What do you think?
Rate this book
Kinky Friedman #1
Greenwich Killing Time
With a new introduction by the author, Greenwich Killing Time is now available for the first time in more than a decade. This is the first of Kinky Friedman's mystery novels. To quote the "Greenwich Killing Time was the first book I ever wrote. I wrote it in 1984 and it was published in 1986. I was doing a lot of Peruvian marching powder at the time so I don't remember too much about writing it, but I do recall a couple of things. I borrowed the title from my friend Ted Mann. I borrowed the typewriter, an old Smith-Corona, from my friend, the future Village Irregular, Mike McGovern. Mike graciously loaned me the typewriter claiming he'd missed many important deadlines with the instrument. It had, I later learned, once belonged to his mother before she'd been bugled to Jesus years earlier. I took this as a sign of the Lord's hand at work in the world. It could've been, of course, just another case of a Jew borrowing a typewriter. Though most of the books have been set in New York (with the exception of Armadillos and Old Lace, set in Texas, and the soon-to-be-published Steppin' On A Rainbow, set in Hawaii), Greenwich Killing Time is the only one that was written in New York. Some critics have remarked, not unkindly, we hope, that the book smells like New York. If this is true it is no doubt because of the truly visceral voyage one goes through in writing a first novel. It's almost as if your first novel writes you..."
166 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1986
36 people are currently reading
709 people want to read
About the author
Kinky Friedman
68 books286 followersRichard S. "Kinky" Friedman is an American singer, songwriter, novelist, humorist, politician and former columnist for Texas Monthly who styles himself in the mold of popular American satirists Will Rogers and Mark Twain. He was one of two independent candidates in the 2006 election for the office of Governor of Texas. Receiving 12.6% of the vote, Friedman placed fourth in the six-person race.
Friedman was born in Chicago to Jewish parents, Dr. S. Thomas Friedman and his wife Minnie (Samet) Friedman. The family moved to a ranch in central Texas a few years later. Friedman had an early interest in both music and chess, and was chosen at age 7 as one of 50 local players to challenge U.S. grandmaster Samuel Reshevsky to simultaneous matches in Houston. Reshevsky won all 50 matches, but Friedman was by far the youngest competitor.
Friedman graduated from Austin High School in Austin, Texas in 1962 and earned a Bachelor of Arts from the University of Texas at Austin in 1966, majoring in Psychology. He took part in the Plan II Honors program and was a member of the Tau Delta Phi fraternity. During his freshman year, Chinga Chavin gave Friedman the nickname "Kinky" because of his curly hair.
Friedman served two years in the United States Peace Corps, teaching on Borneo in Malaysia with John Gross. During his service in the Peace Corps, he met future Texas Jewboy road manager Dylan Ferrero, with whom he still works today. Friedman lives at Echo Hill Ranch, his family's summer camp near Kerrville, Texas. He founded Utopia Animal Rescue Ranch, also located near Kerrville, whose mission is to care for stray, abused and aging animals; more than 1,000 dogs have been saved from animal euthanasia.
Series:
* Kinky Friedman Mystery
Friedman was born in Chicago to Jewish parents, Dr. S. Thomas Friedman and his wife Minnie (Samet) Friedman. The family moved to a ranch in central Texas a few years later. Friedman had an early interest in both music and chess, and was chosen at age 7 as one of 50 local players to challenge U.S. grandmaster Samuel Reshevsky to simultaneous matches in Houston. Reshevsky won all 50 matches, but Friedman was by far the youngest competitor.
Friedman graduated from Austin High School in Austin, Texas in 1962 and earned a Bachelor of Arts from the University of Texas at Austin in 1966, majoring in Psychology. He took part in the Plan II Honors program and was a member of the Tau Delta Phi fraternity. During his freshman year, Chinga Chavin gave Friedman the nickname "Kinky" because of his curly hair.
Friedman served two years in the United States Peace Corps, teaching on Borneo in Malaysia with John Gross. During his service in the Peace Corps, he met future Texas Jewboy road manager Dylan Ferrero, with whom he still works today. Friedman lives at Echo Hill Ranch, his family's summer camp near Kerrville, Texas. He founded Utopia Animal Rescue Ranch, also located near Kerrville, whose mission is to care for stray, abused and aging animals; more than 1,000 dogs have been saved from animal euthanasia.
Series:
* Kinky Friedman Mystery
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 75 reviews
May 16, 2021
UN HOMAGE:
[All Character Descriptions
Courtesy of the Kinkster]
"If You're Inky, I Must Be Kinky"
I got back to my room in the Chelsea at about 3:27am sometime in 1982 and went straight to sleep. I was still a bit jet-lagged.
