I usually don’t take a long post for my Scudder re-reads as most are summarized compared to what I originally wrote about them. But I wanted some extra space to explore this one.
I’ve noticed that post-Eight Million Ways to Die, Lawrence Block’s Scudder plots have become weaker. That’s fine with me; Block’s not bad at plotting but it’s not his strong suit and I’ve come to see these more as hang out novels than Christie-type whodunnits. So I wasn’t looking forward to this one as I remember the plot being especially contrived even though I liked it.
However, this book is less a classic mystery and more a volume increase on the lofi existentialism Block does in his Scudder novels. Or to put in a less pedantic way: this book thinks about death. A lot. Even the secret society focuses on death more than I remember. Scudder is constantly doing his own meditation on death, as are the men he is befriending (maybe). There’s a great conversation with Mick Ballou here — maybe my favorite of the series — on death. And while the killer/resolution is the least interesting aspect of the book as per usual, the manner of resolution brings it back to the theme.
And yet…
This was set in-or-around 1993. As New York City is slowly emerging from its own death spiral. Block has Matthew note this several times: the AIDS crisis is waning, Bryant Park is renewed, the homicide rate is down. None of this is attributed to Giuliani; Block barely mentions politicians in any of his books. But slowly, new life is peaking out. It’s a shame those who died in the old life of New York cannot enjoy it but that’s the life/death cycle in general: we have no control over it and something is bound to take its place. We can despair over it or we, like Matthew, can enjoy a sandwich in a rehabilitated Bryant Park, with one more day of sobriety in the bank, and thank God or our higher power that we’re alive.