Keep moving, Kinsey! Vamoose, Vic! Step aside, Stephanie! Woody's coming, and she needs a lot of room!
Yep, in keeping with society's dawning belief that "real women have curves," it's time for the female detective most likely to never go undercover as an exotic dancer - she's unabashedly, unashamedly fat. That's her word, by the way, not mine: Estelle "Woody" Woodhaven doesn't label herself plump, chubby, plus-size, ample, or even rubenesque. She prefers to get straight to the point and say, "I'm fat." In a literary genre where Nero Wolfe can boast not just two chins but half a dozen, Amanda Cross finally introduces a female detective who'll be portrayed by Camryn Manheim instead of Lara Flynn Boyle. And Honest Doubt is her maiden voyage...
Into the Valley of Death...
Charles Haycock might have been a misogynistic old bore - no, strike that, hewas a boring old misogynist whose only passion was for the works of Tennyson. That doesn't mean that someone should have poisoned the cantankerous Lit Professor, but murder is indeed what happened. Clifton College's English Department hires Woody Woodhaven to investigate, and Woody turns to Kate Fansler to set her straight on the mysterious workings of an academic department.
The plus-sized heroine has a ton of trouble sorting out the structure of Clifton's English Department, and even more trouble wrapping her mind around the goofy politics of tenure and other arcane academic practices. So, on a regular basis, she climbs astride her motorcycle (wearing a helmet, of course) and drops in on Fansler for tea (or something stronger) and a spot of advice. That, and Woody - a dog person at heart -instantly bonds with Fansler's St. Bernard, Banny. When she's not at Kate's Manhattan brownstone, Woody is out in the wilds of New Jersey interviewing potential suspects: now there's a motley crew! There's the leggy feminist distantly related to Angela Lansbury (one of Woody's heroines), the angry creative writing lecturer whose only reason for teaching is to bed as many undergrads as possible, the retired Dean who's deliberately estranged herself from children and grandkids, the gay professor who was run off for "failure to publish," and the gaggle of burnt-out nearly senile old men who rule the department with an iron fist. And, of course, the department secretary who knows everything about everybody...
Woody's frustration increases with each suspect she interviews, even though she has - for once - willing cooperation from the local police in the form of a hunky and quite copacetic cop. Seemingly making no progress, though, Woody's about ready to give up when Kate drops one final morsel of insight - and all the pieces fall into place.
Who's Kate Fansler
Who, indeed - the protagonist of a dozen or so murder mysteries, Kate Fansler - here acting only in an advisory role for the bamboozled Woody, is a college professor at a New York City university. She's also apparently an amateur sleuth, one who's solved a dozen or so mysteries over the years (judging from Amanda Cross's bibliography).
While the book's emblazoned with the label "A Kate Fansler Mystery," the sleuth in Honest Doubt is undeniably Woody Woodhaven. It is she who does the legwork, she who must brave the wilderness beyond the Hudson, her name at the bottom of the final report (and the top of the bill). Fansler's only a consultant, even if is she who actually provides the critical insight for Woody. Seems to me a rather cheesy means of introducing a new character while keeping the old one's fans around...
A Different Venue
Amanda Cross, in real life a college professor, follows the dictum of "write what you know" to the letter. Woody's confusion about the internecine politics of an academic department offer Cross (real name Carolyn Heilbrun) an opportunity to wax poetic about the infighting and petty bickering that, at least in her account, dominate such organizations. Then, too, she takes an opportunity to get in her jabs at those who would make fun of the fat - claiming that the obese are the only minority about whom it's still acceptable to tell jokes. Hah! She needs a larger circle of acquaintances - around these parts, anybody different is a target.
Be that as it may, Cross writes a mystery novel much more in keeping with Agatha Christie (to whom this volume pays homage) than do most American novelists. This is not a novel of action - none of the professors attempt to brain Woody with a poker nor does any of them pack a Glock. There's no hot and sweaty sex; not even a little bit of it. In fact, there's no swearing, either: Woody's foulest expletive appears to be "Holy Cats!" even though she prefers dogs... Instead, we have a placid little mystery novel that might just as easily be set in your grandmother's sewing circle; populated (with one exception) by a batch of suspects that appear more at home with knitting needles, antimacassars, and bone china pots of herbal tea.
In short, don't come here expecting a high level of excitement - you'll find neither car chases nor bullet-riddled corpses in Honest Doubt. Woody Woodhaven is no jolly Ms. Claus, she tells us - her bulk conceals surprising speed and strength. But nowhere in the pages of this book do we find evidence of her physical prowess. And as to her intelligence, frankly, anyone who's completed law school should surely be sufficiently familiar with the internal politics of academia to be able to figure out a college English department. So you probably shouldn't come here expecting a cerebral experience, either. So why should you come here? Well, the dog is nice...