The Burglar Who Thought He Was Bogart - Lawrence Block

   1995; 372 pages.  Book 7 (out of 12) in the “Bernie Rhodenbarr” series.  New Author? : No.  Genres : Crime Humor.  Overall Rating : 7*/10.

 

    Meet Bernie Rhodenbarr, a burglar extraordinaire.  Or slightly more accurately, an ex-burglar, since he’s retired now, having found a new career as the owner of a used-book store.  It doesn’t pay as well as his old profession did, but the job security’s better and the police don’t hassle him as much anymore.  Bernie has found contentment.

 

    Now a new customer in the bookstore named Hugo Candlemas wants to hire Bernie for his burglary skills, for one night only.  But the pay is extremely lucrative, and the job sounds easy enough: break into an apartment, hunt for a portfolio, find it, and steal it. 

 

    Hugo Candlemas has taken several steps to make the heist as foolproof as possible.  He’s figured out a way to get around the pesky doorman, and assures Bernie that apartment's tenant will be out the entire evening.  What could possibly go wrong?

 

    Plenty, Bernie.  Plenty.

 

What’s To Like...

    The Burglar Who Thought He Was Bogart follows Lawrence Block’s usual recipe for a Bernie Rhodenbarr mystery: an easy heist is planned, things go awry, Bernie and the police both try to solve the crime with grudgingly minimal cooperation, and everything eventually comes to a head with a bookstore meeting of all the suspects called by Bernie once he’s figured everything out.  It's a good recipe.

 

    There are plenty of plotlines to keep the things moving.  Corpses show up along the way; all of the suspects seem to have hidden pasts; and things disappear, including Bernie’s attaché case, his latest love interest, and the coveted portfolio.  When the attaché case does resurface, it has an enigmatic message scrawled on it.  It’s meaning seemed obvious to me, but not to Bernie, and it turns out I was obviously wrong.

 

    The book’s title references Bernie’s current cultural craze: watching oodles and oodles of Humphrey Bogart films at the local theater, preferably with a beautiful female companion accompanying him.  Booklovers will enjoy the many literary nods Lawrence Block scatters throughout the tale, including the novelist P.G. Wodehouse (Jeeves), the poet Winthrop Mackworth Praed (who?), and the loquacious historian team of Will and Ariel Durant, co-authors of an 11-volume, 13,549-page compendium called the Story of Civilization, which Amazon offers in e-book form for a mere $99.99.  There’s even a recurring playful wink at Sue Grafton’s “alphabetical” series with the facetious titles of ‘A’ is for Train, ‘Q’ is for Gardens, and ‘I’ is for Claudius, and it wasn't until writing this review that I "got" those bits of wit.

 

    Along the way we learn that Bernie’s middle name is ‘Grimes’, his favorite charity is the AHDA (American Hip Dysplasia Association), and the patron saint of burglars is St. Dismas.  One of the characters is fond of the word “anon” and the use of the subjunctive case, which meant I liked him immediately.  There really is a small village in New York called Quogue (pronounced "kwog"), but the "Internal Macedonian Revolutionary Organization" and the short-lived post-WW1 nation of "Anatruria" are both figments of Lawrence Block’s imagination.

 

    As always, the story is told in the first-person POV (Bernie’s), and as always the witty dialogue, Bernie’s charisma, and the plethora of interesting characters – some new, others recurring – kept me turning the pages.

 

Kewlest New Word ...

Loid (v.) : to open (a locked door) by sliding a thin piece of celluloid or plastic between the door edge and doorframe to force open a spring lock.

Others: Thaler (n.).

 

Ratings…
    Amazon: 4.4*/5, based on 122 ratings and 58 reviews.

    Goodreads: 3.89*/5, based on 2,628 ratings and 149 reviews.

 

Excerpts...

    What can I say?  I steal things.  Cash, ideally, but that’s harder and harder to find in this age of credit cards and twenty-four-hour automatic teller machines.  There are still people who keep large quantities of money around, but they typically keep other things on hand as well, such as wholesale quantities of illegal drugs, not to mention assault rifles and attack-trained pit bulls.  They lead their lives and I lead mine, and if the twain never get around to meeting, that’s fine with me.  (pg. 4)

 

    “What’s on the program, a poetry reading?”

    “Not exactly.”

    “Because I didn’t know you were into that.  I read some of my own stuff a while back at a little place on Ludlow Street.  Café Villanelle?”

    “Black walls and ceiling,” I said.  "Black candles set in cat-food cans.”

    “Hey, you know it!  Not many people even heard of the place.”

    “It may take a while to find its audience,” I said, trying not to shudder at the memory of Emily Dickinson sung to the tune of “The Yellow Rose of Texas” and a lifetime supply of in-your-face haiku.  (pg. 285)

 

“You Assyrian guttersnipe.  You misbegotten Levantine dwarf.”  (pg. 291)

    There’s only a sprinkling of cussing in The Burglar Who Thought He Was Bogart.  I noted only 11 of them in the first quarter of the book, which included only one f-bomb.

 

    I was a tad bit disappointed in the ending.  Yes, it was both twisty and complicated – and that’s always something to look forward to in a Bernie Rhodenbarr mystery.  And yes, I’m happy to say I picked up on the key clue, although I didn’t know what to make of it, whereas Bernie did.  So what's my gripe?

 

    Well, I cringed at the final resolution of all the skullduggery.   Crimes were committed, perpetrators were unveiled, but even though the NYPD was present, no arrests were made.  What kind of object lesson is that?  Yeah, I know.  Picky, picky.

 

    Nevertheless, overall I still enjoyed The Burglar Who Thought He Was Bogart.  I'd call it a good, but not great, addition to Lawrence Block’s Bernie Rhodenbarr series.  It kept me entertained, despite the bit of stumbling at the end.

 

    7 Stars.  One last chuckle about The Burglar Who Thought He Was Bogart.  I chuckled at the “euphemisms for a euphemism” coined by Carolyn.  Instead of “a roll in the hay”, or other, more direct descriptive phrases, she opts for “a flop in the feathers” and “a tumble in the feathers”.  It’s little things like this that have made me a fan of this series.