Seymour Shubin is a great crime writer whose ship, for whatever reason, never quite came in to allow him to break into the big time. He’s still at bat, however, and his latest effort is THE HUNCH. Forgive the obvious, groan-worthy pun, but I have a hunch — insert rimshot here — crime-lit fans will like this one, available exclusively from Murder Slim Press.
Jon and Cindy Hendricks are the seemingly perfect middle-aged couple. He’s a well-to-do dentist, she’s a beautiful blonde, and their only child is about to be married. Then Cindy has to go and put a crimp into their enviable life by confessing a one-time affair to Jon. Oh, and it looks like she probably stabbed the guy to death, too.
The poor dead guy was a local theater thespian. The more the police investigate, the more details that emerge about him, i.e. his bisexuality. Jon just hopes such details throws them off the scent that might led to the Hendricks doorstep. He’s mighty protective of Cindy, despite being so disgusted by her infidelity that he sleeps as close to the edge of the bed as possible.
Meanwhile, a paranoid, guilt-ridden Cindy experiences severe mood swings, but basically shutting off most communication with their good friends, including THE HUNCH’s narrator, a crime writer who begins to get suspicious once he puts two and two together and comes up with five. This is a short novel, so even if there’s no mystery to be had, suspense is held for its majority, only waning toward the end when Shubin hits the repeat button on a single scenario.
Two strikes are against THE HUNCH: First, the ending is rather abrupt, not to mention telegraphed ahead. Two, for a book set in the present, some of the dialogue sounds two generations removed. Consider this exchange between the Hendrickses:
“Did I tell you I love you? I love you so much?”
“And I love you, darling.”
“Oh, Jon, how I love to hear it.”
“Oh, Cindy, how I want you.”
“And sweetheart, how I want you.”
“Like this?”
“Oh yes, yes, like this?”
“And like this?”
“Like this forever. Will you ever believe me I love you?”
“I believe you. And believe me I love you.”
That’s the stuff of Douglas Sirk melodramas, not hard-hitting examinations on the aftereffects of murder. But I’m willing to forgive that, because the novel remains a delight to read. I plowed through its first half in an hour sitting poolside, and the second jog went just as fast. —Rod Lott
OTHER BOOKGASM REVIEWS OF THIS AUTHOR:
• THE MAN FROM YESTERDAY by Seymour Shubin
• WITNESS TO MYSELF by Seymour Shubin
Related posts:
- Witness to Myself
- The Man from Yesterday
- The Overlook
- BOOK WHORE >> 4.4.06
- Fun with Bookgasm (and lots of nekkid women)
