When I first starting reading the Scarpetta novels I thought it was fairly clear what the attract was to each story: a viscous but unusual murder, or series of murders was committed, and Dr. Kay Scarpetta, Chief Medical Examiner for the state of Virginia, would be called in to use her forensic expertise to discover and unravel the clues. Remember that this all began after "Quincy, M.E." went off into syndication and before "C.S.I." first aired, so detective stories hinging primarily on forensic investigation and detailed medical examinations of corpses was not as prominent as it was today. Plus there was the entire sub-text of Scarpetta as an extreme competent woman who was always the target of professional jealousy and/or political intrigue. For years my main complaint about the Scarpetta novels was that they rarely provided a satisfactory sense of catharsis, especially with regards to the despicable characters who were gunning for her professionally; they never seemed to get their comeuppance.
But then the novels started to link up in strange and bizarre ways, and it became clear that Kay Scarpetta was the target of a complex and intricate conspiracy. No matter what the crime, and no matter how unrelated it seemed to what had happened in the previous novels, it turned out that it was all part of this giant conspiracy. From this perspective it is not surprising that there is no true catharsis at the end of any particular novel, because in terms of the big picture there is always more fun to come. However, this leads to the key question with regards to this concerted effort to destroy Kay Scarpetta: Why is author Patricia Cornwell out to get her own creation?
These novels are becoming more and more like Greek tragedies where the gods look down and laugh, and I entertain the notion of profiling Cornwell to figure out why she is destroying her character and this series. Scarpetta is no longer employed by the state of Virginia, and her character is no more prominent than any other in the novel. More importantly, she has not cooked a nice meal in a long time, which is as telling adetail about her deterioration as anything. "Blow Fly" is a rather ironic title for this novel because, as most of these reviews will attest, Cornwell is blowing it and her readers, who have lost the faith, are flying away in droves. When you get to the BIG SURPRISE REVELATION in this recent novel your honest reaction may well be (a) give me a break and (b) somebody put Scarpetta out of her misery before this insult is added to her accumulation of injuries. Even worse, what limited amount of catharsis there is in "Blow Fly" happens "off stage." For those of us who have literally been waiting years for certainly people to meet their richly deserved ends, being told about it rather than getting to enjoy the moment is yet another slap in the face from the author. My wife literally went back and reread the ending, thinking she had missed something, and, clearly, she is not alone if leaping to that conclusion.
If we were talking a television series the question would be when did the Scarpetta novels "jump the shark" (the reference is to the infamous episode of "Happy Days" when Fonzie jumped the shark and fans of the series consider it all downhill from there). For many it will be the point in "Blow Fly" where the surprise revelation comes or when one of the villains gets out of an impossible situation. However, for me it was before this novel, when Lucy had a shotgun on one of the villains and left them behind in a motel room to go rescue her Aunt Kay. I knew enough to blow the person away, not just because they deserved to die, but because you do not leave a bad person alive behind you when you go off on a rescue mission.
"Blow Fly" has to be the most disappointing Scarpetta novel to date and I shudder to think what is in store for the next installment, which I would say has to be the grand finale except I see from my review of "The Last Precinct" that I thought his novel would have to be the end of the Chandonne plot line. I will continue reading, not so much because I have latent masochistic tendencies, but out of a sense of narrative completeness and a commitment to the idea that you make sure the body is (truly) dead and buried before you walk away. But I take no more pleasure in the experience at this point.
