When I learned that Betty Webb had a new book coming out, I was thrilled. I've long been a fan of both her Lena Jones and her Gunn Zoo mystery series. Although not a real fan of the post-World War I Paris setting, I don't think it really matters when a favorite author is involved. Unfortunately, when I read Lost in Paris, I felt as though I was lost in endless research that kept what could have been a taut, absorbing mystery from its rightful place in the spotlight.
Lost in Paris is really for devotees of social commentary and stories that immerse one in a specific time and place. This book does that very well indeed, but when, as I'm reading, I begin to wonder why certain things are in a book, that tends to be a red flag. Hemingway's missing manuscripts. Zoe earns extra cash by hosting Poker Fridays at her house. Her Wednesday salons where she feeds starving artists. A cab driver who happens to be Armenian so the recent genocide can be discussed. Zoe paints masks for les Mutilés-- men whose faces were horribly disfigured in the war. The Trouser March. Mary Cassatt. Gertrude Stein. The list goes on.
Then there's Zoe's how-has-she-survived-it backstory. Her severely broken leg. The suspicious death of her father. Her evil stepmother. Zoe's scandalous behavior that got her exiled. Her younger sister's marriage and subsequent trip to Germany in which Hitler can be mentioned. I know a lot of this is setting up the characters and the series, but I was often frustrated by the mystery taking a backseat to all the historical detail.
Then there's Zoe, a character I never did warm up to. Her ill-advised affair with a married police officer-- and where is the author trying to take us with those occasional chapters written from the point of view of the police officer's wife? Yes, it's admirable that Zoe's sense of friendship is often stronger than her common sense, but there are only so many times that she can wander around alone at night almost falling down drunk before I can't resist rolling my eyes. Speaking of being drunk-- true to the times-- it's a wonder all the characters don't die of lung cancer and cirrhosis of the liver.
The mystery is very good whenever it is allowed to have center stage, but I'm completely undecided in the matter of will-I-or-won't-I read the next book in the series-- something that's never happened before with this author. I'm feeling more than a bit disloyal.
(Review copy courtesy of the publisher and Net Galley)
Lost in Paris is really for devotees of social commentary and stories that immerse one in a specific time and place. This book does that very well indeed, but when, as I'm reading, I begin to wonder why certain things are in a book, that tends to be a red flag. Hemingway's missing manuscripts. Zoe earns extra cash by hosting Poker Fridays at her house. Her Wednesday salons where she feeds starving artists. A cab driver who happens to be Armenian so the recent genocide can be discussed. Zoe paints masks for les Mutilés-- men whose faces were horribly disfigured in the war. The Trouser March. Mary Cassatt. Gertrude Stein. The list goes on.
Then there's Zoe's how-has-she-survived-it backstory. Her severely broken leg. The suspicious death of her father. Her evil stepmother. Zoe's scandalous behavior that got her exiled. Her younger sister's marriage and subsequent trip to Germany in which Hitler can be mentioned. I know a lot of this is setting up the characters and the series, but I was often frustrated by the mystery taking a backseat to all the historical detail.
Then there's Zoe, a character I never did warm up to. Her ill-advised affair with a married police officer-- and where is the author trying to take us with those occasional chapters written from the point of view of the police officer's wife? Yes, it's admirable that Zoe's sense of friendship is often stronger than her common sense, but there are only so many times that she can wander around alone at night almost falling down drunk before I can't resist rolling my eyes. Speaking of being drunk-- true to the times-- it's a wonder all the characters don't die of lung cancer and cirrhosis of the liver.
The mystery is very good whenever it is allowed to have center stage, but I'm completely undecided in the matter of will-I-or-won't-I read the next book in the series-- something that's never happened before with this author. I'm feeling more than a bit disloyal.
(Review copy courtesy of the publisher and Net Galley)
