The joy of paperbacks: Killinger!
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Everyone knows you’re not supposed to judge a book by its cover. Heck, the cliché tells us we shouldn’t even judge metaphorical books by their metaphorical covers. But sometimes there’s a book cover that’s so extraordinary that it kind of makes the book. As is the case of ‘Killinger!,’ brought to us in detail this week by ‘Studies in Crap,’ a column at the Pitch, an alternative weekly in Kansas City.
The cover makes some lofty claims about ‘Killinger!’ — he’s ‘more exciting than James Bond, Mike Hammer, Travis McGee and then some. He’s ruggedly virile, he’s karate-quick.’
Alan Scherstuhl, the man behind ‘Studies in Crap,’ could not resist. However, he found that Killinger wasn’t quite at Bond’s international-man-of-mystery level — he’s an insurance adjuster. Nor is he tough like Mike Hammer or Travis McGee. He’s got two kitties named — get this — Lollipop and Coco Chanel. And he’s got a first name ... well, let him introduce himself.
‘The man looked at the long splendid legs before him. He looked up past them and past the glorious rounds of the breasts at a wondrous face and long tawny hair. He rose to introduce himself. ‘My name is Jeddediah Killinger the Third.’ ‘
Scherstuhl’s reaction is exactly what you’d expect.
Jeddediah? The Third? Stupid [stuff] like that is exactly why every novel on the front tables at Barnes & Noble has photos of shoes on the cover: American men have given up on books.
But Scherstuhl did not give up. He read the whole thing, and you can click through on the links to see the choice passages:
other than some sex, karate kicks and the use of ‘prunes’ to loosen constipated lips, the two most exciting things Killinger does are: Threaten an old lady with an audit. Explain to the associate professor of marine biology what ‘Roy G. Biv’ has to do with rainbows.
Every month Richard Rayner writes about paperbacks in his column for the L.A. Times, and I usually want to read those. This one, well, not so much; it’s hardly a classic of 1974 detective fiction. But isn’t the cover worth the 49 cents Scherstuhl paid for it, and then some?
— Carolyn Kellogg
