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It's a coincidence that I read two Texas-based mysteries in a row; one by master Joe Lansdale, and this one by true crime writer Howard Swindle (whose first mystery Jitter Joint was apparently filmed as a Sylvester Stallone direct-to-video vehicle. I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Swindle. Swindle's a darn good writer, but this book left me very unsatisfied. My patience often wears thin on plots I've seen before and plot devices I've read before and the good cop against the really really wealthy people is a tired old plot to me. I know, I know it is true that many rich people think they make the rules and can do anything that they want and blah-blah-blah but I am simply fed up about reading about them. Oh, yeah, and disturbed war vet killers bore me too. The major story here is that a reporter is killed in a particularly gruesome manner, and in investigating, Jeb Quinlin, a recovering alcoholic cop with a reporter friend/sidekick, finds corruption, judges and cops and Texas Rangers all on the payroll of the Colter family; the incredibly rich Texans who can do anything, including killing people who stand in their way, and using their wealth to do everything from acquire more wealth to drug-running. Oh, yeah, and they beat their kids. There is nothing new in this story; even the wife of one of the Colter sons was the girlfriend for a short time of Quinlin, who thought he couldn't pursue her because he didn't have money, and Buck Colter did. I tried very much to like this book because it reads fast and furious, but 100 pages before the end I suddenly decided to skip forward; not a good sign. I did not want to encounter the "psycho" with a thing for rattlesnakes, did not want to see the showdown of Colter telling everyone they couldn't do this to him. or whatever cliché would arise. I wanted to like Quinlin, but didn't much. I respected his battles over the bottle, and certainly his smarts, but the book just seemed to go on and on for me. I imagine it would be far more engaging for another reader. One final note; Swindle has an odd way with words it seems to me, getting turns of phrase oddly wrong. He also has a habit of declaring the obvious in what is apparently deep insight to him; that parenthood is not just a matter of genetics, and how deep his mother is when she says things like "life is not predictable" and how the one thing that never changes is where you come from. And most peculiarly "The grapevine would spread like kudzu". Huh? The grapevine - that is, the symbol for gossip - doesn't spread. Gossip spreads. The grapevine might "be activated" or something, but no it doesn't spread like kudzu. This and several other infelicitous turns of phrase stopped me when I wanted to keep reading. And by the way, Miranda v. Arizona was decided in 1966, which means it's been around for over 40 years; a reference here, in a book apparently meant to be set in modern days refers to it as being "on the books for thirty years". Swindle is a true crime writer, but that factoid bothered me; in claming that it still "hadn't trickled down to a lot of small Texas towns", the author indulges in yet another cliché, the violent small town cop or sheriff who can't or won't do his job without beating someone up. Doin' Dirty just ended up being far too ordinary a book for me.
Reviewed by Andi Shechter, September 2000
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Contact: Yvonne Klein (ymk@reviewingtheevidence.com)
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