When sculptor Ross Marteau meets his new subject, he is stunned for she is both the most beautiful and most grotesque woman he has ever seen. Fascinated by her misshapen body and the incredible torment in her eyes, he is soon pulled deeper into her desperate world. When someone close to her is killed, Ross soon finds himself ensnared in a web of dark secrets and deadly maneuvers.
I’m a native Texan, and I spent my early years a few miles from the Mexican border in Starr County. Eventually my family moved to West Texas where I grew up in the oil fields and ranches of the Colorado River valley northwest of San Angelo. After graduating from North Texas State University and spending a year in graduate school (focusing on 19th century European literature), I moved to Austin in 1970 where my wife, Joyce, and I still live. Although I wanted to try my hand at writing fiction after graduate school, Joyce and I had two small children, and the often-rocky road to publishing and establishing a writing career seemed a risky proposition that I couldn’t afford to take at that point. I took an editing job with a small regional press and spent the next decade knocking around in a variety of jobs, including running my own small publishing company for a few years, and editing books in the humanities for the University of Texas Press. Finally, in 1980, I decided I couldn’t wait any longer to try my hand at fiction. Knowing I couldn’t afford to write for nothing, I decided to increase my odds of getting published by researching what kinds of fiction had the best chance of finding a publisher. Mystery novels rose to the top of my research results. I don’t think I’d ever read a “mystery novel” at that time, but I immediately bought a representative collection of twenty-five popular, famous, and classic mystery novels, including British and European writers. After reading these, and many more, I realized that the “genre” encompassed a startling variety of work, everything from Mickey Spillane to Fyodor Dostoevsky. Two years later I began my writing career by publishing two mystery novels in the same year. Thirty-odd years later I’ve just finished my 15th novel. Though I began writing in the mystery genre, I eventually went on to write fiction in other areas, mostly dealing with the criminal, national, and private intelligence professions. When I’m not writing, I spend most of my time in my library. My other pleasure is gardening and landscape work, though where I live in the hilly streets of west Austin, “gardening” most often looks like wrestling with nature, rather than gently nurturing it. Still, though it’s a lot of work, it’s a great pleasure to watch things grow. Joyce and I now sit in the shade of trees that are forty feet tall that we planted when we first moved to this place nearly thirty years ago. That’s a good thing.
I've had two of Lindsey's novels on my shelves for years, which means I found them worthy enough to consider re-reading. When Animosity caught my eye at a local book sale, I didn't think twice and tossed it to the stack. Alas, as with Victoria Holt, I'm struck once more by the reality that decades have passed and what appealed to me once upon a time no longer strikes the note I need. Onward, we say - sometimes gladly and sometimes with a sadness that's hard to define.
David Lindsey is a fine writer of psychological suspense. He is also, however, a product of his era. What served a story those many years back (especially in suspense) doesn't often age into the modern mainstream as more than an artifact. Lindsey's tale of a randy Texas sculptor who is offered a commission by two women any man in his right mind would avoid at all cost is a plot now scaffolded by some very old rules. The subtle manipulations here require the kind of ignorance the development of an Internet search engine has completely destroyed. It is almost impossible to place a man who might have saved himself soul-searing disaster had he simply possessed the presence of mind to look a few things up. Or who, for all his Cassanovian tactics, left so much of his trust to Fate. But he needed, for the narrative's sake, to be the kind of man things could dawn on - and that man, if we're to be honest about it, is a rare species these days. In short, this is smart stuff whittled away by an expiration date.
If you're in the mood to harken back, by all means take a shot. The quality of the prose and the pacing merit the risk. I plan on giving him a fond salute...and the library a little more inventory.
VERDICT: 2.0 stars. A too-slow train wreck... but I sort of like wrecks.
SAY SOMETHING NICE:. Some twisted characters, and a plot twist or two. The memorable ending made me chuckle a bit, even though .
How will it all end for the 3 main characters? Ha--I'm not telling.
I got tired of reading all the minute details of the protagonist's days; I don't need the details of every meal he ate. I also had trouble with suspension of disbelief here.* Your mileage may vary.
Where do I start? While the writing in this book is good - lyrical and descriptive - it lagged for me. I read nearly half the book before there was any indication of where the story was going. By then I was committed to finishing (I hate not finishing a book) in the hopes that the story would get better. Other than a few chapters, it never really did.