I'd been to a U2 concert at the Ritz with Abbie, who Stanley had introduced to me in the lobby. I was used to turning up at gigs at 10 or 11pm, so I went down just before ten and asked Stanley for directions to the venue. When I told him who I was seeing, he pointed to Abbie where she was sitting on a couch in the lobby, and said, "She's going too, but it won't start until 1am."
I introduced myself to Abbie, and she invited me to dinner with her and her friends, who were all going to the U2 concert.
One of her friends was Kinky Friedman. She introduced me to him by my nickname, "Inky". He was amused that it sounded like an abbreviation or contraction of his nickname. He actually called it a circumcision of his nom de plume.
At the time he wasn't playing many concerts, because he was working on some sort of theatre project. Kinky and I sat next to each other and talked theatre talk for a lot of the meal, before he started flirting with Abbie (who, it seemed, had already had some sort of relationship with him). I had started writing theatre reviews the previous year. I'd "seen" and reviewed 28 plays in 12 months, though I still didn't know much about theatre. I normally fell asleep after intermission/ drinks, and had to make up my reviews overnight. So knowledge and experience and attentiveness weren't a prerequisite for the task.
Kinky invited Abbie and me to come by his loft at noon the following day, and we would go to lunch with some of his friends who weren't coming to the concert.
I woke up the morning after the concert and went down to the lobby without checking my watch. I was hungry and planned on having some breakfast nearby. When I ran into Stanley, I said, "You're up early." He looked at the clock behind reception and responded, "It's 11am. Here's where you'll find me every day at this time". I panicked, because we were supposed to meet Kinky in an hour, and I didn't know how to get to his loft.
Fortunately, Abbie emerged at this point, and we headed off in the direction of 199B Vandam Street, Greenwich Village. Abbie was quite familar with the area.
On the way, we came across a street market which caught my attention, because one of the vendors was offering "Ears pierced, with or without pain." I inferred that the pain version cost more, even though you had an audience who could judge your reaction. My ears were already ringing from the concert, and I didn't fancy any more piercings or pain. My belly button still hadn't recovered from my last lifestyle experiment.
The Friggin' Village
When we arrived at Kinky's, Abbie called up from the exterior door. Then we watched Kinky come to his window and drop a key attached to a headless little negro doll with a parachute. Abbie caught it before it hit the pavement. Once inside the external door, the key opened the door to the freight elevator.
Kinky's loft had an industrial look and feel. Which means that the warehouse hadn't been renovated, refurbished or furnished. There was one long table which extended outwards from the kitchen, at which a whole lot of Kinky's friends were sitting. Apart from Kinky and Ratso, they looked like a panel at a mid-80's LGB convention. Either that or they looked like a bunch of unruly characters. Detective Mort Cooperman nailed it when he said that "Half the friggin' Village is bi, and the other half is pure fruit."
Ratso was an editor at a magazine, and looked the straightest of them all. He had a blue and white striped long-sleeved shirt with a blue pin-striped suit coat and pressed blue jeans. He liked to think he was a kind of broker between the business and creative communities. It didn't surprise me to learn that he had worked for Rolling Stone.
The women present weren't like other women. Gunner was the most conventional. She was blonde, British, and beautiful. I was the only male who paid her any attention, even though her accent got on my works. I didn't have to listen to her to like how she looked.
Darlene Rigby was a struggling young blonde actress. Despite her name and hair colour, she was very talented, very beautiful, and very determined to get to the top of her profession. In those days, being professional meant you'd do something/anything for money or for career advancement. Surely there must be a camp film director who would give her a role in a feature. Or a straight director who was equally determined to bed her and her career down - a role in exchange for a roll around on the casting couch.
Nina Kong was the lead singer in some new-wave country band that was in the process of signing a big recording contract. She was dressed in a dark, velvet, spiffily tailored suit, and some women do look good in black. She looked like a sinister, Oriental doll. Her voice and manner were those of a modern American girl, but her eyes were flickering with Eastern mischief. They were terrific. And then there was her upper lip. She could smile, sulk, beckon, or point in either direction with it. She could probably kill you with it.
Cynthia Floyd looked like a slightly weatherbeaten cheerleader. But only slightly. And that was pretty good for New York. She was also capable of looking ravishing, and once when she looked like that, she wanted to hug me and I let her. It didn't cost anything, and I'd hugged worse in my time. That night she was wearing a little pajama top that didn't go down too far but went a long way toward helping the two of us get a little better acquainted. It was hard to believe that a beautiful blonde could have wormed her way into my gypsy heart so easily.
Adrian was a drug dealer and stained-glass artist. She looked like a slinky waxen insect. She was wearing some kind of a black and red leather outfit that didn't do as much for her as it did for me. Still I was reluctant to look too closely, in case she punched me.
Initially, I couldn't tell what the two guys did, other than be gay or bi.
