Manuel Vázquez Montalbán (1939–2003)

This book may be over my head, much of the writing I did not understand. It seemed like endless lines which should have set a tone, or a place, or performed some task, but I never figured out what it was. Maybe it is because the snapshot or timeframe of Spanish history is largely unknown to me, but somehow it seemed important.

Overall it was kind of weird. I never figured out what Pepe Carvalho was all about other than another investigator-type, in this case "private detective", with an overriding culinary streak.

Is Carvalho the original foodie? Seems like every bit of crime fiction I read nowadays has to have a strong food angle: Tannie Maria (Sally Andrew), Vish Puri (Tarquin Hall), Salvo Montalbano (Andrea Camilleri) etc. Like when did all the fictional crime-solvers become gourmands? It is because of all those baking shows on TV nowadays?

Another aspect I didn’t quite get or believe is that every single character was forever quoting from literature, or some art figure. Every person was a literary savant. In the real world no one does that.

I do not believe I had ever heard of Manuel Vázquez Montalbán before finding this book so I was trying to keep an open mind. My first impression was to call this an average story. But then I got to thinking that I didn’t care for a single character, and there were scores as the book circled back and forth between the mains. I simply wasn’t engaged in any way with the story or events so it took me a long time to read what is really a short story. When I'd pick up the book to start reading again I had little idea of what was happening so would have to glance back a few pages to try and get back into it. At the end of the day I have to go with less-than-okay for this one.

There were a few passages I liked (see below), but by the middle the book not even those could save it.

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‘What about his wife? Why is she called Mima?’

‘From Miriam. It’s quite normal. All my clients are called Popo, Puli, Peni, Chocho, Fifi or somesuch. These days it’s chic to be "tired", and nothing tires you more than having to say someone's full name.… (mere)