Killing Johnny FryMarch 5, 2010
I was at my local library searching for a good mystery/detective novel to spend some time with. Usually I go straight for P.D. James or Dashiell Hammett and take a quick look for Walter Mosely, (he’s surprisingly harder to find in the libraries around here), as I did this time.
What I like about Mr. Mosley’s novels is that he’s able to create an environment where I, a young, Caucasian modern day Canadian women, can relate to Easy Rawlins, an older African-American man living in 1950’s LA. That takes some great characterization and clever writing (Unlike Patricia Cornwell’s Kay Scarpetta character whom I not only don’t relate to but is too “perfect” to be believable).
I found a pile of Walter Mosley novels at this particular small library branch and one novel in particular was smaller than the rest of them, Killing Johnny Fry.
This was serendipitous.
Killing Johnny Fry is not a mystery novel so much as a exploration of what happens when we expand our sexual boundaries.
It was hot, it was sexy, it was raw and it felt real.
One reviewer wrote:
“… Killing Johnny Fry is the story of how he eventually does. It starts when he spies his longtime girlfriend, Joelle, having rough sex with Johnny on the living room floor. She doesn’t know Cordell is watching, and he doesn’t let on, but he feels emasculated. The trauma of betrayal transforms this middle-aged New Yorker into a depraved (though kindhearted) beast with a relentless erection.”
I became so submerged in this novel that I would resurface only for air and to masturbate, at the end of it all I was inspired to lock hubby up and re-read the last chapter with his face between my thighs *grin*
I recommend this erotic, highly charged novel, to be read at night with no clothes on 😉