Barry Campbell was a handsome devil, a pretty boy, who looked like he'd just come back from the Caribbean or else he had been working the sunlamp overtime. Either way, he looked a shade too healthy and nobody likes that. Particularly in New York. He was a dancer who worked mainly at a place called the Blue Canary. He was also a male model. Big surprise.
Pete Myers was a fairly dapper Englishman as they go, with a little blue scarf-tie around his neck. He looked like the type who would have ridden to Kinky's on a bicycle. His plumage wasn't quite as spectacular as that of Campbell. He made and distributed pork pies and British pastries. He didn't look like the type who would be interested in Gunner, either in Greenwich Village or the UK.
The Big Wong
We soon left Kinky's loft and went to lunch at the Big Wong in Mott Street. It's still there, even though many of us aren't.
I can't remember much about what it was like. But it flowed inevitably from the characters who were present in that environment. Kinky would soon write his first novel about them in the same style, though for some strange reason he omitted to mention Abbie and me. (Maybe he didn't imagine us as murder suspects?) He did write a song and a later novel about Abbie Hoffman though. I must have slithered through the orifices of time, as is my wont.
SOUNDTRACK:
[All Character Descriptions
Courtesy of the Kinkster]
"If You're Inky, I Must Be Kinky"
I got back to my room in the Chelsea at about 3:27am sometime in 1982 and went straight to sleep. I was still a bit jet-lagged.
I'd been to a U2 concert at the Ritz with Abbie, who Stanley had introduced to me in the lobby. I was used to turning up at gigs at 10 or 11pm, so I went down just before ten and asked Stanley for directions to the venue. When I told him who I was seeing, he pointed to Abbie where she was sitting on a couch in the lobby, and said, "She's going too, but it won't start until 1am."
I introduced myself to Abbie, and she invited me to dinner with her and her friends, who were all going to the U2 concert.
One of her friends was Kinky Friedman. She introduced me to him by my nickname, "Inky". He was amused that it sounded like an abbreviation or contraction of his nickname. He actually called it a circumcision of his nom de plume.
At the time he wasn't playing many concerts, because he was working on some sort of theatre project. Kinky and I sat next to each other and talked theatre talk for a lot of the meal, before he started flirting with Abbie (who, it seemed, had already had some sort of relationship with him). I had started writing theatre reviews the previous year. I'd "seen" and reviewed 28 plays in 12 months, though I still didn't know much about theatre. I normally fell asleep after intermission/ drinks, and had to make up my reviews overnight. So knowledge and experience and attentiveness weren't a prerequisite for the task.
Kinky invited Abbie and me to come by his loft at noon the following day, and we would go to lunch with some of his friends who weren't coming to the concert.
I woke up the morning after the concert and went down to the lobby without checking my watch. I was hungry and planned on having some breakfast nearby. When I ran into Stanley, I said, "You're up early." He looked at the clock behind reception and responded, "It's 11am. Here's where you'll find me every day at this time". I panicked, because we were supposed to meet Kinky in an hour, and I didn't know how to get to his loft.
Fortunately, Abbie emerged at this point, and we headed off in the direction of 199B Vandam Street, Greenwich Village. Abbie was quite familar with the area.
On the way, we came across a street market which caught my attention, because one of the vendors was offering "Ears pierced, with or without pain." I inferred that the pain version cost more, even though you had an audience who could judge your reaction. My ears were already ringing from the concert, and I didn't fancy any more piercings or pain. My belly button still hadn't recovered from my last lifestyle experiment.
The Friggin' Village
When we arrived at Kinky's, Abbie called up from the exterior door. Then we watched Kinky come to his window and drop a key attached to a headless little negro doll with a parachute. Abbie caught it before it hit the pavement. Once inside the external door, the key opened the door to the freight elevator.
Kinky's loft had an industrial look and feel. Which means that the warehouse hadn't been renovated, refurbished or furnished. There was one long table which extended outwards from the kitchen, at which a whole lot of Kinky's friends were sitting. Apart from Kinky and Ratso, they looked like a panel at a mid-80's LGB convention. Either that or they looked like a bunch of unruly characters. Detective Mort Cooperman nailed it when he said that "Half the friggin' Village is bi, and the other half is pure fruit."
Ratso was an editor at a magazine, and looked the straightest of them all. He had a blue and white striped long-sleeved shirt with a blue pin-striped suit coat and pressed blue jeans. He liked to think he was a kind of broker between the business and creative communities. It didn't surprise me to learn that he had worked for Rolling Stone.
The women present weren't like other women. Gunner was the most conventional. She was blonde, British, and beautiful. I was the only male who paid her any attention, even though her accent got on my works. I didn't have to listen to her to like how she looked.
