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(Mass Market Paperback - Reissue)
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Spenser earned his degree in the school of hard knocks, so he is ready when a Boston university hires him to recover a rare, stolen manuscript. He is hardly surpised that his only clue is a radical student with four bullets in his chest.
The cops are ready to throw the book at the pretty blond coed whose prints are all over the murder weapon but Spenser knows there are no easy answers. He tackles some very heavy homework and knows that if he doesn't finish his assignment soon, he could end up marked "D" -- for dead.
"Spenser is Boston's answer to James Bond -- irreverent, witty, worldy. His first-person recital of his detective work makes for fast, amusing reading." (The Pittsburgh Press)
Featuring rapid-fire dialogue and spicy characters, Robert B. Parker's books are top-shelf reading for fans of detective crime novels. His Spenser series is several titles strong and an established classic; lately Parker has raised the stakes with two additional series (one featuring private eye Sunny Randle, the other featuring police chief Jesse Stone) that may eventually rival his beloved Boston P.I.
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February 16, 2009: Parker's "Spencer" is one of my favorite series of all times. You must read this first book in order to fully enjoy how each character came to be throughout the series.
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April 15, 2006: Different from the style Parker has perfected in his later Spenser novels, this pilot is richer and meatier in setting and action, with the dialogue taking a back seat to the narrative drama. I like the mood of the pilot, as well as the evolution of it as Parker geometrically-progressed Spenser into a phenomenon. The opening scene of an interview with the university principal captured instantly. I cheered Spenser as he identified and put down a classic, pompous azz. Couldn?t resist the soul honesty of a P.I. who wasn?t vulnerable to or taken in by sheer snootiness. Spenser continued reinforcing my be-glued-ability by being brutishly unimpressed by any type of status, prestige, power, or pomp. He breezed aloofly and artfully through the first half of the book, sloughing off every character?s attempt to control or intimidate him, including clients (who gave him retainers) with oodles of prestige and/or money and class-stature, including a heady collection of various levels and types of police presence (who gave him grief, which he returned in Sam Spade finesse). I gleefully began to get a picture of what Spenser didn?t respect (me neither), a clear idea of what he observed with crisply designed disgust. As I applauded with high entertainment, I was egged on to know the type of person he would respect. The first simple, ?I liked her? didn?t show up until I could measure well over a third the total page thickness. Note the ending passage of a murder scene in which Parker exposed his rich history of having wallowed in the marrow of detective fiction: ?There were no telltale cigar butts, no torn halves of claim checks, no traces of lint from an imported cashmere cloth sold only by J. Press. No footprints, no thumb prints, no clues. Just a drowned kid swelling with death in a shabby bathroom in a crummy apartment in a lousy building run by a grumpy janitor. And me.? It?s not the way a detective novelist describes Death which tells the tale of his seasoning. It?s the way he sets the murder scene, describes dead bodies, and picks at clues around them. To see this, read chapter 15 from its opening, through the murder scene, through the above quoted passage, to the point of the building super saying, ?Yes sir.? I slipped effortlessly from tearing to cheering. Loved the way Quirk and Spenser did their first male bonding scene in which Spencer answers each of Quirk?s litany of nagging concerns with ?me either.? Also enjoyed the earlier hostile scenes between these two justice juggling guys as they took their time taking measure of each other, yet seemed to sense kindred-ness ?at first sight.? This is a pure and polished gem upon which a pulchritude of a collection has grown, written by an author who had already primed his seasoning as a novelist. That he continued writing from that level and plateau-ed higher has earned him every sparkle of limelight. I?m thankful when what I get for my dime allows me to wine and dine in my mind, as the author sears the social brine.