Noir by Robert Coover was a challenge for me. I approached it with a sense of anticipation as well as dread. Coover is a post modernist writer (and I usually detest post modernism), but the basic concept seemed interesting. A noir novel interpreted into a post-modern spin. And it’s a book that some will love, but others (like me) will have to fight to get through all the post-modern annoyances.

Philip Noir is your typical literary detective. He lives and drinks in a dark, moody existence that is occasionally punctured by a client. This time the client is a Widow. He husband committed suicide and she thinks he was murdered by Mr. Big. She drops a roll of money on the desk and hires Noir. Noir starts investigating the case, which is made difficult because he can’t remember her name and never asked her any questions about the case. Fortunately everyone seems to know about her including a crooked cop (Blue) who likes abusing Noir and a snitch named Snark. When Noir gets drunk, his girlfriend Flame lets him sleep it off in her room. Noir would have no clues or idea what to do if it wasn’t for his ultra-competent secretary Blanche who organizes everything and searches record for him.

The whole book is a joke on the hard-boiled detective novel, but it’s a frustrating one. The book is told in the fortunately rarely used second person (you wake up, you go here, etc.) which makes it difficult to read and follow. The characters are broadly drawn spoofs and every possible cliche is thrown out here. Noir might appeal to some readers, but I didn’t really enjoy it. I’d recommend Inherent Vice by Thomas Pynchon (review) if you’re looking for a better done post-modern take on the hard-boiled detective story.