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Charlie Mortdecai #1
Don't Point That Thing at Me
A cult classic in the UK since its first publication there in the 1970s, Don't Point That Thing at Me is the first of a series of hilarious and dark-humored crime thrillers featuring the Honorable Charlie Mortdecai: degenerate aristocrat, amoral art dealer, seasoned epicurean, unwilling assassin, and acknowledged coward.
With his thuggish manservant - the incomparably named Jock Strapp - Mortdecai endures all manner of nastiness involving stolen paintings, a vintage Rolls Royce, secret police, a whirlwind trip to the United States, a dead client, and a ravishing and wealthy young widow...all just to make a dishonest living. He's not one to pass up a drink - or too many - and he prides himself on being stylishly dressed for whatever occasion may present itself, no matter how debauched. Don't miss this brilliant mixture of comedy, crime, and suspense.
With his thuggish manservant - the incomparably named Jock Strapp - Mortdecai endures all manner of nastiness involving stolen paintings, a vintage Rolls Royce, secret police, a whirlwind trip to the United States, a dead client, and a ravishing and wealthy young widow...all just to make a dishonest living. He's not one to pass up a drink - or too many - and he prides himself on being stylishly dressed for whatever occasion may present itself, no matter how debauched. Don't miss this brilliant mixture of comedy, crime, and suspense.
174 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1972
253 people are currently reading
4503 people want to read
About the author
Kyril Bonfiglioli
34 books101 followersKyril Bonfiglioli was variously an art dealer, editor, and writer.
He wrote four books featuring Charlie Mortdecai, three of which were published in his lifetime, and one posthumously as completed by the satirist Craig Brown. Charlie Mortdecai is the fictional art dealer anti-hero of the series. His character resembles, among other things, an amoral Bertie Wooster with occasional psychopathic tendencies. His books are still in print and have been translated into several different languages including Spanish, French, Italian, German and Japanese.
Bonfiglioli's style and novel structure have often been favourably compared to that of P. G. Wodehouse. Mortdecai and his manservant Jock Strapp bear a fun-house mirror relation to Wodehouse's Wooster and Jeeves. The author makes a nod to this comparison by having Mortdecai reference Wodehouse in the novels.
He wrote four books featuring Charlie Mortdecai, three of which were published in his lifetime, and one posthumously as completed by the satirist Craig Brown. Charlie Mortdecai is the fictional art dealer anti-hero of the series. His character resembles, among other things, an amoral Bertie Wooster with occasional psychopathic tendencies. His books are still in print and have been translated into several different languages including Spanish, French, Italian, German and Japanese.
Bonfiglioli's style and novel structure have often been favourably compared to that of P. G. Wodehouse. Mortdecai and his manservant Jock Strapp bear a fun-house mirror relation to Wodehouse's Wooster and Jeeves. The author makes a nod to this comparison by having Mortdecai reference Wodehouse in the novels.
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July 11, 2015
”Destroying the painting was out of the question: my soul is all stained and shagged with sin like a cigarette smoker’s moustache but I am quite incapable of destroying works of art. Steal them, yes, cheerfully, it is a mark of respect and love, but destroy them, never. Why even the Woosters had a code, as we are told on the highest authority.”
Johnny Depp plays Mortdecai in the 2015 movie. I’ve not seen it, but most of the reviewers are torching it. Regardless, I will eventually watch it.”
Charlie Mortdecai is a cad of the worst kind. He is educated, capable of refinement, a degenerate member of the upper crust, a gluttonous eater of fine foods, a dabbler in fine art, and a man readily admitting that he lacks moral courage. He is completely untrustworthy except when it comes to doing what is absolutely best for Charlie. He quotes P. G. Wodehouse though he has little in common with Bertie Wooster, except for an occasional bout of self-centered bumbling, and certainly his thuggish manservant Jock Strapp is no Jeeves.
When a Goya goes missing, Mortdecai is the primary and only suspect. He is given a visit by his arch-nemesis Martland. ”Martland has only two personalities--Wilde and Eeyore. Nevertheless, he is a very cruel and dangerous policeman.” After Charlie, with the help of Jock, convinces Martland to beat it, Mortdecai starts making plans to sell the painting because, of course, he did steal the painting.
”The truth had to be delivered in carefully spaced rations, so as to give him a healthy appetite for later lies.”
Now Martland, and it turns out others, isn’t trying to get the painting back to return it to the rightful owners. They are planning to steal it from the thief and sell it themselves. They are quite willing to step over the cooling corpse of a certain Mortdecai to do so.
Mortdecai might be portly, but when his life is on the line, he becomes very light on his feet. He hides the Goya in his Rolls Royce and has it hoisted on to the boat that will take him to America to meet his Southwestern American buyer.
When he arrives in America, his first challenge is conquering the Old Oklahoma Cattleman’s Breakfast Special or the O.O.C.B.S.. It is a thick raw steak, a hunk of salt bacon the size of Jocks’ fist, sourdough biscuits, a pot of hot coffee, and a half a gill of rye whiskey. ”Britain’s honour lay in pawn to my knife and fork.” If there is ever a man who can overcome a pile of food, it is Charlie Mortdecai. ”Tis from scenes like this that Britain’s greatness springs. I accepted a free drink from the barman, shook hands gravely and made a good exit. Not all Ambassadors sit in Embassies, you know.”
Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie will forever be Jeeves and Wooster for me. There are certainly many oddish references to Wodehouse’s famous creations in this novel.
His next challenge, with some form of special police hot on his tail, is arriving to meet his wealthy American buyer only to greet his mortal remains. Now unscrupulous American buyers for stolen art are not that easy to come by. They are as rare as moments of morality are for Mortdecai. This is a pickle of a different hue. The luscious and lascivious widow proves to be friendly even though she doesn’t imbibe with Mortdecai’s favorite concoction on earth. Is it possible to trust anyone who…?
”’I never drink alcohol. I do not like to blunt my senses.’
‘Goodness’, I babbled, ‘but how awful for you. Not drinking, I mean imagine getting up in the morning knowing that you’re not going to feel any better all day.’
‘But I feel lovely all day, every day. Feel me.’ I spilled quite a lot of my drink.
‘No, really,’ she said, ‘feel.’
I gingerly prodded a golden, rounded forearm.
‘Not there, stupid; here!’ She flipped a button open and two of the most beautiful….”
I’ll leave it to your imagination as to what sprang out of her blouse.
Things go from dire to disastrous, and Mortdecai finds himself on the verge of epic failure without a pot of hot tea or a pint of whiskey anywhere in sight. In fact, Kyril Bonifiglioli leaves our anti-hero in such dreadful straits that I will have to read the next book in the trilogy to see how Mortdecai, even with the survival instincts of a trapped rat, extracts himself from certain extinction.