Darlene Rigby was a struggling young blonde actress. Despite her name and hair colour, she was very talented, very beautiful, and very determined to get to the top of her profession. In those days, being professional meant you'd do something/anything for money or for career advancement. Surely there must be a camp film director who would give her a role in a feature. Or a straight director who was equally determined to bed her and her career down - a role in exchange for a roll around on the casting couch.
Nina Kong was the lead singer in some new-wave country band that was in the process of signing a big recording contract. She was dressed in a dark, velvet, spiffily tailored suit, and some women do look good in black. She looked like a sinister, Oriental doll. Her voice and manner were those of a modern American girl, but her eyes were flickering with Eastern mischief. They were terrific. And then there was her upper lip. She could smile, sulk, beckon, or point in either direction with it. She could probably kill you with it.
Cynthia Floyd looked like a slightly weatherbeaten cheerleader. But only slightly. And that was pretty good for New York. She was also capable of looking ravishing, and once when she looked like that, she wanted to hug me and I let her. It didn't cost anything, and I'd hugged worse in my time. That night she was wearing a little pajama top that didn't go down too far but went a long way toward helping the two of us get a little better acquainted. It was hard to believe that a beautiful blonde could have wormed her way into my gypsy heart so easily.
Adrian was a drug dealer and stained-glass artist. She looked like a slinky waxen insect. She was wearing some kind of a black and red leather outfit that didn't do as much for her as it did for me. Still I was reluctant to look too closely, in case she punched me.
Initially, I couldn't tell what the two guys did, other than be gay or bi.
Barry Campbell was a handsome devil, a pretty boy, who looked like he'd just come back from the Caribbean or else he had been working the sunlamp overtime. Either way, he looked a shade too healthy and nobody likes that. Particularly in New York. He was a dancer who worked mainly at a place called the Blue Canary. He was also a male model. Big surprise.
Pete Myers was a fairly dapper Englishman as they go, with a little blue scarf-tie around his neck. He looked like the type who would have ridden to Kinky's on a bicycle. His plumage wasn't quite as spectacular as that of Campbell. He made and distributed pork pies and British pastries. He didn't look like the type who would be interested in Gunner, either in Greenwich Village or the UK.
The Big Wong
We soon left Kinky's loft and went to lunch at the Big Wong in Mott Street. It's still there, even though many of us aren't.
I can't remember much about what it was like. But it flowed inevitably from the characters who were present in that environment. Kinky would soon write his first novel about them in the same style, though for some strange reason he omitted to mention Abbie and me. (Maybe he didn't imagine us as murder suspects?) He did write a song and a later novel about Abbie Hoffman though. I must have slithered through the orifices of time, as is my wont.
SOUNDTRACK:
July 17, 2018
Hop in my time machine, kids, because we are headed back to the 80’s!
Greenwich Village, New York. Early 80’s. No cell phones. No internet. Not as progressive or health-conscious. Smoking, drinking, discrimination. And a misplaced cowboy detective and his band of irregulars.
Funny, irreverent, and extremely dated, you can tell this is Kinky’s first book once you have read any of the others. He’s ridiculous. But what do you expect from a guy who ran for governor of Texas with the slogan, “Kinky for governor. Why the hell not?” He didn’t win but I still have the T-shirt. 3 stars.
Greenwich Village, New York. Early 80’s. No cell phones. No internet. Not as progressive or health-conscious. Smoking, drinking, discrimination. And a misplaced cowboy detective and his band of irregulars.
Funny, irreverent, and extremely dated, you can tell this is Kinky’s first book once you have read any of the others. He’s ridiculous. But what do you expect from a guy who ran for governor of Texas with the slogan, “Kinky for governor. Why the hell not?” He didn’t win but I still have the T-shirt. 3 stars.
August 24, 2025
Kinky Friedman heeft een scherpe pen, een pittig gevoel voor humor en bouwt daarmee speelse detectives op die zich afspelen in Greenwich Village, New York.
We lazen met plezier, amuseerden ons met de grofgebekte, soms kurkdroge, soms hilarische dialogen of omschrijvingen en kabbelden zo moeiteloos mee naar de plot.
Die vonden we niet bijzonder indrukwekkend, maar in dit geval lijkt ons de rit er naartoe minstens even belangrijk als waar je aangekomen bent.
Hier en daar vroegen we ons af of de humor van Kinky Friedman of sommige van zijn opmerkingen vandaag nog getolereerd zouden worden.
Erg amusant, zonder meer.
We lazen met plezier, amuseerden ons met de grofgebekte, soms kurkdroge, soms hilarische dialogen of omschrijvingen en kabbelden zo moeiteloos mee naar de plot.
Die vonden we niet bijzonder indrukwekkend, maar in dit geval lijkt ons de rit er naartoe minstens even belangrijk als waar je aangekomen bent.
Hier en daar vroegen we ons af of de humor van Kinky Friedman of sommige van zijn opmerkingen vandaag nog getolereerd zouden worden.
Erg amusant, zonder meer.
February 27, 2019
How have I missed Kinky Friedman? I was reading fiction in the 80s, maybe not detective fiction, but there have been at least two decades where detective fiction was my Mother's milk. My first Kinky Friedman (and his) was an amazing read. All the PC millennials are shocked by the way some of the language that describe certain groups. Well that was the 80s baby! Your children will be talking about what an insensitive age we're living in now. The language in Kinky's first book is not what we're used to in this "enlightened era" LOL, but there is no hate preached by this Jewish country western singer.
What I loved was the clever dialogue and the number of still funny one-liners that Kinky brings to the table. Despite all it's faults I loved it for those reasons. We love a book not because of it's lack of weakness, but for its strengths. Sure the plot wasn't particularly strong and at the end you felt a little cheated on the whodunit end, but what a ride. I'm hooked, I'll be reading the whole series, I just have to divvy out the books to make them last. It's about time we had the "dewussification" of America. Chew on that you PC brats.
What I loved was the clever dialogue and the number of still funny one-liners that Kinky brings to the table. Despite all it's faults I loved it for those reasons. We love a book not because of it's lack of weakness, but for its strengths. Sure the plot wasn't particularly strong and at the end you felt a little cheated on the whodunit end, but what a ride. I'm hooked, I'll be reading the whole series, I just have to divvy out the books to make them last. It's about time we had the "dewussification" of America. Chew on that you PC brats.
March 30, 2016
Lame. Badly plotted. Unfunny.
But before you go any further, dear reader, I had better warn you of this SPOILER ALERT....
Trying to be the Raymond Chandler of the late twentieth century is a dangerous game to play, but I really don't think that Kinky Friedman (the writer) is clever enough to realise this. First of all, misogyny and homophobia just aren't funny any more. Then, of course, smoking and drinking aren't cool any more. So the narrator of this story comes across as a sad old dinosaur who is trying to be hip, but failing dismally.
Next, the writer has to know that there is an awful lot of really good detective fiction out there these days and good plotting is the fundamental requirement of this genre. If it's obvious from about 20% in to the story who the killer is, then the other 80% of the story is just smoke and mirrors, which the reader spends despising the detective for being such a dumb arse. This happened to me whilst wearily toiling through this story.
Finally, the issue of narrative technique seems to have eluded the writer. This involves the question of trust. The reader should not end the story feeling that they have been deliberately cheated. In making the main protagonist the narrator of the story, and writing the story in the past tense, the author is setting up the situation where the reader is being told a story by someone who has already experienced these events and knows how the story ends. It is sometimes acceptable for such a narrator to withold information from the reader, but it isn't acceptable to deliberately lie in order to mislead the reader. Every time the narrator referred to the killer as 'he' (and he does it a lot, presumably because he thinks this will disguise the obvious truth), my mind rebelled against such a deliberate piece of dishonesty.
Sorry, Kinky Friedman, you're just not up to it. A few paragraphs of Raymond Chandler parody is enough. A whole book of it? Sorry. No.
But before you go any further, dear reader, I had better warn you of this SPOILER ALERT....
Trying to be the Raymond Chandler of the late twentieth century is a dangerous game to play, but I really don't think that Kinky Friedman (the writer) is clever enough to realise this. First of all, misogyny and homophobia just aren't funny any more. Then, of course, smoking and drinking aren't cool any more. So the narrator of this story comes across as a sad old dinosaur who is trying to be hip, but failing dismally.
Next, the writer has to know that there is an awful lot of really good detective fiction out there these days and good plotting is the fundamental requirement of this genre. If it's obvious from about 20% in to the story who the killer is, then the other 80% of the story is just smoke and mirrors, which the reader spends despising the detective for being such a dumb arse. This happened to me whilst wearily toiling through this story.
Finally, the issue of narrative technique seems to have eluded the writer. This involves the question of trust. The reader should not end the story feeling that they have been deliberately cheated. In making the main protagonist the narrator of the story, and writing the story in the past tense, the author is setting up the situation where the reader is being told a story by someone who has already experienced these events and knows how the story ends. It is sometimes acceptable for such a narrator to withold information from the reader, but it isn't acceptable to deliberately lie in order to mislead the reader. Every time the narrator referred to the killer as 'he' (and he does it a lot, presumably because he thinks this will disguise the obvious truth), my mind rebelled against such a deliberate piece of dishonesty.
Sorry, Kinky Friedman, you're just not up to it. A few paragraphs of Raymond Chandler parody is enough. A whole book of it? Sorry. No.
