And that quotation pretty much sums up my thoughts on The Cat Who Played Brahms, a book for which I entertain neither affection nor vitriol. While it marks a crucial turning point for the series, as a book by itself, it's just...there.
The story - after nine months of working for the Daily Fluxion, Qwilleran is tired of his job ("I'm tired of writing flattering hogwash about restaurants that advertise in the Fluxion"), disgusted with his pea-green desk and headache-inducing new video display terminal, and aghast at the renovation of the Press Club, which has been transformed from a good old musty former jailhouse to a former jailhouse that looks like a cross between an overlit department store and a tea parlor. To recharge, Qwill takes a leave of absence and heads 400 miles north to rustic Moose County, home of longtime friend of the family Francesca Klingenschoen ("Aunt Fanny" to Q), and a three-month rent-free stay in her lakeshore cabin. Trouble, however, follows our hero wherever he goes, and Qwilleran soon discovers...
...well, that's the problem. Qwill *doesn't* discover anything soon. The mystery takes a while to get going and never quite pulls itself together when it finally does start in earnest. Qwilleran's early-on suspicion is ridiculous - he gears into his investigator mode far too soon with no real reason, and his hyper anxiety over trivial incidents that amount to nothing before he knows that any crime has been committed belittles and cripples the impact of the real crimes that follow. He does hook what he believes is a body on a fishing troller a little ways into the book, and the ring of crime that eventually unfolds includes, extortion, two major deaths, and other (mostly unseen) assembly-line murder. All of this makes Played Brahms sound exciting in theory, but, in practice, it's...not. It falls flat. I can't put my finger on exactly why it does, but it does. Perhaps it has something to do with involvement - we never see (save for one) the perpetration of the evil deeds, we never (again, save for one, and that particular person's death is merely secondary to the crime plot) get truly acquainted with any of the victims - and the events do not communicate much menace or urgency, thus there is not much reason for us to feel saddened, outraged, bereft, etc. A lot of dirty work was going on, but I frankly didn't care.
But, then again, neither did the citizens of Moose County. Turns out that everyone knew who was behind this mayhem all along, but no one wanted to rat on one of Moose County's own. I'm sorry, but did anyone else want to KICK these people into next week for thinking so? What kind of hometown, Main Street, candy-apple morality is THIS? Oh, it's ALL RIGHT if someone knocks off a few dozen folks, but it's considered an egregious offense if someone dares disrupt this backwater's phony little mask of placidity by being crass enough to "TELL" on them? I'm shifting into Joe Bob Briggs mode here, so let's move on...to another complaint - the homogenity of the characters. They're bland. They're plain. They're boring. They have no unique personality traits, complex personas - heck, they barely qualify as characters rather than background noise. They all share a general attitude of complacent geniality, but nothing more. Braun has to import Rosemary from Saw Red just to keep Qwillleran from being totally stranded. A big disappointment, especially after the dynamo crew at Maus Haus.
So, with what are we left? A lot of little joys to ponder. Aunt Fanny is a delightful little dictatress, so carefree and yet so shrewd - she's not entirely ethical, but Moose County deserves someone like her. Tom, her simple-mided houseman, was affecting, and his farewell - especially his very last words and the truth and thought behind them - was the one shot of pure emotion in the book. It's a kick to see that Qwill's letters to Arch read like the man thinks ("I keep wondering: Who was that guy in the lake? Why was he there? Who tossed him in?"). Qwilleran's about-face on Max Sorrel surprised me - from admiration and camaraderie to calling him "that pushy opportunist, that viper with a shaver head and facile smile". Note, though, that Braun didn't have Max act any differently from his behavior in Saw Red, thus suggesting that Qwill's change of mind stemmed entirely from jealousy, which was sneaky (a sneaky that I can appreciate). I really liked the subplot about Qwilleran's endless excuses and long delays in writing his novel - Braun must have taken it from her own experience, and anyone who has undertaken any sort of writing project will identify with it. (Of course, while Qwilleran gets tied up in bringing murderers to justice, I get bogged down by pressing affairs like translating the Japanese fan book on the Phantasy Star series of video games...but anyway.) And one final note - Lori's comment of "Don't you just love the hats the deputies wear - with the two little tassels in front? I'd love to have one." is the outright dumbest line ever in the series.
Um...I really can't think of anything to say about The Cat Who Played Brahms. Geez, it seems that I'm condemning the book through faint praise. Truly, though, I really don't hate it. But I don't like it. It's just a big shrug.
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