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Skiptrace
"Cass Milam is the most lovable butch in Austin, Texas, and maybe in all of lesbian literature. Azolakov's smoothly flowing style creates a gripping thriller and a world of characters that... readers will want to hear more of." --Lizard Louise Reviews
175 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1988
35 people want to read
About the author
Antoinette Azolakov
6 books2 followersAntoinette Azolakov was born in Lufkin, Texas in 1944. Her father was in the U.S. Navy when she was born, and the Navy broke radio silence to tell him he had a baby girl. Antoinette has hardly been silent since. She taught high school English and Latin, worked in an explosives plant, as a welder, as a gas station attendant, as a landscape gardener and as a pet sitter. Her writing credits include several short stories and poems in various publications, four lesbian mysteries, and now her latest work, Ghostly Voices: Thirteen Texas Ghosts, available on Kindle. She is currently working on a new novel, Andrew Sparrow, set in early Texas. Her novel Skiptrace won the first Lambda Book Award for Best Lesbian Mystery. She lives with her ten cats and her Basset Hound in Austin, Texas.
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
August 3, 2012
I really wanted to like this one more than I did, maybe cos it won the first Lammy for mystery novel. Certainly, the protagonist, Cass, is likeable enough, and, though she doesn't occupy nearly enough of the story, her love interest, Lisa, is even more enjoyable to read about. The concept -- Cass trying to track down her ex of almost two decades ago -- is certainly fresh enough, and tying it in with a murder seems like it might make it even better. Somehow, though, the whole thing just doesn't seem to work for me, though I'm not positive why. I think maybe Azolakov tried to do too much, here, and more stern editing might have helped get keep things more on track. This is a murder story, suspense story, romance, character study, pro-gay polemic, and while none of those are undesirable traits in a novel, all of them together seem to make the novel less focused than it should have been.
Detail in a work of fiction is vital for the book to seem real, and, in general, the author does this well. Sometimes, though, the details contribute little other than to up space. That Cass likes Shiner beer is a nice sort of detail to add. How much spray starch she used on her laundry? Maybe not.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but, at least in my never opinion, of the 1989 Lambda finalists in its category, McNab's _Lessons in Murder_ is much the better book.
Detail in a work of fiction is vital for the book to seem real, and, in general, the author does this well. Sometimes, though, the details contribute little other than to up space. That Cass likes Shiner beer is a nice sort of detail to add. How much spray starch she used on her laundry? Maybe not.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but, at least in my never opinion, of the 1989 Lambda finalists in its category, McNab's _Lessons in Murder_ is much the better book.
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June 19, 2020One of my criteria for a good lesbian mystery is that the story should include some aspect of lesbian culture. Skiptrace does this in spades. In fact, I’m not sure that I’ve read a lesbian mystery that portrays in such detail what it is like to be a lesbian.
Cass Milan has many of the clichéd traits of a lesbian in the 1980s. She is a big, short-haired butch who drives a truck, drinks beer, and loves the outdoors. But Cass is also sensitive, and her sensitivity fuels the plot. At 38, Cass runs a successful landscape company and has the leisure to look back and reflect on her past. One thing gnaws at her: a failed relationship with her first lover, Claudia Fanding, who left Cass for a straight woman. Suddenly, Cass has an overwhelming urge to see Claudia again and find out how she is doing—but Claudia and her new lover, Judy Nesty, left town a decade and a half previously, so Cass hires a private investigator, Dean Caney, to locate her. Trouble is, Dean turns out to have unresolved, violent issues of his own toward lesbians.
When one of Cass’s friends turns up dead and Dean is implicated, Cass becomes concerned that he may find Claudia and kill her, too (it’s not as improbable as it sounds; well, maybe it is). Cass decides to try to find Claudia and Judy before Dean gets to them.
But as in so many cases, the plot is the least of the book. What stands out is Cass’s almost continual feeling of being out of place. When interviewing one of Claudia’s old neighbors, she is treated to a homophobic rant with biblical references. Another neighbor’s young daughter asks whether Cass is a boy or a girl. And Cass feels it to the core. When the woman she is dating calls, Cass tells us, “I got a warm sensation when I heard her voice. Of course, that could just be the relief of hearing a dyke again after an afternoon . . .wandering among heterosexuals.”
What she feels even more, though, is fear, and it’s hard to emphasize this fear enough. Dean has killed one of her friends and may be after another. He may, in fact, be after her, and she is badly frightened. Scared enough not to want to go home, enough to leave every light in her house on, to spend the night doing housework instead of trying to sleep. Azolakov describes it as “that cold, thick jelly of fear” and “that slime of fear.”
