Matty Sinclair is an amazing character ... how things have changed since the 1980s ... ( )

BOTTOM-LINE:
Great first book
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PLOT OR PREMISE:
Up-and-coming businessman is killed in a gruesome fashion in a gay bar, and the cops call on Matt Sinclair, a former prosecutor turned antique dealer with personal insight into the gay lifestyle in New Orleans (i.e. Matt's openly gay).
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WHAT I LIKED:
Well-written book, with lots of humourous one-liners regarding the gay lifestyle of many of the main characters. I like the portrayal of the romance between various gay characters, although less-open-minded readers may have trouble accepting the lifestyle portrayed.
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WHAT I DIDN'T LIKE:
The killings are a bit graphic.
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DISCLOSURE:
I received no compensation, not even a free copy, in exchange for this review. I am not personal friends with the author, but I have interacted with her on social media. ( )

Long ago, when I worked at a hospital outside Boston, I would sometimes take an overnight one-to-one shift. This means sitting outside the patient's door and checking for safety every 15 minutes. There isn't much to do but read to keep oneself awake. As in so many other workplaces, the nurses at this hospital traded paperbacks. On the one hand, it was lovely that they read. On the other, V. C. Andrews was far above the usual sophistication and literary level of their typical intellectual fare. The paperbacks, mostly romance with a few mysteries and, in the case of the male nurse, shoot-em-up science fiction, would appear in grocery bags at 3:30 PM and disappear overnight. Outside those patient room doors, I read many forgettable novels that made me glad that my gender-role socialization had failed.

But there was one book that seared itself into my psyche. Despite having been nominated for an award, it was very badly written. In retrospect, I realize that many of us have been nominated for awards, but ultimately found wanting. [i:]The New York Times[/i:] called it "a first in mystery fiction," though without specifying a first what, or that it was a good first. However, this mystery novel had piqued my interest with its opening imagery, which was of the murder victim, unable to escape the men's room stall because his assailant had skewered his member to the shared partition. This book, with its hopeful message about humanity, was entitled [i:]The Glory Hole Murders.[/i:] I read a few chapters because the available alternative, by Danielle Steele, was too hideous. Then I had to write some additional documentation and could not continue reading.

I resisted. I did not want to finish this ill-written tome. But I could not put it out of my mind. On Monday, I returned for a day shift, but the book was gone. I did not care to inquire after it. In a desultory way, I watched for it in the used bookstores of Boston and Cambridge over the next 5 years.

Even later, across the continent, I still thought of [i:]The Glory Hole Murders[/i:] now and then, with its itch of unfinished business, and wondered what treasures of prose and plot it had contained, what secret delights. I felt regret for opportunities lost. Then, one glorious and almost febrile day, I realized that the Internet, which now existed and could be utilized by the likes of me, provided easy access to strangers who sold used books. I could no longer remember the book's title, but several hours of online sleuthing revealed its lost identity. Within minutes, I had located a used copy and directed the merchant to send it (for a not-unhandsome sum, I might add). It arrived with $1.50 price stickers bearing the motto "LIQUOR" on its back.

It was not a good book. So much speculation, so much wasted yearning, yet such a pedestrian object. For your own sake, if you find yourself in similar straits, either read the book immediately or let go your attachment; do not mar your pleasurable fantasy with the sordid reality of the actual text. Your life will be the richer for it. ( )