Back in the 1950s, Richard S. Prather’s novels featuring Shell Scott, a white-blonde ex-Marine turned private eye, was wildly popular. The character was unrepentantly sexist, racist, and probably every other kind of –ist you could name. The books were filled with luscious broads, not-too-bright bad guys, flying bullets, and dead bodies, many of them delivered into that condition by Scott himself. The hero was endearingly goofy and not the sharpest crayon in the box, but he was generally smarter than the bad guys, most of whom had appropriately colorful names like Young Egg Foo, Garlic, and Three-Eyes.

“Strip for Murder” was the eighth book in the series, and many critics consider it the one in which Prather really hit his stride. It’s a full-out loopy adventure that takes place largely at a nudist colony, and the title character, who also narrates, takes full advantage of the ogling opportunities there before managing to escape the bad guys in a hot-air balloon which eventually fetches up on the roof of Los Angeles’ city hall, with the waggish detective clad in an all-over suntan and nothing else.

Don’t try to analyze this, or any of the Prather offerings, and leave your politically-correct outrage at the door. Just give yourself over to a couple of hours following a guy who tools around 1950s L.A. in a yellow Cadillac convertible and makes cracks like “she wore a V-necked white blouse as if she were the gal who’d invented cleavage”. ( )

Not bad although it is dated.

It's not a bad book for a beach read or a travel companion. Although, these days people are more likely to peruse social media on trains, plane's and automobiles. Seriously, it could be about 100 pages shorter and still tell the story. It drags somewhat in the middle. I think some writer's like Chandler or Stout age well. The story and atmosphere hold up. This one got a little tiring and a little dated. Not a bad novel as such. But, it didn't leave me wanting more. ( )