I've enjoyed Joe Ide's IQ series tremendously. It's inventive, sharp about America's problems, develops unusual and often lovable characters (along with some memorable bad guys), and gives the armchair traveler a terrific sense of the city of LA, without focusing on the glitter of the film industry and the (white) California dream of living in a millionaire's home over the Pacific ocean. returnreturnI missed all that in this novel. It's built out of traditional materials - Raymond Chandler especially, but also Ross MacDonald and countless imitators. The mystery is primarily about a screwed up wealthy family. There's a sort of femme fatale - the old hardboiled tradition was never much good a women characters, at least ones that are fully-rounded human beings. There's also a woman trying to find her son, taken by her ex, and Marlowe, in white-hat-hero fashion, comes to her aid. Perhaps the most intriguing part of the book is the relationship between a spoiled sociopathic teenager and Marlowe's alcoholic father. But the mysteries, as tangled and cleverly plotted as they are, didn't grab me. returnreturnThere are many touches of Ide's talent here, but it's neither as imaginative or as funny as his IQ series. I don't know why an author who has blazed such an original and impressive path would decide to turn back to the road most taken.