Character development was basic. Plot, sophomoric; unbelievable/improbable.
While I've enjoyed other Lindsey novels, this wasn't one of them.
Well, this was unsatisfying, to say the least. The general premise is intriguing--a famous sculptor is asked to do a sculpture of a beautiful yet deformed woman; in the process he falls in love with her sister. But the first chapter, in which the sculptor breaks up with his latest girlfriend, a real loony, tells us that darker things are coming. And boy, do they come. Interesting twists ensue, but just when I thought I could figure out various outcomes, the story is twisted on its ear and it sort of...ends. It's not that I always expect everything to be tied up in a neat bow, but holy God, this was enough to make me want to throw the book in the garbage disposal (I didn't; it was a library copy).
This book was given to me and when I first started reading it, I though it was going to be a male version of a "bodice ripper." Sculptor Ross has found a level of success that leads to profitable commissions. His latest is a challenge because the subject is beautiful but also suffers from a deformity. Meanwhile, the subject's sister and Ross become entangled.
Although a little slow moving at first, the author developed the characters well and used a lot of lovely imagery in describing settings and emotions. As the plot picked up speed, a mystery developed pulling the protagonist into a dire situation. I ended up reading until 2 am, unable to put the book down until finishing it.
Picked this book up completely on accident, meant to get a different author with a similar name. I figured I had the book already, might as well read it. The first third or so of the book was kind of making me wonder if it was going to be any good or just kind of weird. After that I thought it got a lot better. Turned out to be a pretty decent bit of noir and had a few twists that were completely unexpected. I loved the ending. I almost always prefer tragedy over comedy in fiction. Happy endings just aren't as interesting.
The author did a wonderful job of portraying the settings. The characters were lacking in my opinion. It was hard to really like any of them. The novel was a mix between a love story and a mystery, but wasn’t a good example of either. The tale dragged on, and it took way to long to build up to the “action.” The ending was a letdown. Overall it just didn’t work for me.
Half way through this book I was enjoying it so much I checked on here to check reviews only to see this is a book that divides some folks seem to enjoy it and others...well maybe not despise it but find it lacking. I continued with my read in fear it would take a downturn but I'm truth I enjoyed it...it's a easy read in truth nothing really too taxing about it and is the tale of a sculptor who meets two enigmatic sisters one of whom is beautiful and yet physically flawed and is seeking his assistance is sculpting her. As he works with them events unfurl and he is drawn into a murder...and yet more twists and turns await throughout. I'm fairness the great reveal at the end wasn't really what I was expecting and in some ways I felt was a bit of a cop out as I thought things would get far more interesting as throughout the plots myriad twists and turns had been compelling. Anyhow I feel this is a decent enough book for reading on a commute ..it's not one which I think will be heralded as a classic years from now but parts of the premise showed hope and if nothing else it's a solid read.
The book’s vibe remained classy and chic all through out. Sometimes it was tasteful and breathtaking and at times it was too much and exaggerated. I’ve never read a book where I was so unsure on how to feel about it. There were moments where I simply wanted to live in and times where I was rolling my eyes from how much the descriptions of driving in a cab or walking down a street. Besides that, the story itself was very complex. Layers upon layers on the ominous tale about a man being tangled between the lives of these 2 woman. At times very sexy, and at others extremely off-putting. I wish it had less descriptions about ordinary things and more about the woman in his life and the problems within the novel. I would describe it creepy-chic 🖤✨
This is, without a doubt, the strangest book I've ever read. It's captivating, but very strange. A sculptor is basically stalked by two women and is drawn into their lives. I'm really not articulate enough to do the plot justice but I will say that it's one of the most interesting things I've read in a long time. David Lindsey is amazing.
I really enjoyed this book. I didn't expect the ending at all, and that rarely happens. I had suspicions about the plot, and for the most part I was right......but that ending.........
My first and last Lindsey book. The characters are flat, one-dimensional and I never developed a connection to any of them. I plodded my way through this and I'm not sure why. The problem is the pages and pages during which the sculptor does nothing but sketch. Absolutely noting happens! I also think Lindsey is using a thesaurus to look up words that no one uses and sprinkle them into his descriptions of everything. Ho Hum.
