Stardust |
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Stardust |
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Latest Update 22 November 2005 by Bob Ames
| Hardcover Edition | |||||
| Published by: | G. P. Putnam's Sons | ||||
| Publication Date: | 1990 | ||||
| ISBN: | 0-399-13537-5 | ||||
| Paperback Edition | |||||
| Published by:: | Berkley | ||||
| ISBN | 0-425-12723-0 | ||||
| Large Print Edition | |||||
| Published by | Thorndike | ||||
| ISBN | 1-560-54068-0 | ||||
| Audio Cassette Edition | |||||
| Published by: | Books on Tape | Simon and Schuster | |||
| Read By: | Michael Prichard | Burt Reynolds | |||
| Length | 6 cassettes, 360 min. | 2 cassettes, 180 min. | |||
The above information is from the online catalog of the Minuteman Library Network and my own collection.---Bob
"For Joan: No dream in vain"
Taken from the back cover of the Berkley paperback edition
"Spenser is back in the spotlight! Robert B. Parker, one of the greatest mystery writers of our time, introduces his tough-talking hero to one of the wildest clients of his career: Jill Joyce, the star of TV's Fifty Minutes. She's beautiful, bitchy, sexy--and someone is stalking her. Spenser can hardly blame the would-be assassin...until he's drawn into a nightmare that gives new meaning to the term "stage fright." STARDUST is an instant classic of hard-boiled suspense by the all-time master...."
(ever notice how these jacket teasers sound like they're ads for prime-time soaps or tabloid shows? I'm glad the books themselves don't read like this. Sheesh)
"The character Jill is playing is a psychologist (which makes sense, since Susan is also a psychologist.) The difference between psychologist and psychiatrist a psychiatrist is a medical doctor, specializing in mental illness (he can prescribe drugs as well). A psychologist did study psychology and usually works as psychotherapist or psychoanalyst and is NOT allowed to prescribe drugs."
A close friend of mine was treated by a psychiatrist, and with proper medication she overcame suicidal depression. In the course of that I came to know the difference very well and should have caught this. Thanks Simone.
When Parker was writing his first book, "The Godwulf Manuscript," he gave his character the first name David, in honor of one of his sons. But he then considered that his other son Dan might wind up being jealous, so he deleted all references and simply called him Spenser. Over time it became a running joke and he has stated that it will remain that way.
We generally say "So much to do, so little time". Cecil Rhodes (1853-1902), English administrator, gold, diamond and real estate entrepreneur upon which the famous scholarships were founded, said "So little done, so much to do". But he must have got it from Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892) who wrote, "So many words, so much to do/So little done, such things to be".From 'In Memoriam', line 73.
I believe that it was Mae West, well known for her daring comments, that once said "So many men, so little time" But I can´t remember the film or year so consider this unconfirmed to say the least.
This was the tagline for a series of advertisements ... not sure when, around the time the book was written or a little earlier, I think ... the ads were for furs. Don't remember if they were for a particular brand of fur ... Blackglama? Is that a brandname? Anyway, the ads would feature famous people in their furs ... Lillian Hellman comes to mind for some reason. So when Spenser sees Jill in her mink, he says to himself, "What becomes a legend most?"
One of the more famous models was Barbara Streisand.
Blackglama®, now a subsidiary of American Legend Inc., ran quite a number of these ads over the years. A partial list of models read as follows: Elizabeth Taylor, Sophia Loren, Audrey Hepburn, Lauren Bacall, Judy Garland, Bette Davis, Barbara Streisand, Catherine Deneuve, Diana Ross, and Marlena Dietrich. After a ten year hiatus Linda Evangelista in 2000 and Giselle Bundchen in 2002 continued the tradition.
"This is a reference to the Dorothy Parker review of 'The Lake' starring
Katherine Hepburn. It opened on Dec. 26, 1933 and DP wrote in The New
Yorker: 'Miss Hepburn runs the gamut of emotion from A to B.'"
I know that Ms. Parker was justly famous for her scathing reviews but I had never encountered this one. Good call, Frank.
"Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch
thee. I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation,
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?"
I like to quote the whole passage as a reminder of where the classic Star Trek series got the episode title "Daggers of the Mind."
"The Ralston Straight Shooters appeared on a youth oriented radio show 1933-1950, sponsored by the Ralston Purina Co. Their pledge was: Hot Ralston was the Straight Shooter's cereal; Hot Ralston the cereal to help build a stronger America. Tom Mix, originally a U.S. Marshall, became a star, beginning in 1910, in 400 low-budget westerns as well as appearing in radio serials."
"Tortellini is of course Italian. However, Spenser seems to joke that it is Latin, implying that tortellini is a masculine nominative plural. In that case, the sentence would have to read, not tortellinum (neuter nominative singular), but tortellinus (the singular of tortellini) (unless of course, RBP realized that the transitive verb "are eating" takes an object, thus transforming tortellinus (masculine nominative case) into tortellinum (masculine accusative case). This I would doubt. Can't believe how useful all those years of Latin would turn out to be."
"'How come your scarf's so long?' I said. Susan put her hand on my arm.
Riggs turned and looked at me. 'What?' he said.
'Your scarf,' I said, 'is dangerously long. You might step on it and strangle yourself.'
Susan dug her fingers into my arm.
'What the fuck are you talking about?' Riggs said.
'Your scarf. I may have to make a citizen's arrest here, your scarf is a safety hazard.'
Riggs looked at Nogarian and Salzman. 'Who the fuck is this guy, Milo?'
Nogarian looked as if he'd eaten something awful. Salzman seemed to be struggling with laughter. Susan's grip on my arm was so hard now that if I weren't tougher than six roofing nails it might have hurt.
'Looks dandy though,' I said."
"'Why'd you lean on him?' Nogarian said.
'He seemed something of a dork,' I said.
Salzman laughed again. 'You start leaning on every dork in the television business, you're going to be a busy man.'
'So many dorks,' I said, 'so little time.'"
"'So what do you know about the deal here,' Saltzman said when we were seated.
- 'I know Susan's working for you as a technical adviser on this show, which is about a woman shrink and her husband is a cop.'
'Right,' Saltzman said. 'You seen the show?'
- 'No,' I said.
'Premise is ridiculous,' Susan said.
- 'Right,' I said. 'How could a sophisticated psychotherapist fall for the kind of semi-thug that gets to be a cop?'
'Semi?' Susan said."
"'Who would I be working for technically?' I said.
'Michael J. Maschio,' Sandy said.
'Who is?'
'President of Zenith Meridien Television, a subsidy of Zenith Meridien Film Corporation.'
'Not Riggs,' I said.
'Hell, no, when Mike Maschio says "green," Marty Riggs says, "and a deep dark green it is, sir."'"
"'What shall I call you,' she said.
'Cuddles,' I said. 'Most of my closest friend call me that.'
'Cuddles?'
'Yes,' I said.
'You seem to have awfully big shoulders for Cuddles.'"
"She held out her hand to the guy, whose face ran the gamut of emotions from A to B."
"'What do you think?' Salzman said.
'I think you're hiring me for the wrong job,' I said. 'I think you should hire me to go beat up the writers.'
Salzman shrugged. 'Hard cranking out a script a week,' he said.
'Obviously,' I said."
"At 6:10 the winter morning was as bright as a hooker's promise and warmer than her heart."
"Route 128 was clear of snow, and the exits were fully plowed and clear. I didn't even need to put the jeep in four-wheel drive. I rarely needed to put it in four-wheel drive. Sometimes I went out and drove around in snowstorms just to justify it."
"Around a turn was Rojack's house. It was one of those places that an architect had been given a free hand with, and too much money. He had decided that he could make a totally postmodern statement without violating the traditional forms implicit in the setting. The place looked like it had been designed by Georges Braque while drunk. It was slabs and angles and cubes and slants in fieldstone and brick and glass and timber, and it flaunted itself against the pastured landscape in self-satisfied excess."
"He dismounted with a somersault and launched an all-out karate attack on the heavy bag, spinning in midair to kick it, whirling balletically to drive home an elbow or a sharp-knuckled fist...For the coup de grace he leaped into the air, scissor-kicked the bag with both feet and went into a backward somersault as he landed on his back, rolling to his feet in one continuous motion.
...
'That kind of thing happen to you often?' I said.
Rojack said, 'We both felt it important that you understand about Randall, that you recognize clearly that this morning was merely a very lucky misjudgment on Randall's part...lucky, that is, for you.'
Randall was so thrilled by his performance that his face was fluorescent with excitement.
'Is he going to do anything else?' I said. 'Juggle four steak knives while whistling "Malaguena"? Something like that?'
Randall's breath was still coming a little short. 'You like to...show us...what you...can do on the bag?'
I looked at Rojack.
'Be my guest,' he said. I think the sound in his voice was mockery.
'Go ahead...big shot,' Randall said.
I shrugged, reached under my left shoulder, pulled my gun and put a bullet into the middle of the body bag. The sound of the shot was shockingly loud in the silent gym. The body bag jumped. I put the gun back under my arm, smiled in a friendly way at Rojack and Randall, and walked out. As I headed through the house to the front door, the smell of the pistol shot lingered gently after me."
[sorry that was so long, but I just love that...object lesson. It's priceless. -ed]
"'Did Spenser tell you what I've been looking for ever since I got to Boston?' She put an h in Boston.
'A noble black savage,' Hawk said.
Jill shook her head. She was implacable. She probably didn't listen to what I said or Hawk said or the byplay between us.
'I want something about this long,' she said and made her two-foot measuring gesture again.
Hawk examined the distance between her hands seriously, then nodded thoughtfully.
'Could send over my little brother,' he said."
"Waymark was in the Berkshire Hills, maybe two hours and twenty minutes west of Boston. There was a high gloss of rustic chic in the Berkshires, Tanglewood, Stockbridge, Williamstown Theater Festival; and there enclaves of rural poverty where the official town mascot was probably a rat. Waymark was one of these."
"There was a man walking his dog on the mall. The dog was a pointer of some kind and kept shying against the man's knee as the snow fluttered about her. Every few steps she would look up at the man as if questioning the sense of a walk in these conditions."
"A fat woman with extensive make-up came in carrying an animal that looked like a fluffy rat....She spoke inaudibly to one of the switchboard operators, then took up a seat with the fluffy rat on her lap, and gazed at the room before her the way Marie Antoinette must have gazed at the crowds in Paris. The small white animal wiggled out of her lap and waded through the pale green carpet and stood in front of me and began to yap. It was a persistent high yap that had the same metronomic quality that the ladies of the switchboard displayed.
'Oh, Beenie,' the fat blonde said, 'stop that noise right now.'
Beenie paid her no heed at all.
'He won't hurt you,' the blonde said.
'That's for sure,' I said.
The blonde looked startled. 'Well, he won't. He's usually very good with strangers.'
The yaps continued. It was a piercing sound. Even the two switchboard receptionists turned glazed eyes toward the sound.
'What kind of rat is this?' I said politely.
'Rat?' The blonde's voice went up an octave in the middle. Not easy to do in a one-syllable word.
'Oh, I'm sorry,' I said. 'Of course he's not a rat. Guinea pig maybe?'"
"'Miss Joyce then insisted that Hawk make love to her. He declined, courteously he says.' Again, Quirk looked at me. I didn't say anything. 'She was starting to disrobe,' Quirk said.
'In front of the goddamned buck nigger?' Riggs said.
'His name's Hawk,' I said.
'Well, what are we, touchy?'
'Call him Hawk,' I said.
'I'll call him what I goddamned please,' Riggs said. 'I've got more to take up with you later.'
'Call him Hawk,' I said, 'or I will bounce your ass down two flights of stairs and out onto Berkeley Street.'
'You heard that, Lieutenant? You heard him threaten me.'
'Call him Hawk,' Quirk said."
[nyaa nyaa -ed]
"'Most broads want to fuck me for the usual reasons,' Hawk said. 'Cause I'm handsome, manly, and slicker than goose shit.'"
"'Bad man?'
'He'd take Joe Broz with a Q-tip.'
'Hell,' Hawk said, 'we can do that.'"
"'Is tortellini better than sex?' she said.
- 'Not in your case,' I said. 'If you eat only one at a time of tortellini, are you eating a tortellenum?'
'You'll have to ask an Italian,' Susan said. 'I can barely conjugate goyim.'"
"I swiveled my chair so I could put my feet on the window sill and gaze out at the unoccupied air space where Linda Thomas had once worked. Beyond it was a building that looked like an old Philco radio. A Philip Johnson building, they said. I raised my glass to it.
- 'Way to go, Phil,' I said. Lucky I hadn't been assigned to guard it. Probably lose it. Was right there when I left."
"'Jewish American Princesses,' Susan was saying, 'particularly those with advanced academic degrees, do not baby-sit dogs.'
I looked at Hawk.
'That is even more true,' he said, 'of African American Princes.'
The three mongrels, tethered by clothesline, sat in their pre-ordered circle, tongues lolling, eyes fixed on each morsel of croissant as it made its trip from paper plate to palate.
'Can you imagine them tearing around my place,' Susan said, 'with all the geegaws and froufrous I have in there, getting hair, yuk, on my white rug?'
...
'Put 'em in a kennel,' Hawk said, 'until my friend in Bridgewater gets back.'
...
'I don't know if they should go in a kennel,' Susan said. 'They've had some pretty bad disruptions in the last few days already.'
Hawk shrugged. He looked at the dogs again.
'Huey, Duey, and Louie,' he said.
...
'Well,' Susan said, 'I could come over to your place and stay with them at night. But during the day, I have patients.'
I nodded. We both looked at Hawk.
Hawk looked at the dogs.
They stared back at him.
'What happens during the day?' Hawk said.
'They need to be walked.'
'How often?'
'Three, four times,' I said.
'Every day?'
'Yuh.'
Hawk looked at me. He looked at Susan and then back at the dogs.
'Shit,' he said.
'That's a part of it,' I said.
'I meant shit, as in oh shit!' Hawk said.
'You and Susan can work it out in detail between you two,' I said. 'My plane leaves in an hour.'
Hawk was looking at me with a gaze that one less optimistic than I might interpret as hatred. I patted the dogs. Susan stood and we hugged and I kissed her. Hawk was still gazing at me. I put my hand out, palm up. He slapped it lightly.
'Thanks, bro,' I said.
'Honkies suck,' he said.
I took a cab to the airport. The plain took off on time, and I flew high above the fruited plain for six hours, cheered by the image of Hawk walking the dogs."
[That has got to be a record for longest quote in the novel guide. But to cut any of it out would have detracted from the whole thing, so you'll have to forgive me. If you don't want to forgive me, then the hell with ya... Fortunately it's the last one. -ed]
Show me the money: He has got to get clients like this more often. A nice daily wage, first class airfare, decent hotels.
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