Noir: A Darkly Humorous Mystery with a Touch of the Supernatural in Post-WWII San Francisco

I read Moore's Lamb and thought it was very funny. I'm so glad I chose this for my second book of his. It's a fun romp through 4Os era San Francisco. There are some laugh out loud moments, lots of stuff to giggle about, and the story-telling is A-plus.

This is one of the wackiest books I’ve ever read. It’s San Francisco in 1947 when this shapely dame walks into a bar and all the guys are watching her closely. She’s a size 8 gal wearing a size 6 dress and the guys are rooting hard for those two sizes to make a break. Her name is Stilton, like the cheese, but the bartender calls her Toots and immediately gets on her wrong side. “Don’t call me Toots,” she says. The bartender, one Sammy “Two Toes” Tiffin, abides by her wishes and calls her Cheesy. Other colorful characters are numerous and soon I got the feeling that I was in the middle of a Damon Runyon story. I would not have been surprised to see Sky Masterson, Miss Adelaide, or Nathan Detroit make an appearance. But Sammy and Cheesy eventually make nice and are soon sharing a bed while doing that old razzmatazz. Author Christopher Moore characterizes their couplings as trains and tunnels, torpedoes clearing their tubes, galaxies expanding and a squeaky thing that sounded like angry mice. But their fun doesn’t last long. Cheesy disappears and Sammy embarks on a quest to find her. This novel has elements of mystery, romance, crime, and even a bit of science fiction. One chapter is narrated by a black mamba snake named Petey who has done a terrible thing but nevertheless rationalizes his serpentine behavior. Even the author, in his Afterword, confesses that the story is really a “perky noir” treatment. It’s an enjoyable read with many laugh-out-loud moments. Some of the activities may strain your credibility but relax and enjoy the story.

I love Christopher Moore's books. He follows Elmore Leonard's ten rules to perfection, particularly the most important: Don't write stuff people don't want to read. And the man can weave a tale - whether it's a hilarious take on Shakespeare ("Fool", "Serpent of Venice", "Shakespeare for Squirrels") or Christ's childhood friend, Biff ("Lamb"), he always brings the funny, but there's also a warmth and moments of genuine tenderness in every story. He's also a master of dialogue - especially period language. His Shakespeare-themed books are a comic mix of 16th Century and modern slang (and plenty of rude words), and "Noir" is no different. Damon Runyonesque (I'm guessing he was one inspiration, along with all those great tough guy movies with Cagney and Bogart and Edward G), there are dolls and low lifes and seedy bars filled with day drunks - and a hero with a shady past who's got it bad for a tough-as-nails beauty in a jam . . . I'll stop here, I don't wanna give nuttin' away. But, trust me, this book is a sure thing.

One learns many interesting new things in a Christopher Moore novel. I never knew what the Cantonese word "gwai lo"means. Next time I hear one of our local inscrutable chinamen utter it at me, I'll know he is calling me a white devil. And that brings us to the Thing about this novel: I don't even have to look at the one star reviews to know the self-appointed P.C. (political correctness) cops will dondemn it. For historical accuracy. We haoles can't say "Chinamen" any more than we can utter the N-word. I also learned that snake piss is boner medicine for Chinamen. I liked Petey the snake and was gratified that he got that man in black on the neck like that. When are the movers and shakers at Bohemian Grove gonna let you in the club, Chris? You really could make the cut, you know. The likes of Jimmy Buffett and Sasha Shulgin (a chemist who had a license to invent new designer psychedelics, which escaped his lab, of course, and ferally have turned on millions, moi included) are members. Writing about his times with "the owlers," Shulgin indicated that he was their go-to guy for certain exotic "condiments." A side note about Bohemian Grove: Nixon was invited to one encampment as a guest and later called it "the gayest thing I ever attended." This is a fun read all the way through. The plotting is complex and grabs the reader often by the lapels; the character development turns these people real. I grew to like them, like you would your own pals. The horrible kid, Lone, Moo Shoes, uncle Ho, the cheese, Sal (a douche bag), and of course our protagonist good guy bartender, Sammy. I'm not sure about his last name, as it kept changing throughout the read. One of Moore's best. Dude. You better already be tapping that keyboard on the next one, chop chop! Don't leave us jonesing for the next novel while you kick back. Maybe stay away from Hawaii. People here really do get Polynesian paralysis and are left on Hawaiian time. Oh, and thanks for the tour of San Fran. I only got the one real life tour by a friend who lives there.

