From the very first page of The Little Death, I knew that I was no longer in the land of fluff. Instead, I was being held deliciously in the protective grips of a master. By the very last page of Goldenboy, I was disappointed only that there were no more pages to turn.
These two books are the first and second of the Henry Rios Mystery series. Last November, George and I reviewed Howtown, the third book in the series, and The Hidden Law, the fourth. We do things out of order just to irritate ourselves. And, perhaps, to re-create the Star Wars III sense of inevitability and completion when the gap between out-of-sequence stories closes.
Henry Rios is 33 years old at the start of the series. He works in the public defender’s office and turns down offers that would double his pay, already clinging to very mature principles about the administration of justice. He’s also set in his ways with respect to law enforcement and the justice system as employers of corrupt people. I looked for some kind of watershed event that had made him instinctively distrust police officers, but I didn’t find any. In fact, very little of Henry’s past surfaces here; the troubled childhood that will be so carefully dissected later gets only the faintest hint in these early works.
Enter Hugh Paris and his tangled, dysfunctional web of a family and watch as Henry behaves, well, like a thirty-something who’s been lonely and on the edge of burnout for too long. He falls for Hugh a bit too fast and a bit too deep, but it doesn’t much matter in the long run because Hugh’s fears of being in danger come true. Shortly, Henry gets entangled in the dynasty of power and wealth to which he nearly married into.
In Goldenboy, Henry is 36, has his own practice, and is immediately launched into the defense of Jim Pears, a bartender who evidently has killed another bartender. This book is the better of the two for several reasons. The first is the character of Larry, who’s dying of AIDS and foreshadows a big part of Henry’s life in books to come. The second is the character of Josh, who will become Henry’s live-in partner at least through the next couple of books. The third is a plot that is closely connected to the gay community, a plot that would have felt very much at home in 1988.
I will avoid further plot details for either book on purpose. The only thing you need to know about a mystery is whether the plot is subtle, sneaky, twisty, and well-paced. Nava does not disappoint. I prefer to focus instead on the best qualities of these books: character and dialog. Henry is a very compelling and complex man, haunted by unnamed demons and driven by conscience. His interaction with every character he encounters is superbly crafted and real. The hefty detail of courtroom procedure adds grip to the plot. Keep in mind, though, that I find the intricacies of case law to be fascinating; others may find it overwhelming.
Make no mistake; these are not happy or fun books. They are dark and cerebral. If your idea of San Francisco is sun, beaches, and shirtless guys, you might be disappointed.
I can hardly wait to continue or finish this series next year. Enjoy.