The Magician's Tale

A vibrant, melancholy narrative voice and street-true characters lift this moody San Francisco-set thriller above the pack; self-conscious plotting and fuchsia prose threaten to tug it back down. The pseudonymous Hunt (he's a novelist who lives in San Francisco) may be male but he gets deep inside the head of hip heroine Kay Farrow, 35, a photographer who shoots in black-and-white since she's an ""achromat, which means I'm completely color-blind."" Kay has been shooting the young male hookers of S.F.'s sleazy Polk Gulch area. When her favorite subject is found cut to pieces, headstrong Kay, who's a cop's daughter, sleuths. Suspense is low but atmosphere sky high as she prowls the Bay Area night, linking the young man's killing to his background as a magician's assistant; his twin sister, now a legendary dominatrix; a wealthy and ominous local family; a series of slayings 18 years ago, the botched investigation of which pushed Kay's dad to quit the job and her mom to commit suicide. The story line traces a sophisticated puzzle studded with memorably jagged figures jockeying for sexual, financial or artistic power. But in an apparent quest to write a particularly artful thriller, Hunt presses his writing until his prose grows turgid (""Have my provocations finally forced forth some fruit?"" wonders Kay). Too many eccentric plot elements--Kay's color-blindness; the themes of magic and twins--seem contrived to flesh out the story rather than give it backbone. Ultimately, this is less a well-toned thriller than a rich, at times overripe, study in the sorrow of corrupted relationships. 100,000 first printing; $125,000 ad/promo; foreign rights sold in the U.K., France, Germany, Holland, Japan, Norway. (June) FYI: Hunt is now writing a sequel to The Magician's Tale.