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Paul Pine #3
Halo in Brass
Paul Pine is hired by a Nebraska couple to track down their missing daughter, Laura Fremont, who fled to Chicago and has not been heard from in over nine months. The trail leads to a bar that covers for a sleazy brothel, several run down apartment buildings and finally a night club in Chicago. Along the way Pine discovers a slew of girlfriends and roommates of Laura’s and two strangled women who had at one time known Fremont under one of her many aliases.
222 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1949
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
September 1, 2010
In the 1940s, Howard Browne (sometimes using the pen name "John Evans") wrote a short series of hardboiled detective novels about a PI named Paul Pine. Browne skirted the edges of some controversial topics in his books, never more so than in this one, in which the subject of homosexuality is clearly acknowledged. Some of the views of lesbian orientation are pretty quaint, to put it gently, from a 21st-century viewpoint, but Browne writes a compelling mystery and even his antiquated perspective rarely becomes harsh. What's great about this book is that it's a believable private eye engaged in a plausible mystery and it's written with a flair that only the great masters of the period (Chandler, Hammett, Macdonald) exceeded consistently. All three Halo books are good. I liked this one a lot.
October 23, 2020
review of
Howard Browne's Halo in Brass
- tENTATIVELY, a cONVENIENCE - October 21-22, 2020
I've only read one other book by Browne, Halo for Satan (see my review here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show... ), so he's still a new author for me. So far, so good. I'm always happy to find a new author whose work I want to discover more fully. Browne's writing is full of that good old deadpan detective humor & other such tropes of hard-boiled American crime fiction.
""Don't tell me a nice-looking young man like you's not married."
""No," I said. "This dent in my nose came from high-school football."
"It wasn't funny, it wasn't even that bright, but it was broad enough for almost anyone to understand. Yet it went past the Fremonts like a rifle bullet." - p 13
I feel ya, Pine. My sense of humor is similarly rc'vd.
Description is another strong point of such writing.
"We said good-by and the old man gave me a hand the color and texture of Billy the Kid's saddle and mumbled something I didn't catch. I moved the hand up and down and returned it to him and went out to the vine-covered porch where a green porch swing crouched crossways on the narrow planks. It seemed the right place to spend the long summer evenings listening to the crickets and watching the snails whizz by." - p 18
See what happens to the writing when you close in the holes on the left side of "3"?!
But what happens to it when the detective gets into dialog w/ the bell-hop?
""You don't have to give me a cent," he retorted with a quiet dignity. "All I know is what I've heard, and you're welcome to it. They say Bertha Lund runs a house—if you know what I mean. But that's only part of it. You hear all kinds of talk. I hear stories that things go on out there I wouldn't even talk about. And I been around, too."
"I started at him until patches of color began to burn in his plain and artless face. "And this seemed such a nice town," I said. "Clean air and shimmering stone and a big blue sky. Empty jails and very little garbage and no roaring traffic's boom. I ought to punch you one right on the nose."
"His mouth was open. "What's the matter with you, mister?"
""Matter? Nothing's the matter. How can you say that? Everything's right. As right as two left feet in a wall bed on a purple-tinged morning in May. What were you saying?"" - p 29
His humor's being a little rough on the young feller, doncha think?!
Pine, in the sourse of his investigations, is approached by someone offering to buy him off in the supposed best interests of a 3rd party. The truth of this, however, is unclear.
"I sighed. "Do tell. You drive a hard bargain, Mr.—— Do you have a name or do I call you X17?"
"His thin nostrils flared. "You can call me Smith."
""Oh, yes. I've seen your name on a lot of hotel registers. Keep your king's ransom, Mr. Smith. If Miss Rehak wants information from me, she'll have to get it direct—in exchange for the information I want."
""She'll never agree to see you, Pine," he said firmly. "She's terribly frightened of blackmail. Grace has put her past behind her and made a new life for herself. If the . . . the people with whom she is now associated should learn of her life three years ago . . . well, it would kill her. That's why she's beside herself with worry right now over your efforts to find her. That's why she asked me to come to you."" - pp 58-59
Likely story, right? No, no, it couldn't possibly be that simple, the reader's only 59pp in!
