If Bertie Wooster were a degenerate art dealer and Jeeves a taciturn thug . . . hilarious and biting. ( )

This is an omnibus containing three novels with the central character (and narrator) Charlie Mortdecai - an egotistical, boozy, sleazy, lazy, cowardly, amoral art dealer with his eye out for the main chance.

The first book ‘Don’t point that thing at me’ is a funny caper tale, with shady police officers, stolen paintings, dodgy cars, double/ triple/ quadruple crossing and a healthy dose of unreality. Towards the end, I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, and who was doing what, but it didn’t matter. It was too much fun. Charlie is quite fond of one-liners.

My problems began when I started the next book, ‘After you with the pistol’, straight after finishing ‘Don’t point that thing at me’. It’s difficult not to – the first book ends with a cliff-hanger, and I was eager to find out what happened. I really, really wish I hadn't continued reading. I know these books were written in the 70s, I know they were very different times, but for crying out loud! Constant misogyny and racism are just not funny. In particular, Charlie’s views on rape were too much for this reader. I tried to get over it; I tried to keep going, telling myself it was part of the dark humour, the author is making fun of the genre & my po-faced political correctness, but in the end I just didn’t care. I didn’t care enough about Charlie to want to know what happened - quite a problem when he narrates the story. I stopped reading. Maybe one day I’ll go back and read the third book ‘Something nasty in the woodshed’, but not for a long, long time.

Read ‘Don’t point that thing at me’. It's fun. But stop there.

Charming! ( )