Great stuff - if you like Elmore Leonard you’ll enjoy this

“That prick detective’s pretty sharp”. A novel that immerses you in Miami life – the humidity, the cool drinks, the dastardly villains duffing up Hari Krishnas – only to hit you over the head with sudden, random, bursts of genuine nastiness. This, like Miami, has a breeziness…until it doesn’t. It also had me running to Amazon to order the other novels in Charles Willeford’s Hoke Moseley quartet (the “Moseliad”?)

Willeford writes so well, “Blues” appears to be an almost effortless performance. Freddy Frenger, Jr, aka Ramon Mendez (“I don’t laugh at TV because it isn’t real”) exits San Quentin, flies to Florida, casually breaks the fingers of a random Hari Krishna at the airport and embarks on a low-level crime spree of credit card theft, hold-ups and murder. On the way he “marries” prostitute Susie Waggoner who turns out to be the brother of…that Hari Krishna. The coincidence is brilliantly mental, it has Freddy taking up smoking again just thinking about it (“it was so unlikely to meet a brother and a sister in two different places on the same day in a strange town”) and suddenly, narratively, anything can happen; it signals Willeford is not afraid of letting a little random craziness enter the narrative. Miami cop Hoke Moseley and his partner Bill Henderson slowly zero in on Freddy as he leaves a trail of dead bodies in his wake, dealing with many set-backs, near misses and distractions, until Willeford engineers a cheer-worthy resolution. If you like the invisible but clockwork plotting of “Breaking Bad” that is here in spades.

The number one thing I love about “Miami Blues” is the characterisation. There is pages of it and I lapped it up. The POV see-saws equally between physically deteriorating Hoke and muscle mountain career criminal Freddy, between pursuer and pursued, and Willeford gives them both equal time, carefully illustrating the lifestyle and psychological differences between the two men. When Hoke gets horrible injured he gets a card signed by forty of his colleagues; when Freddy is injured he has to pay some random drunk guy to patch him up. Hoke may be terrible at life but he’s an excellent, if not flawless, cop, one of those characters – as many have observed – you just want to hang out with. The moment Freddy hits Susie, on the other hand, you’re in no doubt as to the horror of her situation and urging Hoke on to get this scumbag off the streets. Ditzy Susie enters proceedings as a sexual slave run by greasy hotelier Pablo, then a parodic marital slave under Freddy. Hoke’s partner Bill Henderson has a wife Marie who is a member of the Miami chapter of NOW (the National Organisation for Women, a real organisation active today) and Hoke himself alludes to having a little handcuff fun in bed with a girl called Bambi. These details are all fielded ultra-casually but cumulatively it demonstrates Willeford wasn’t deaf to the many different female experiences out there in 1984 and he wasn’t just going to trot out Madonna/Whore tropes. I certainly wouldn’t have expected the writer of “Pick-Up” to do that, anyway. Hoke eventually has a new female partner foisted onto him in the form of Ellita Sanchez which gets off on the worst foot possible but by the finale there are signs this could be the start of a beautiful, and unusual, new friendship. Hoke is one of fiction’s good guys, his humanity leaps off the page.

In his introduction maestro Lawrence Block says “If you’re about to read him for the first time or the fiftieth, I envy you. You’re in for a treat” and I can’t put it better than that. “Miami Blues” is completely different to the other two Willefords I’ve read but an immensely enjoyable read nonetheless. Plus, added benefit, should I ever run into Quentin Tarantino we can both have a fanboy session over our mutual love of Charles Willeford. “You got some crazy people in this town, d’you know that?”

Scrittura diretta, personaggi diretti, freddi e cattivi, che volere di più? In una Miami avvolta da un caldo ottenebrante si aggirano personaggi oscuri che nascondono trascorsi personali poco invidiabili; nessun colpo di scena, nessun mistero da svelare, solo una trama avvolgente che si addentra i menti malate che indirizzano comportamenti deviati.

Recently released psychopath Freddy Frenger’s arrived in Miami and kicked off his latest crime spree with the murder of a Hare Krishna. It’s up to Detective Sergeant Hoke Mosely to take Freddy off the streets!