Mit Whodunnits hat sich David L. Lindsey noch nie abgegeben, sondern seine Leser ausgiebig an den bluttrünstigsten und oft schwer nachvollziehbaren Morden teilnehmen lassen. Das gilt sogar für sein bestes Buch Dunkles Leuchten. In diesem Künstlerroman mit obligatorischem Mord spielt er zur Abwechslung mal in der Highsmith-Liga, sprich ein eigentlich Unbeteiligter lässt sich in die Abwicklung eines Verbrechens herein ziehen und stellt sich erst ziemlich spät die Frage nach dem Warum. Und ehe der erfolgreiche Aktbildhauer Ross Marteau sein Scherflein zu einem Mord beisteuert, hält Lindsey die Leser mit erotisch aufgeladenen Szenen im Atelier des Meisters bei Laune. Und den Launen des mysteriösen Modells Leda, die vordergründig unter einer seltsamen Mischung von Narzismus, Selbsthass und Exhibitionismus leidet und damit ein faszinierendes Studienobjekt für Ross Marteau ist, der die längste Zeit gar nicht mitbekommt, wer da wen studiert. Sobald Ross bei der Bewältigung des Verbrechens auf sich alleine gestellt ist, verliert das Buch etwas an Schwung, dafür bieten die letzten 25 Seiten ein mörderisches Finale furioso. Ohne die Schwächeperiode hätte ich es glatt zu seinem besten Buch erklärt, aber auch die frühen Passagen zwischen Ross und seinem Freund Amado wirken ziemlich gestelzt. Schade, dass er nicht einen gelungeneren zweiten Anlauf im Highsmith-Territory unternommen hat, ich würde dafür sämtlich fünf Stuart Haydons opfern oder wenigstens die ersten vier, über die volle Distanz betrachtet, ist auch sein Ausflug ins Le Carré-Reservat namens Teuflisch das rundere Buch.
Lindsey has a fantastic talent for painting an environment where you can smell the air and feel the sunshine. He also has a talent for revealing the wretchedness that can live in the human heart.
I found this book a little dense and slow to read, and I was supremely disquieted by the ending - it would have had four stars until the last few chapters. I don't feel the wrap up did justice to the characters or the storyline to that point. It wasn't so much a matter of being upset with the inevitable (or so it seemed) ending, but the *way* it occured that bothered me. It was too... base in a way, for too eloquent of a book, as though the author ran out of steam.
Famous nude sculptor Ross Marteau has a bad habit of getting into relationships with his models and they usually end badly. I guess we could expect no less when Celeste Lacan enters his world especially when she introduces her beautiful but deformed sister, Leda as the model.
This is a suspenseful novel though only in the final third. The remainder of the book sets the stage for the ultimate betrayal. I listened to the audiobook of this and the narrator was terrible - strange inflection and weird pauses between words.
How do you rate a sh*tty book by a very good author? This tried way too hard to be a murder mystery buried in a love story and it didn't succeed on either front. There was one twist that pulled it together at the end, barely. I read another book by this author that is five star so maybe I was expecting too much. The reason I stuck with this book to the end was because I was expecting it to get better, and it never did. What a disappointment.
Not usually one for detective novels, I nonetheless find David Lindsay to be extermely readable and usually am captivated by his suspenseful, but gracefully storytelling. Unfortunately, I was sorely disappointed - not so much with the writing, but the story was lackluster and the ending was just plain bad.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
I can't really rate this. There was nothing overtly bad about it, just the longer I listened, the more I got a bad taste in my mouth. Apparently it was not "my thing".
The reader (Joe Pantoliano) wasn't stellar, though there was nothing overtly bad about that, either. I was just aware that it was 'Joey Pants' telling the story - didn't lose myself in the story.
I can honestly say that I have never read anything quite like this novel in my life.
I am vague on many of the details as it's been years since I've read this, but who can forget a novel in which an absolutely gorgeous woman is a hunchback?
Definitely a memorable story even if it's not the most genius thing ever written.
A well known sculptor accepts a commission from two sisters to memorialize one of them. A murder mystery evolves. Flowery prose; detailed dialogue; a departure from his previous work; disappointing.
I usually really enjoy David Lindsey's books, but I was disappointed in this one. I simply could not have sympathy for any of the characters. As usual he is very good with settings, but the characters are flat.
Ross Marteau, a sculpter, experiences two women, sisters, Celeste and Leda. Celeste is perfect and unattainable. Leda is imperfect and irresistable. A terrific book.