more heft to them, but they were short. There wasn’t all that much in the way of incident, nor were all that many words used to tell the tale. In an effort to keep the novels from looking as short as they were, Parker’s publishers typically used largertype and wider margins. And they leaded out the text, so that there was often enough space between the lines of a Spenser novel to contain another whole book. The net effect of this typographic enhancement was to make the books even easier to read—as if that were necessary.)
From the opening lines of The Godwulf Manuscript , Spenser’s first-person voice is a delight to that inner ear. Spenser would become more his own man over time, and less a Back Bay Philip Marlowe, but that’s to be expected in a series of any length; the character undergoes a process of self-realization. But when it came to voice, Spenser was Spenser from the jump.
And what makes us want to hear it? What makes us listen, even when that mellifluous voice is telling us things we aren’t all that eager to hear, even when the story’s too thin and the premise too frail and Spenser’s task insufficiently challenging?
One ought to be able to take that auctorial voice apart and explain why it does what it does. And maybe someone can do this, but not I. All I can do is say that I think the man got it right:
We like the way it sounds.
• •
I’ve had occasion to think about Bob Parker’s irresistible voice lately, upon the announcement that two writers have been approved by Parker’s estate to continue his two most popular series. Ace Atkins will write new books about Spenser, while Michael Brandman already has written the next Jesse Stone novel, called Killing the Blues .
I was surprised when I learned this, but decided upon reflection that I had no reason to be. Writers have been taking up the lance of a fallen colleague for a century ormore. In today’s publishing climate, beset by its own equivalent of global warming, death means never having to say you’re done writing. The market dominance of brand name authors, the glut of books by living authors with acknowledged or unacknowledged “collaborators” or out-and-out ghostwriters, and the pastiche/homage of writers producing prequels and sequels to classic works all combine to make a continuation of Parker’s work an appealing proposition to all concerned.
Though perhaps not quite all. I’m not sure it’s such a great deal for the reader.
• •
First, though, there’s the question of what Parker himself would think of it. Is he likely to be spinning in his grave at the very idea?
I didn’t know the man anywhere near well enough to venture a guess. Ego could tug a writer in either direction; he might be reluctant to see his characters follow him to the grave, or he might be loathe to see others putting words into their mouths.
But any objection from this particular writer would seem to stand on shaky ground. Parker completed Poodle Springs , a Philip Marlowe novel that Raymond Chandler left unfinished at his death; later, he wrote a sequel to Chandler’s The Big Sleep , with the felicitous title Perchance to Dream . The man’s motives could not have been higher, as he admired Chandler hugely, wrote his doctoral dissertation about him, and quite clearly drew Spenser more from Marlowe than any other source.
And I suppose the books are all right, although one is never in doubt for a moment that another hand than Chandler’s is at work there. (In Perchance , Parker includes flashback passagesfrom The Big Sleep , set off typographically so you’ll know they’re Chandler’s. This was remarkably daring on his part, I always thought, and not necessarily the best idea he ever had.)
Spinning in his grave? No, probably not.
• •
There are, we should note, some reasons to engage a new author to take over a series. And not just the most obvious one (“We can sell some books! We can make some money!”).
I remember