& lest you think that our hero is just another slug-happy dimbulb, he IS a cultured gentleman, maybe even more than the average screen-gawker of today.
"It was an evening for taking in a movie, for sitting in a bar, for shooting hooligan at the corner cigar store. It was an evening for going home and having the radio on without really hearing it while you drink highballs over a book by Roy Huggins or Kenneth Patchen or some other streamlined intellectual." - p 102
& to think I had just gotten Pine's head in the sights of my sniper rifle when I saw that he was reading Patchen. No amt of money cd get me to kill a Patchen reader.
Pine has to muddle thru a variety of fake identities in his search for a missing person. In the process, he tries to trick one of the suspects.
"["]Incidentally, Chris sends his regards."
""Who's Chris?" she said suspiciously,
""What are you trying to pull?" I said, just as suspiciously. "I'm talking about your father. Don't tell me he's dead and buried too?"
"Her laugh was a short hard burst of sound. "My God, Pine, I'm surprised at you! When it comes to being clever you're really a card. My old man's name is Stanislaus Rehak—cut down to Stanley a long time ago—and he's hated my guts ever since I was fourteen and dating the track captain at high school.["]" - p 111
The description continues to be inspired.
"The wind was still at it. Nothing moved along the walks except shadows. Shadows that swooped and crept and retreated, like ghosts afraid of shadows." - p 152
"Halfway down the block I found a parking place. While I was getting out, a couple crossed the walk from one of the entrances and got into a car big enough to hold the Jukes family. It pulled away from the curb and rolled past me toward Broadway, its motor as quiet as butterflies wrestling." - p 162
"The Jukes family was a New York "hill family" studied in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The studies are part of a series of other family studies, including the Kallikaks, the Zeros and the Nams, that were often quoted as arguments in support of eugenics, though the original Jukes study, by Richard L. Dugdale, placed considerable emphasis on the environment as a determining factor in criminality, disease and poverty (euthenics)." - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jukes_f...
My theory is that the sound of butterflies wrestling kept them up all night & drove them to drink.
As a reader, I usually solve the mystery w/in the 1st few words. This time I was pretty sure I had it by page 196.
""That's interesting," I said. "Her and Whitney, huh?"
"She made a derisive sound that was half hiccough. "Are you serious? Ruth Abbott? She wouldn't sit in the same room with a man unless somebody else was around. Larry accidentally brushed a hand against her hip one day in the library. I thought she was going to climb the wall."" - p 196
SO, as you can see, the butler did it with a candlestick in the library. Then he licked the candlestick clean. The cops were fine w/ that b/c, to them, perverts like a candlestick licker don't matter anyway.
""Worked out all for the best, at that," he rumbled. "Nobody gets hurt except people who don't count anyway. Awhile there I figured I might have to go to bat against I don't know how many millions. I wouldn't of liked that one."
""Four people with their lives snuffed out." I said. "Five counting the kid back in Lincoln, Nebraska. But I feel better now that you've pointed out they don't count."
"He looked at me narrowly out of his sleepy yellow eyes. "Don't get noble on me, brother. A bunch of lousy perverts," He leaned out the window to spit and the subject was closed." - p 217
Hey! I take exception! I'm a pervert & not only am I more valuable than any fictional character, I've never had lice. So there.
This had all sorts of standard tropes: the detective gets sapped, the suspects gather in the library & the detective talks them thru the case until the guilty one reveals themselves.
The author was actually born in Nebraska, I'll bet you thought that possibility was a myth.
"Born in Omaha, Nebraska. My mother was a school teacher, my fether died four months before I was born. While residing in Lincoln, Nebraska, and after attending high school for three years, it seemed to me that attending school was interfering with my education. So I dropped out altogether." - p 223
THE END
Howard Browne's Halo in Brass
- tENTATIVELY, a cONVENIENCE - October 21-22, 2020
I've only read one other book by Browne, Halo for Satan (see my review here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show... ), so he's still a new author for me. So far, so good. I'm always happy to find a new author whose work I want to discover more fully. Browne's writing is full of that good old deadpan detective humor & other such tropes of hard-boiled American crime fiction.
