Wednesday, January 20, 2021

Elvis, Jesus and Coca-Cola - Kinky Friedman

   1993; 256 pages.  New Author? : Yes.  Genre: Crime Mystery; Snarky Mystery; Amateur Detectives.  Overall Rating : 7½*/10.

 

    It sounded like an easy favor to carry out, especially since the person asking it was the father of Kinky's longtime friend, Tom Baker, whose recent passing was the occasion for the wake that Kinky finds himself attending today.

 

    Tom had been working on a movie at the time of his death – a documentary about Elvis impersonators.  Tom’s dad wasn’t sure whether the project had been completed, but he did know that it was now missing, and he’d like Kinky to see if he could locate and retrieve it.

 

    Most likely Tom had set it down somewhere, and now it’s just a matter of finding where that is, picking it up, and delivering it to Tom’s father.  It’s the least Kinky could do to on behalf of the Bakerman.

 

    But then an ex-girlfriend of Kinky’s disappears, followed by an associate of Tom Baker being murdered.  The police suspect both are connected to that missing film, and because both of them left notes with Kinky’s name and telephone number on them, he finds the cops suddenly viewing him as being a “person of interest”.

 

    Which means it’s time to assemble the "Village Irregulars", a small group of Kinky’s closest associates, and do some sleuthing.

 

What’s To Like...

    Kinky Friedman is both the author and the protagonist in Elvis, Jesus and Coca-Cola, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen that setup before.  The tale is told in the first-person POV (Kinky's, of course), and is at times snarky, at times edgy, at times self-deprecating, and at all times charmingly witty.  The writing style reminded me of Robert Crais, if you’ve read any of his crime mystery novels.

 

    The story is set in New York City, with Kinky and his companions traveling from one borough to another, trying to figure out why someone would think a movie showing clips of a bunch of Elvis impersonators is worth killing for and where it might be presently residing.  I liked the character development of the Village Irregulars: each one is quirkily unique.  Kinky-the-protagonist is a fascinating character as well; it has to be a challenge to write oneself into a novel.

 

    The book’s title gets referenced twice, once as the only English words an indigenous and isolated jungle tribe learned to recognize, and once in a note left at the very end of the story.  The music nods were fantastic: Elvis (naturally), Bob Dylan, Paul Simon, Phil Ochs, Jim Morrison, Mike Bloomfield (wow!), and Mojo Nixon (double wow!).  Wavy Gravy (who?) and Don Imus also get nods, the latter being mentioned on the Acknowledgements page at the book’s beginning.

 

    I liked the phrase “cuddlaribus interruptus”, learned the coded meaning of “MIT! MIT!”, and what it means to take a “Waylon Jennings Bus Shower”.  That last phrase resonated because my wife was once given a personal tour of Waylon’s tour bus.  The slang term “blower” for the telephone was new to me, and it was enlightening to learn that St. Dymphna really is the patron saint of the insane.

 

    The ending is logical in a “Sherlock Holmesian” sort of way.  Kinky lays out the string of clues along the way that both we both missed.  He and the police have two completely different theories as to the solutions to the crimes, and that was also quite Holmesian.  The Epilogue is both brief yet poignant.  It has nothing to do with the storyline itself, but left a lump in my throat.

 

Kewlest New Word ...

Stultifying (adj.) : tending to stifle enthusiasm, initiative, or freedom of action.

Others: Goniffing (v., Yiddish)

 

Ratings…
    Amazon:  3.9/5 based on 34 ratings.

    Goodreads: 3.75/5 based on 1,321 ratings and 88 reviews

 

Excerpts...

    “A snuff film,” I said, “is an illegal, amoral actual cinematic documentation of a person getting croaked.  An actor has to be really desperate to take the job.  There are, of course, no sequels.”

    “Jesus,” said Judy.  “Have you ever seen one?”

    “No, but I’ve seen a lot of performances that made me wish the movie was a snuff film.”  (pg. 166)

 

    When I stumbled out of the loft that morning they were waiting for me in the hallway.  If you wanted to be uncharitable, you could say I was taken by surprise.  If you wanted to give me the benefit of the doubt, you could say I’d known for some time it would happen.  I just hadn’t realized it would be now.  Now is always a bit sudden, as General Custer remarked to the captain of the Titanic when he passed by in the night on cloud eight and a half.  (pg. 231)

 

I have always believed that if you drink enough instant decaf you will cease to exist.  (pg. 161)

    There are a few quibbles, but no show-stoppers.  First of all, the 256-page length of the book is misleading, because 20 or so of them are blank “filler” following chapters that end on an odd-numbered page.  The chapters are already short – 47 of them cover those 256 pages – so those empty pages shorten the book even further.

 

    Also, Kinky Friedman is a multi-talented singer, songwriter, novelist, humorist, politician (he received 12.6% of the vote when he ran for governor of Texas in 2006), and former columnist (for the magazine "Texas Monthly"), and if you’ve never read or listened to him, you should be aware that his output in any of those roles is usually edgy, filled with cussing, and often politically incorrect.  If Allen Ginsberg offends you, Kinky probably will too.

 

    Elvis, Jesus and Coca-Cola was my introduction to Kinky Friedman’s literary works and I found his storytelling to be straightforward and amusing, with the mystery-solving aspect being surprisingly well-crafted.  Most of the negative reviews appear to be readers disliking the author’s non-PC writing tone, but that probably just means the readers were new to the Kinkster's style.  I’ve listened to Kinky’s music; it is edgy as well.  I expected the same from Elvis, Jesus and Coca-Cola, and was not disappointed.

 

    7½ StarsElvis, Jesus and Coca-Cola apparently is part of a whole series of detective novels by Kinky Friedman, featuring a fictionalized version of himself as the central amateur sleuth.  I don’t recall seeing any of his books ever being offered at discount prices at Amazon, which means I need to hit the local used-book stores as soon as this pandemic is over.

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