The interesting thing about this book is that I approached it thinking it would be a breezy affair, a bit of irreverent humor with an adorably unlikeable character that would make for an enjoyable afternoon. What I found was, yes, it is humorous and bawdy, but it is certainly not breezy. I had to pay attention, because the cheeky references and the amusing asides were coming fast and furious. This is a short book by most standards, but it is certainly packed with deftly conceived sentences that sometimes required a second pass to catch the undertow of impertinent meaning.
Ma’am would you mind stepping a bit closer….Kyril Bonfiglioli
The author’s description of himself lends me to believe that many of Mortdecai’s more salacious personality traits may have been drawn from his own character. He was an art dealer, accomplished fencer, a fair shot with most weapons, and a serial marrier of beautiful women. He claimed to be ‘abstemious in all things except drink, food, tobacco, and talking,’ and ‘loved and respected by all who knew him slightly.’
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
I also have a Facebook blogger page at:https://www.facebook.com/JeffreyKeeten
Johnny Depp plays Mortdecai in the 2015 movie. I’ve not seen it, but most of the reviewers are torching it. Regardless, I will eventually watch it.”
Charlie Mortdecai is a cad of the worst kind. He is educated, capable of refinement, a degenerate member of the upper crust, a gluttonous eater of fine foods, a dabbler in fine art, and a man readily admitting that he lacks moral courage. He is completely untrustworthy except when it comes to doing what is absolutely best for Charlie. He quotes P. G. Wodehouse though he has little in common with Bertie Wooster, except for an occasional bout of self-centered bumbling, and certainly his thuggish manservant Jock Strapp is no Jeeves.
When a Goya goes missing, Mortdecai is the primary and only suspect. He is given a visit by his arch-nemesis Martland. ”Martland has only two personalities--Wilde and Eeyore. Nevertheless, he is a very cruel and dangerous policeman.” After Charlie, with the help of Jock, convinces Martland to beat it, Mortdecai starts making plans to sell the painting because, of course, he did steal the painting.
”The truth had to be delivered in carefully spaced rations, so as to give him a healthy appetite for later lies.”
Now Martland, and it turns out others, isn’t trying to get the painting back to return it to the rightful owners. They are planning to steal it from the thief and sell it themselves. They are quite willing to step over the cooling corpse of a certain Mortdecai to do so.
Mortdecai might be portly, but when his life is on the line, he becomes very light on his feet. He hides the Goya in his Rolls Royce and has it hoisted on to the boat that will take him to America to meet his Southwestern American buyer.
When he arrives in America, his first challenge is conquering the Old Oklahoma Cattleman’s Breakfast Special or the O.O.C.B.S.. It is a thick raw steak, a hunk of salt bacon the size of Jocks’ fist, sourdough biscuits, a pot of hot coffee, and a half a gill of rye whiskey. ”Britain’s honour lay in pawn to my knife and fork.” If there is ever a man who can overcome a pile of food, it is Charlie Mortdecai. ”Tis from scenes like this that Britain’s greatness springs. I accepted a free drink from the barman, shook hands gravely and made a good exit. Not all Ambassadors sit in Embassies, you know.”
Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie will forever be Jeeves and Wooster for me. There are certainly many oddish references to Wodehouse’s famous creations in this novel.
His next challenge, with some form of special police hot on his tail, is arriving to meet his wealthy American buyer only to greet his mortal remains. Now unscrupulous American buyers for stolen art are not that easy to come by. They are as rare as moments of morality are for Mortdecai. This is a pickle of a different hue. The luscious and lascivious widow proves to be friendly even though she doesn’t imbibe with Mortdecai’s favorite concoction on earth. Is it possible to trust anyone who…?
”’I never drink alcohol. I do not like to blunt my senses.’
‘Goodness’, I babbled, ‘but how awful for you. Not drinking, I mean imagine getting up in the morning knowing that you’re not going to feel any better all day.’
‘But I feel lovely all day, every day. Feel me.’ I spilled quite a lot of my drink.
‘No, really,’ she said, ‘feel.’
I gingerly prodded a golden, rounded forearm.
‘Not there, stupid; here!’ She flipped a button open and two of the most beautiful….”
I’ll leave it to your imagination as to what sprang out of her blouse.
Things go from dire to disastrous, and Mortdecai finds himself on the verge of epic failure without a pot of hot tea or a pint of whiskey anywhere in sight. In fact, Kyril Bonifiglioli leaves our anti-hero in such dreadful straits that I will have to read the next book in the trilogy to see how Mortdecai, even with the survival instincts of a trapped rat, extracts himself from certain extinction.
The interesting thing about this book is that I approached it thinking it would be a breezy affair, a bit of irreverent humor with an adorably unlikeable character that would make for an enjoyable afternoon. What I found was, yes, it is humorous and bawdy, but it is certainly not breezy. I had to pay attention, because the cheeky references and the amusing asides were coming fast and furious. This is a short book by most standards, but it is certainly packed with deftly conceived sentences that sometimes required a second pass to catch the undertow of impertinent meaning.
Ma’am would you mind stepping a bit closer….Kyril Bonfiglioli
The author’s description of himself lends me to believe that many of Mortdecai’s more salacious personality traits may have been drawn from his own character. He was an art dealer, accomplished fencer, a fair shot with most weapons, and a serial marrier of beautiful women. He claimed to be ‘abstemious in all things except drink, food, tobacco, and talking,’ and ‘loved and respected by all who knew him slightly.’
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit http://www.jeffreykeeten.com
I also have a Facebook blogger page at:https://www.facebook.com/JeffreyKeeten
December 29, 2014
Most authors make their stories work through plot, or characters, or sometimes both. Some make them work through sheer attitude. Sometimes this latter approach works fabulously (see Don Winslow, Chuck Palahniuk, and Josh Bazell), but it's easy to fall off this particular tightrope. For example: Don't Point That Thing At Me, author Bonfiglioli's first outing with his series character Charlie Mortdecai.
Mortdecai is a fringe member of the minor British nobility in the early 1970s. He's a sometime shady art dealer and a full-time effete snob, sot and wastrel attended by Jock, a thuggish butler/manservant. Mortdecai's ended up with a stolen Goya that he intends to unload on a wealthy American collector if he can enlist the aid of a shadowy British police unit without unduly arousing its interest in his business.
So far, so good; an antihero is often more entertaining than a traditional straight-up hero. But antiheroes need to be either interesting, fun, or both, especially if they're otherwise despicable people. Here lies this book's first great failing. Mortdecai spins this tale for us in first-person narrative, but his voice -- which is clearly meant to be arch and droll and a bit world-weary -- is by turns peevish, snide, obscure, and repetitious. Charlie's not nearly as funny as he thinks he is (his humor isn't as much dry as it is muddled) nor as smart or devious as he wants to be. This is part of the reason it took what in retrospect is an absurdly long time for me to read such a tiny (166 pages) book -- there was only so much Charlie I could abide in one sitting.
