A Gentleman Detective by Richard Prosch

 

There are weird places like that, especially in west Texas where the wind carves craggy reeds of stone and scoops out horns that amplify the sound. Logan learned slowly, over a period of years, that his cabin sat in just such a natural spot, conducive to listening, the ultimate recipient of stacked echoes and suppressed. background buzz.—The Trails of Whisper Canyon

I call your attention to the ultimate recipient of stacked echoes and suppressed. background buzz.

Small “throwaway” observations such as these, this smatterings of poetic prose sprinkled here and there is what sets formulary fiction above itself.

Here we have an anthology of western tales [17 strong] from Spur-Award winning author Richard Prosch.

To my mind, Brother Rich straddles that gap of keeping the stick-to-your ribs comfort food of the genre alive while adding environmental details that call out to the Thoreau in many of us. [A call always worth answering.]

These tales remind me of the entertaining balance of Western-Mystery-“Twist-in-the-Tale” that the late Ed Gorman used to offer.

You will notice I referred to the author as Brother Rich. He is a man whom I’ve not had the honor of meeting in the flesh yet, but I still regard him as a friend.

Am I biased as to his output?

Likely, but let’s look to the evidence.

The next line is from the titular story “A Gentleman Detective.”

What always kept him awake was a cursed memory and a hard life.—A Gentleman Detective

One line, thirteen words and we already have a hint of the past of the character.

I also offer the following exchange as evidence that bias does not fuel my regard for this anthology.

The exchange takes place in the parlor of a boarding house. Its lazy charm and wry humor calls to mind the young Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.

Miss Thompson Continue to gush over Mr. Bail. “And aren't your bird carvings exquisite?”

Frank smiled to himself. Upon sitting down, he admired the small, pine rendering under Bail’s whittling blade.

Bail took Miss Thompson's compliment in stride. “Thank you, my dear.”

“What else do you carve besides birds?”

“I have a series of life sized ducks, a few miniature rabbits, occasionally I might carve a fish.”

“Oh, you're a fisherman, too?”

Bail said he was. When Miss Thompson clicked her knitting needles together with delight, Frank decided it was the lady who was fishing.

Fans of Gorman and appreciators of a fine Western tale, well, here’s some fine afternoon whilin’.