Don’t Point That Thing at Me
by Kyril Bonfiglioli
Looking for a swift, light mystery novel featuring an alcohol-soaked, insufferably snobbish English art dealer? I didn’t think so. But pick up this recently reissued, overlooked classic featuring Charlie Mortdecai, and then thank me profusely. The mystery through which Charlie stumbles—involving art and international spies and jumps from England to the US and back—is merely an excuse to enjoy Charlie the character, a kind of love child of Bertie Wooster and Jeffrey “The Dude” Lebowski. He somehow manages to get the girls and win the fights, all the while maintaining an impeccably unruffled tone and coming off as innocent of anything other than a desire to find his next glass of Scotch. Almost incidentally, the book takes a bitter turn near the end, and a nearly perfect ending it is, too. So perfect it just about makes you sorry—but not quite—that there are actually three Mortdecai novels, leaving you two more to enjoy later. - GilliganLabels: Books
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