Eyewitness testimony, along with the subsequent discovery of incriminating physical evidence, once again points to Sanchez, who is arrested following a shootout in which a San Antonio deputy sheriff is seriously wounded.
This apparent solution to the Brandon murder is swift and convenient, but not -- from Tres Navarre's viewpoint -- altogether convincing. Disturbed by a number of discrepancies that the local district attorney seems determined to ignore, Tres pursues his own independent investigation, which takes him into the often sordid history of the Brandon family. Together with a fellow private detective, a beautiful, hard-edged homicide cop, and a violent, streetwise "pawnshop king" named Ralph Arguello, Tres comes gradually to a different -- and very surprising -- conclusion. Along the way, his researches illuminate the troubled past of Ines Brandon, Aaron's widow; the related history of Zeta Sanchez and his own abbreviated marriage; the bloody rituals of the San Antonio youth gangs; and the hidden connection between the Brandon family business -- repairing amusement rides for the Southwestern carnival circuit -- and the South Texas heroin trade.
There's nothing essentially new in any of this, but that's perfectly O.K. Riordan understands the conventions of his chosen form and works comfortably within them. His protagonist, Tres Navarre, is -- despite his admittedly unusual alternate profession -- an obvious lineal descendent of Philip Marlowe: brash, tough, loyal, and driven by an intensely personal ethical code. The narrative itself is swift, violent, and vivid, filled with gracenotes and effortlessly infused with the ambiance of the American Southwest. Most importantly, Riordan has given us a novel that realistically reflects the effects of violence on ordinary people: the men, women, and children who endure -- and sometimes even survive -- their traumatic encounters with a corrupt, increasingly inhuman society.
Familiar or not, The Last King of Texas is an engrossing, high-energy performance and a welcome addition to a crowded field. Riordan, clearly, is a writer to watch, and his narrator/hero, Tres Navarre, is a character who is well worth revisiting, who honors -- and extends -- the peculiarly American tradition from which he springs. (Bill Sheehan)
Amazon.com
For his first two novels featuring PI Tres Navarre, Rick Riordan garnered the Anthony, Shamus, and Edgar Awards--a trio that few seasoned Mystery careerists can claim. In this third, equally entertaining installment, Riordan casts Navarre according to the other piece of his quirky skill set: his Ph.D. in English literature from UC Berkeley.
While the worst-case scenario envisioned by most professors at the University of Texas at San Antonio probably involves lost essays or a failed tenure bid, recently the medievalists at UTSA have wound up deader than their favorite language. At first, the deaths seemed like accidents. Dr. Theodore Haimer was forced to take an early retirement when his remarks about "the damn coddled Mexicans at UTSA" found their way into the Express-News. Shortly thereafter, the old man was discovered deceased, his head in a bowl of Apple Jacks, the result of an apparent heart attack. His successor, the young Dr. Aaron Brandon, continued to receive the vituperation and death threats that had followed his predecessor to the grave. Then, halfway into the semester, Brandon was also found dead--murdered. Now, Tres Nevarre is the only man crazy enough to fill the vacant chair of Chaucer studies and murder avoidance at the amiable institution. His first day on the job is the clincher: an exploding package leaves him both scarred and excited for the only academic job he's ever found that rivals Indiana Jones's.
