This would get five stars if I had read it more recently.
A complete re-configuration of standard noir / pulp structure & plot-- but with all the elements of the classic framework.
Everything feels normal and regular, a faithful recreation of the banal world, until it doesn't anymore ... a Maltese Penguin, perhaps.

As other reviewers have pointed out, most of this book is back story on a fictional artist and conceited, grating commentary on art criticism. There are elements of humor here and there - The whole thing feels like hyperbole, more so than other novels of this type - so much so that you sometimes find yourself wondering if Willeford is just writing a satire of noir novels. (The famous French Série Noire makes an appearance here, as if to remind you.)

All of that aside, I think the real point is single-minded ambition and obsession, in a very American way. In that regard, it's more interesting (even if it's still alien) than fine art criticism, and it isn't terribly different from the slew of other noir novels that came before and after it. I'm not saying you shouldn't read it, you definitely should, because it's leaner, dryer, and more spartan that most noir (which is, as a rule, a pretty lean genre.) but it still works, it still entertains, it still keeps you guessing, it still creates a world worth escaping into for 150 pages or so.

I felt a little foolish about halfway thru because I was a little bored and expecting more treacherous characters and more mystery... hey! the protagonist is an art critic. so there is as much detail of art and philosophy as a clever safe cracker or jewel thief would share. the tension was remarkable when you break down the basic plot. exciting and I'm looking forward to more Willeford.

I’ve enjoyed many of Charles Willeford’s books (including the great Hoke Mosley series), so I was disappointed that I didn’t like this one. Maybe it was just over my head, but I was restless reading through what seemed like endless trivial dialogue until the story picked up during Part Three of the novel. I would reread some of Willeford’s other books but once with this was enough for me.

A 3.5-star novel with a 5-star title, The Burnt Orange Heresy is modern art criticism woven into a slim work of crime fiction with a deeply cynical heart bathed in bright South Florida sunlight.

It also features possibly the longest uninterrupted mansplaining by any protagonist in American fiction of the last 60 years. Here it's art critic James Figueras whose sleepy girlfriend is subjected to a midnight pontification on Debierue - the great, reclusive, interview-shunning (fictional) painter and originator and lone participant of the "nihilistic surrealism" movement. Debierue is sought for different reasons by the novel's critic and collector but mainly to boost ego and/or career.

The build is slow, the art-world setting and the interplay of artist, critic, collector is entertaining and sometimes riveting. The big crime, when it comes, manages to shock me, even though I knew something like it was coming.

But although Figueras was an ambitious man, his descent was too quick, too great, too careless for me to believe. And although I don't have to particularly like any characters in a novel, his "ick factor" really did get in the way for me.

Disappointing. Short, only 167 pages; NOTHING HAPPENS for the first 110 or so pages aside from some multi-page monologues about contemporary art theory and philosophy. The suspense doesn't build. There is no suspense. The last 50 or so pages switch gears, something happens, and the last 20 pages were at least interesting. I know, lots of five star reviews for this. I just didn't get it.

The movie (which I have not seen) came out earlier this year (2020) with a cast that includes Mick Jagger and Donald Sutherland and has been moved from Florida to Italy.

Crime novel (not a mystery or detective novel) centered on an art critic, Figueras, who sees a chance for a big boost in reputation when he gets the opportunity to interview a reclusive and eccentric French artist who doesn't allow his work to be exhibited--though he has allowed individuals access now and then. The catch: the guy who gets him access to the artist wants Figueras to steal a painting for him. Frankly, the crime aspect of this is the least interesting part. What kept me reading was the incredible backstory given to the artist, and the way the main characters are fleshed out. The ending is a bit of a letdown but only because the rest of it was so compelling.

Wow! What a treat to have read this. Are all art critics so devious? Knowing there was a murder involved, getting to that murder was a wonderful ride. I saw Willeford mentioned in something I was reading about Noir fiction. What was said sent me to my library. My library did not have anything, but kudos to the Swan system. In a matter of a week I picked up this and another title. Read this one. James Figuera tells his story in a wonderfully straight forward way. Stay with it and be surprised with it.

Kitap sanat eleştirmeni olduğunu söyleyen ve hayatını gayet sanat kaygısı içerisinde idame ettiren bir adamın hayatını anlatırken, Ayrıntı Yayınları'nın kara ayrıntı dizisine yakışır şekilde yavaş yavaş gerilimin tırmandığı ve hırsların ön plana çıktığı bir seyre dönüşür.

"Hayatının dörtte üçünü dünyadan uzaklaşıp kabuğuna çekilerek geçirmiş her sanatçı ya sürrealisttir ya da deli."
"Üç ressam bir kahvede buluşup geceyarısına kadar dostça tartıştıktan sonra bir hizip kurmaya karar veriyor, gecenin şarap ve fikir yüklü geç saatlerinde bir sayfa kağıda manifestolarını çiziktiriyorlar, gün doğduğunda birbirlerinden nefret ediyorlardı."

Not a mystery as much as a savage satirical attack on the modern art business, art criticism, modern art movements.

Fun to read.

Meh.
OK, since I have spent a lot of time in South Florida, that was interesting, but way too 1970s for my taste. Even the "redemption" was 1970s -- and meh.
Then, when half way through, I made the HUGE mistake of watching the movie, which was different, better and worse. Italy was pretty.
There are so many better art mystery books, leave this one on the shelf. Not sure what Mick Jagger found so compelling.
Sorry.

This a very clever little book about what happens when you become fixated on acquiring social position. Unlike in B. E. Ellis' American Psycho, this is not an attempt to imagine the inner world of a textbook psychiatric category. We are not in a world where all empathy and moralising is alien and absurd. Willeford creates the more believable scenario of someone who is drawn towards their goals with such focus and ferocity of speed, everything else falls out of view, including the autonomy of those immediately around him.

While Burnt Orange Heresy is supposed to be Willeford's most critically acclaimed work, unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be in print any more. This is a shame since there are far less deserving works still being pressed into circulation. Willeford had a fine understanding of human motive and a pretty good ear for dialog too.