Ginny Kelly is an investment-banking buppie at the start of the 90s, living and dating in Chicago. She's not actually a private investigator, being le...moreGinny Kelly is an investment-banking buppie at the start of the 90s, living and dating in Chicago. She's not actually a private investigator, being less hard-boiled than "the hard-bitten type that cries at Disney movies and opens her purse to the homeless."
When her best friend's girlfriend is shot dead behind a lesbian bar in Chicago, Ginny investigates by cheating on her own girlfriend with a psychotic defense attorney who miraculously, does not boil her cat, Sweet Potato, because I am hella sensitive to animal harm and omg the pussy jokes.
Eventually, Ginny investigates and solves the murder despite herself. Mainly she drinks, which is commented on in a kind of subtle, offhand way but is never directly commented on or resolved.
She's kind of like the antithesis of VI Warshawski apart from them both being lesbians and she's incredibly well-written and fascinating. She's very at home with her own experience as a middle-class black lesbian and how that differs from parents' experiences and expectations along with how it isolates her in her pursuit of a career in a very white world. As she says of her relationship with her best friend:
I did not have to paint for her the backdrop of my American history. Bev understood how hard it is to know that there is nothing happier than little black girls coming from a beauty parlor or nothing sadder than little black girls in the rain.
A little meandering in the middle, and there are parts where the relationship drama overshadows everything, but eventually the story gets back on track and you understand exactly how it is that friendship can make detectives out of the unlikeliest of people.(less)
Such a trip. I feel like I just read about every girl I ever knew in Sacramento and the Bay Area.
The worst thing about depression is how true your vi
...moreSuch a trip. I feel like I just read about every girl I ever knew in Sacramento and the Bay Area.
The worst thing about depression is how true your vision seems, like misery is the only correct perspective and everything you think when you're happy is a sham. I didn't even want to be happy anymore because I'd rather live in honest misery than fake bliss. I cried openly through the throngs of cheerful lesbians and boys with neat haircuts and why does everyone in the Castro look so fucking healthy? Maybe you should drink some coffee, Ashley suggested.