The blue cover on the shelf caught my attention. Merchant of Venus read the title. There was an old Avalon Hill board game of space trading with that title, very likely a sonorous pun on Shakespeare’s “Merchant of Venice.” But when I picked up the book, it was clear that this Merchant of Venus was a director of romantic comedies and romantic drama during a transitional era in Hollywood. Old Hollywood? Romance pictures? I was in. It didn’t matter to me that the blurb, “A Jane Lawless Mystery,” signified that I was picking up a novel in the midst of an ongoing series. I was in. The other blurb, that it was a Lambda award winner, didn’t register until I was well into the book.
As a mystery (or perhaps, one should say that as “mysteries” for there is more than one in this story), Merchant of Venus is strong enough that I chased two red herrings—one because I wanted this person to be guilty enough to be punished and one because I thought it would be fitting. As I have been told is often the case in “real life,” the obvious answer is the right one. But this tapestry is sewn together so neatly that there were times I was doubting myself and wondering if the equivalent of the butler didn’t do it. Naah! Hate to spoil it, but it’s not that easy. There are at least four, maybe five, really strong motives.
Even better, as a mystery, this isn’t one where the body count piles higher and higher like a child playing with blocks. There is more than one murder, but it makes sense and isn’t an overbearing distraction. I will confess that the novel does feature one of my least favorite plot devices. I believe you are over 100 pages (about a third of the way in) into the novel before the murder takes place. You know it’s coming and you’re pretty sure you know who it’s going to be, but there is a lot of maneuvering—almost a half a season’s worth of a soap opera—before it happens. And when it happens, it doesn’t happen in the way I would most likely have expected it to occur. Beware, though, the means of the murder comes across with a little baby of a red herring itself.
Merchant of Venus was a page-turner of a mystery and I would have rated it higher if it hadn’t been for what I used to call Quincy, M.D. syndrome. In that old television series, a medical examiner for a large city takes on mysteries. That seems logical. What was not always logical was that many of the mysteries were tied around social ills or problems and that, as Quincy investigated, the suspects and witnesses would unload mountains of data on the examiner which would highlight the problem (and, of course, the scriptwriter’s pet “cause”). These witnesses would have so much statistical data at the tip of their tongue to glibly unload on Quincy (ably portrayed by Jack Klugman) that it seemed, at least to me, to become “preachy” as opposed to being entertainment. It was as artificial as the early days of television when the medium was trying to justify itself as an educator. This “preachy” quality rather ruined the series for me.
Merchant of Venus suffers from the Quincy, M.D. syndrome with regard to gay rights. You might expect it with a lesbian detective protagonist, but it’s quite ironic in the light of an important conversation held between two characters, one a former Hollywood director and one a former Hollywood starlet—both firmly hidden in the closet. The director is defending his decision to stay ensconced in said closet and she says, “Well, the fact that you’re gay is at least part of the point. Certainly, it’s not the be all and end all of your life—“ to which the director responds: “But that’s just it. If I ‘come out of the closet,’ as they say now, my sexuality becomes the entire point. I become ‘that gay director.’ My life will have an adjective placed next to it on unto eternity. I don’t want that. I want my career to be judged on its merits. I don’t want to become—in the biographies that will undoubtedly be written—something I never was in my life.”
After some more back and forth, he says, “Heterosexual love stories are about individuals. Stories about homosexual love are stories about homosexuality. I don’t want my life to be looked at that way.” [all quotations from p. 153] Yet, there are plenty of points in this novel where it ceases to be about the mysteries and becomes a Quincy-esque sermon about the trials and tribulations of the homosexual community, complete with stories about gay celebrities in old Hollywood and lots of people seemingly judged on whether or not they were gay or not.
At some point, this novel quit being a story and became a homosexual story. I don’t mean to sound homophobic; I just mean to say that I think this author fell into her own trap. And it’s sad, too, because it’s a terrific mystery. I’m just not sure I’ll read another of hers because I don’t want to be reading a gay rights manifesto disguised as a mystery any more than I want to read some right-wing interpretation of the Book of Revelation disguised as a fantasy novel. But that just may be me. I just thought it would be wrong not to mention the weakness in the book that keeps jumping out at you and ironically, is actually opposed in the book by one of the major characters.