""Don't tell me a nice-looking young man like you's not married."
""No," I said. "This dent in my nose came from high-school football."
"It wasn't funny, it wasn't even that bright, but it was broad enough for almost anyone to understand. Yet it went past the Fremonts like a rifle bullet." - p 13
I feel ya, Pine. My sense of humor is similarly rc'vd.
Description is another strong point of such writing.
"We said good-by and the old man gave me a hand the color and texture of Billy the Kid's saddle and mumbled something I didn't catch. I moved the hand up and down and returned it to him and went out to the vine-covered porch where a green porch swing crouched crossways on the narrow planks. It seemed the right place to spend the long summer evenings listening to the crickets and watching the snails whizz by." - p 18
See what happens to the writing when you close in the holes on the left side of "3"?!
But what happens to it when the detective gets into dialog w/ the bell-hop?
""You don't have to give me a cent," he retorted with a quiet dignity. "All I know is what I've heard, and you're welcome to it. They say Bertha Lund runs a house—if you know what I mean. But that's only part of it. You hear all kinds of talk. I hear stories that things go on out there I wouldn't even talk about. And I been around, too."
"I started at him until patches of color began to burn in his plain and artless face. "And this seemed such a nice town," I said. "Clean air and shimmering stone and a big blue sky. Empty jails and very little garbage and no roaring traffic's boom. I ought to punch you one right on the nose."
"His mouth was open. "What's the matter with you, mister?"
""Matter? Nothing's the matter. How can you say that? Everything's right. As right as two left feet in a wall bed on a purple-tinged morning in May. What were you saying?"" - p 29
His humor's being a little rough on the young feller, doncha think?!
Pine, in the sourse of his investigations, is approached by someone offering to buy him off in the supposed best interests of a 3rd party. The truth of this, however, is unclear.
"I sighed. "Do tell. You drive a hard bargain, Mr.—— Do you have a name or do I call you X17?"
"His thin nostrils flared. "You can call me Smith."
""Oh, yes. I've seen your name on a lot of hotel registers. Keep your king's ransom, Mr. Smith. If Miss Rehak wants information from me, she'll have to get it direct—in exchange for the information I want."
""She'll never agree to see you, Pine," he said firmly. "She's terribly frightened of blackmail. Grace has put her past behind her and made a new life for herself. If the . . . the people with whom she is now associated should learn of her life three years ago . . . well, it would kill her. That's why she's beside herself with worry right now over your efforts to find her. That's why she asked me to come to you."" - pp 58-59
Likely story, right? No, no, it couldn't possibly be that simple, the reader's only 59pp in!
& lest you think that our hero is just another slug-happy dimbulb, he IS a cultured gentleman, maybe even more than the average screen-gawker of today.
"It was an evening for taking in a movie, for sitting in a bar, for shooting hooligan at the corner cigar store. It was an evening for going home and having the radio on without really hearing it while you drink highballs over a book by Roy Huggins or Kenneth Patchen or some other streamlined intellectual." - p 102
& to think I had just gotten Pine's head in the sights of my sniper rifle when I saw that he was reading Patchen. No amt of money cd get me to kill a Patchen reader.
Pine has to muddle thru a variety of fake identities in his search for a missing person. In the process, he tries to trick one of the suspects.
"["]Incidentally, Chris sends his regards."
""Who's Chris?" she said suspiciously,
""What are you trying to pull?" I said, just as suspiciously. "I'm talking about your father. Don't tell me he's dead and buried too?"
"Her laugh was a short hard burst of sound. "My God, Pine, I'm surprised at you! When it comes to being clever you're really a card. My old man's name is Stanislaus Rehak—cut down to Stanley a long time ago—and he's hated my guts ever since I was fourteen and dating the track captain at high school.["]" - p 111
The description continues to be inspired.
"The wind was still at it. Nothing moved along the walks except shadows. Shadows that swooped and crept and retreated, like ghosts afraid of shadows." - p 152
"Halfway down the block I found a parking place. While I was getting out, a couple crossed the walk from one of the entrances and got into a car big enough to hold the Jukes family. It pulled away from the curb and rolled past me toward Broadway, its motor as quiet as butterflies wrestling." - p 162
"The Jukes family was a New York "hill family" studied in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The studies are part of a series of other family studies, including the Kallikaks, the Zeros and the Nams, that were often quoted as arguments in support of eugenics, though the original Jukes study, by Richard L. Dugdale, placed considerable emphasis on the environment as a determining factor in criminality, disease and poverty (euthenics)." - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jukes_f...
My theory is that the sound of butterflies wrestling kept them up all night & drove them to drink.
As a reader, I usually solve the mystery w/in the 1st few words. This time I was pretty sure I had it by page 196.
""That's interesting," I said. "Her and Whitney, huh?"
"She made a derisive sound that was half hiccough. "Are you serious? Ruth Abbott? She wouldn't sit in the same room with a man unless somebody else was around. Larry accidentally brushed a hand against her hip one day in the library. I thought she was going to climb the wall."" - p 196
SO, as you can see, the butler did it with a candlestick in the library. Then he licked the candlestick clean. The cops were fine w/ that b/c, to them, perverts like a candlestick licker don't matter anyway.
""Worked out all for the best, at that," he rumbled. "Nobody gets hurt except people who don't count anyway. Awhile there I figured I might have to go to bat against I don't know how many millions. I wouldn't of liked that one."
""Four people with their lives snuffed out." I said. "Five counting the kid back in Lincoln, Nebraska. But I feel better now that you've pointed out they don't count."
"He looked at me narrowly out of his sleepy yellow eyes. "Don't get noble on me, brother. A bunch of lousy perverts," He leaned out the window to spit and the subject was closed." - p 217
Hey! I take exception! I'm a pervert & not only am I more valuable than any fictional character, I've never had lice. So there.
This had all sorts of standard tropes: the detective gets sapped, the suspects gather in the library & the detective talks them thru the case until the guilty one reveals themselves.
The author was actually born in Nebraska, I'll bet you thought that possibility was a myth.
"Born in Omaha, Nebraska. My mother was a school teacher, my fether died four months before I was born. While residing in Lincoln, Nebraska, and after attending high school for three years, it seemed to me that attending school was interfering with my education. So I dropped out altogether." - p 223
THE END
July 8, 2017
I started backwards with the Paul Pine mysteries, reading "The Taste of Ashes" first. Browne believed that coda to be the best of the series, and many people who know the genre assert it's the best post-Chandler PI novel, so I may have erred in reading the best first, while saving the decent and the good for later.
No use crying over spilled milk, however, and "Halo in Brass" is a very fine private eye procedural. All of Browne's manifold gifts are on display, including his wry sense of humor, his masterful ability to build suspense, and his eye for detailed description (or as much as the genre's rapid-fire staccato rhythms allow).
The plot, if you want to know, deals with Private Eye Paul Pine accepting an assignment to find a girl who went missing from a small town some time previously. Compounding the eeriness of her disappearance is the minor detail that photos of the girl are scant, and her parents, who hired Pine, won't provide any details besides the fact that the girl is missing and needs to be found.
Browne kept me guessing with this one to the point where I experienced a bit of vertigo trying to keep track of all the plot convolutions. The author mentions in the intro that since this work deals with sapphic themes and lesbianism was taboo at the time, some of the passages and reveals may strike the postmodern reader as a bit quaint and dated. The book is an artifact of its time, as the author and some reviewers have pointed out, but it is a sturdy artifact and well-worth a read. It's good, but not "Taste of Ashes" good. Nothing's that good, except, obviously, "The Taste of Ashes." Still, recommended for fans of mystery and PI fiction.
