Tag Archives: David Handler

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Man Who Would Be F. Scott Fitzgerald,’ by David Handler

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“You wouldn’t want another writer. We reserve our best qualities for our lead characters. There’s not much left over for real life.”

Continuing with David Handler’s amusing Stewart Hoag mysteries. Like many cozies, these books are sometimes far-fetched and over-cute. But they’re fun, and “Hoagy” Hoag is good company.

In The Man Who Would Be F. Scott Fitzgerald, for the first time in this series, we get to observe Hoagy in his natural environment – the New York literary scene. He’s been hired to help a hot young author write a memoir. In theory, the hot young writer ought to be able to write his own memoir, but handsome, dissipated Cam Noyes is suffering from a malady Hoagy knows all too well – acute writer’s block. That was a lot of what killed Hoagy’s own career as a literary wunderkind. In fact he sometimes thinks he’s looking in a mirror.

Turns out Cam has secrets he doesn’t want anyone to know about. But Hoagy has his own formula for ghost-writing – he doesn’t write fluff, and he won’t be lied to. His method will bring shocking facts to light, uncovering the ugly underside, not only of the cutthroat publishing business, but of the motivations that drive people to pursue fame.

Meanwhile, the framing elements that turn readers into series fans are fully present here – Hoagy’s continuing on-and-off relationship with his actress ex-wife, and the (somewhat implausible) antics of his drama-queen basset hound, Lulu.

Lots of fun. Minor cautions for language (though efforts are made to avoid obscenity as much as possible). Recommended as light entertainment.

(Addendum: I should note that the author made a really dumb mistake about guns in this book, confusing rifles with shotguns. We notice those things in these parts,)

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Man Who Lived By Night,’ by David Handler

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Then I popped open a bottle of lager and watched part eight of a sixteen-part series on BBC 1 called Giant Worms of the Sea. Whoever thinks British television has it all over American TV has never actually watched any.

David Handler returns with his ghost-writer hero, Stuart “Hoagie” Hoag, in the second series installment, The Man Who Lived By Night. This one takes him into the treacherous world of British Rock ‘n Roll.

Tristam Scarr is his new interviewee. Lead singer of a top British group called Us (a little like the Rolling Stones, a little like the Who), Scarr lived a life of excess and notoriety, and is now one of two survivors of a group that numbered four at its peak. He lives like a hermit in a palatial house on a massive English estate, but is a wizened shell of himself, subsisting on baby food. He wants to tell his life’s story – including his shocking allegation that the two group members who died young were in fact murdered.

Hoagie, accompanied as always by his faithful, fish-eating beagle, Lulu (aren’t there quarantine rules for bringing animals into the UK?) moves in with Scarr and begins the interviews. But he has an ulterior motive for being there – his ex-wife Merrilee is starring in a London play, and their sparks re-ignite (is it adultery to sleep with your ex-wife?). As in the previous novel, somebody appears to threaten Hoagie (and, even worse, Lulu), but he will persevere and bring the shocking truth to light in the end. In considerable style.

I’m not as interested in the rock world as I am in Hollywood, so this book was slightly less interesting to me than the previous one. But enough sacred cows got poked here that I still had a good time (though it’s weird to read a book of this vintage and see celebrities now dead or aged described [sometimes lampooned] as young, sexy, and current).

Recommended. Lots of fun. Not too much objectionable stuff.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Man Who Died Laughing,’ by David Handler

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“It’s that way in my business, too,” I said. “You’re only taken seriously in literary circles if your stuff is torturous and hard to read. If you go to the extra trouble of making it clear and entertaining, then the critics call you a lightweight.”

I’m surprised I never heard of David Handler before. The Man Who Died Laughing, his first Stuart Hoag mystery, was a lot of fun, in some ways a (relatively, it was published in 1988) modern riff on the old Thin Man formula.

Stuart “Hoagy” Hoag is a literary flash in the pan. He had tremendous success with his first novel and won money and acclaim. Then an industrial-strength case of writer’s block gripped him, and he’s written nothing since. He lost his beautiful actress wife (though they’re still friends), and is now living in a tiny, squalid New York apartment with his fat basset hound, Lulu (who only eats fish). He’s out of money and just days from living on the streets, when his agent gets him an offer to ghost-write an autobiography for a Hollywood comedian.

Desperate as he is, Hoagy doesn’t want to write the life story of Sonny Day, formerly half of a legendary comedy team called Knight and Day (think Martin and Lewis, with strategic differences. Sonny was the crazy one). Sonny is notoriously hard to work with, and in any case, Hoagy is wracked with self-doubt, and embarrassed to have fallen this low.

But Sonny shows up personally in his apartment (bodyguard in tow) and as good as bullies Hoagy into taking the the job. Gradually, he and the comic develop a working relationship – the man is more likeable than expected, but also prone to tantrums and bouts of irrationality. But through their interviews the reader begins to understand a troubled man with a cohort of personal devils, seriously trying to get off the sauce and rebuild his life and career.

But there’s someone out there who will go to any length – even murder – to prevent a certain fact from coming to light.

The Man Who Died Laughing was delightful to read. As you know, I like my mysteries character-driven, and this format – relying heavily (though not exclusively) on interview transcripts – seemed to me a fresh and original way of constructing a mystery.

I liked it a lot, I laughed and began to care. I recommend it highly.