February 17, 2016
I liked this book a lot. Kinky does something in his books that I find really awesome. He takes himself, and then makes himself the main character of a the novel, but completely fictionalized. Which honestly I think is what most people do, they just change the character's name, which takes away the awesomeness. Instead of saying "I like detectives I will write a story about one name 'blah, blah, blah," it is like he said,"I would make an awesome detective, and this is what I'd do." The only other book I have read by him is Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch, and that one involved three plots with Kinky trying to solve them all, whereas this one only had one plot. Now, I am trying to figure out what that means. Normally, I would guess it is assumed as someone becomes a better writer, they can integrate more plots and twist into the story and give it more depth, but I think at least with this style, that writing a full length novel around one story line is going to take more work and creativity. I don't know. If I ever see Kinky again I may just ask him.
July 12, 2016
All of the TV PI show tropes in one volume, plus a few of his own. KF is an ex-stoner, ex-singer turned Broadway show composer (so he says) and private eye...who isn't being paid by anyone, at least not in this first book. Like all TV shamuses, he fuels his body on tobacco smoke and alcohol, and yet is able to keep going for days. I read his third book before this one, but one of Friedman's personal tropes seems to be that a friend will insist on moving into his loft until the case is closed and not leaving his side. Yeah well--even a bodyguard can't stop a speeding bullet, and the tight buddy in question has to go to work, leaving him alone for at least 8 hrs a day, so what's the point, unless said friend is actually freeloading? But as this particular friend has an apartment and a job, unless he enjoys scant food and lousy TV reception, it's pretty odd.
Someone called this a Chandler parody; it's closer to a parody of The Rockford Files. Yeah, he gets beaten up and shot at. Has to, it goes with the job. Only thing missing is the stairwell chase scene. Unless the killer and victim were closely related, the plot falls apart, as faces differ. The foreshadowing, such as it is, rattles loudly. The ending was tell-not-show, of course, and pretty silly. Pure 70s TV as I said. And to the readers who expect 21st century political correctness in a book written 30 years ago, all I can say is "wake up and smell the cappuchino." But it passed a very hot summer afternoon, which is all I required of it.
Someone called this a Chandler parody; it's closer to a parody of The Rockford Files. Yeah, he gets beaten up and shot at. Has to, it goes with the job. Only thing missing is the stairwell chase scene. Unless the killer and victim were closely related, the plot falls apart, as faces differ. The foreshadowing, such as it is, rattles loudly. The ending was tell-not-show, of course, and pretty silly. Pure 70s TV as I said. And to the readers who expect 21st century political correctness in a book written 30 years ago, all I can say is "wake up and smell the cappuchino." But it passed a very hot summer afternoon, which is all I required of it.
July 3, 2016
one thing I had to keep in mind while I was reading this is that it is a product of the 80s. I really can't imagine how the way that Kinky Friedman (the narrator and the author) talks about his predominantly gay community would have sounded to someone in the 80s: surprisingly accepting? ignorant? thinking about this while I was reading did take away from whether the book was entirely fun to read. no one is written respectfully or with any sense of gravitas; the whole thing is clearly tongue-in-cheek, written for people who want to be dragged all around a city by a man who's rarely sober, always has a cigar (even if he has to dig it out of the trash), and doesn't treat anything like it's sacred. I noticed that there is a lot of the same language in this book as in the first Kinky book I read (#9, The Love Song of J. Edgar Hoover). it's the same characters, doing very similar things - although the mysteries are quite different, and the newer book has slightly more thoughtful(? modern?) language (the word "negro" does not appear in #9, for example, as far as I can remember).
I enjoy the absurdity of the mysteries and the cast. I would consider these character-driven. anyone who doesn't find Kinky (the author or the narrator) at all entertaining would really not get much from these books.
I enjoy the absurdity of the mysteries and the cast. I would consider these character-driven. anyone who doesn't find Kinky (the author or the narrator) at all entertaining would really not get much from these books.
June 1, 2021
I'm a big Kinky Friedman fan; however I had not gotten around to reading this, his first mystery novel from the 80"s. Kinky did not disappoint, funny, irreverent, over the top and totally politically incorrect. Sort of going back to NYC in the 1980's a time when there were no cell phones, no internet, people smoked cigars and cigarettes where ever and when ever they pleased, drinking alcohol beverages was OK without any ubiquitous bottles of spring water and hand sanitizers. Meanwhile, we follow our intrepid Kinky as he tries to solve a crime with the help of his friends "the Village Irregulars" while providing us with incredibly funny jokes and observations.
Apparently, Kinky bases many of the his friends as characters for his mystery and NYC and various establishments which are still around. Keep the one liners coming, Kinky.
Apparently, Kinky bases many of the his friends as characters for his mystery and NYC and various establishments which are still around. Keep the one liners coming, Kinky.
