Splendid thriller by "David Hunt" (a pseudonym of a San Franciscan author) in which photographer Kay Farrow unravels a mystery regarding the murder of her friend, a street hustler named Tim. Farrow also has complete color blindness, seeing only in black and white and the grey shades in between. Hunt crafts a remarkably taut and atmospheric tale that has surprises in unexpected places and doesn't flinch from the seamy/steamy side of life in San Francisco.
Very enjoyable. ( )

It seems fashionable nowadays for mystery authors to provide their protagonist with a physical or emotional handicap. David Hunt's heroine Kay Farrow is a photographer with autosomal recessive achromatopsia. It means she is totally color blind, and sees only shades of gray - except when the author forgets!

Naturally she sticks to black and white photography. Since she sees in monochrome anyway, it makes it easy for her to categorise everyone - no shades of grey here. Only black hats and white hats would have made the definitions sharper.

Kay draws on her fascination with San Francisco's hustling scene to document commercial sex. She soon finds herself, if not accepted, at least tolerated in the Gulch, where she forms an unusual bond with Tim Lovesey, whose beauty entrances both Kay and her camera. Though their worlds are so different, Kay and Tim become close (or so she thinks), as she works on a series of studies for a potential book.

After Tim does not turn up at a pre-arranged meeting, Kay's fears are realised when his head and some body parts turn up in a dumpster. Kay then makes a sometimes uncomfortable alliance with the police investigating the case, and discovers a link with an old serial killing case that, incredibly, involved her ex-cop father. She also discovers she knew absolutely nothing about Tim at all.

I don't know what the other readers will think about Kay's Indian lover Sasha, but I found him incredibly annoying. Not even the cheapest romance writer would have dared to trot out such a picture-perfect, implausible and one-dimensional Prince Charming. After a while, I found myself suspecting that in fact he was the murderer, since such a pristine appearance could only hide something sinister. He wasn't, of course; he wouldn't do anything as interesting as that. After a while, I just skipped the parts in which he appeared, and believe me, this did not affect my understanding of the plot one whit. And the guy in the park, PUHL-EEASE!

Like many novels of this genre, The Magician's Tale relies on readers accepting a larger than life protagonist and a complex and incredible set of coincidences. The alliance with the good cop/bad cop police was barely credible, and San Francisco must be the only place in the world where someone passing by with a camera can photograph a corpse. Or bits of one. Maybe they just have to be daughters of ex-cops.

Most of those criticisms came in retrospect, as I was quickly absorbed in the voyeuristic look at the world of commercial and bizarre sex, and the blurred line between the hunters and the prey.

All faults aside, "The Magician's Tale" is certainly a compelling thriller and it's pretty obvious Kay Farrow is destined to make a return appearance. However, I would reserve my opinion regarding comparisons made on the jacket to Cornwell's Scarpetta, or Hoeg's Smilla until I see something more. ( )

It's an interesting thriller. Another book given to me in the Hospital by an insomniac. ( )