My love for Christopher Moore runs deep. Ever since I first stumbled across Lamb at my local bookstore, I’ve been a loud and loyal fan. I’ll tell anyone who’ll listen which book to read first (Lamb, obviously), which to real last (Ironically, his first, Practical Demon Keeping. It’s been awhile since I’ve read it, so perhaps my poor memory has been doing PDK a disservice); which features his best quotes (“Blessed are the Dumbfucks”) and which feature the best reoccurring character (Pocket). So it hurts giving Noir only 3 stars (really, 2.5, but I rounded up for loyalty). I was very excited going into this book. In fact I pre-ordered it as soon as pre-order became an option. Noir has all the trappings of novels I usually devour in a few sittings. First of all, noir; I’m a sucker for inky noir, extra pulp. Secondly, the promise of sci-fi in the form of Roswell, 1947. April 17th and my beautiful new Moore finally arrives. The cover. Oh, that cover! I love it. This is going to be good, I think, as I steal a quick sniff of the open spine. The first chapter is great. Murder by a serpent of unusual size! Everything I’m reading is great. The names... Sammy “Two-Shoes” Tiffen... Stilton, aka the Cheese... Two-Shoes with his lame foot is setting us up for some first rate comedy noir. But then suddenly I realize the perspective has changed. From first-person through Sammy’s eye, we shift to some third-person, seemingly, omniscient narrator. It was the beginning of the next chapter so I think, okay, from chapter to chapter expect the perspective to change. I can work with that. Until suddenly it wasn’t; the narration style starts shifting within the same chapter. Maybe I’m easily confused. Either way, I didn’t like it. A few chapters later this unnamed narrator is kind enough to tell us we don’t need to worry over his identity, he’s no one of any importance, but he knows things. He’s just here to fill in what Sammy cannot. Okay, trust in Moore, he doesn’t usually steer me wrong. In the final third or so, Mr. Mysterious Narrator throws the reader a bone by revealing his identity, which I really liked... until it serves no purpose at all. And that seems to be a common thread throughout Noir. A lot of what happens doesn’t really matter. These random plot points don’t play into the larger story beyond granting Christopher Moore a few more pages and an easy way to wrap things up. A lot of people didn’t care for the turn the last third of the book takes. I personally enjoyed it and wished Moore would have done a better job weaving that sci-fi angle into Noir’s backdrop. Also, was Christopher Moore paid by the fog metaphor? I get that good noir, especially noir set in San Fransisco, is thick with fog, however; to loosely quote Niles from Frasier, Moore began mixing metaphors like a Cuisinart. Some of them were enjoyable, though. I would include a few favorites, but I’ve leant my copy to a fellow Moore Nerd. I touched on this earlier, but perhaps what bothers me the most is the way loose ends are tied up with Sammy needing to do nothing. Again, some felt like filler, a way to flesh out a perhaps incomplete idea. I’m thinking specifically of the Pookie O’Hare sub-plot; a despicable character treated even more despicably by Sammy and his crew. If you’re new to Moore, I wouldn’t recommend starting with Noir.

"Noir" is a comedic, science fiction version of American Noir Literature. The story is set in 1947 San Francisco. The novel has a comedic spoof aspect to it that, at times, I found very funny. At first I was very lukewarm about the novel as it was not at all what i expected. (How could it be? It is different to the point of being bizarre.) The novel started slowly for me. But it was readable and I almost never quit on a novel. Sometimes this pays off and sometimes not. It paid off here. The longer I stayed with the novel the more I liked it. I grew to like some of the characters and enjoy the Noir type patter, that early in the novel, seemed like more of a parody of Noir. I need to add that I listened to the accompanying audiobook and read simultaneously. This is an added expense but the comedic timing of the narrator, Johnny Heller, was excellent. For me, the extra expense of the audiobook was money well spent. Much of the patter has a "Runyonesque" flavor to it, of which an expert narrator can really make a difference. In summary I ended up enjoying this novel a good deal. It is a spoof type novel that I could grow tired if I read too much more of it. But taken in small doses and mixed wth more serious reading, I could enjoy more of this. Thank You for taking the time to read this review.

I’ve been a little dubious about Christopher Moore’s books because in some of them he’s seemed to assume that any reference to sex or sex organs is automatically funny and therefore has thrown them in, whether they fit the story or not—but I was happy to discover that he didn’t do that here. (There are some such references, but not a lot, and they are funny.) On the contrary, when his two main characters do have sex, he conveys their feelings with a lovely, very metaphorical description that has nary an organ in sight. Those two characters, Sammy “Two Toes” Tiffin and his girlfriend, who has the unlikely first name of Stilton and therefore becomes known as “the Cheese,” are extremely endearing, So are their allies, such as Eddie “Moo Shoes” Shu, Sammy’s Chinese pal; Milo, the cab driver who’s scared of driving; and Jimmy, who is technically female. The plot is fast, fun, and cheerfully improbable, and the language, though hardly passing high standards for Political Correctness, is as colorful as one would expect for a romp set in the lower reaches of 1947 San Francisco. The city and period, which Moore carefully researched (he gives details in an afterword), come across vividly, too. (Sample of both: “The fog lay spread across the city like a drowned whore—damp, cold, smelling of salt and diesel.”) It all adds up to what Moore, in the afterword, charmingly calls “perky noir,” more akin (as he says) to Damon Runyon than to Dashiell Hammett. I loved every minute of it.

Oh so politically incorrect and laugh out loud funny. It's a bit difficult to review a book with two narrators, one being a poisonous snake whose venom is believed to be the Viagra of 1947. A bartender, Sammy, falls for a hard drinking bombshell of a waitress at five named Stilton. Yes, the author went there. His pursuit of Stilton, aka "The Cheese" sends Sammy for advice to his friends, Moo Shoo, a doorman at a Chinese restaurant/burlesque and Milo, who owns a taxi but doesn't know how to drive. Sammy lives in a flophouse where his only friend is a loud mouthed latch key kid. The Kid is a great character in that he can say any foul mouthed thing the author thinks up which might be too much even for mobbed up bar owners or crooked cops in1947 speak. Both Sammy and Stilton are looking for ways to make a quick buck and Sammy's is to buy the snake. Stilton is engaged by a clueless 5 star general to go to a secret retreat at a camp in the woods where rich and richer men go once a year to engage in weird rituals, hoping she and her friends will be his ticket to membership. Then, of course, there is the spaceship/weather balloon crash in Roswell. This reviewer may have lost the thread of a passenger from the spaceship ended up in an ice machine at the woodsy camp (possibly due to the third glass of wine). Anyway, malignant forces are determined to locate the alien being (aka The Moonman). In short, it appears the author took gangsters, generals, crooked cops, bumbling g-men, a wise-cracking hot babe, a semi-crippled bartender, a loud mouthed kid, a giant black guy who believes he's in the secret service and his mother, threw them into a blender with some tequila and when they jumped out fully formed, he wrote about them. It's great.