September 12, 2016
All of Kinky Friedman's books are fun. All of Kinky Friedman's books are fun. All of... Look I'm being no more repetitious than he can be when recycling material. I should say this is the only review I'm going to do of his stuff. They are well written, wryly humorous and probably, when on form, the closest you can actually get to a modern day Chandler, but they are also pretty much the same book over and over- which didn't stop me reading 14 or 15 of the blighters. Also I prefer them to Elmore Leonard and James Ellroy, the former is annoying when in overly-stylised mode and the latter a little bit underwhelming, although I haven't read everything they've written to be fair.
July 17, 2018
I think this is the first in a series of whodunits by Kinky Friedman, a Jewish country and western singer and former peace corp volunteer. He actually is less limited than that. In the series, he plays himself, solving murders in Manhattan with a cast of possibly real people. The stories are fun and not bad mysteries. I probably read this in the 80's but don't really remember it. It was certainly good the second time around. It's worth it.
May 26, 2020
Yeah, this ain't my cup o' tea. Author tried way too hard way too often to be funny. Like every sentence on some pages, every word on others. Tried being the operative word, seemed to be done more for padding than anything else. I called the culprit way early but didn't have most the motive till told it at the climax. This is pretty much pure 80's bombast in a world I've no interest in.
March 3, 2020
3.5 stars. Look, I feel that on a normal day, I would never like a book such as this. I don’t like mystery. I don’t like detective stories. I don’t like noir, but, damnit, I liked this book. I giggled aloud at least 20 times while reading this. Lines like “get so high you’ll need a step ladder to scratch your ass” and “maybe Karen Carpenter and Mama Cass should have shared that ham sandwich”. C’mon! This book doesn’t take itself too seriously, and you shouldn’t take it too seriously either, because you might just enjoy it.
June 12, 2018
I've never been into murder mysteries, but in this book I LOVED Friedman's writing style and wondered why it took me so long to find him. This story is also a fabulous time capsule of New York City and the Village in the '80s, and nearly every page held some causal comment, witty play, or cultural commentary that either stopped me in my tracks or made me laugh out loud. I'm not a murder mystery convert, but I really enjoyed reading this book.
March 31, 2018
fun, funny, clever, silly, smart, intriguing and absolutely over-the-top. bisexuals, drag queens, dope addicts, hulking russians, and some at the craziest comparisons you've laughed at.
I'm not sure, but I don't even think the entire murder spree was solved in the end. who cares! read it, it's a stitch.
I'm not sure, but I don't even think the entire murder spree was solved in the end. who cares! read it, it's a stitch.
May 7, 2018
Some of the writing seemed dated. And at times I had trouble following some of the character lines, but in the end it was a good murder mystery solved. The host of my book club this month actually arranged a phone interview with Kinky Friedman and he was very friendly and entertaining. I also saw the scenes of this book in black and white just like an old detective movie.
October 10, 2019
It's stupid, but good stupid. Odds are, if you like Fletch, you'll like this. Kinky Friedman is a wisecracking amateur PI who also happens to be a cigar chomping country music singer living, for some reason, in Greenwich Village. With a cast of eccentric Village characters and a bad joke in almost every paragraph, this book is nonstop fun.
March 2, 2017
Some good one-liners in here. Published in the mid-80s and definitely shows it. For one - character and/or author - looking to break into the broadway scene, the gay/bi scene is handled exceptionally oddly, it seems to me.
Maybe the whole thing is less homage and more spoof of the style?
Maybe the whole thing is less homage and more spoof of the style?
April 12, 2020
This is the second time I read this book and it was just as great as the first time. So damn funny while also being a great mystery. All of Kinky’s books are great and eventually I plan on re-reading them all.
October 28, 2019
Іноді треба переслуховувати свою улюблену книгу і розуміти що вона все ще шедевральна
November 11, 2018
A fun read. . .
Great fun. Witty and entertaining. Great weekend read for escaping the real world for a few hours. Love the Kinkster.
Great fun. Witty and entertaining. Great weekend read for escaping the real world for a few hours. Love the Kinkster.
April 20, 2019
Probably 3.5 but...
Not as good as Lone Star, heavier going and less zingy.
Neat little murder mystery though.
Not as good as Lone Star, heavier going and less zingy.
Neat little murder mystery though.
August 16, 2024
“There was no sense waiting for the call that was going to change my life. It would come all right. But those kinds of calls come about seven minutes too late to make any difference.”
