Reviews for Killer Solo

The average rating for Killer Solo based on 2 reviews is 2 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2007-03-15 00:00:00 Andre Walker I read this book because a friend of a friend wrote it. It was a fun read--it's good for what it is, which is a throwaway detective novel. The characters aren't going to stick with you and the plot is pretty thin, but there's plenty of rock 'n roll atmosphere.

Review # 2 was written on 2008-12-07 00:00:00 JOSEPH COCANOUR John Dortmunder is Donald Westlake's working-stiff thief, a way-downmarket Danny Ocean, probably within hailing distance of Lawrence Block's Bernie Rhodenbarr on the social ladder. As I understand the concept, each of the fifteen books in the series features Dortmunder and his crew of mixed nuts happening on something valuable that begs to be stolen. They piece together a Rube Goldberg plan to steal that something, then the plan proceeds to come unglued from Step 1, to much hilarity. Get Real is the last entry in the series, published after Westlake's death. In it, Dortmunder and his merry men get an offer they probably should refuse: a reality-TV producer offers them a tidy sum of money to let him make a TV series of their burgling. After they hash over all the myriad ways this could go wrong, they agree to do it anyway, lacking any other promising alternatives. Then they discover there may be a side job they can pull during the shoot that will supplement their legit pay. Dortmunder's set up as the group's Eeyore; no Chatty Cathy like Bernie R., he could easily slip into the strong-silent-type lead in a hardboiled crime series if this were one of those. His partner-in-crime Kelp is the talker and charmer. Still, Dortmunder comes across as a solid (not to mention stolid), level-headed guy who could be a shop foreman or high-school football coach if he didn't steal things for a living. He even has a steady relationship with a woman, something not many other male characters manage in the crime genre. Is he likable? After 289 paperback pages, I can't really say. We see the story through multiple points of view, and even when Our Hero owns one of them, he often recedes from view. I'm not sure I spent enough time with him to know much more than what I've already told you. The rest of his crew is a collection of types -- which is about right for the genre -- including a man-mountain who goes by (God help us) Tiny. The two principal female characters add little to the proceedings other than decoration or being the butt of fat jokes. The dialog otherwise is just so, especially among the gang members, who reveal the time they've spent together through the economy of their jibes and put-downs. Westlake sketches his settings with enough information to make it easy for a reader to construct the scene to his or her satisfaction. I enjoy heist stories and caper novels, but somehow I've never gotten around to reading a Dortmunder book until now. I really wanted to like this more than I do. What's with that? For one thing, the plotting was far less baroque than I'd been led to expect. The reel heist was all leadup and no plan, while the real heist was remarkably straightforward and disappointingly unremarkable. Untied plot threads stick out here and there; potential dramatic opportunities go unexploited, such as a subplot involving a potential mole in the gang that simply fizzles away. The other thing this series is known for is its humor. Maybe I just didn't get it, but I didn't notice more laughs here than in many others involving a gaggle of wise guys cracking wise. As I mentioned, the boys give each other grief, but I experienced few laugh-out-loud moments. It certainly wasn't the "hilarious caper" promised by the back cover, nor did I find very much of the "rollicking" promised by the NYT Book Review. What happened? I want to chalk it up to series fatigue; perhaps the zip was just gone out of the characters. I'd wanted to read The Hot Rock, the first and reputedly the best of the series, and still want to so I can see the author and his characters at their best. Get Real is a by-the-numbers heist story written by an author who was known for being able to deliver so much more. It's not a bad book, just an unremarkable one. I'll read an earlier installment in the series at some point in the future, and I hope to find the qualities that prompted all the praise. This one ain't it.