The third and final detective tale in this gritty series of vintage mysteries—originally published in 1953—once again follows the hard-drinking yet hardworking private eye, Russell Teed, through the crooked streets of Montreal. When a brutally beaten body is found on the city’s famous mountain, private investigator Teed and his would-be Watson, MacArnold, set out to right wrongs and discover the truth behind the crime. Add a buxom brunette whose embrace brings treachery and a large dose of vicious gang warfare, this hard-boiled, noir crime story provides a glimpse into 1950s Montreal underworld life.
Charles Ross Graham, writing as David Montrose, offered up three Hardboiled detective stories, one each in 1951, 1952, and 1953, all featuring hard-drinking private eye Russell Teed. All are set in a dirty, corrupt Montreal which is still recognizable by anyone who travels there, a city neither wholly European nor wholly North American. Montrose brings Montreal to life in his iconic prose just as other private eye writers of the era brought to life Los Angeles, San Francisco, or Miami.
Teed operates here without a client or an interest. Although he’s got no skin in the game, the hoods think he’s chasing after a murder and batter him silly in his apartment, steal his precious car (Riley), and literally break his legs. Meanwhile, two attractive women keep popping into his apartment even though at first glance they look alike.
Quite an enjoyable romp through the streets of Montreal with all the usual paraphernalia of Hardboiled detective stories, convoluted though the plot becomes.
Hard boiled & comic, a tricky tightrope that results in many authors plunging to the sawdust below. Russell Teed's third adventure set in Montreal and is very specific regarding time and places, so a good time capsule piece. The most solid element is the mystery which is well plotted, the ending not telegraphed. Author's style varies between Raymond Chandler and Richard S. Prather, but the humor seems forced at times. The book features the biases of the times and may outrage the most virtuous, but Montrose wrote what he knew in the time he lived in, so … Probably too long by half (this edition is 236 pages), but aims at solid page turning entertainment and for the most part succeeds.
Picked this up at expozine a few years ago and ?? Just some PI guy whose personality is Drinking and who inexplicably has beautiful women bursting into his apartment to undress and hook up. The 50s Montreal vibes are cool. I’ve never read a detective novel but I guess it’s what you’d expect from a probably sexist and racist old dude writing in the 50s
Don't walk alone on Mount Royal at night. A good rule to follow in 1950s Montreal, where this story is set. As you can guess by the title, a body is discovered on the mountain and private eye Russell Teed is on the case… sort of. He's initially not interested, but after much persuasion, his journalist friend MacArnold puts him on the trail. Joined by James Montgomery, who discovered the body, MacArnold and Teed investigate the murder and become embroiled in underworld doings while drinking dry what seems to be every tavern and dépanneur in Notre-Dame-de-Grace and the Town of Mount Royal.
Teed's voice is likeable and earnest, and while he's not afraid to be violent when necessary, he is also capable of great sympathy toward the victims of the crimes he's investigating. The pace was smooth throughout, and while there were a lot of "summing up what we know so far" moments, for the most part they were handled quickly. The only thing I found really annoying was the rendering of Detective Sergeant Framboise's "very 'eavy French Canadian hac-sent". Specifically, the rendering of "these" as "t'ese", "them" as "t'em" and so on. All the apostrophes made my eyes cross. Also, strangely, I don't recall many mentions of the Montreal Canadiens in the narration. This was the 1950s, when the Habs were in very glorious days indeed and the Rocket Richard riot was just around the corner. They would have been everywhere. Although to be fair, being shot at by violent thugs is a much more pressing concern than the hockey scores.
Overall, I enjoyed this book as an evocation of Montreal and hard-boiled detective novels and would gladly read more of Teed's adventures.
It's definitely a book of its time. The writing, by today's standards, is highly problematic, and Teed doesn't treat women very well. The women are clearly written by a man. The characters are limited; as one Goodreads reviewer puts it, Teed's whole personality is drinking. If the amount of alcohol he consumed in the amount of time that he consumed it is accurate for the time, it's a wonder people lived for as long as they did. I had some sympathy for Teed since he seemed to get beat up a lot. The mystery itself is intricate and interesting. The descriptions of the city are atmospheric, making it obvious that the author knew their way around. There was so much gunfire and scenes with guns! The ending wasn't as interesting as I would have liked since it's the grand reveal. Lastly, the edition I have has Lila on the cover. I like the other cover better since it actually shows a scene of Mont Royal to match the title; I wouldn't have put Lila and Teed on the cover.
The book started very well and I was interested about a third of the way but it ends up being a very confusing detective story of people who can hardly spend a minute without drinking. The narrative makes no sense nor does the intrigue. I give it 3 stars for the funny first part and nice description of Montreal and also the kicking of pigeons.
It was fun for the Montreal scenes, walking into bars on Sherbrooke Street and driving out to Décarie which was apparently quite rural back in the 1950s. On the downside it was quite macho and chauvinistic but in fairness I think it was all tongue-in-cheek. Overall quite a fun read but with little substance, again, in fairness, it was never meant to be deep.
David Montrose’s Westmount has a surreal geography. One can count the number of streets above THE BOULEVARD on one’s fingers. Half the streets are dead-ends. One street curves around a bit. Upper Westmount is dinky compare to Manhattan. One more David Montrose’s novel to go.