God Save The Child

This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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He hunched the chair forward and wrote a check on the edge of my desk with a translucent ballpoint pen. Bartlett Construction was imprinted in the upper left corner of the check—I was going to be a business expense. Deductible. One keg of 8d nails, 500 feet of 2x4 utility grade, one gumshoe, 100 gallons of creosote stain. I took the check without looking at it and slipped it folded into my shirt pocket, casual, like I got them all the time and it was just something to pass along to my broker. Or maybe I'd buy some orchids with it.

Promised Land

Healy I knew of . He was chief investigator for the Essex County DA”s office. There were at least two first-run racketeers I knew who stayed out of Essex County because they didn't want any truck with him.

Healy said, ‘Didn't you used to work for the Suffolk County DA once?”

I said, “Yes.”

“Didn't they fire you for hotdogging?”

“I like to call it inner-directed behavior,” I said.

“I'll bet you do.” Healy said.

The Godwulf Manuscript

noir

God Save the Child

Susan Silverman wasn't beautiful. but there was an intangibility about her a physical reality, that made the secretary with the lime-green bosom seem insubstantial. She had should-length black hair and a thin dark Jewish face with prominent cheekbones. Tall, maybe five seven, with black eyes. It was hard to tell her age, but there was a sense about her of intelligent maturity which put her on my side of thirty...When she shook hands with me, I felt something click down the back of my solar plexus.

I said hello without stammering and sat down.

I had just finished washing my hands and face when the doorbell rang. Everything was ready. Ah, Spenser, what a touch. Everything was just right except that I couldn't seem to find a missing child. Well, nobody's perfect. I pushed the release button and opened my apartment door. I was wrong. Susan Silverman was perfect.

It took nearly forty years of savior faire to keep from saying “Golly.”...

“Come in,” I said. Very smooth. I didn't scuff my foot; I didn't mumble. I stood right up straight when I said it. I don't think I blushed.

So, sticking your nose into things and getting it broken allows you to live life on your own terms, perhaps.

“Why do you want to know?” [Susan asks]

“Because it's there. Because it's better to know than not to know in my line of work.”

know

God Save the Child

This may change in later novels in the series, but for the earlier volumes, I feel they are as interesting as cultural artifacts as they are as mysteries. 
A formula emerges: all women involved in the case will be irresistibly drawn to Spenser, comment on his physique without fail, and he will sleep with at least one. All architecture, ensembles and meals will be described in detail, which personally, in the case of the outfits, is fascinating.
Normative views and proposed psychology on gender and sexuality land somewhere between ignorant and backwards, and the first glance racialized and sexualized description introducing characters is off putting to modern sensibilities.
Perhaps showing my lack of sophistication but the people all seem to drink A LOT.
Strange dichotomy, where the hypermasculine protagonist appears to be completely laid back/understanding of friend/acquaintance/informant and bar full of strangers being gay, but happy to diagnose it as a psychological condition in a teenager. Ah, the 70s. 
Why do I keep reading? Because the series is also peppered with laconic self-effacing wit, sometimes surprisingly sensitive (especially for the times it was written in), and it turns out I love a tightly written detective-led mystery! 🤷🏼‍♂️
⚠️ Sexual harrassment, sexism, homophobia, pedophilia