No use crying over spilled milk, however, and "Halo in Brass" is a very fine private eye procedural. All of Browne's manifold gifts are on display, including his wry sense of humor, his masterful ability to build suspense, and his eye for detailed description (or as much as the genre's rapid-fire staccato rhythms allow).
The plot, if you want to know, deals with Private Eye Paul Pine accepting an assignment to find a girl who went missing from a small town some time previously. Compounding the eeriness of her disappearance is the minor detail that photos of the girl are scant, and her parents, who hired Pine, won't provide any details besides the fact that the girl is missing and needs to be found.
Browne kept me guessing with this one to the point where I experienced a bit of vertigo trying to keep track of all the plot convolutions. The author mentions in the intro that since this work deals with sapphic themes and lesbianism was taboo at the time, some of the passages and reveals may strike the postmodern reader as a bit quaint and dated. The book is an artifact of its time, as the author and some reviewers have pointed out, but it is a sturdy artifact and well-worth a read. It's good, but not "Taste of Ashes" good. Nothing's that good, except, obviously, "The Taste of Ashes." Still, recommended for fans of mystery and PI fiction.
March 6, 2022
Paul PIne, private detective, is hired on a missing persons case. It seems that Laura Fremont, originally from Lincoln, Nebraska, has gone incommunicado in the big city of Chicago. Her plain rural parents are worried sick. The first obstacle pops up in that before she left, Laura filched every photograph of her in the family albums. That’s a bit odd. Also, she hasn’t communicated with any of her old friends either. The only other person in her friends group who moved to Chicago was that Rehak girl, and Laura would never have communicated with her.
Mr. Pine does a little digging, and finds out that Grace Rehak had a sordid past that indicates she had to leave town in a hurry. But her trail’s a little fresher, and might produce a lead. Before Pine’s even out of town, though, he finds his hotel bellhop murdered, his head smashed in. Clearly, one of the young women he’s asking around about does not want to be found in spades.
So it’s back to Chicago to track down either or both of Laura Fremont and Grace Rehak. Problem is, the people who might have told him something keep turning up dead!
This 1949 hard-boiled detective novel was the third in the Paul Pine series. (The fourth, Taste of Ashes, is considered a classic.) Mr. Pine is a hard-drinking, heavy smoking fellow who gets coshed from behind a lot. He uses a lot of similes and vivid descriptions. “The foyer was large, with a tropical decor that would fool nobody south of the Arctic Circle.” He’s cynical, plays fast and loose with the rules of his profession, and isn’t trusted by the police, but has a small sentimental streak running underneath.
The author’s preface to the reprint edition reveals that he tried extra hard to make the killer not the least likely suspect, but “someone impossible to suspect.” Of course, if the reader goes in knowing that, it makes the clues a bit easier to spot.
Content note: Homophobia. Mr. Pine and the police are disgusted by lesbianism, and period societal homophobia is a contributing factor in why several bad things happen over the course of the story. The author’s preface notes that he shared those attitudes at the time of writing, but hopes the story can stand up regardless.
Overall: This is a fast-paced, colorfully written detective story with plenty of twists. Obviously not for everyone but hard-boiled fans should enjoy it fine.
Mr. Pine does a little digging, and finds out that Grace Rehak had a sordid past that indicates she had to leave town in a hurry. But her trail’s a little fresher, and might produce a lead. Before Pine’s even out of town, though, he finds his hotel bellhop murdered, his head smashed in. Clearly, one of the young women he’s asking around about does not want to be found in spades.
So it’s back to Chicago to track down either or both of Laura Fremont and Grace Rehak. Problem is, the people who might have told him something keep turning up dead!
This 1949 hard-boiled detective novel was the third in the Paul Pine series. (The fourth, Taste of Ashes, is considered a classic.) Mr. Pine is a hard-drinking, heavy smoking fellow who gets coshed from behind a lot. He uses a lot of similes and vivid descriptions. “The foyer was large, with a tropical decor that would fool nobody south of the Arctic Circle.” He’s cynical, plays fast and loose with the rules of his profession, and isn’t trusted by the police, but has a small sentimental streak running underneath.