Miami Blues is an excellent crime novel and the first book featuring Charles Willeford’s recurring character Hoke Mosely. Willeford’s prose is so smooth, the pages fly by - he immediately takes you into the scene and effortlessly shows you the characters so clearly. I’ve never been to Florida, let alone Miami, and yet I feel like I got to know it a bit thanks to Willeford’s descriptions of the city and its surrounding counties. It’s a crime novel but this is superb writing regardless of genre.

I loved the villain Freddy, whose actions were always interesting and unpredictable, and Hoke is a great character too - a smart, capable cop but also vulnerable, thoughtful and very human. There are some novelistic contrivances in play - the Hare Krishna connecting to Freddy’s girl, Susan Waggoner - but they only make the story more entertaining so it didn’t bother me.

There are also moments where Willeford plays it unexpectedly realistically. Like when Hoke catches up to Freddy near the end and Freddy runs off - I’ve seen too many crime/thriller stories now to expect a chase scene, but Willeford doesn’t do that. Instead Hoke realises his car’s blocking traffic so he moves it to the side, then gets a coffee and a sandwich, thinking about how to play it, then makes the smart policing move, going by the book, which ends up working out. I love that Willeford could make the normal a surprising element in a fictional story.

Generally it’s a snappy read but I felt it slowed down in the middle with Hoke convalescing for a bit and Freddy carrying on with his petty crimes, though even then the writing was masterful. Miami Blues (I prefer the original title - Kiss Your Ass Good-Bye - because it’s funnier and trashier, and the one he settled on is somewhat forgettable/unimpressive) is a great example of the importance of storytelling over story. On paper, it’s a generic cops’n’robbers story but in Willeford’s hands it’s uniquely compelling.

Miami Blues is a fantastic novel and I’m delighted to make Charles Willeford’s acquaintance - I'm definitely going to read more from this brilliant author.

Not my genre, so I don’t have many points of comparison, but I enjoyed the characters, dialogue, and haiku discussion. The plot meanders a little, but maybe that’s the book’s charm. I also appreciated the side Faulkner-style evil.

Hoke Moseley is old school, hard-boiled and hard-wired to distrust change but his Miami world of the late 80's is changing fast.

'It used to be a lot different when Hoke was still married. Four or five couples would get together for a barbecue and some beer. Then, after they ate, the women would all sit in the living room and talk about how difficult their deliveries had been, and the men would sit in the kitchen and play poker ... That had been real Florida living, but now all the white families were moving away. There were six different detectives Hoke had known who had left Miami in the last year alone.
Hoke looked out at the river, never the same river. He wanted another shot of Early Times, but not at these prices. Hoke left the bar and got his car from the parking ramp... the smell of vomit on the back seat was almost overpowering. When he got to the Eldorado Hotel, he'd get one of the Marielitos who lived there to clean it out.'

The 'Marielitos' embody all that has gone wrong in Hoke's mid-life American Nightmare.

'Our wimpy ex-President, Jimmy Carter, opened his arms to 125,000 Cubans back in 1980... but Castro also opened his prisons and insane asylums and sent along another 25,000 hardcore criminals, gays and maniacs. They sailed from Mariel, in Cuba, so they call them Marielitos.'

Hoke's detective badge and gun are the bulwark against the inevitable fall of civilization as he knows it, his own personal hard headed power amplified by his status as a Miami Homicide Detective. When he falls, beaten to a pulp, badge and gun stolen, it isn't at the hands of a 'Marielito' but to the very white, very American Freddy Frenger Junior - the grotesquely muscled psychopath recently released from San Quentin, intent on pillaging his way to as much cash and high living as he could manage before he would be incarcerated again.

In his own way, Junior Frenger sustains his own American Dream just as Hoke's has become tattered and obsolete. Junior is ambitious and will do whatever it takes to reach his goals. He believes that if he really, really, really wants something, all he has to do is go and take it - usually by breaking bones, smashing heads or pumping bullets into a human obstacle.
Not that Hoke is in any way a pacifist or shy of applying muscle when he deems fit, but Hoke's code of honor, such as it is, is predicated on his sense of selfless service - he doesn't take bribes, he pays his tab at Irish Mike's bar (reluctantly, and only when Mike demands it), and is loyal to his colleagues, even though he avoids their company.

