Book Review - J.J. Murphy's Murder Your Darlings
Murder Your Darlings: Algonquin Round Table Mystery Book 1 by J.J. Murphy
Published by: Signet
Publication Date: January 4th, 2011
Format: Paperback, 336 Pages
Rating: ★★★★
To Buy
"In all reverence I say Heaven bless the Who-dunit, the soothing balm on the wound, the cooling hand on the brow, the opiate of the people." - Dorthy Parker
Dorthy Parker may be at the center of a vicious circle of writers in New York, in fact, THE Vicious Circle... that still doesn't mean that any of them are responsible for the appearance of a corpse under their celebrated round table at the Algonquin. But, as any good writer knows, that doesn't eliminate them from the suspect pool. The fact that the corpse is a reviewer that one or more of them has wished dead at one time or another doesn't help matters. Once the press gets a hold of the story and starts to sensationalize the scenario, things are libel to get out of hand. Dorthy and her fellow writer, Robert Benchley, decide to solve the case on their own without the cops, who seem to be questioning all the wrong people. Not to mention the flatfoots seem obsessed with the young wannabe writer Billy Faulkner, who Dorothy just knows couldn't have done it. She must make sure that Billy is safe and not the prime suspect! With her dog's lead in one hand, a cup of tea filled with anything but in the other, and a heart longing for the married Benchley, Dorothy will solve this crime if she has to go to every illegal gin joint, speakeasy, and bad play that stands in her way.
Murder Your Darlings throws you headlong into the heart of the Vicious Circle at the height of their powers. Therefore I will caution, the unwieldy cast coupled with the plethora of puns does take a while to adjust to, like getting your sea legs or finding your tolerance level for alcohol. But once you grasp who everyone is and what they're notorious for the story fully captures you. I wouldn't say that it's one of those books you just start and plow through cover to cover, with it's wonderfully short chapters and it's witty dialogue it's a book you can pick up and set down like an indulgent afternoon snack. You get a little bit of refreshment and go on with your day, mulling over the wonderful little world you've been reading about. It's a nice leisurely stroll to the conclusion, which, when reached, makes you wish that you had a few more hours to bask in the time period. I was left with a happy glow that I still look back on fondly and look forward to having again when the next book comes out. Perhaps this time a who's who and maybe a map would improve the reading experience. Or little bios of everyone... because this wonderful world is made that much more interesting when you know the history. Thanks Wikipedia, I phrase I rarely utter and which I'm sure Dorothy would abhor.
"It occurs to me that there are other towns. It occurs to me so
violently that I say, at intervals, "Very well, if New York is going to
be like this, I'm going to live somewhere else." And I do — that's the
funny part of it. But then one day there comes to me the sharp picture
of New York at its best, on a shiny blue-and-white Autumn day with its
buildings cut diagonally in halves of light and shadow, with its
straight neat avenues colored with quick throngs, like confetti in a
breeze. Some one, and I wish it had been I, has said that "Autumn is the
Springtime of big cities." I see New York at holiday time, always in
the late afternoon, under a Maxfield Parish sky, with the crowds even
more quick and nervous but even more good-natured, the dark groups
splashed with the white of Christmas packages, the lighted holly-strung
shops urging them in to buy more and more. I see it on a Spring morning,
with the clothes of the women as soft and as hopeful as the pretty new
leaves on a few, brave trees. I see it at night, with the low skies red
with the black-flung lights of Broadway, those lights of which
Chesterton — or they told me it was Chesterton — said, "What a marvelous
sight for those who cannot read!" I see it in the rain, I smell the
enchanting odor of wet asphalt, with the empty streets black and shining
as ripe olives. I see it — by this time, I become maudlin with
nostalgia — even with its gray mounds of crusted snow, its little
Appalachians of ice along the pavements. So I go back. And it is always
better than I thought it would be." 
And when you're talking landmarks of Literary New York, there's one place that you have to visit, and that's The Algonquin. The Algonquin is at 59 West 44th Street, between 5th and 6th Avenue, or if you're being pedantic, 5th Avenue and the Avenue of the Americas. The hotel's first desk clerk, and eventual owner, Frank Case, fostered the arts and in particular struggling writers creating an environment in which the Round Table, that most vicious of circles, was able to bloom. From 1919 to 1929 
The group first gathered in the Algonquin's Pergola Room (now called The Oak Room) at a long rectangular table. As they increased in number, Algonquin manager Frank Case moved them to the Rose Room and a round table. Initially the group called itself "The Board" and the luncheons "Board meetings." After being assigned a waiter named Luigi, the group re-christened itself "Luigi Board." Finally they became "The Vicious Circle" although "The Round Table" gained wide currency after cartoonist Edmund Duffy of the Brooklyn Eagle caricatured the group sitting at a round table and wearing armor. To join this hallowed group "the price of admission [was] a serpent's tongue and a half-concealed stiletto." 
Despite all the famous writers and celebrities who have lived at The Algonquin over the years I can't help but smile at the hotel's most famous current resident, Matilda the Cat! The tradition of having a cat in the hotel was started by Frank Case after he took in a stray. Though Frank didn't realize what he was starting with that first cat, Hamlet, who was named after that famous Dane by John Barrymore. Since then many a Hamlet and a Matilda have lived there. So go for the cat, stay for the literature! 
As a final note I find it vastly entertaining that the offices of The New Yorker were actually located right across the street from The Algonquin, making Vicious Circle meetings easy to slip out to, but that location must wait for another day. Parker and her cronies where in at the beginning, and instead of starting out on West 44th street, the original offices where in the house of it's founder, Harold Ross and Jane Grant. Located in Hell's Kitchen, at 412 West 47th Street between 9th and 10th Avenue, the little white four story house is still standing, if you care to pay homage to a magazine that has fostered the arts for almost a century. The past and the present merge in New York, to create living history and an experience you won't easily forget if you are lucky enough to visit. 