The author’s preface to the reprint edition reveals that he tried extra hard to make the killer not the least likely suspect, but “someone impossible to suspect.” Of course, if the reader goes in knowing that, it makes the clues a bit easier to spot.
Content note: Homophobia. Mr. Pine and the police are disgusted by lesbianism, and period societal homophobia is a contributing factor in why several bad things happen over the course of the story. The author’s preface notes that he shared those attitudes at the time of writing, but hopes the story can stand up regardless.
Overall: This is a fast-paced, colorfully written detective story with plenty of twists. Obviously not for everyone but hard-boiled fans should enjoy it fine.
December 22, 2017
Fast read, two-fisted, hard drinking detective story from one of my favorite authors. This story Presents itself in a somewhat scattered fashion. Found myself flipping back through the pages on more than one occasion to verify a point or clear up a question. By the end of the classic conclusion, where all the participants are gathered together in the library to hear the hero’s make his case, all is straighten out!
December 25, 2022
M’he fet un embolic amb els noms. Són divertides les cíniques apreciacions del protagonista. La trama incorpora punts de vista que avui en dia sonen anacròniques.
Minucioses descripcions; de vegades em semblaven supèrflues.
El plantejament de l’escena en la que ens explicaran la resolució del cas ens recordarà altres novel·les o films.
Minucioses descripcions; de vegades em semblaven supèrflues.
El plantejament de l’escena en la que ens explicaran la resolució del cas ens recordarà altres novel·les o films.
May 6, 2024
There were many Chandler imitators in the wake of Marlowe's stratospheric rise in the late 30's and 40's. Howard Browne's Paul Pine, a cynical, good-hearted PI based in Chicago, may be the best of the bunch.
This is the third Pine novel, following Halo in Blood and Halo For Satan. All of these first three are of roughly equal- and high- quality, but this one is a little smoother overall.
The plot is less confusing than Halo in Blood, even though Browne tried to make it "impossible" to deduce the murderer, according to the author's brief intro. And I didn't guess the culprit, but I don't think it was "impossible" to someone who pays closer attention than I do. I enjoy the dialogue and style foremost, and everything else secondarily.
For what it's worth, I think less of mysteries based on hidden or questionable identities than of other formulas. (It probably read like dynamite when it was published.) Skip that little criticism: there's lots of good, pseudo-Chandlerian dialogue in 'Brass,' and it feels less forced than it did sometimes in 'Blood.' Browne knew that's what paid the bills in those days, and that's why I seek his books out today.
As the book opens, our hero and narrator is consulting with a conservative old married couple in Lincoln, Nebraska. It seems their daughter moved to Chicago two years ago, and about one year back quit writing to them. They're worried about her, naturally, and hire Pine, who waives most of his fee for the friendly folks. He begins poking around such dark places as there are in Lincoln and picks up the girl's trail at a local bawdy house. From there (after one murder, the aftermath of which is not dealt with) he heads back to Chicago and continues searching in various night clubs and apartments, both high-rent and low-rent, and questions the girl's circle of close friends. How close were her friends? Well, there’s the rub.
It all wraps up in the time-honored gather-up-all-the-suspects-and-some-law-boys-in-a-rich-old-gentleman's-parlor method. Maybe Pine could have wrapped it up differently, or sooner; maybe he played it the best way. At any rate, the killer's facade cracks in front of everyone, and another case is solved.
It's a well-written trip to yesteryear, and as close to Chandler's form as you will find anywhere.
This is the third Pine novel, following Halo in Blood and Halo For Satan. All of these first three are of roughly equal- and high- quality, but this one is a little smoother overall.
The plot is less confusing than Halo in Blood, even though Browne tried to make it "impossible" to deduce the murderer, according to the author's brief intro. And I didn't guess the culprit, but I don't think it was "impossible" to someone who pays closer attention than I do. I enjoy the dialogue and style foremost, and everything else secondarily.
