What an interesting book! A small perfect elaborate story full of surprising twists and wonderful details. Not surprised Elmore Leonard praises this author. Many specific references to the art world and it’s dark corners, but The book has a unique style which seems to make it both timeless and sort of period piece. It’s very short, the best writers are often brief and to the point.

4.50 Stars (Rnd ⬆️) — Willeford is just such a marvel. That’s my takeout from this novel of complexity that somehow boasts both brute-force & sharp-incision-dissection.

Very different from say ‘Shark infested Custard’, BOH is a novel about the choices we make & those who foolishly believe they do t need to lay in the beds they make. Our protagonist is both sharp-witted whilst simultaneously being a near total dullard. An art critic, he is hellbent on making a name for himself in the art world outside of his criticism. The arc here is tried and true — Extraordinary circumstances occur to enable the character to confront their own legacy, to make more of what life has mashed form their experiences & flung back at them with a singular spoil of bittersweet spoils.

Willeford writes brilliantly and deflects the standard consequences slowing the reader to illuminate whatever they so wish of the end result of it all. Befriending a famous reclusive artist — whom despite feeling like a cliche initially, proves anything but — via a pompous collector, our central character is left to make a swift but incredibly vicious decision that will shake him as a person and as a memory. Or so he thinks. The brilliance here is that them little did he know the he whom he becomes was te he he always was. Excellent reading.

Can't quite stick the landing, but until then, delightfully acid noir.

EDIT: Now that I've got a keyboard, I don't want to ruin too much about this book. It really is best to go in cold, in part because while you'll guess the core actions from miles away, how you get there and why, in the skull of sociopathic art critic James, is half the fun.

The book will cut particularly close for academics and people who've spent time around them. James is the pitch-perfect depiction of That Guy In Your MFA, and that alone makes this worth reading.

Just okay. It starts a bit slow, but I guess the plot gives you insights about the narrator. He is more amoral than immoral. The ending was a bit surprising. I gave it 3 stars because I did learn about the art world, which I know little about.

Willeford, to me, it like the perfect intersection of high and low brow like an article in Playboy from the late 70's about some social issue facing the nation. He is always playing to the cheap seats, but lovingly, dispersing just enough of his insights and psychology to guide the reader along into seeing the bigger picture. Juxtaposing this with the usual sensationalism of crimes or noire femme fatales always leaves me giddy and elated while reading. What can I say, I'm a simpleton. But here, with The Burnt Orange Heresy, Willeford truly outdoes himself. This feels like the book Willeford was born to write and had been working towards ever since he typed his first word onto a page. A perfect combination of his usual plot elements and idiosyncrasies yields something that for once rises above the usual cynicism and satire of unlikable men in desperate situations but yet nestles right on top like oil on water. It's still a light, enjoyable read but everything is so economical you can almost miss all the excellence worth unpacking contained within. Here is a writer who has toyed with the same ingredients so much so that he can make a masterpiece now with the bare minimum of effort.

Willeford has provided us an oddly eccentric and offbeat collection of novels. He wrote crime fiction that doesn’t always feel like crime fiction and offers characters who are odd ducks. Here, the subject is the art world, best epitomized by his description of a gallery owner who didn’t know a thing about art, but was nevertheless successful. The lead character is James Figueras, an art critic out to make a name for himself in the art world though he admits he has few friends on Florida’s Gold Coast as he never picks up the check. James has a lady friend, a large gal who he can’t get rid of, Berenice Hollis. The feeling for him is purely physical and, even that’s not enough, sometimes.

Figueras is contacted by a criminal lawyer who is willing to arrange an interview with the infamous Jacque Debierue, an artist who was his own movement of nihilistic surrealism and who no longer shows his paintings and certainly does not sell them. Debierue is mysterious and hidden like J. D. Salinger. Getting an interview with him would be a high point of Figueras’ career. There is only one catch. Figueras won’t get Debierue’s address unless he agrees to steal a painting for the lawyer.

Figueras has no qualms about stealing the painting or casing the place while the famous artist mixes orange juice for his guests. What qualms? Anything for success. And, indeed, what ultimately happens is all about Figueras’ character and may be more sinister than anything the reader suspects.

Interestingly, in the recent 2019 movie starring Donald Sutherland and Mick Jagger, they changed the name of the painter and his retirement location was moved from Florida to Lake Como, Italy, altering the feel of who the painter had become. Moreover, the film writers completely altered the ending so it is rather different than what Willeford had originally intended. Can't discuss the changes though without falling headfirst into spoiler territory.

Apparently I have a new favourite genre and it's existential psychological suspense-thrillers about amoral psychopathic protagonists set in the art world. Unfortunately, there are only two books I know of that are in this genre: this one and Patricia Highsmith's Ripley Under Ground, one of my favourites of hers.

Apart from my own self-defined genre (I guess I'll call it abstract expressionist noir?) The Burnt Orange Heresy is really kind of difficult to categorise or talk about, though. If you go in semi-blind as I did, anything you might think about it will probably turn out being wrong. I know Charles Willeford as a post-pulp hardboiled writer, and while this book does kind of reach that tone toward the very end, the majority of it is very loose and abstract in its plot and themes and definitely not as thrilling as its blurb baits. I certainly didn't expect the immense amount of page-count devoted solely to highly intellectual art theory, but thought it was all pretty amazing nonetheless and spoke really well to the grander existential theme overall (it's only once you get to the end do you realise the brilliance of the book's epigraph: "Nothing exists. If anything exists, it is incomprehensible. If anything was comprehensible, it would be incommicable." It means a lot more than you think it does).

I was a little put-off by Willeford's depiction of the main female character and his constant degradation of her intelligence, a criticism I also had with Miami Blues (a amazingly written book that nonetheless made me feel incredibly icky in its near-constant misogyny). But it was a little easier to handle in this book because it was easier to understand what the author is actually doing -- once I realised that it's actually the male protagonist's perception of her he's critiquing much more than the female character herself, it became a lot more interesting to me.

A noir novel about the amoral world of art scholarship. In Charles Willeford's The Burnt Orange Heresy tells of art critic James Figueras who needs more cash than his writing gigs pay him -- but who doesn't want to go back to teaching. So with the help of a rich art collector, he sidles up to a French painter who has relocated to South Florida. This artist is unusual in that he doesn't like exhibiting his work to anyone. Figueras's task is to steal one of the painter's recent canvases for the collector. Surprises, however, are in store regarding the recent work; and his visit to the painter in company with his girlfriend Berenice leads to some interesting and very noir developments.

The first time I read this book was more than 30 years ago. I picked it up from a $2 bin and wasn't expecting much. But it turned out to be a real gem. Somewhere along the way I disposed of the book. Big mistake.
I forgot the title. I forgot the author's name. I forgot a fair bit of the actual story. But I never forgot how much I'd enjoyed reading it and wished I could read it again. It's hard to track down a book when you don't know its title or author.
But I got lucky. They've now made a movie from it and I stumbled across a review, recognised the story and found the book in my local library.
It's just as good the second time.
First person account by an ambitious art critic. He's offered the opportunity to interview a reclusive artist who hasn't been heard from in decades. There's a price to pay. No problem, at least to start with.
It's hard to describe the peculiar charm of this story. There's far more in it than the plot.
Highly recommended.

I thoroughly enjoyed the writing and the trip to the '70s. But I dont think I was the target audience for this book.

Wow, for years people have been recommending Willeford to me. While maybe not the most upbeat book for the holiday season, it is one fantastic noir short novel.

The writing is in first person, and by the time you are 20 pages in, it is clear James Figueras is one self-conceited, egotistical, psychopath. While part of his character is described by his actions, Willeford takes us into the character's mind in a very detailed fashion as the plot line is laid out.

The story is a simple one with some surprising turns. Figueras wants to be the best known art critic. On his way to get their, he has a chance of interviewing one of modern art's most enigmatic artists, Jacques Debierue. The big surprise comes when after interviewing Debierue, Figueras breaks into his studio--and then it gets even stranger.

A very good, quick read. It is intense; Willeford has a way with creating very dark, but believable characters. And despite how awful of a person Figueras is, you just want to keep reading more to see what happens next!

Had a similar reaction to other low star readers. The short book is very slow. The author spend alot of words describing ordinary situations. So much so, the reader is ahead of the author. When is comes to a point in the story where it is called for the explanation of character’s emotional state, the author is mute.