Who doesn’t love reading Grafton’s witty and wonderful books? I adore her characters, often laughing out loud at Kinsey’s comments. The writing is consistently well done and the plots are always fresh and suspenseful. In this, a predator of the elderly manages to sidestep Kinsey’s careful investigation. The two of them match wits, with even Kinsey starting to worry that she’ll be out-maneuvered, and the stakes are high. Too many lives have already been lost to the predator, and now not only Kinsey, but her neighbors may be next. As usual, every time I read Grafton’s latest, it becomes my favorite—until the next one comes along.
I’ll pause here to muse on women detective books. As the genre developed in the early 20th century, women detectives were gentle Miss Marples or dashing upper class women who could ride their horses chasing a crook as well as a fox. Men detectives were upper class men—ditto—or hard-boiled loners ala Chandler’s Philip Marlowe. By the end of the century, there were hundreds of excellent books with women detectives, of whom Grafton’s Kinsey Millhone is one. Others were created by such authors as Sara Paretsky and Patricia Cornwall, to name a few. Then I began to notice what I call the “You Dumb Bitch” Syndrome (YDBS) developing in women detectives. YDBS became more striking as the male detectives became more sensitive, self-aware, and unashamed of their inner angst. YDBS is when VI Warshawski or Kay Scarpetta receive a phone call at midnight from a muffled voice asking the detective to meet them in an abandoned warehouse or deserted factory and, by golly! Off she goes alone to scale the chain link fence while the reader is thinking, YDB—are you stupid or what? Even my beloved Anna Pigeon by Nevada Barr is starting to show the first symptoms of YDBS. Today’s male detective, on the other hand, is bright enough to notify a whole army of police. He also pauses long enough to get wired so there will be evidence that will hold up in court, and he always remembers to leave a romantic voice message for his latest love.
I am pleased to say that never ever has Kinsey exhibited even a hint of YDBS!
I’ll pause here to muse on women detective books. As the genre developed in the early 20th century, women detectives were gentle Miss Marples or dashing upper class women who could ride their horses chasing a crook as well as a fox. Men detectives were upper class men—ditto—or hard-boiled loners ala Chandler’s Philip Marlowe. By the end of the century, there were hundreds of excellent books with women detectives, of whom Grafton’s Kinsey Millhone is one. Others were created by such authors as Sara Paretsky and Patricia Cornwall, to name a few. Then I began to notice what I call the “You Dumb Bitch” Syndrome (YDBS) developing in women detectives. YDBS became more striking as the male detectives became more sensitive, self-aware, and unashamed of their inner angst. YDBS is when VI Warshawski or Kay Scarpetta receive a phone call at midnight from a muffled voice asking the detective to meet them in an abandoned warehouse or deserted factory and, by golly! Off she goes alone to scale the chain link fence while the reader is thinking, YDB—are you stupid or what? Even my beloved Anna Pigeon by Nevada Barr is starting to show the first symptoms of YDBS. Today’s male detective, on the other hand, is bright enough to notify a whole army of police. He also pauses long enough to get wired so there will be evidence that will hold up in court, and he always remembers to leave a romantic voice message for his latest love.
I am pleased to say that never ever has Kinsey exhibited even a hint of YDBS!
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