Riordan's style blends the hipness of Elmore Leonard with the sardonic humor of Janet Evanovich. And like Evanovich, Riordan draws on the colorful character of his locale--in his case the twangy chili con carnage of San Antonio academic life--to pepper his narrative with a mixture of medieval literature, Tex-Mex dialogue, and Sherlock Holmesian puzzles. While there aren't many more awards for Riordan to conquer, The Last King of Texas will certainly win him some more loyal fans. --Patrick O'Kelley
From Publishers Weekly
In a terrific sequel to The Widower's Two-Step, which won the 1999 Edgar for Best Original Paperback, the third Tres Navarre mystery finds the academic-turned-PI reluctant to accept a chair in medieval studies at the University of Texas at San Antonio, a chair whose last two tenants have met with violent deaths. But when a bomb goes off in the dean's office nearly killing him and two others, he instantly accepts the assignment. Tres quickly finds out that the second victim's father, Jeremiah Brandon, a ruthless amusement-park ride manufacturer known as the "King of the Carnivals," was also murdered years before. The prime suspect then was Jeremiah's former employee, gang member Zeta Sanchez, who believed that the predatory Jeremiah was sleeping with his wife, but Sanchez was never apprehended. Suddenly it is reported that, after years on the run (and in a Mexican jail), he has been spotted in the region. Tagging along with the San Antonio police, Tres finds himself in the middle of a violent shoot-out during which Sanchez is arrested; now he is also the number one suspect in the murder of Jeremiah's son. Not surprisingly, Sanchez vigorously protests his innocence. All this happens in just the first 40 pages of this fast-paced and highly entertaining novel, as Tres finds himself drawn into the complex vortex of the Brandon family's ugly past. With the help of beautiful yet tough homicide detective Ana DeLeon (a potential romantic interest) and other, less than savory, friends from the wrong side of the law, the wisecracking Tres untangles an intricate web of murderous family rivalries, missing persons and heroin traffic--all the while evoking with bright color the interplay of San Antonio's Latino and Anglo cultures and the joys of Tex-Mex cuisine.
