There are no boobs in Columbo

If you have only one book to read this pandemic…and have already devoured by book, Son of Ravage (El Dorado Press and available to order at all independent bookstores), I’d humbly suggest the mysteries of the incomparable and rumpled television detective Columbo by Dame Agatha Christie. Okay, I am lying about the Agatha Christie part. But there are books, and they are mysteries. As an added bonus, they are all about actual events such as the Manson Murders, the J Edgar Hoover Files and even the Kennedy assassination. Rumor has it that on less than Oliver Stone himself used Columbo: The Grassy Knoll as source material for his epic film JFK. So, without further ado, Pacia Linde, reviews the first in the series, Columbo: The Grassy Knoll. 

I read Columbo: The Grassy Knoll so you don’t have to. Just kidding. I read Columbo: The Grassy Knoll because I am a Columbo fanatic and because I genuinely love the Kennedys and any half-baked conspiracy that involves them. But, the novel was not at all what I expected. For whatever reason, I expected, or at least hoped, that the novel would be set in the aftermath of the Kennedy assassination and that Columbo, a rookie cop who has found himself at the parade in Dallas, becomes embroiled in the mystery of who killed John F. Kennedy. It could be Columbo’s origin story. Sounds like a great novel, right? Well, this is not that novel. This novel, set in 1993, is the story of a television news man who is murdered after promising to reveal newly discovered information on the thirty year anniversary of the assassination.
     The novel follows the basic formula of a Columbo episode. It starts with a murder. The audience knows who did it but not why. That, of course, is where Columbo comes in. The book follows the formula perfectly. But what it lacks are the elements that make an episode of Columbo so memorable, including a combination of Columbo’s idiosyncrasies and a compelling villain. This book has no compelling villain. The murderers in this story are vain (as an antagonist in the Columbo universe should be), but not particularly intelligent. They are vaguely but not compellingly drawn to Columbo, also a necessary element. The best Columbo episodes, such as Try and Catch Me starring the incomparable Ruth Gordon, work so well because Columbo and his adversary actually come to respect and admire one another. It makes the inevitable denouement all the more powerful. There is nothing of that here. There is just annoyance and boredom from the audience at all of the characters (except Columbo, of course).
     Also crucial to a great Columbo episode is the revelation of a new Columbo mannerism. Of course, anything added to the character in a book would seem like heresy, but a recitation of all of his previously mentioned behaviors seems like just a greatest hits meant to manipulate the audience into complacency in regards to a lackluster plot. There are scores of “just one more thing”s, mentions of Mrs. Columbo and her hobbies, Columbo’s rumpled appearance and raincoat, his cigars, and the song “This Old Man”, which makes an appearance in many later episodes. All of these things are mentioned so numerously that they begin to feel like a chore. There is no sense of balance between the mannerisms and the character himself. The character of Columbo is rendered flat by the relentless use of these characteristics. They don’t endear us to the Columbo of the book as they have to the Columbo of television. 
     But, if there is one recurring theme operating within the novel it is the state of women’s décolletage. The author managed to hone in on women’s chests in a way that he was not able to hone in on much else. But that makes sense. I mean, aren’t breasts the key descriptor, nay the only relevant descriptor, of any woman. Take this quote, for example: “she was just a very pretty girl, with a friendly face and dark-brown hair. She was wearing a man’s vest undershirt and a pair of blue denim shorts. He pretended he didn’t notice she was wearing nothing under the shirt. He was not a man to ogle, but he was not blind nor was he indifferent to a woman’s charms…” (122-123). Oh, come on. I mean, what’s the deal? There are no boobs in Columbo. That is definitely not canon. 
     I guess all this is to say that I didn’t really enjoy the book. I enjoyed the idea of the book. I enjoyed my imagined version of the book. But I didn’t enjoy this book. There was something a little too bombastic, a little too presumptuous, a little too contrived for me to enjoy it as much as, say, an episode of Columbo. But there was something in this book that I loved and that was the reappearance of Dog. This book takes place, as I have noted before, in 1993 and, inexplicably, after 20 years, Dog is still alive, enjoying lazy drives with Columbo as he always has. I think, if there is any one thing we can all agree on, it is that Dog should live forever. 
  

You can enjoy more of Pacia Linde at:

Sylvia Plath, Shirley Jackson and Dorothy Parker walk into a bar