New 06.25.05

I introduced Michael Fredrickson here before. He and I are graduates of Redwood Falls High School (now Redwood Valley High School) in southwestern Minnesota. He's had a marvelously varied career in academia, farming, singing, and law. You can find his profile at the Macalester College web site. A few years ago he decided it was time to write a novel. A Defense for the Dead is his third. I have enjoyed all three. I was first reminded of Stephen Greenleaf as I read this book. Greenleaf is a California lawyer who turned to writing mystery novels. It wasn't so much the insights into legalities but the use of language that caused me to compare Fredrickson to Greenleaf. Greenleaf's prose stood out among mystery writers' language like a French chef's sauces would stand out at Applebee's. Fredickson's words -- especially the adjectives -- stand out as well. The book opens with, "Jimmy Morrissey looked like a million bucks -- in crumpled tens and twenties. With his feet up on his battered desk and the morning mail a drifting pile on his belly, he looked and felt like the very picture of rumpled repose." And, in a be-careful-what-you-wish-for inner monologue, "Little snakes' tongues of depression flicked at him. He felt himself stepping into a swale of sadness and regret. As if bidden by some wistful pixie, he slipped into wishing for a major -- no make that tumultuous -- change in his life. Away from this dull, drooping practice, from the tangled nets of a love turned terrifying. He pressed his eyes shut against the brutal certainty that nothing like that would befall him, no release would free him." By the end of this tale, Jimmy Morrissey has nearly all his wishes. And more. Stephen Greenleaf's main character, John Marshall Tanner, is a non-practicing attorney and private eye in San Francisco. (Maybe was is the proper verb. The most recent of Greenleaf's 14 books was published in 2000.) It looks from the last lines of A Defense for the Dead like Jimmy Morrissey is headed in that direction (into being a private detective, not toward San Francisco). Another similarity between these two mystery writing lawyers is the story telling. Both Fredrickson and Greenleaf are very good at it. It's very hard to know what's coming next in their plots. Fredrickson may create more twists, but they are part and parcel of the characters and the story. What Fredrickson does that I don't recall in Greenleaf's books is to toss off good humor, mostly throw away one-liners. Jimmy Morrissey is a smart mouth. He's also lazy, less than professional in his career, lovable, and quite human. In spite of that, I don't understand either the motivation or the process of someone taking time from life -- especially in Jimmy Morrissey's situations -- to go off on a private quest. It's obvious from an earlier book (Witness for the Dead), that Morrissey is only one step from losing his professional status and has few ethical limits. Nonetheless, most people would not take time away from professional duties and a dying wife to satisfy passing curiosity. Then again, books aren't written about most people. The book ends with enough interesting loose ends to suggest some of the characters and events that will be at the core of Fredrickson's fourth book. I'll read it, and not just because I knew him when. It was good late night reading. I registered my copy with BookCrossing and dropped it off at Goodbye Blue Monday, a Northfield coffee shop. Whoever picked it up didn't follow through and register it as found. Eh?!

• A review from ReviewingTheEvidence.com
• A review by Patrick Anderson from the Washington Post