May 16, 2023
Detective fiction/Murder mystery series set in Greenwich Village, Manhattan, NYC, 196 pages
'Kinky' is the title character in this first of about 20 semi-autobiographical murder mystery novels, written in first person POV, dialogue driven, delivered in rapid fire pun-filled snappy patter consistently laugh out loud funny. Anyone who enjoys detective fiction will appreciate the Kinkster's riffing on masters of the genre, particularly Raymond Chandler and Arthur Conan Doyle, also film adaptations of those authors, for example Kinky's Greenwich Village apartment is accessible only by freight elevator and located below a lesbian dance studio, a setting borrowed directly from Robert Altman's 1973 film adaptation of Raymond Chandler's The Long Goodbye. New Yorkers who've reviewed the novel praise the colorful geographical details of Greenwich Village. The main character's cigar smoking, hard drinking, male chauvinist personality is dated relative to post-internet social filters but it's true to form in the same way that Sherlock Holmes and Philip Marlowe maintain their fictional identities. I've read about 13 of the books during the 1990s as they were published and this is my favorite. Recommended.
'Kinky' is the title character in this first of about 20 semi-autobiographical murder mystery novels, written in first person POV, dialogue driven, delivered in rapid fire pun-filled snappy patter consistently laugh out loud funny. Anyone who enjoys detective fiction will appreciate the Kinkster's riffing on masters of the genre, particularly Raymond Chandler and Arthur Conan Doyle, also film adaptations of those authors, for example Kinky's Greenwich Village apartment is accessible only by freight elevator and located below a lesbian dance studio, a setting borrowed directly from Robert Altman's 1973 film adaptation of Raymond Chandler's The Long Goodbye. New Yorkers who've reviewed the novel praise the colorful geographical details of Greenwich Village. The main character's cigar smoking, hard drinking, male chauvinist personality is dated relative to post-internet social filters but it's true to form in the same way that Sherlock Holmes and Philip Marlowe maintain their fictional identities. I've read about 13 of the books during the 1990s as they were published and this is my favorite. Recommended.
September 30, 2024
Interesting story I guess, especially the setting, Greenwich Village in the 80s. But like so many hard-boiled detective stories this one tried way too hard for colorful slangy dialogue, and because it was first-person that included all the narrative as well. I had trouble telling what was going on, including one point where our hero apparently had sex. Usually that's pretty clear. Also confusing was the large cast of quirky friends; this is the first in a series but no indication of how this guy knew these people, who often had suspiciously helpful skills. Might be worth reading another in the series to see if he lightens up on the language.
March 14, 2025
This is my second time reading the book. My first is when it just came out, and I fell in love with the whole idea; a Jewish country music star living in aloft in Greenwich village, smoking cigars, drinking espresso, engaging in hilariously bad wisecracks and solving murders.
Now after the space of 20 some years, wow has this book dated. He's almost constant LGBTQ slurs may have played well in Texas, but not in this modern time. Definitely not PC.
Still, outside of those differences, the man can write an engaging tale. Engaging characters, weird situations, and the backdrop of New York all come together to make a pretty good mystery.
Now after the space of 20 some years, wow has this book dated. He's almost constant LGBTQ slurs may have played well in Texas, but not in this modern time. Definitely not PC.
Still, outside of those differences, the man can write an engaging tale. Engaging characters, weird situations, and the backdrop of New York all come together to make a pretty good mystery.
October 13, 2017
Een buurman van Mc Govern, vriend van Kinky en journalist, is vermoord, en mc Govern wordt ervan beschuldigd omdat pistool in zijn flat ligt. Kinky gelooft niet dat mc Govern de dader is en gaat op zoek naar wat er gebeurd kan zijn. Twee van de recente sex- partners van de vermoorde man worden vervolgens ook vermoord net als de bovenbuurvrouw, een coke-dealer die bijna nooit haar huis uit komt. Verhaal vol drank, coke en nachtleven van New York.
September 28, 2021
Quite a bit of fun but some very dated attitudes to various things (e.g. women, gays), they were probably funny years ago but now grate on me a bit. I had planned to read a lot more of the Kinky Friedman series, as I really enjoyed Blast from the Past when I read it several years back, but for now I'll put the Kinkster on hold.
September 28, 2021
Kinky tries to be funny. I understand that sacrilege is his main shtick, whether in his books or his songs. It probably went over better in the '80's when this book was written than it does today. However, there were some lines that I had to read out loud, as they were pretty darn funny. And the mystery part of the novel was a fairly unique take on mystery plots.
July 2, 2024
Friedman Hits #1
Kinky Friedman #1
First book from the late singer and author about a character also named Kinky Friedman and a real almost harboured crime yarn which was a neat little tale, raw and not always sensical, but with humour and a good yarn to grab hold of, and it did not wear out its welcome.
Kinky Friedman #1
First book from the late singer and author about a character also named Kinky Friedman and a real almost harboured crime yarn which was a neat little tale, raw and not always sensical, but with humour and a good yarn to grab hold of, and it did not wear out its welcome.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 75 reviews