This book has a very long and mostly correct title. I need to get that out of the way, because it really is in he way. I haven't read any William Blake, so I can't tell if those characters are these characters. The names are beyond real. I mean, the main victim is called Ickey. That's a shortening of Icarus, but still. The detective is named Ded Smith. I can't go through the other character's names or we'd be here all week.
This is a murder mystery. Someone killed Ickey and made it look sort of look suicide. The possible killers are a very small group because the death happened on a plane.
Ah, the drug soaked 60's and 70's in San Francisco. I was there then. Parts of the city looked normal and possibly were. But there was an undercurrent of strangeness all around. Even grocery stores burned incense. This book rakes that strangeness and doubles down on it.
Ded is an insurance claims adjuster. He is mostly involved because his company wrote a $2,000,000 policy, payable to Ickey's girlfriend. There is an out if Ickey did commit suicide. Ded has been called in to prove Ickey killed himself. It was just a coincident that Ded was on the plane where and when Ickey died.
There are lots of things that just sort of happened. Ded goes to a very surrealistic funeral where he meet an even odder group of people than he is already involved with. Ickey's inner circle is beyond strange and a little disagreeable. If I were to give you the 411 on these people, this review would be just as long as the book and that is 560 pages.
Ded, in spite of the strange characters and the psychotropic atmosphere, solves the case. I'm not all that sure how he came to his solution. He pulls one of those drawing room gatherings of all suspects, a la Agatha Christy, and goes through why each suspect could have done the deed and how before excusing them with a "you didn't do it anyway". His final suspect confesses after Ded's version of events is explained.
This book felt to me to be a throwback to many novels written during the 70's on the psychedelic style. It doesn't need close examination. In fact, paying to much attention to the meat of the story will confuse you even more. Just go with the flow and let the words take you where they want to go, and the tale will weave a very calming spell on you. It's a trip.
This is a murder mystery. Someone killed Ickey and made it look sort of look suicide. The possible killers are a very small group because the death happened on a plane.
Ah, the drug soaked 60's and 70's in San Francisco. I was there then. Parts of the city looked normal and possibly were. But there was an undercurrent of strangeness all around. Even grocery stores burned incense. This book rakes that strangeness and doubles down on it.
Ded is an insurance claims adjuster. He is mostly involved because his company wrote a $2,000,000 policy, payable to Ickey's girlfriend. There is an out if Ickey did commit suicide. Ded has been called in to prove Ickey killed himself. It was just a coincident that Ded was on the plane where and when Ickey died.
There are lots of things that just sort of happened. Ded goes to a very surrealistic funeral where he meet an even odder group of people than he is already involved with. Ickey's inner circle is beyond strange and a little disagreeable. If I were to give you the 411 on these people, this review would be just as long as the book and that is 560 pages.
Ded, in spite of the strange characters and the psychotropic atmosphere, solves the case. I'm not all that sure how he came to his solution. He pulls one of those drawing room gatherings of all suspects, a la Agatha Christy, and goes through why each suspect could have done the deed and how before excusing them with a "you didn't do it anyway". His final suspect confesses after Ded's version of events is explained.
This book felt to me to be a throwback to many novels written during the 70's on the psychedelic style. It doesn't need close examination. In fact, paying to much attention to the meat of the story will confuse you even more. Just go with the flow and let the words take you where they want to go, and the tale will weave a very calming spell on you. It's a trip.