I have been sitting here trying to come up with a clever intro for about 30 minutes.
That’s a lie. It’s only been five minutes. The rest of that time has been devoted to working around my family’s newest addition— a one-eyed cat who loves constant attention and snuggles. And won’t settle for anything less (I mean, at least he knows his worth).
He’s going through a phase of wanting to give me love-bites and then slobbering all over my fingers with his adorably raspy tongue, and honestly, I’ve tried to distract him and remove him from my work area. But he’s not having any part of that. So basically what will be happening for the duration of this review is I’ll be valiantly trying to string together cohesive sentences. He’ll be meowing loudly, pawing at my hands, and snatching my fingers into his paws so he can glomp on them.
This week’s read was Anthony Horowitz’s latest novel, The Word Is Murder. But before I get into the nitty-gritty, I do need to pop a standard disclaimer right here:
I received an ARC of this book from the publisher via Edelweiss for review purposes. However, all opinions expressed are my own.
Now that we have that out of the way:
The Word is Murder begins with elderly victim Diana Cowper: mother of a famous actor who has broken through to American audiences with a role in Homeland. If that sounds familiar, it’s because Homeland is an actual show. And that’s not the weirdest, nor most meta part of this mystery novel— arranging her own funeral. Hours later, she’s found strangled to death, baffling local police and creating juicy bait for mystery lovers to snap up that hook.
I saw that shiny lure. I lunged for the bait. And I spent the rest of The Word Is Murder trying, in vain, to wriggle free. I really should have known better. As soon as Homeland was brought in, and as soon as it was revealed that our murder victim was the mother of one of the stars of the show. (Damian Lewis, but his name was changed slightly. I didn’t know this at the time, because I don’t watch Homeland. But when I Googled and noticed the similarity, I really should have known better.)
The only reason I finished this is because it was an ARC, had I picked it up on my own, I would have ditched it as soon as Horowitz made himself part of the novel.
The reason I pick up fiction is to be swept away from reality. (With the obvious exception of historical fiction.) But, The Word is Murder kept referencing real TV shows, books, people. And it spent an inordinate amount of time detailing Horowitz’s litany of accomplishments, from his bibliography to his days writing Foyle’s War.
Because as it turns out, Horowitz is the protagonist of the novel. As enlightening as all that was, and it must have been totally awesome to meet with Steven Spielberg to talk about movie scripts … Oh, God, it was just boring, to be honest.
Plus, after reading Ed Brubaker’s The Fade Out and the highly-publicised #MeToo movement following that Weinstein scandal … Is anyone in Hollywood as cool as they want you to think they are? Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great that Horowitz’s life as a writer has been so interesting, and his portfolio so diverse. But, it speaks for itself, and having it be largely irrelevant but crammed into the plot of a fictional story written by Horowitz himself… It was a bit too much.
I did wonder, why not write an autobiography?
That’s what this felt like. But if you’re into that sort of meta-storytelling and want some of that brand of quirkiness, this one might be for you!
I just find it super-creepy that Horowitz used a fictional actor based on a real actor who portrays a character in a fictional show. And murdered his fictional actor’s mother. How does the real actor feel about that?
I’m pretty sure he gave them the same first name and everything, and because of his use of Homeland, it’s not like there’s another Damian he could’ve been talking about. I dunno, man… If somebody wrote a book and (very obviously) based a character on me using real-life details and then murdered my fictional mom… Bad vibes. The whole concept made my skin crawl.
Anyway, I digress (sorry).
Horowitz is asked to team up with a disgruntled former detective called Hawthorne and write a true crime book about him in all his Sherlock Holmes-lite (extremely lite) glory. And to be truthful: the amount of time I spent being pulled out of the story to Google things and people and facts … Well, damn, I might as well have been reading a non-fiction book that didn’t involve the murder of Damian Lewis’s fictionalized mother.
I genuinely couldn’t tell you about the riveting mystery, because I didn’t find it riveting. Or exciting, or suspenseful, or thrilling. I was more invested in my time away from this book than my time with it. And I always had one eye on my actual Sherlock Holmes bind-up, sorely missing Arthur Conan Doyle.
Listen. I obviously didn’t like this one. And that’s okay. Because differing opinions make the world go ‘round. I want to give Horowitz another shot. This one just wasn’t for me. Maybe if I read a bunch of Horowitz’s prior work first (helpfully and heavily mentioned in this book) and then reread this one, I’ll gain a new appreciation for it. Maybe. I’m willing to try.
But something that is definitely up my alley is this recipe for chocolate ice cream cake, cleverly called Death By Chocolate Ice Cream Cake. (I found it on Pinterest). If you do read The Word Is Murder, I hope you enjoy it way more than I did. And I hope you love the cake recipe just as much!
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