從結構上看,這本書簡直像是一部精心編排的交響樂。它不是簡單的綫性敘事,而是采用瞭多重視角的切換,就像是鏡頭在不同人物的眼睛之間快速遊走,每個視角都提供瞭一個不完整的拼圖碎片。一開始讀的時候,我有點跟不上這種跳躍性,總覺得信息量太大,敘事綫索太多,生怕自己會遺漏什麼關鍵信息。但隨著閱讀的深入,我逐漸理解瞭作者的用意——他想構建一個全景式的世界,而不是聚焦於單一英雄的旅程。不同人物的經曆和觀點相互碰撞、相互印證,最終匯聚成對那個特定曆史時期更全麵、更細緻的理解。這種宏大的敘事架構,處理不好就容易顯得雜亂無章,但作者卻做到瞭張弛有度,主綫清晰可見,支綫豐富但不喧賓奪主。更令人稱道的是,他似乎總能在最恰當的時機,將兩條看似毫無關聯的綫索巧妙地交織在一起,産生一種“原來如此”的震撼感。這種結構上的精妙設計,讓我在閤上書本後,仍忍不住在腦海中梳理那些人物關係和事件的因果鏈條,久久不能平息。
评分真正讓我對這本書産生敬佩之情的,是它對人物復雜性的深度挖掘。這本書裏沒有絕對的“好人”和“壞蛋”,每個人物都像是被切開瞭的洋蔥,層層疊疊,充滿瞭矛盾和灰色地帶。那個看似堅不可摧的傢族領袖,在私底下卻隱藏著深不見底的脆弱和遺憾;而那些被邊緣化的小人物,他們的卑微和掙紮中,卻閃耀著不屈服的尊嚴和人性的光輝。我特彆喜歡作者處理道德睏境的方式。他把角色逼入那種非黑即白的絕境,但最終,角色的選擇往往是痛苦的、兩難的,甚至是不得已的犧牲。這種寫實主義的手法,讓閱讀過程變成瞭一次深刻的倫理思考之旅。我時常會代入角色的位置,捫心自問,在那種極端壓力下,我是否能做齣比他們更好的抉擇?答案往往是令人沮喪的。這種代入感和情感上的共鳴,遠超齣瞭普通小說的範疇,它更像是一部關於人類精神韌性的社會學觀察報告,隻不過包裹在引人入勝的故事外衣之下。
评分我得說,這本書的文字功力,簡直是教科書級彆的炫技,但又完全不讓人覺得矯揉造作。它的句式變化極其豐富,一會兒是用短促、有力的句子來營造緊張的對峙場麵,讀起來讓人心跳加速,仿佛自己也置身於拔槍相嚮的瞬間;一會兒又會突然切換成一段極其華麗、充滿古典韻味的排比句,用來描繪某種宏大的自然景觀或是角色的內心掙紮。這種風格上的巨大反差和駕馭能力,著實讓人驚嘆。我常常在閱讀時,會不自覺地停下來,迴味某一段特定的描述,分析作者是如何巧妙地運用比喻和擬人手法,讓那些本應是靜止的物體都充滿瞭生命力。比如,書中對“風”的描繪,它不再僅僅是天氣現象,而是成瞭推動情節發展,甚至象徵著命運無常的一種強大力量。而且,作者似乎很擅長運用“留白”的藝術,他不會把所有的事情都說透,而是留下足夠的空間讓讀者自己去腦補和填補角色的動機與情感的深度。這種開放式的處理,讓這本書的耐讀性大大增加,每次重讀,我都會發現一些之前忽略掉的、隱藏在字裏行間的微妙暗示。
评分如果要用一個詞來形容這本書給我的感受,那就是“史詩感”。但這並非指它有著驚天動地的戰爭場麵,而是指它成功地捕捉並傳達瞭一種漫長、沉重,卻又充滿不屈精神的地域文化氛圍。閱讀過程中,我仿佛能感受到時間以一種緩慢而堅定的步伐在流淌,一代人的努力與失敗,如何如同岩石上的刻痕一樣,被刻入這片土地的靈魂深處。作者對“遺産”和“傳承”這兩個主題的探討尤為深刻。他展示瞭先輩們的夢想、錯誤以及未竟的事業,是如何不經意間塑造瞭後代的命運和性格。這本書與其說是在講述一個故事,不如說是在為一片土地和生活在那片土地上的人們立傳。它充滿瞭對土地的敬畏,對曆史的尊重,以及對人性復雜性的深刻洞察。讀完後,我感覺自己對那個遙遠而陌生的地域産生瞭一種莫名的親近感,仿佛我也參與瞭他們那漫長而艱辛的生存曆程。這絕對是一部值得反復閱讀、並嚮身邊所有熱愛深度文學的朋友推薦的佳作,它帶來的不僅僅是閱讀的快感,更是一次精神上的洗禮。
评分這本書,說實話,剛拿到手的時候,我本來沒抱太大期望的。封麵設計得挺樸實,甚至有點老氣橫鞦,讓我有點擔心內容會不會是那種枯燥的曆史文獻堆砌。我通常偏愛那種情節緊湊、人物刻畫鮮明的現代小說,所以這種帶有地域色彩和曆史厚重感的作品,對我來說算是個挑戰。然而,翻開第一頁後,我立刻被作者那行雲流水的敘事節奏給抓住瞭。它並沒有急於拋齣什麼驚天動地的陰謀或愛情悲劇,而是像一位技藝精湛的匠人,慢條斯理地打磨著每一個場景的質感。比如,書中對德州早期定居點那種乾燥、廣袤、充滿原始生命力的描繪,簡直讓人感覺能聞到空氣中彌漫的塵土和乾草的味道。作者對細節的把控極其到位,無論是那種粗獷的西部口音對白,還是當地人處理日常事務的獨特方式,都顯得無比真實可信。這種沉浸式的體驗,讓我不得不放慢閱讀速度,細細品味那種特有的“德州味”。它不像那種好萊塢式的快速消費品,它更像一杯需要時間去品鑒的陳年威士忌,後勁十足,迴味無窮。我尤其欣賞作者處理時間綫的方式,它不是綫性的推進,而是像一張巨大的、交織著過去和現在的網,讓人在閱讀中不斷地進行時空穿梭的思考。
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