Lawrence Sanders was the New York Times bestselling author of more than forty mystery and suspense novels. The Anderson Tapes, completed when he was fifty years old, received an Edgar Award from the Mystery Writers of America for best first novel. His prodigious oeuvre encompasses the Edward X. Delaney, Archy McNally, and Timothy Cone series, along with his acclaimed Commandment books. Stand-alone novels include Sullivan's Sting and Caper. Sanders remains one of America’s most popular novelists, with more than fifty million copies of his books in print. Also published as Mark Upton.
This book is so incredibly, ineptly, and laughably bad, that I had to keep checking back to the cover blurbs to see if it was intended as a parody of the genre. I don't think even a Carol Burnett Show era sketch could do justice to this pile. Here, the author seems to believe that if a little free form disconnected descriptive turn of phrase is good, then ten times the verbiage is even better-- for everything. The author seems to have an obsession with "knuckles". Is that supposed to be erotic? How about this on page 216, "A football moon spiraled through the darkling sky", or page 277, "A torn moon raced through a ragged sky". Truly, a remarkable piece of work.
Don't go into this book expecting a murder mystery, because it isn't there. For some reason, that was my mindset when I went into "Love Songs". The library I borrowed it from even had the "mystery" sticker on the spine. Being the librarian that I am, I'm half tempted to ask for a change in the bibliographic records, but I digress. This book is not a murder mystery. There's a murder in it, but it's no mystery as to who, how, or why the murder occurs, and I'll let the mystery simply be the when. Now that I've claimed it to NOT be a murder mystery, how do I review this book? As a porn? As a character study? As a satire on the lifestyle of the rich and famous? As a commentary on the bridges and differences between social classes? This is another of those books that has layers upon layers of subtext and could be dissected by dozens of high school English Literature teachers for years before a consensus was reached. I'm having an even harder time deciding who this book is for. Written in the 70's and reprinted in the late 80's, it has a very retro aesthetic that is rather unique and yet still relatable. There were several points where I forgot when it was written and had to double check, though I doubt that matters much to the average reader. The only target audience I can imagine is the middle-aged or mid-life women who are divorced and seeking solace or are married and want to make sure they're on the right path, but even then I find it hard to recommend this to them. I think that's my biggest criticism for this book. Who is it written for? I don't even remember how it ended up on my Shelfari To-Read list, and that in itself is probably the bigger mystery of the two presented. By the way, I wasn't joking by that porn remark. There is a lot of implied and explicit sex, so the squeamish or conservative are warned.
This is a very different book from Lawrence Sanders murder mysteries, specifically the McNally series. He shows great skill and sensitivity in this family story set on the Maine coast seemingly only that until the very end in which a local tribal member of Native Americans is overwhelmed by what he feels and brutally kills two of the family. It is written in terse and direct language and demonstrates clearly what a force Lawrence Sanders remains in the world of literature. A truly worthwhile book.
Generally outstanding writing but sometimes overdone with flowery, esoteric wording and style. Same goes for the sex scenes, which were all to frequent. However, as usual for Sanders, character development is unequaled and story line mesmerizing. Surprise ending both sad and riveting. Gave it four stars only because, in my book, he has so many fives. Thus, in comparison, this was just a notch below perfect.
As far as "dime-store thrillers" go, this is a bit of a taboo-breaking novel. Two incestuous sisters--their prepubescent sexual antics lewdly described--was a rather touchy subject back in the 1970s. Sanders' novels tend to work well when he strays from his private-dick mode and sets them on sandy beaches, and this novel is comparable to his later Case Of Lucy Bending.
Sanders explored the story through the senses, emotions and movements of the characters - rather than the clear narrative we expect from a novel. Having said that, it was still an easy read.
Not a favorite read or storyline for me. I put it down to stop reading several times, but ultimately decided to finish it through. Some good and intriguing parts to the book and an overall prose that got me thinking.
Well, where do I begin with this novel by Lawrence Sanders. I’m not really sure if this one has a central plot. I thought it was going to be about singer Bobbie Vander, but it was really more or less a mash-up of all the characters. It was all over the place – no focus.
You have Bobbie’s father, Pieter Vanderhorst, who is in love with his housekeeper Rebecca Drinkwater. They have a son together, Tom, who’s in love with Susan Todd. There is Hapgood Graves, Bobbie’s songwriter, who’s in love with Bobbie; Dr. Benjamin Todd and his daughter Susan, who’s in love with Graves. There is also Bobbie’s mother and Bobbie’s sister Julie, who’s in love with Dr. Todd.
From my point of view, it was just a story of drugs, sex and unusual incest (“When it started we didn't have any hair”). I also didn’t like the ending. Too many unanswered questions. I know a lot of people think this is one of Sanders’s more memorable non-detective novels, but it’s not a book I enjoyed.