I've struggled to come up with a genre tag for this novel. It's not a mystery: very little happens that requires deciphering. It's not a caper: Charlie's planning horizon seems to be measured in minutes, and there's no great job/scam payoff at the end. The New Yorker calls it a "collaboration between P.G. Wodehouse and Ian Fleming," which far oversells the case; it has neither Wodehouse's wit nor Fleming's thrills. That what plot there is takes those aforementioned 166 pages to resolve itself owes more to Charlie's habit of using twenty words (plus an untranslated French adage) when a handful would do nicely. The novel's tone veers suddenly in the last 10% into something very different from what comes before, adding to the narrative's neither-fish-nor-fowl condition.
I picked this up overseas as an experiment in reading an author I've neither seen nor heard of at home. Once I brought it back here, I learned that it's been made into a film starring Johnny Depp. It's a good choice; Depp has a gift for bringing outlandish characters to raucous life, something this story really needs. There are three more chapters in the Mortdecai saga, plus a prequel of sorts, so if you like this one, there's more to be had. I'll pass. Despite my initial high hopes, Don't Point That Thing At Me clearly isn't aimed at me.
Mortdecai is a fringe member of the minor British nobility in the early 1970s. He's a sometime shady art dealer and a full-time effete snob, sot and wastrel attended by Jock, a thuggish butler/manservant. Mortdecai's ended up with a stolen Goya that he intends to unload on a wealthy American collector if he can enlist the aid of a shadowy British police unit without unduly arousing its interest in his business.
So far, so good; an antihero is often more entertaining than a traditional straight-up hero. But antiheroes need to be either interesting, fun, or both, especially if they're otherwise despicable people. Here lies this book's first great failing. Mortdecai spins this tale for us in first-person narrative, but his voice -- which is clearly meant to be arch and droll and a bit world-weary -- is by turns peevish, snide, obscure, and repetitious. Charlie's not nearly as funny as he thinks he is (his humor isn't as much dry as it is muddled) nor as smart or devious as he wants to be. This is part of the reason it took what in retrospect is an absurdly long time for me to read such a tiny (166 pages) book -- there was only so much Charlie I could abide in one sitting.
I've struggled to come up with a genre tag for this novel. It's not a mystery: very little happens that requires deciphering. It's not a caper: Charlie's planning horizon seems to be measured in minutes, and there's no great job/scam payoff at the end. The New Yorker calls it a "collaboration between P.G. Wodehouse and Ian Fleming," which far oversells the case; it has neither Wodehouse's wit nor Fleming's thrills. That what plot there is takes those aforementioned 166 pages to resolve itself owes more to Charlie's habit of using twenty words (plus an untranslated French adage) when a handful would do nicely. The novel's tone veers suddenly in the last 10% into something very different from what comes before, adding to the narrative's neither-fish-nor-fowl condition.
I picked this up overseas as an experiment in reading an author I've neither seen nor heard of at home. Once I brought it back here, I learned that it's been made into a film starring Johnny Depp. It's a good choice; Depp has a gift for bringing outlandish characters to raucous life, something this story really needs. There are three more chapters in the Mortdecai saga, plus a prequel of sorts, so if you like this one, there's more to be had. I'll pass. Despite my initial high hopes, Don't Point That Thing At Me clearly isn't aimed at me.
October 4, 2013
This is Jeeves & Wooster with a James Bond twist.
Not only was Kyril Bonfiglioli a fan of PG Wodehouse, he flat out references Wodehouse through out Don't Point That Thing At Me. It's a level of sycophancy that I wasn't 100% comfortable with. But I guess if you're going to ape a writer's style, why not go full monty and let it all hang out? I mean, Bonfiglioli's writing style is sooo similar to Wodehouse's that it wasn't going to take the British public long to sniff it out, so hell, drop in a mention of Jeeves and Wooster into the text right off the bat and get it over with.
That said, Bonfiglioli does not quite have Wodehouse's wit and his characters are not quite as charmingly lovable as Wodehouse's. The first part is a tough one for anyone, save the odd Oscar Wildes and Mark Twains of the world. The second part is unavoidable considering Bonfiglioli is writing about characters involved in grand theft and murder. He's taken Wodehouse's stock plot - Wooster being forced into petty crime - and gone big and mean with it. Consequently it becomes hard to love or even side with his main characters. They do wrong and when wrong is done to them the best I could muster was an, "oh well mate, you had it coming" kind of sympathy. However, like James Bond - who kills a chap or two before he's even had his kippers - there is a certain amount of acceptance for all the wrong doing. This is entertainment. This is comedy. Since these aren't real people getting bumped off we can remain lighthearted and aloof, and so the characters we're supposed to be rooting for aren't completely tarnished.
Humor, man, it's so violent!
Rating: 3.5 stars
Not only was Kyril Bonfiglioli a fan of PG Wodehouse, he flat out references Wodehouse through out Don't Point That Thing At Me. It's a level of sycophancy that I wasn't 100% comfortable with. But I guess if you're going to ape a writer's style, why not go full monty and let it all hang out? I mean, Bonfiglioli's writing style is sooo similar to Wodehouse's that it wasn't going to take the British public long to sniff it out, so hell, drop in a mention of Jeeves and Wooster into the text right off the bat and get it over with.
That said, Bonfiglioli does not quite have Wodehouse's wit and his characters are not quite as charmingly lovable as Wodehouse's. The first part is a tough one for anyone, save the odd Oscar Wildes and Mark Twains of the world. The second part is unavoidable considering Bonfiglioli is writing about characters involved in grand theft and murder. He's taken Wodehouse's stock plot - Wooster being forced into petty crime - and gone big and mean with it. Consequently it becomes hard to love or even side with his main characters. They do wrong and when wrong is done to them the best I could muster was an, "oh well mate, you had it coming" kind of sympathy. However, like James Bond - who kills a chap or two before he's even had his kippers - there is a certain amount of acceptance for all the wrong doing. This is entertainment. This is comedy. Since these aren't real people getting bumped off we can remain lighthearted and aloof, and so the characters we're supposed to be rooting for aren't completely tarnished.
Humor, man, it's so violent!
Rating: 3.5 stars
July 14, 2014
Imagine a story told by Paul Whitehouse’s character Rowley Birkin QC - “Blahblahblahblahhorsesblahblahmuttermutterpaintjobrhubarbrhubarbblahblahofcourse… Iwasvery… very… drunk!” - except vastly more coherent so you can understand every word but so scattered that it may as well be muttered gibberish. That’s essentially what reading Don’t Point That Thing At Me is like.
Charles Mortdecai is an aristocratic art dealer who’s fallen in with a bad crowd. The police are after him for an alleged art theft and some shady types are on his tail but it’s ok because he’s very, very drunk. The cover blurb compares the unpronounceable author Kyril Bonfiglioli’s novel as a cross between Ian Fleming and PG Wodehouse – if only! Charles is always drinking and some guys get shot around him so I suppose that’s where the Fleming reference comes from – a couple of details that sound Fleming/Bond-like and nothing more – but the Wodehouse? Hmm, no, that would mean Bonfiglioli’s funny and he’s not.
I suppose at the time it was hilarious to read lines like “The man was looking at me askance. ‘Why are you looking at me askance?’ I asked” as the first person novelistic narrative bleeds over into pseudo-realistic dialogue, but these days? Meta has been done a great many times since, not just in novels, so it’s not as fresh as it once was or at all funny. And no, Bonfiglioli didn’t pioneer that style.
Despite being a short novel, the turgid sentences soon slow down the narrative to a near-stop – and it’s not like it was fast-paced to start with. The scenes are mostly Charles drinking in various places while tediously “bantering” with the other flat characters. You have to be very careful when reading this because when a “character” gets shot in the head, it’s literally dealt with in one sentence before Charles hurries off to resume drinking elsewhere and it’s not brought up again ‘til later. Don’t want to do anything difficult like write non-static scenes, what?
After struggling through nearly 50 pages (of this 160+ page novel), I just gave up. Maybe having a protagonist who thinks he’s funny because he drinks, is rich, and tediously makes fun of everyone for not being funny, drunk or rich like him, is entertaining for some readers - not for me. I even tried drinking while reading this crap and it only underlined how unfunny Bonfiglywhatever is!
Why republish this outdated, unknown-for-a-reason rubbish? The character’s exploits have been turned into a movie starring Johnny Depp, scheduled to flop next year, so Penguin are cashing in. A roguish main character played by Depp who’s drunk all the time, talks nonsense, and stumbles around like a buffoon – well, it’s good to see Depp stretching himself. Savvy?
Charles Mortdecai is an aristocratic art dealer who’s fallen in with a bad crowd. The police are after him for an alleged art theft and some shady types are on his tail but it’s ok because he’s very, very drunk. The cover blurb compares the unpronounceable author Kyril Bonfiglioli’s novel as a cross between Ian Fleming and PG Wodehouse – if only! Charles is always drinking and some guys get shot around him so I suppose that’s where the Fleming reference comes from – a couple of details that sound Fleming/Bond-like and nothing more – but the Wodehouse? Hmm, no, that would mean Bonfiglioli’s funny and he’s not.
I suppose at the time it was hilarious to read lines like “The man was looking at me askance. ‘Why are you looking at me askance?’ I asked” as the first person novelistic narrative bleeds over into pseudo-realistic dialogue, but these days? Meta has been done a great many times since, not just in novels, so it’s not as fresh as it once was or at all funny. And no, Bonfiglioli didn’t pioneer that style.
Despite being a short novel, the turgid sentences soon slow down the narrative to a near-stop – and it’s not like it was fast-paced to start with. The scenes are mostly Charles drinking in various places while tediously “bantering” with the other flat characters. You have to be very careful when reading this because when a “character” gets shot in the head, it’s literally dealt with in one sentence before Charles hurries off to resume drinking elsewhere and it’s not brought up again ‘til later. Don’t want to do anything difficult like write non-static scenes, what?
After struggling through nearly 50 pages (of this 160+ page novel), I just gave up. Maybe having a protagonist who thinks he’s funny because he drinks, is rich, and tediously makes fun of everyone for not being funny, drunk or rich like him, is entertaining for some readers - not for me. I even tried drinking while reading this crap and it only underlined how unfunny Bonfiglywhatever is!
Why republish this outdated, unknown-for-a-reason rubbish? The character’s exploits have been turned into a movie starring Johnny Depp, scheduled to flop next year, so Penguin are cashing in. A roguish main character played by Depp who’s drunk all the time, talks nonsense, and stumbles around like a buffoon – well, it’s good to see Depp stretching himself. Savvy?
July 3, 2025
Чарли Мордекай няма нищо общо с героя на Джони Деп!
Както и историята с откраднатата картина на Гоя няма нищо общо с криминална такава.
Хареса ми чувството за хумор на автора, но самата книжка не бе с достатъчно интересен за мен сюжет.
Моята оценка - 2,5*.
P.S. Благодарение на цитатите в тази книга, ще преоткривам тепърва чудесната поезия на Робърт Браунинг!
Както и историята с откраднатата картина на Гоя няма нищо общо с криминална такава.
Хареса ми чувството за хумор на автора, но самата книжка не бе с достатъчно интересен за мен сюжет.
Моята оценка - 2,5*.
P.S. Благодарение на цитатите в тази книга, ще преоткривам тепърва чудесната поезия на Робърт Браунинг!
October 18, 2014
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
June 22, 2012
I feel like there has to have been some kind of giant conspiracy for these great books to have been near forgotten after such a short period of time. The way Bonfiglioli writes doesn't really date itself, it's not only worthy literature but deliberately and delightfully farcical and a daring look at the seedy underbelly of a part of society that seems rarely acknowledged in British literature, that of the monied, educated classes.
I could probably draw parallels with another rogueish gentleman thief such as Raffles: The Amateur Cracksman or Arsene Lupin but Charlie Mortdecai is so much dirtier, grubbier and offensive than that and I applaud him for it. Between his over-educated self-satisfied air and his brutal and loyal manservant Jock the plot takes a back seat to their absurdly silly adventures across the British countryside and a trip to America whilst dealing with blackmailers, attempted murder, art thieves and smugglers not to mention renegade cops with anti-Mortdecai vendettas.
Each chapter opens with a late wakeup call, a greasy breakfast and a bottle of whiskey and filling the pages with witty one-liners, hillarious descriptive passages and offensive yet perfectly funny observations of people. If you're not crying with laughter whilst reading this then you're doing it wrong.
The plot taking the back seat is really what prevents this delightful work from receiving 5 stars, the ending starts to drag (as I found previously with After You with the Pistol) as Bonfiglioli tries desperately to tie everything together in to an acceptable conclusion.
I could probably draw parallels with another rogueish gentleman thief such as Raffles: The Amateur Cracksman or Arsene Lupin but Charlie Mortdecai is so much dirtier, grubbier and offensive than that and I applaud him for it. Between his over-educated self-satisfied air and his brutal and loyal manservant Jock the plot takes a back seat to their absurdly silly adventures across the British countryside and a trip to America whilst dealing with blackmailers, attempted murder, art thieves and smugglers not to mention renegade cops with anti-Mortdecai vendettas.
Each chapter opens with a late wakeup call, a greasy breakfast and a bottle of whiskey and filling the pages with witty one-liners, hillarious descriptive passages and offensive yet perfectly funny observations of people. If you're not crying with laughter whilst reading this then you're doing it wrong.
The plot taking the back seat is really what prevents this delightful work from receiving 5 stars, the ending starts to drag (as I found previously with After You with the Pistol) as Bonfiglioli tries desperately to tie everything together in to an acceptable conclusion.
March 22, 2015
What starts off as a vaguely interesting plot involving a stolen painting quickly devolves into a boring disjointed narrative where it's difficult to follow any character's motives.
Also, there's nothing redeeming about the main character. There's nothing wrong with having an anti-hero lead, or even a villain, but first-person narrative requires the reader to care at least a little bit about who is telling the story. Charlie Mortdecai is so unlikeable, and his 'I'm rich and drinking all the time' joke gets old unbelievably quickly, that by the time the climax comes around it's difficult to care about his fate at all.
The portrayal of Johanna is also both insulting and unbelievable on several accounts, and her interactions with Charlie just don't plain make sense. I'm surprised that more people haven't noticed this?
I won't be reading any more books in this series, and I certainly won't be watching the recent film. The two stars is for occasional good moments that hold your attention, but for a short book (165 pages) it was surprisingly difficult to get through.
Also, there's nothing redeeming about the main character. There's nothing wrong with having an anti-hero lead, or even a villain, but first-person narrative requires the reader to care at least a little bit about who is telling the story. Charlie Mortdecai is so unlikeable, and his 'I'm rich and drinking all the time' joke gets old unbelievably quickly, that by the time the climax comes around it's difficult to care about his fate at all.
The portrayal of Johanna is also both insulting and unbelievable on several accounts, and her interactions with Charlie just don't plain make sense. I'm surprised that more people haven't noticed this?
I won't be reading any more books in this series, and I certainly won't be watching the recent film. The two stars is for occasional good moments that hold your attention, but for a short book (165 pages) it was surprisingly difficult to get through.
September 6, 2019
Abandoned. Ever decide to abandon a book and feel a huge sense of relief?
I hated this on so many levels. Nope.. on ALL levels.
Tedious and irritating.
I hated this on so many levels. Nope.. on ALL levels.
Tedious and irritating.
September 8, 2024
This is a loan from a friend, who insist I read it and let her know what I think of it. I think she might be disappointed.
"Mortdecai", alternatively titled, "Don't Point That Thing at Me", is the first of a series of novels advertised as "hilarious and dark-humored crime thrillers" featuring the Honorable Charlie Mortdecai: degenerate aristocrat, amoral art dealer, seasoned epicurean, unwilling assassin, and acknowledged coward. Mortdecai is certainly epicurean - the reader is inundated with descriptions of Mortdecai's enjoyment of his breakfasts, dinners, drinking episodes, and tea-breaks. As an art dealer in stolen paintings, Mortdecai is having a bad experience with selling and delivering his latest acquisition to a buyer in the USA.
I found the plot to be simplistic, shallow and not particularly cohesive. The characters are all flat, and none of them are likeable or even interesting. I don't have to like a character to enjoy a book, but I do have to find a character interesting enough to want to see how they end up. I just simply didn't care what happened to any of these characters. Bonfiglioli seems to love seeing his words on paper (the book version of loving to hear the sound of your own voice). Where five words will do, Bonfiglioli will use fifty. This results in verbose writing that is not nearly as entertaining as the author thinks, drastically slows down the pacing (this thin little book took ages to get through!) and makes the book tedious to read.
Mortdecai tells his tale in first person narrative. If this character is supposed to be entertaining, witty and clear, the author has failed. Mortdecai comes across as obnoxious, snide, boring and not nearly as funny or clever as the author thinks he is supposed to be. Of course, I've been accused of not having a sense of humour, so your mileage (kilometerage?) may vary in this regard.
This is not a heist novel - the heist has already occurred by the time the novel starts. This is a deliver the prize to the customer novel but things don't work out that way, yet the ending is different in tone to the rest of the novel and the conclusion ends up unresolved or open ended. Since there are subsequent novels in the series, the implied ending apparently doesn't happen.
I cannot recommend this book unless you are in desperate need for a soporific.
"Mortdecai", alternatively titled, "Don't Point That Thing at Me", is the first of a series of novels advertised as "hilarious and dark-humored crime thrillers" featuring the Honorable Charlie Mortdecai: degenerate aristocrat, amoral art dealer, seasoned epicurean, unwilling assassin, and acknowledged coward. Mortdecai is certainly epicurean - the reader is inundated with descriptions of Mortdecai's enjoyment of his breakfasts, dinners, drinking episodes, and tea-breaks. As an art dealer in stolen paintings, Mortdecai is having a bad experience with selling and delivering his latest acquisition to a buyer in the USA.
I found the plot to be simplistic, shallow and not particularly cohesive. The characters are all flat, and none of them are likeable or even interesting. I don't have to like a character to enjoy a book, but I do have to find a character interesting enough to want to see how they end up. I just simply didn't care what happened to any of these characters. Bonfiglioli seems to love seeing his words on paper (the book version of loving to hear the sound of your own voice). Where five words will do, Bonfiglioli will use fifty. This results in verbose writing that is not nearly as entertaining as the author thinks, drastically slows down the pacing (this thin little book took ages to get through!) and makes the book tedious to read.
Mortdecai tells his tale in first person narrative. If this character is supposed to be entertaining, witty and clear, the author has failed. Mortdecai comes across as obnoxious, snide, boring and not nearly as funny or clever as the author thinks he is supposed to be. Of course, I've been accused of not having a sense of humour, so your mileage (kilometerage?) may vary in this regard.
This is not a heist novel - the heist has already occurred by the time the novel starts. This is a deliver the prize to the customer novel but things don't work out that way, yet the ending is different in tone to the rest of the novel and the conclusion ends up unresolved or open ended. Since there are subsequent novels in the series, the implied ending apparently doesn't happen.
I cannot recommend this book unless you are in desperate need for a soporific.
November 29, 2008
There are about three categories of books I really love: ones where a fully realized world is offered to me by the book, ones where the power of the telling is powerful I am bowled over, and the third category is ones where I’m plunked down into the head of a lunatic and forced to endure a world fully through their viewpoint. This book belongs strongly to the latter, in the tradition of Nabokov, Celine Beckett, and John Hawkes, and is a relentless black comic farce. A kind of Wodehouse goes noir/paranoid thriller with one of the most amoral and endlessly entertaining character I have ever encountered. Charlie Mortdecai’s outlook on the world almost brings this book to the level of Dostoevsky. Everything is permitted. The literary allusions are wondrous.
August 1, 2015
There are times when I could slap myself (as compared to those times when others would sooner slap me?)
NO I have just finished this book after seeing the cover at a local thrift store and thinking that looks fun lets give it a go even though for some reason it sounds familiar. Well of course now I have finished it and researched the author (as I do) I realise that it was made in to a film called Mortdecai with Johnny Depp. How I over looked that one I do not know!
Anyway the book - I must admit that it is rather a fun farce and a racing romp and I guess for one of those rare times where there "blurb" on the cover is pretty spot on saying that its a mix of P G Woodhouse and Ian Fleming. The wording is a bit hard going at times, but the play on words creates some amazing imagery although I am sometimes caught off guard on how Mr Charlie can flip from one state to another but I guess that just beguiles his true colours as compared to those he chooses to cultivate as part of him image.
There are 2 other books in the series although there are others which were completed after his death or are seen as distant prequels - I shall certainly be hunting them out on my travels.
NO I have just finished this book after seeing the cover at a local thrift store and thinking that looks fun lets give it a go even though for some reason it sounds familiar. Well of course now I have finished it and researched the author (as I do) I realise that it was made in to a film called Mortdecai with Johnny Depp. How I over looked that one I do not know!
Anyway the book - I must admit that it is rather a fun farce and a racing romp and I guess for one of those rare times where there "blurb" on the cover is pretty spot on saying that its a mix of P G Woodhouse and Ian Fleming. The wording is a bit hard going at times, but the play on words creates some amazing imagery although I am sometimes caught off guard on how Mr Charlie can flip from one state to another but I guess that just beguiles his true colours as compared to those he chooses to cultivate as part of him image.
There are 2 other books in the series although there are others which were completed after his death or are seen as distant prequels - I shall certainly be hunting them out on my travels.
July 17, 2014
I wanted SO BADLY to like this book -- the descriptions of it being a mix of Wodehouse and Fleming make it sound tailor made for me -- and I did think the writing itself was amusing and intelligent.
But amusing and intelligent writing deployed in service of an unpleasant and often incoherent plot is just wasted. By the close of the novel, I had only the slimmest idea of what had happened -- and the infuriating notion that I'd have to read the remaining books in the series to be anything like sure. Unfortunately, I'll likely have to remain frustrated in my curiosity about the book's events, because I don't think I have the patience to put up with Mr. Bonfiglioli's confounding plots for another 3 novels in order to be sure.
But amusing and intelligent writing deployed in service of an unpleasant and often incoherent plot is just wasted. By the close of the novel, I had only the slimmest idea of what had happened -- and the infuriating notion that I'd have to read the remaining books in the series to be anything like sure. Unfortunately, I'll likely have to remain frustrated in my curiosity about the book's events, because I don't think I have the patience to put up with Mr. Bonfiglioli's confounding plots for another 3 novels in order to be sure.
July 31, 2016
Quirky, fun, depressing, & strange, Charlie is a proper Englishman with a wonderful turn of phrase who is also an art thief, fence, & murderer. Imagine Jeeves gone terribly wrong & set into a noir mystery-thriller. Fantastic! Well read.
January 9, 2019
A very funny crime novel that is utterly different from most examples of the crime genre. It's an absurdist caper that reminds me a little of *The Chinese Agent* and *The Russian Intelligence*, Michael Moorcock's own forays into the same territory. There are also heavy debts to Firbank and Wodehouse in terms of sheer elegance. But the aura (stench?) of pure thuggishness in Bonfiglioli's writing overwhelms all the ultra-civilised props and effects.
The plot is a bit confusing (and I wonder if it's entirely self-consistent) but everything else is perfect, especially Bonfiglioli's bone dry irony and vicious wit. There are cryptic allusions galore. Most of these I'm sure I missed but I'm aware from those I did catch that they demand a sophisticated literary intelligence to understand.
My favourite of these allusions is an obscure reference to "fourteen in the Borgesian sense". This floored me because it's a variation on an extremely arcane joke that I used myself in my story 'The Mermaid of Curitiba'. The allusion is to the Borges story 'The House of Asterion' wherein the Minotaur confuses the number 14 with infinity. In Bonfiglioli's novel this is used to make a very funny point about unattainable sex.
All that aside, the main protagonists of this novel are thoroughly nasty and dislikable rogues little better than gangsters who somehow conjure up enough sympathy from the reader to make their constantly perilous plights generate real tension.
The plot is a bit confusing (and I wonder if it's entirely self-consistent) but everything else is perfect, especially Bonfiglioli's bone dry irony and vicious wit. There are cryptic allusions galore. Most of these I'm sure I missed but I'm aware from those I did catch that they demand a sophisticated literary intelligence to understand.
My favourite of these allusions is an obscure reference to "fourteen in the Borgesian sense". This floored me because it's a variation on an extremely arcane joke that I used myself in my story 'The Mermaid of Curitiba'. The allusion is to the Borges story 'The House of Asterion' wherein the Minotaur confuses the number 14 with infinity. In Bonfiglioli's novel this is used to make a very funny point about unattainable sex.
All that aside, the main protagonists of this novel are thoroughly nasty and dislikable rogues little better than gangsters who somehow conjure up enough sympathy from the reader to make their constantly perilous plights generate real tension.
July 20, 2015
A portly art dealer, chronic alcoholic, epicurean, sexist and someone with a fine sense of humor- meet Charlie Mortdecai. Sounds like a fun person doesn’t he ? Kind of a warm, fuzzy and yet eccentric old uncle in the family is the first image to spring into your mind but Mr.C is nobody’s uncle. He is the most uncouth rapscallion you will ever get to meet and needless to say, you won’t forget him so easily. The first in the series is a fantastic joy ride into the life and times of Charlie and his adventures across the UK and US.
The fact that I have not read P.G.Wodehouse weighs heavily against me for the more I read of the reviews of this book, the more I feel that it is a necessity to enjoy this book. The humor in this one ranges from black to tongue-in-cheek and the tone shifts from slapstick to sarcastic in the gap of a few pages. What really stood out for me were the literary references scattered all over the pages. There are bite sized servings of Hemingway, Conrad, Joyce and others all over the chapters. Beyond this, I am at a loss as to how to review this book. It is funny and fresh to read but most of the details seemed to have escaped me now.
jusqu'à ce que nous nous reverrons.
The fact that I have not read P.G.Wodehouse weighs heavily against me for the more I read of the reviews of this book, the more I feel that it is a necessity to enjoy this book. The humor in this one ranges from black to tongue-in-cheek and the tone shifts from slapstick to sarcastic in the gap of a few pages. What really stood out for me were the literary references scattered all over the pages. There are bite sized servings of Hemingway, Conrad, Joyce and others all over the chapters. Beyond this, I am at a loss as to how to review this book. It is funny and fresh to read but most of the details seemed to have escaped me now.
jusqu'à ce que nous nous reverrons.
April 10, 2016
Page 54: "I pushed my breakfast moodily round the plate for a while then told Jock to give it to the deserving poor and bring me in its stead a large glass of gin with both sorts of vermouth in it and some fizzy lemonade. A quick actor, that drink, gets you to where you live in no time."
If that doesn't make you want to read the book, then nothing else I might say would have any effect, so I won't bother.
Here's the drink. I haven't tried it for breakfast, but it's awfully fine in the late afternoon. Let's call it...
Don't Point That Thing at Me
1 oz gin
.5 oz dry vermouth
.5 oz sweet vermouth
Fizzy lemonade
Shake the first three ingredients over ice and pour into a tall, skinny drinking glass or a short tumbler filled with ice. Top with fizzy lemonade, which is not to be confused with lemon-lime soda or the non-fizzy, overly sweet stuff Americans call lemonade. This is British lemonade, which you can usually find at fancy food shops in the U.S. You might also try Fever Tree Bitter Lemon or Fentimans Victorian Lemonade.
There are three more books in this series, and certainly more than three more cocktails, so stay tuned.
July 8, 2015
Don't Point that Thing at Me reads like nothing else. The closest approximation isn't in print: It's the televised Blackadder series, which has a similar misanthropic anti-hero who can't get a break. The hilarious misadventures of amoral, cowardly, selfish but brilliant Charles Mortdecai (get it? death and decay right in the name) is the antidote to any overly saccharine British cozy.
I've just finished Kyril Bonfiglioli's dark debut novel, and I can't wait to read the sequel, After You with the Pistol. Too bad there are only three novels in the series!
I've just finished Kyril Bonfiglioli's dark debut novel, and I can't wait to read the sequel, After You with the Pistol. Too bad there are only three novels in the series!
October 8, 2015
A presunção e pomposidade ofensiva deste cretino, C. Mortdecai, é hilariante. Observações corrosivas e descrições exageradas são enriquecidas com imensas referências literárias e culturais num livro cujo «único» problema é mesmo o enredo.
Pareceu-me que, ao partir de personagens e situações são comicamente disparatadas, o autor se colocou no enorme sarilho de tentar terminar o livro com alguma lucidez e credibilidade.
Com a aproximação do final, tanto personagem e linha de argumento se perdem e nem todo o carisma de Mortdecai é suficiente para salvar a situação: o fim é tremendamente insatisfatório.
Adorei, no entanto, a primeira parte do livro, e é por isso que estou curiosa com os seguintes.
Pareceu-me que, ao partir de personagens e situações são comicamente disparatadas, o autor se colocou no enorme sarilho de tentar terminar o livro com alguma lucidez e credibilidade.
Com a aproximação do final, tanto personagem e linha de argumento se perdem e nem todo o carisma de Mortdecai é suficiente para salvar a situação: o fim é tremendamente insatisfatório.
Adorei, no entanto, a primeira parte do livro, e é por isso que estou curiosa com os seguintes.
December 22, 2023
A delightfully fun time. I don't think I have ever "LOL' d" more while reading.
July 14, 2024
I got this book at the airport back when I was in high school, we were about to go on a school trip and a friend and I both got a copy. Ever since then it’s been on my shelf, it’s moved houses with me six times. And suddenly, two weeks ago it called to me, I picked it up and what can I say - I had a great time! It made me chuckle quite a bit, either with its clever observations or dark humor. I can see how it’s not for everyone but I for my part am glad I kept it all these years!
March 10, 2015
Какъв би бил съвременният прочит на „Портретът на Дориан Грей” по мордекайски? Художникът Базил липсва, лорд Хенри е умножен, а Дориан е вече позастарял. Хедонизмът пък е основно в бутилката уиски... Бутилките. Картина, разбира се, има, разбира се, скрита е и е катастрофална, а борбата за нея напомня на ретро сериала „Ало, ало”.
Героите в „Мордекай” са съвременни, вече леко възрастни дендита, техните главорези и в краен случай - жени. Суетата, лицемерието и нечистите сделки вървят ръка за ръка, крепейки под мишница „Джони Уокър”. А няма нищо по-очаквано от тях в този роман – всеки е суетен и лицемерен и не очаква от останалите нищо по-малко.
„Истината трябваше да му се сервира на внимателно премерени порции, така че да предизвика добър апетит за по-нататъшни лъжи.”
Книгата определено е свежа с тънката си ирония и саркастичните коментари, които я пронизват от край до край. Неведнъж дори успя да ме разсмее със свежата си шеговитост и гениалните си прозрения, като например:
„В крайна сметка се качих на един автобус; контрольорът беше с тюрбан и ме намрази в мига, в който ме видя. Забелязах как се опитва да ме запомни колкото може по-добре, за да продължи да ме мрази и след като сляза.”
„В „Кафе Роял” беше пълно с хора, които се преструваха, че често ходят там.”
Дори:
„О. Ами, да, сигурно съм защитавал червената идея в кръжока по дебати в училище един или два пъти. Но в последната година на гимназията всички ни прихвана или религията, или комунизмът – заедно с акнето, нали се сещате? Изчезват от само себе си, след като започнете да правите секс.”
Хуморът, понякога черен, често е с британски маниер, нерядко опониращ на американските порядки. Не знам съществува ли по принцип такова чудо като антонимна тавтология, но такъв похват тук определено има – редовно се повтарят цели изрази, но значението им е опозиционно, като най-често предизвиква смях. Препратките и интертекстуалността в книгата са много – от културни до исторически. Романът хваща различни регистри и ги сменя с лекота – от изискания стил се стига до просташкия цинизъм.
Самият Чарли Мордекай няма нищо общо с положителен герой, но именно това му помага да печели симпатиите. Той е изтъкан от пороците си, егоистичен, разглезен – типичен денди. Воден от алчността да има още, той се впуска в опасно приключение, в което основните оръжия са интригата и лъжата. Не съм гледала филма „Мордекай”, но не съм учудена, че ролята му изпълнява именно Джони Деп – героят Мордекай е същински Джак Спароу като заряд и коментари. На външен вид обаче книжният Мордекай би разочаровал по-голямата част от дамите, защото става ясно, че е доста по-стар и с по-лошо телосложение от екранната си версия. Което е още един плюс за режисьорите.
„Графинята вече си беше съставила мнението, че съм отрепка; реших, че няма да ми навреди, ако разбере, че освен това съм и пияница.”
Настроението на книгата има своето развитие, което може най-точно да се определи по чичостояновски: „от играчка — ей ти плачка.” В началото започва съвсем безгрижно, гледащо леко отвисоко, но после попада в тресавището и колкото повече мърда, толкова по-надълбоко затъва. Към края самоиронията е много повече от иронията, а тонът е значително по-сериозен. Смях отново има, но с горчив привкус. Това развитие добавя дълбочина в иначе доста лековатата книга и събужда интерес към следващите части.
„Мордекай” е интелектуална комедия със сноби, осмиваща... снобите. Това е едно много свежо и разтоварващо четиво. Комедия е и на ситуациите, и на нравите. Идеална е за почивка и за разтоварване. Още повече, ако си представяте Чарли Мордекай като Джони Деп ;)
Героите в „Мордекай” са съвременни, вече леко възрастни дендита, техните главорези и в краен случай - жени. Суетата, лицемерието и нечистите сделки вървят ръка за ръка, крепейки под мишница „Джони Уокър”. А няма нищо по-очаквано от тях в този роман – всеки е суетен и лицемерен и не очаква от останалите нищо по-малко.
„Истината трябваше да му се сервира на внимателно премерени порции, така че да предизвика добър апетит за по-нататъшни лъжи.”
Книгата определено е свежа с тънката си ирония и саркастичните коментари, които я пронизват от край до край. Неведнъж дори успя да ме разсмее със свежата си шеговитост и гениалните си прозрения, като например:
„В крайна сметка се качих на един автобус; контрольорът беше с тюрбан и ме намрази в мига, в който ме видя. Забелязах как се опитва да ме запомни колкото може по-добре, за да продължи да ме мрази и след като сляза.”
„В „Кафе Роял” беше пълно с хора, които се преструваха, че често ходят там.”
Дори:
„О. Ами, да, сигурно съм защитавал червената идея в кръжока по дебати в училище един или два пъти. Но в последната година на гимназията всички ни прихвана или религията, или комунизмът – заедно с акнето, нали се сещате? Изчезват от само себе си, след като започнете да правите секс.”
Хуморът, понякога черен, често е с британски маниер, нерядко опониращ на американските порядки. Не знам съществува ли по принцип такова чудо като антонимна тавтология, но такъв похват тук определено има – редовно се повтарят цели изрази, но значението им е опозиционно, като най-често предизвиква смях. Препратките и интертекстуалността в книгата са много – от културни до исторически. Романът хваща различни регистри и ги сменя с лекота – от изискания стил се стига до просташкия цинизъм.
Самият Чарли Мордекай няма нищо общо с положителен герой, но именно това му помага да печели симпатиите. Той е изтъкан от пороците си, егоистичен, разглезен – типичен денди. Воден от алчността да има още, той се впуска в опасно приключение, в което основните оръжия са интригата и лъжата. Не съм гледала филма „Мордекай”, но не съм учудена, че ролята му изпълнява именно Джони Деп – героят Мордекай е същински Джак Спароу като заряд и коментари. На външен вид обаче книжният Мордекай би разочаровал по-голямата част от дамите, защото става ясно, че е доста по-стар и с по-лошо телосложение от екранната си версия. Което е още един плюс за режисьорите.
„Графинята вече си беше съставила мнението, че съм отрепка; реших, че няма да ми навреди, ако разбере, че освен това съм и пияница.”
Настроението на книгата има своето развитие, което може най-точно да се определи по чичостояновски: „от играчка — ей ти плачка.” В началото започва съвсем безгрижно, гледащо леко отвисоко, но после попада в тресавището и колкото повече мърда, толкова по-надълбоко затъва. Към края самоиронията е много повече от иронията, а тонът е значително по-сериозен. Смях отново има, но с горчив привкус. Това развитие добавя дълбочина в иначе доста лековатата книга и събужда интерес към следващите части.
„Мордекай” е интелектуална комедия със сноби, осмиваща... снобите. Това е едно много свежо и разтоварващо четиво. Комедия е и на ситуациите, и на нравите. Идеална е за почивка и за разтоварване. Още повече, ако си представяте Чарли Мордекай като Джони Деп ;)
October 22, 2017
I'm disappointed. Hoped for so much more but what I found was a story that makes very little sense because it's trying to be too damned clever, a central character that is very nearly unlikeable and an ending which is awful (although its not really an ending as I believe the next in the series picks up the story straightaway).
It appeared to be the story of a stolen Goya, but veered into blackmail, murder, discourses on the mammaries of various women and a Rolls Royce Silver Ghost (which receives shocking treatment). Charlie seemed to be permanently tipsy (barely a page went by without a mention of some alcohol or other).
It held such promise but stumbled drunkenly like a stumbling drunken thing to a most unsatisfactory end.
It appeared to be the story of a stolen Goya, but veered into blackmail, murder, discourses on the mammaries of various women and a Rolls Royce Silver Ghost (which receives shocking treatment). Charlie seemed to be permanently tipsy (barely a page went by without a mention of some alcohol or other).
It held such promise but stumbled drunkenly like a stumbling drunken thing to a most unsatisfactory end.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 11, 2008
It's if PG Wodehouse wrote a thriller. Kyril Bonfiglioli was an extremely talented writer and this book I didn't want to end. Why couldn't it go for another two or three hundred pages. I love the character, and it sort of reminds me of the Alex James memoir. Very charming, lots of drinking, takes life not seriously at all - just what I like in my literature and in my life. Fantastic book to have by your side at all times.
February 22, 2017
Až zhruba po dvaceti stranách mi došlo, že to je ten film!
A bavila jsem se snad ještě lépe! Spousta francouzštiny a snobismu, portrétů starých mistrů, no a také žen. A taky spousta cynismu, díky kterému je to celé skvost.
A bavila jsem se snad ještě lépe! Spousta francouzštiny a snobismu, portrétů starých mistrů, no a také žen. A taky spousta cynismu, díky kterému je to celé skvost.
July 30, 2015
Kniha ktorú jedenkrát čítať nestačí. Príbeh obyčajný, ale jazyk a humor je skvelý. Zábavná a ideálna kniha na cestu vlakom. Plž na hlohu sa usmieva od ucha k uchu.
November 13, 2015
Boring. So-o-o boring.
The excellent choice of words doesn't make up for such a messy plot.
Next book, please
The excellent choice of words doesn't make up for such a messy plot.
Next book, please
January 2, 2018
The first half of the book was very good and I enjoyed it a lot, Mortdecai is really peculiar, and I have to admit that I never read a book in which the main character sells stolen masterpieces, I'll try to find more of them, and any advice is welcome! And I liked a lot Jock, too. It's not a kind of character that I usually enjoy, but I liked him a lot!
And the writing was enjoyable, so I thought that all the reading would have been easy and enjoyable, but then came the half of the book and my interest drop. Like drop, drop, drop. The second half of the book for me was really boring and confused, and the ending is really a poor excuse for an ending (but this is my opinion for almost all the cliffhanger, so maybe I am not objective on this one).
And the writing was enjoyable, so I thought that all the reading would have been easy and enjoyable, but then came the half of the book and my interest drop. Like drop, drop, drop. The second half of the book for me was really boring and confused, and the ending is really a poor excuse for an ending (but this is my opinion for almost all the cliffhanger, so maybe I am not objective on this one).
March 19, 2017
Somewhere in the trash he reads, Martland has read that heavy men walk with surprising lightness and grace; as a result he trips about like a portly elf hoping to be picked up by a leprechaun. In he pranced, all silent and catlike and absurd, buttocks swaying noiselessly.
"Don't get up," he sneered, when he saw that I had no intention of doing so. "I'll help myself, shall I?"
Ignoring the more inviting bottles on the drinks tray, he unerringly snared the great Rodney decanter from underneath and poured himself a gross amount of what he thought would be my Taylor '31. A score to me already, for I had filled it with Invalid Port of an unbelievable nastiness. He didn't notice: score two to me. Of course, he is only a policeman.
That's my favorite part of the book, and it happens on the first page. What I liked most about this is reading from the point of view of a person who thinks its a good joke to give someone wine of a different year than they expect. If you enjoyed the few paragraphs above, you'll probably thoroughly enjoy most of the book, or even all of it. About 3/4 through, the story wasn't keeping my attention, so I stopped.
May 5, 2025
Started strong with many chuckles. I particularly enjoyed the frequent breaking of the fourth wall. But the plot didn't quite develop as intriguingly as I'd hoped. Did I have a better grasp of the English language and niche historical/cultural references, I think I would enjoy it significantly more - I can see why Toby recommended it!
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