Moonlight Mile by Dennis Lehane
Life is good. Here’s why: Dennis Lehane has written another Kenzie/Gennaro mystery, and I got an ARC of it!* (Enormously grateful to the person who not only stood in line to acquire a copy, but who, recalling my Lehane weakness, also had it signed for me.)
Joy abounds, does it not?
And here’s what else is good: this book.
Dennis Lehane. I tell you.
This man can write.
And I think I might be in love with Patrick Kenzie.
But he’s taken, ladies. Oh, yes. He and Angie are married and they have a darn cute 4-year-old who is messing up their PI mojo.
In fact, Angie’s already departed that line of work and has gone back to school. And Patrick has kinda sorta sold his soul to a large firm that asks him to carry out investigations that nearly always seem to favor the bad guys in the end.
So when teenaged Amanda, the kidnapped child they located over a decade before (in Gone, Baby, Gone), disappears again, Patrick gets sucked in. That earlier recovery effort did not have a happy ending, no sir, and if redemption is within reach (even if he pretends that’s not what this is about), it’s not like he can ignore it.
And before you can really even focus your eyes, there are Russian gangsters and really bad things happening. Things that, if this were a movie, would make me avoid it at all costs.
But, since Patrick is still his same old self, I’m right there with him. And now that he’s a daddy, he’s even more enchanting. Dear heaven. And his friend (violent-criminal-with-a-heart-of-gold) Bubba’s in the role of adoring uncle-figure, and that’s about enough to make a stoic woman start cooing.
But here, people, is the thing. This story is gorgeously constructed, brilliantly told, and utterly satisfying. But…
… It seems to close the book on Kenzie and Gennaro as private investigators.
And I tell you: I feel mixed about this. I do.
I wish them well. I wish for them a peaceful and happy life. I do!
But blast it all, if they have that, then there ain’t any more Kenzie/Gennaro mysteries, and I think that’s something akin to a literary catastrophe.
So here I sit, after having read a completely kick-a** book, feeling utterly ambivalent. I’m not going to go lecturing Mr. Lehane (may I call you Dennis?) or cajoling him to bring them out of retirement, because really, only he can make that choice. But if he goes that route… I’m there, Dennis.
I. Am. Right. There.
* This puppy hits libraries and bookstores November 2.