It's 1953, and Hollywood's most legendary dancing duo is reunited after five years of semiretirement to dance with Russia's celebrated Baronovitch Ballet. With all the talk about Communists and conspiracies, it's all Fred and Ginger can do to concentrate on the showuntil there's a murder.
George Baxt, the US playwright, scriptwriter and novelist, in New York City, USA.
He began his career as a radio announcer, an actors' agent, and television scriptwriter. He claimed that as an actors' agent he threw James Dean out of his office because he needed a bath. George Baxt's career developed into scriptwriting cult horror films. He made a contribution to The Abominable Dr Phibes, although it was uncredited. His first novel A Queer Kind of Death, (1966), introduced the detective Pharoah Love who was the first in the genre to be both black and openly gay. The novel was very well received and marked the start of a new career in writing. Two further Pharoah Love novels soon appeared and were widely regarded as superior to the first. Nearly three decades passed before the final outings of Pharoah Love in two novels.
Meanwhile George Baxt introduced the detective duo Sylvia Plotkin and Max van Larsen, but these were soon abandoned and several non-series novels were produced. Starting with The Dorothy Parker Murder Case, George Baxt then began to use his knowledge of Hollywood life by using celebrities as characters in a series of detective novels.
He died following complications after heart surgery.
This book started off so much fun - Hollywood legends, the Russian ballet, Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, the CIA, the KGB, spies, double agents, Hollywood agents, detectives, gossip columnists, impresarios, terrible puns, and glitzy parties and frenetic rehearsals galore! But the twists and turns were muddled and flimsy, and the big reveal in the last 10 pages was not only confusing, it was completely superfluous. Had to go back and re-read the last 25 pages just to be sure I hadn’t missed anything, but no, just the author’s gaping holes in plot, believable motives, etc. Definitely a let down but fun along the way.
If I envy an author it is usually because of their gift of characterization, their wonderful imagination, or their beautiful use of the language. I envied Baxt's ability to get published with so little talent---not once, but multiple times. It is a mystery to me and far, far more mysterious than his lame book.
It is no surprise there are so few reviews of this book: there is nothing positive to say about it.
I bought several Baxt books at a used book sale. At least one is autographed. The books are small, short. I had never heard of Mr. Baxt before. The book is not intriguing in any sense of the word. There's overkill with the fame names. I wanted a lot more story. The murders happen in a paragraph but the Hollywood names and movies are endless. I cannot even complain about overly described situations. It was names and movies. Movies and names. I will read the others. Probably.
This book is hard to get through. To much name dropping. Too many similar characters. Not enough compelling drama. I kept hoping for more. It never arrived. I gave it a second star just because of the research that must have gone into it. Maybe I should take that star back. The book probably would have been better with less annoying factoids.
I didn't finish this book. It was a constant case of the author showing he knew about the people in Hollywood, and not enough story. It was like reading an Olde English book with all the nouns capitalized. Too distracting.