For what it's worth, I think less of mysteries based on hidden or questionable identities than of other formulas. (It probably read like dynamite when it was published.) Skip that little criticism: there's lots of good, pseudo-Chandlerian dialogue in 'Brass,' and it feels less forced than it did sometimes in 'Blood.' Browne knew that's what paid the bills in those days, and that's why I seek his books out today.
As the book opens, our hero and narrator is consulting with a conservative old married couple in Lincoln, Nebraska. It seems their daughter moved to Chicago two years ago, and about one year back quit writing to them. They're worried about her, naturally, and hire Pine, who waives most of his fee for the friendly folks. He begins poking around such dark places as there are in Lincoln and picks up the girl's trail at a local bawdy house. From there (after one murder, the aftermath of which is not dealt with) he heads back to Chicago and continues searching in various night clubs and apartments, both high-rent and low-rent, and questions the girl's circle of close friends. How close were her friends? Well, there’s the rub.
It all wraps up in the time-honored gather-up-all-the-suspects-and-some-law-boys-in-a-rich-old-gentleman's-parlor method. Maybe Pine could have wrapped it up differently, or sooner; maybe he played it the best way. At any rate, the killer's facade cracks in front of everyone, and another case is solved.
It's a well-written trip to yesteryear, and as close to Chandler's form as you will find anywhere.
September 7, 2015
This third volume in the adventures of Paul Pine, the insanely snarky detective who crashes through his cases like an enraged minotaur in a china shop, is the low point of an otherwise flawless tetralogy. Perhaps I should clarify; Paul's approach isn't really violent, and he doesn't often let his gat do the talking (unlike Mike Hammer), but he is so maniacally careless in his approach to detective work that he causes avoidable hardship for himself and gets other people whacked in his pursuit of the truth. His man-on-fire antics reach a ridiculous pinnacle in Halo in Brass, and even though I found the book enjoyable for other reasons, I was so annoyed by Pine's behavior in this one that I just might skip (or just skim) it if I ever reread the series.
I want to make it clear that "wrecking ball Pine," as I like to call him, is pretty unique; he is most definitely not a rip-off of compassionate Phil Marlowe as some aver. And even though this installment is pretty weak compared to the others, the prose is as thick with grimy, blood-stained noir atmosphere as it could possibly be. If you are an outright junky for classic detectives or just want to see how somebody handled lesbian subculture in a novel from the 1950s, by all means give it a read. If, however, you just want to experience one representative Howard Browne, this is not the right choice. Go with any of the other three instead, my personal favorite being Halo for Satan.
I want to make it clear that "wrecking ball Pine," as I like to call him, is pretty unique; he is most definitely not a rip-off of compassionate Phil Marlowe as some aver. And even though this installment is pretty weak compared to the others, the prose is as thick with grimy, blood-stained noir atmosphere as it could possibly be. If you are an outright junky for classic detectives or just want to see how somebody handled lesbian subculture in a novel from the 1950s, by all means give it a read. If, however, you just want to experience one representative Howard Browne, this is not the right choice. Go with any of the other three instead, my personal favorite being Halo for Satan.
November 8, 2008
One title in Harold Browne's P.I. Paul Pine series, HALO (written by "John Evans") originally appeared in 1948. The plot is pretty basic. The decided strengths are Browne's vintage hardboiled tone, Chandleresque metaphors, and gritty Chicago setting. "Poor old Pine" is a likeable P.I., going to movies and reading William P. McGivern, a fellow crime fiction writer. Enjoyable, brisk read.
February 21, 2008
Beautiful dames, ruthless murder, bottomless booze, and lesbians run amok. What more can you ask for??
(I only knock some stars off because it tries so hard to be as good as Chandler's stories... but it can't be).
(I only knock some stars off because it tries so hard to be as good as Chandler's stories... but it can't be).
Want to Read
February 3, 2019Synopsis: Pine is hired by a couple to find their missing daughter who fled to Chicago and has not been heard from in over nine months.
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews