A strange opening compliment for a mystery, but I'll start by saying that the opening scene gave me more smiles than I've had in a long time - the Fluxion's obsession with composing headlines with monosyllabic words in a telegraphic fashion that renders them nearly incomprehensible; Qwilleran the old crusading newshound's horrified reaction to the stillness and utter lack of urgency in the newsroom; his mental wincing at being relegated to the art beat ("Journalist Sinks to Role of Glad-Hander"). It's also a great introduction to the main character; Braun doesn't waste a lot of laborious explanatory prose on Qwilleran - she simply and immediately places him in a situation and allows him to react, letting little expositional details crop up in the matter of course and conversation. Braun's confidence in Qwilleran's character to carry his own and hold center stage all by his lonesome clinches the reader, and we instantly feel comfortable - even bonded - to this man and his environment. It's very unusual for a mystery to care to take the time to put the reader at ease with its world, but that's what Braun does here, in Backwards's first chapter.
And she well rewards our easily-won devotion, for Backwards is, without exaggeration, one of the most elegantly crafted mysteries committed to print. The plot is ever-evolving, there are an ungodly number of red herrings, small-yet-crucial details, and loose ends that, when they seem to be tied up, unravel again, and yet, amazingly, the pieces fall oh-so-smoothly together at the denouement; to rob Braun (or prospective readers) of one iota of the power, perfect timing, and manipulation of her well-coiled machine delivers is a crime I will not commit. It requires not only powers of observation, but keen perception of denotation and connotation; believe it or not, it takes actual literary skills to crack this case. It doesn't hinge on a logic problem of who was where when, but on an exploration of motives and complicated psyches, and the author has created a mystery that respects the cast as complex human beings. What a delight it is to read a mystery that takes the time to be a novel too.
And what a novel it is. Braun gives us characters and locales that are entrancing and enticing and a story that seamlessly shifts from high point to high point with nary a nadir in evidence. There's so much that's so memorable here - the surreptitiously scathing art review starting off chapter 4; Qwilleran's non-interview with young millionaire Cal Halapay, with his hilarious stream-of-consciousness hopping from subject to subject like a kid on a sugar high; the pretentious vapidity (and capitalization) of the Happening; the portraiture of Zoe Lambreth, who on the surface appears a (insufferably) precious, helpless female but who occasionally betrays shades of manipulativeness and calculation; Qwilleran's inner debate between Professional Suspicion and Personal Inclination; the hearty joie de vivre of Odd Bunsen; the periodic break for rumination Fluxion-staffer camaraderie over at the Press Club; the characterization of Koko, who here comes off not (as happens so many times in the later books) as a plot device doing "typically catly things" (or even typically supernatural, extrasensory things), but as a full-fledged character who has a fleshed-out personality and a true friendship with the sleuth; Qwilleran's assiduous finickiness over what to have on hand for Zoe's visit (personally, I didn't know which was funnier - his repeated relays to the store, his item-by-item rationalization of why rejected items would create "the wrong impression", or the total futility of his efforts and the aftermath ("When Zoe had gone from Qwilleran's apartment - leaving him with a can of coffee, a pound of sugar, a half-pint of cream, a pack of cigarettes, and two pounds of chocolate chip cookies")).
And then, of course, there is the visit with Mountclemens that encompasses all of Chapter 5, undisputedly the high point of The Cat Who Could Read Backwards (or perhaps the entire series, in my book). George Bonifield Mountclemens III, the Fluxion's reviled art critic, easily qualifies as Braun's most vividly realized supporting character. We are first acquainted with Mountclemens through his art columns, in which he appears a savage, merciless critic, heaping disporportionate scorn on merely not-disagreeable works. When Qwilleran meets the man himself, however, he's not the pompous bully one would expect - he truly welcomes Qwilleran into his home, a masterpiece-laden miniature museum-shrine to the beaux arts, shares his good taste and fortune with a short tour of the artworks on hand and a sumptuous, hand-prepared meal, and turns out to be a witty, trenchant conversationalist and a delightful host. With the impish joy he takes in his little aesthetic pleasures - it's impossible not to like the man.
Mountclemens is a recluse - he has withdrawn from society ("a critic cannot afford to mix with artists") and retreated into his own little self-made corner of the universe to immerse himself in his one true passion ("the paintings you see on the walls are my friends"). He is not always sociable, even to Qwilleran, he has an unapologetic arrogance and unbridled hubris in his opinions and attitudes, but, in a way, he's as honest as our mustachioed hero (in fact, the two have chemistry together and seem to enjoy each other's company). He's not a snob, he doesn't affect his prejudices for any inner feeling of superiority or social benefit - he very simply takes great pleasure and solace in works of true beauty, and sees his purging of the art world of all its less-than-superb influences through his harsh reviews as his way of paying homage to the object of his devotion. Such all-encompassing devotion to such ideals, no matter how niggardly and overzealous Mountclemens may be in applying and adhering to them, is refreshing after all the self-important pretentiousness we see in the modern art world, and the concept of someone who feels as familiar and at home with Debussy and Monet as the general public does with the modern mass media embodies one of the central comforts of the Cat Who... series, in which we can spend time with people who value culture and intelligence. Whatever Mountclemens does, he does with utter aplomb and elegance, and he completely commands the story (and the reader's attention) while he's on the page.
And then we return to Qwilleran. Backwards makes it clear why Braun chose to shoulder her series on his character, a perfect guide to shepherd us through all the eccentric characters and bizarre subcultures we encounter; he is, quite simply, an utterly genuine, unpretentious soul and the perfect foil for and safeguard against all the phoniness we encounter along the way. He's not naive, mind you; the way he so deeply values honesty enables him to detect - and does not allow him to tolerate - those who are not. But he is truly inquisitive; he doesn't pass judgment on his subjects - if they love their profession, hobby, or what have you and know it well, no matter how eccentric they might be, he's more than happy to learn from them. If Mountclemens is the bastion of intellect and culture in the book, then Jim Qwilleran embodies the civility and understanding so sadly lacking in most real people (and, to take the series from a current perspective, most journalists). He listens, and he's patient, and that's more than one can say for most people.
I've read and reread The Cat Who Could Read Backwards about ten times, yet still can find nothing to fault in it. In short - if you haven't already, read The Cat Who Could Read Backwards. It's the original and best.
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