Book Review: Crime of Fashion by José Latour, McClelland & Stewart, 2009

There are two kinds of terrible novels in the world: those that are simple, plot-driven and enormously entertaining (often happily consumed on the sly and not unlike Hollywood rom-coms or Kylie Minogue); and there are the kind that are just plain awful, akin to being trapped in a stopped elevator with a relentless, crushing bore. I quite like the former. I admit that even at this moment I have both an Anne Rice and a Dan Brown paperback surreptitiously filed on my bookshelf (spines facing inward), just waiting for a good headcold or snowstorm as an excuse to fall into a world of guilty pleasure reading. I am very sorry to report that José Latour’s Crime of Fashion falls into the latter category.

Crime of Fashion is a mystery novel that centres around the kidnapping of a highly successful former model. It may be one of the worst books I’ve ever (partially) read. Filled with banal observations couched in mediocre prose, Latour reveals his characters with all the complex layering of an episode of Law and Order: “As did many employees in extremely hierarchical organizations – like the armed forces and the police – Tony had developed instinctive respect for superiors and… an unthinking disregard for subordinates.” What works in an hour of television does not work in 300 pages of text. And while the novel takes place in New York, Miami, and Toronto, the author skims the first two cities with the barest detail, then presents a barrage of pointless minutiae on the third. Miami is described as “hot,” yet scenes in Toronto offer not only street and location names, but also statistics on population (in both the metro and greater Toronto area) and hackneyed musings on the city’s sociocultural landscape. During a drive through Leaside, we find the following lightning-sharp commentary: “We’ve been to Chinatown, Greektown, Little India, Koreatown,” says one character, an American, to which his friend responds, “Those are business areas. It seems to me, after closing time people from all those places drive home and live side by side.” Good lord.

It is also problematic that this is very obviously a book written by a man who has only a passing understanding of (or perhaps concern for) women. Male characters are described according to their abilities and personalities while women exist in the realm of the physical. An aging female character worries about her sagging bustline (her job as a successful attorney offering no consolation), and the kidnappee is “superbly proportioned.” It does not help that these saggy and/or proportional females seem more than content living in only two dimensions.

As for the fashion in Crime of Fashion, well, it’s just what one might expect. Passing references to Manolos, Dior, and pashmina wool indicate the most basic and commercial knowledge of the subject and industry. Commentary by the model character on the possible reappearance of the “A and H-lines popular in the mid-century” made me wonder if the author had stepped into a mall at any time in the last six years. I won’t even touch the allusion to a supermodel named “Linda Moss.” Oh no, you di’nt. Apparently, the author does not feel, as I do, that a complete lack of knowledge about fashion should deter him from using the word in the title.

This book feels like a combination of lazy research and an utter lack of human insight. All it did was make me angry – and not in a fun, academic way, like The English Patient or The Shipping News (there is, after all, great sport in debating the merits of literature). My apologies to the author (believe me when I say it truly pained me to write this review), but I did not finish reading Crime of Fashion and I never will.

g.

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a sucker for a good smell. Whether damp soil, lilies, new shoe leather, inland water, church incense, a clean shirt or old books, almost nothing produces as visceral a reaction as scent. It conjures memory, desire, and potential; a lovely fragrance makes everything nicer, an unpleasant odor makes everything worse. So it’s no surprise I was curious to read Perfumes: A Guide.

At first glance, the book has an encouraging heft, with perfume reviews from page 51 to 366. I was slightly put off by the lack of images, but after reading a few random reviews I discovered this volume had something much better: A sense of humour. Within the first fifteen minutes of leafing through this book, I laughed out loud no less than five times. The authors are clever, imaginative, and in possession of a biting wit. Whether I recognized (or cared about) a particular subject or not, I found myself devouring every review as though I was reading a collection of short stories.

I was also pleased to find the ratings economically democratic. The book includes everything from the cheapest drugstore colognes to the most exclusive high-end fragrances, and it was nice to discover they were equally exposed to praise or censure. In a favourable review of David Beckham’s Instinct, Sanchez declares that “snobbery in perfumery is pointless,” and Turin gives Cacharel’s LouLou (a high school favourite) five stars; “Do not be misled by the fact that LouLou, when found, is likely to be cheap. This is one of the greats.” Lady Stetson also gets top marks. On the opposite side, Chanel’s Allure Homme Sport is described as “being stuck in an elevator for twelve hours with a tax accountant,” and their Gardenia as a “loud, airport-toilet floral.” Ha.

One of my favourite pans in the book is for Givenchy’s Amarige: “We nearly gave it four stars… for Amarige is unmissable, unmistakable, and unforgettable. However, it is also truly loathsome…and at all times incompatible with others’ enjoyment of food, music, sex, and travel.” Of course the first thing I did was run out to smell it. (I was skeptical; I had a friend who wore another Givenchy scent – Organza, I think – and it was divine.) I was both horrified and amused to find this was true: eau de Tire Fire!

The volume does have some problems. First, there is no master index, only an index of Star Ratings (lists of perfumes are arranged according to the authors’ approval of them). Reviews in the book appear alphabetically, so they aren’t hard to find if you know exactly what you’re looking for, but if you don’t, you’ll spend a lot of time leafing back and forth. (Who knew Tom Ford’s name gets top billing in his perfumes?) Second, the writers tend to get very caught up in esoteric description at the expense of detail.

Some scents are highly rated but it would be nice to know more about what exactly makes them so – in a non-subjective sense (top- and base-notes). After smelling Beyond Love, a highly rated tuberose by Kilian, I was instantly reminded of the Anais Anais my sister wore in high school. How disappointing to find that, although the latter was included in the book, there was no mention of the florals it encompassed and I had to consult another book to see if my nose was right. This is also problematic if you are drawn to a certain type of scent, for example, chypres, or amber Orientals. As the reviews are not grouped in any scent-comprehensive way, using this guide to find a scent that might be right for you is hit-or-miss venture.

That said, however, the journey is a whole lot of fun.

-g