And of course the way she feels about the possibility of Dean attacking her is symbolic of the fear that many lesbians feel around men—today almost as much as 30 years ago. A bisexual friend of Cass’s undertakes a permanent relationship with a man because of, as she describes it, “all the pressure . . . all the disapproval.”
Short, even chapters make the book quite palatable and I noticed nary a typo or misused word, which leads me to wonder about the author even more than I usually do. Although Azolakov seems to be highly regarded by Lee Lynch and others early in her career, she was not—as far as I can determine—associated with Naiad Press or any of the other early queer-oriented publications. Instead, her books were all published by the mysterious Edward William Publishing Company under the colophon of Banned Books. Despite this, Skiptrace won the first Lambda Award in 1989. But after publishing four books in about 6 years, Azolakov wrote nothing until 2010, when she (presumably) self-released a volume of Texas ghost stories as an e-book. This volume seems to have been withdrawn in the last several years, though, and none of her other books have been republished in any form. This is a shame. As one of the first 30 lesbian mysteries ever published, it should be required reading for anyone interested in the genre. Round this one up (not down) to a Goodreads 4.
Note: I read the first Banned Books printing of this novel.
Another Note: This review is included in my book The Art of the Lesbian Mystery Novel, along with information on over 930 other lesbian mysteries by over 310 authors.
Cass Milan has many of the clichéd traits of a lesbian in the 1980s. She is a big, short-haired butch who drives a truck, drinks beer, and loves the outdoors. But Cass is also sensitive, and her sensitivity fuels the plot. At 38, Cass runs a successful landscape company and has the leisure to look back and reflect on her past. One thing gnaws at her: a failed relationship with her first lover, Claudia Fanding, who left Cass for a straight woman. Suddenly, Cass has an overwhelming urge to see Claudia again and find out how she is doing—but Claudia and her new lover, Judy Nesty, left town a decade and a half previously, so Cass hires a private investigator, Dean Caney, to locate her. Trouble is, Dean turns out to have unresolved, violent issues of his own toward lesbians.
When one of Cass’s friends turns up dead and Dean is implicated, Cass becomes concerned that he may find Claudia and kill her, too (it’s not as improbable as it sounds; well, maybe it is). Cass decides to try to find Claudia and Judy before Dean gets to them.
But as in so many cases, the plot is the least of the book. What stands out is Cass’s almost continual feeling of being out of place. When interviewing one of Claudia’s old neighbors, she is treated to a homophobic rant with biblical references. Another neighbor’s young daughter asks whether Cass is a boy or a girl. And Cass feels it to the core. When the woman she is dating calls, Cass tells us, “I got a warm sensation when I heard her voice. Of course, that could just be the relief of hearing a dyke again after an afternoon . . .wandering among heterosexuals.”
What she feels even more, though, is fear, and it’s hard to emphasize this fear enough. Dean has killed one of her friends and may be after another. He may, in fact, be after her, and she is badly frightened. Scared enough not to want to go home, enough to leave every light in her house on, to spend the night doing housework instead of trying to sleep. Azolakov describes it as “that cold, thick jelly of fear” and “that slime of fear.”
And of course the way she feels about the possibility of Dean attacking her is symbolic of the fear that many lesbians feel around men—today almost as much as 30 years ago. A bisexual friend of Cass’s undertakes a permanent relationship with a man because of, as she describes it, “all the pressure . . . all the disapproval.”
Short, even chapters make the book quite palatable and I noticed nary a typo or misused word, which leads me to wonder about the author even more than I usually do. Although Azolakov seems to be highly regarded by Lee Lynch and others early in her career, she was not—as far as I can determine—associated with Naiad Press or any of the other early queer-oriented publications. Instead, her books were all published by the mysterious Edward William Publishing Company under the colophon of Banned Books. Despite this, Skiptrace won the first Lambda Award in 1989. But after publishing four books in about 6 years, Azolakov wrote nothing until 2010, when she (presumably) self-released a volume of Texas ghost stories as an e-book. This volume seems to have been withdrawn in the last several years, though, and none of her other books have been republished in any form. This is a shame. As one of the first 30 lesbian mysteries ever published, it should be required reading for anyone interested in the genre. Round this one up (not down) to a Goodreads 4.
Note: I read the first Banned Books printing of this novel.
Another Note: This review is included in my book The Art of the Lesbian Mystery Novel, along with information on over 930 other lesbian mysteries by over 310 authors.
September 15, 2008
Naiad press publishes dozens of gay and lesbian titles, especially mysteries. This is more of a suspense book, set in Texas.
Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews