It's hard to imagine readers of any persuasion—gay, straight or lovers of mysteries—getting much pleasure from Hunter's fifth book (after 2000's National Nancys) about freelance designer and occasional CIA helper Alex Reynolds, whose forays into crime-solving always end in tears and promises of "Never again!" The humor and dramatic content are on the level of an average episode of "Bewitched" or "I Dream of Jeanie"—two television shows that tried to spoof the sitcom genre by giving their white-bread heroines magic powers. Hunter seems to think that by populating his fictional universe with a gay couple—ditzy, decent Alex and his bluff, buff partner Peter—and by tossing in the lugubrious figure of Alex's mother, Jean, a tedious stage Brit who does everything but sport a parrot and an eye patch, he can get away with a limp plot, painfully coy dialogue and secondary characters so sketchy as to be almost invisible. Alex and Peter's CIA friends house a young Iraqi terrorist defector in our tiresome trio's happy Chicago home as part of some illogical and ultimately not very interesting intelligence operation. Things go typically awry. James, Peter and Jean try to right the wrongs of their imperialistic employer (dressing the Iraqi in drag and endangering their lives along the way); and—its worst sin—the book undermines its own anemic anti-government message by encouraging readers to empathize with the scheming, smarmy CIA agents. No more madcap capers concerning grim foreign policy realities, please. (Oct. 15)
FYI:Hunter is also the author of the Ransom/Charters series.