The concept of a hard-bitten, weary cop isn't new, and wasn't new when Willeford created Hoke Moseley, but Moseley stands out as a singular example of the genre. A willing product of his casually racist, misogynistic, macho culture, and honed in the crucible of police dept siege mentality, Hoke Moseley exists on the margins where the sun rising on civil society tomorrow can't be assumed, where the threat of malicious injury or death is always real, and where, even if you fear 'others' as a collective abstract threat, your killer may very well look just like you.

'Hoke went to the desk and poured an overflowing jigger of Early Times into his tooth glass. Too much. He poured part of it back into the bottle. His hands shook a little, and he spilled part of his drink. He could hear his heart beat. The more he thought of Mendez, the more afraid he was. This was not paranoia. When a man has beaten you badly and you know that he can do it again, a wholesome fear is a sign of intelligence.'

Un libro interesante, es novela negra sin ser la típica novela negra.

No sé muy bien que decir al respecto, me ha gustado y le pongo un 3,5/5 que redondeo a 3/5. Tiene un estilo propio y peculiar, tanto la historia como la escritura.

Para decidir si quieres leerla o no, en vez de únicamente leer el resumen del libro, te recomiendo que leas su prólogo. En unas pocas páginas te pone en antecedentes del autor y de la historia, más que suficiente para decidir si continúas o no.

wow this blew me away! i'm a fan pot boiler detective books like jim thompson and elmore leanord- but this is much better! so shocking, violent and surprising! on to book 2 in the Hoke Moseley series!

This was a very good "cop pursuing a villain" yarn. Freddy, who is an intelligent, adaptable, improvising, psychopathic criminal, stole the show for me. The Mosely character was a good take on the homicide detective. As a broke slob who wears dentures, I found character to be believable. There is some really fabulous dialogue and some wonderful minor characters. A small part with a crooked Vice officer was my favorite.

Highly recommended for the fans of the classic crime genre. I look forward to completing the series.

Miami Blues (1984) is Charles Whitteford’s first novel in the Hoke Moseley Series. Hoke is no hero; he’s just a bloke doing his job and good at it, and who knows how to navigate the political side of a career in the police. (The book was made into a movie that received a Rotten Tomatoes score of 2, just above the basement; that flop was due to the movie makers, not to Charles Whitteford.)

We begin with Marty Waggoner, a Hare Krishna (remember them?) begging at the Miami Airport baggage claim. Freddy “Junior” Frenger, an ex-con and a petty crook, prone to violence, is also at the claims area to steal baggage, wallets, and whatever comes to hand; Junior lives on the kindness (credit cards) of strangers. Marty hits Junior up for a donation and Junior, who intensely dislikes the cult (as did many people at that time) breaks Marty’s finger when it is poked in his face. Marty over-reacts by dying on the spot; apparently, a broken finger can induce severe shock.

Marty’s sister, Susan, with whom Marty lives, is a diminutive over-skinny twenty-year old who looks like a teeny-bopper. She is a student at Dade County Community College who turns tricks on the side, and she is not about to become class valedictorian. Hoke meets Susan when he goes to give her the bad news about Marty. There he also meets Junior, whom Susan has just met at the college; he is now Susan’s boyfriend in a “platonic marriage.” Coincidence? Hoke has his doubts.

Meanwhile, Hoke is investigating an apparently unrelated murder. The husband, child, and maid of a Columbian woman are found dead, along with two Columbian thugs, in her condominium; the woman was not at home, having gone to the airport. Coincidence?

The appeal in Willeford’s writing is not in the crimes that occur, or in the process of solving them. It is in Willeford’s description of the life of a cop: the daily grind, the politics involved, the strategies used to protect oneself from harm by bad guys and from office politics—-the latter seems the most dangerous.

3½ stars.

I'd read this before, but it was years ago and right after I'd watched the movie (which is one of my favorite movies), so all I saw were the similarities and differences. This time around I could appreciate the thing in and of itself. Which is hilarious and strange and wonderful! Now to read all the sequels...

Poiché fra i generi che leggo più di frequente metto anche thriller e noir, ho amato molto alcune opere di Manchette e Carlotto, per fare due nomi famosi, o anche n  Les Italiensn di Pandiani, l’algoritmo che calcola i suggerimenti automatici di Goodreads mi proponeva questo libro. In genere trovo questi suggerimenti abbastanza azzeccati, e quando a ciò si è aggiunto il consiglio “umano” di un altro utente del social network, sembrava davvero arrivato il momento di mettere alla prova questo autore per me nuovo, Charles Willeford. Tuttavia devo ammettere che avevo qualche timore, proprio perché, avendone letti parecchi, ultimamente questo genere di romanzi non mi stava più riservando grandi sorprese, e ormai cominciava a farsi alto il rischio di “già sentito” (o, all’opposto, di una troppo esasperata ricerca dell’eccesso), tanto che alcuni degli ultimi esempi non mi avevano proprio entusiasmato (n  Lettera ai miei assassinin, n  La notte del gatto neron, n  L’occhio privato di Denvern, n  Chiamami Buion); insomma ho iniziato il libro convinta di sapere più o meno cosa aspettarmi… e con grande piacere ho invece scoperto di avere fra le mani finalmente qualcosa di diverso. Suona un po’ paradossale fare questo complimento a uno dei capostipiti del genere (Miami Blues è del 1984), o forse invece è proprio indice che, almeno per quanto mi riguarda, le “nuove leve” sono un po’ in crisi ed è necessario tornare “alle radici”.

Mi ha subito favorevolmente stupito proprio perché, al contrario di molti altri emuli… non sente la necessità di stupire e sconvolgere il lettore a ogni pagina: la scrittura, la trama, si dipanano con ritmi lenti e toni piani, senza fretta e senza concitazione.

Al solito, il poliziotto protagonista è il classico “rottame umano” (divorziato, senza soldi, beve, eccetera), però stavolta l’autore non tenta a tutti i costi di rendere “romantica” questa caratterizzazione, ce la mostra in modo schietto e onesto, senza risparmiare i dettagli squallidi e sgradevoli (o persino un po’ grotteschi, come i denti finti) e dolorosamente concreti (come i dettagli delle spese mediche). Soprattutto Hoke Moseley non sembra il classico tipo fascinoso che si incontra in questo genere di romanzi, ha i suoi lati negativi, come la generale avversione per l’ondata di immigrati di origine latina che sta invadendo Miami, sembra un buon poliziotto ma, in questo primo romanzo, è spesso in balìa degli eventi, senza capirci granché.

La trama stessa è bizzarra, poiché non c’è alcun “caso” da risolvere (o meglio uno ci sarebbe, il massacro nella villa dei trafficanti colombiani, ma è totalmente marginale alla vicenda dei protagonisti e risolto “fuori scena” in un attimo da altri personaggi!), tutto prende il via da un evento quasi risibile e paradossale, che innesca però una serie di conseguenze imprevedibili e fortuite in cui, appunto, il protagonista si trova coinvolto quasi senza volerlo.

Altro elemento “originale” sono le frequenti digressioni apparentemente estranee alla trama principale, dilatate in modo inusuale, come la lezione sulla poesia haiku cui assistono Freddy e Susan o il primo appuntamento fra i due, o i dettagli sulle ricette di Susan, o le frequenti ripetizioni di uno stesso concetto (il telefono dell’albergo in cui vive Hoke che deve squillare più e più volte prima che qualcuno si decida a rispondere). Sembra quasi che questi “strani” dialoghi di Willeford abbiano fatto da modello per quelli celebri e ugualmente “inconcludenti” dei film di Tarantino.

Su tutto emerge comunque la descrizione di una Miami soffocata da caldo e umidità e immersa nella violenza praticamente in ogni angolo di strada, colta in un momento delicatissimo della sua storia, all’indomani della massiccia immigrazione dei “Marielitos”.

Forse il voto finale è un po’ generoso, ma mi sono piaciuti ritmo e personaggi e penso che proseguirò la lettura della serie.

4/5

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