Let's enumerate the qualities that make a detective novel protagonist, variety male: divorced, misanthropic, drinks too much or is in AA, if he has kids he is alienated from them. That's part of the reason that I thoroughly dug this book. Sonchai Jitpleecheep is a Buddhist but not above drugs or drinking if the situation calls for them (the Buddha says we must be flexible after all.) He's not married nor does he seek female companionship and is so trustworthy around women that a performer friend asks him to help her practice her act, busting balloons by shooting darts out of her lady area. He doesn't take bribes but doesn't mind the practice as he understands how it keeps the wheels turning. In all seriousness, I envy his zen while realizing what a fucked up statement that is.
I think the story could have been outlandish in other hands (murder by cobras on crank, forced gender reassignment surgery, that FBI agent who becomes instantly petulant that Sonchai doesn't want to play "Do you like me, circle yes or no"-ok, she's still ridonkulous), it was all handled well by John Burdett. Who is apparently a non-practicing British attorney in Hong Kong. I do have to wonder if the reason most of the Americans are rubes or villains (the big exception is Bradley's older brother Elijah) is because of the author's nationality.
I feel like one of the farangs described in the novel, totally seduced by Thailand although I've never been there and I obviously wouldn't be going to hang out in Patpong (well, the people-watching would be quite excellent.) I feel an Thai-themed reading jaunt coming on. After I read the book club choice for April that is. Nastrovya!
In which I engage in shallow discussions about books, movies, science, history and whatever else I'm thinking at that moment. And have beers with Captain Howdy.
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