I would have rated it higher but honestly by the end of the book I could care less about Easy's sex life. The mystery was good but the sex scenes really got in the way of the story for me, I like well written sex as much as the next person but when you start noticing how often it is in the story--problem. ( )

Excellent mystery and great historical fiction. Even though the book is grittier than I usually care for, it didn't bother me in this one the way it so often does. Maybe it is because though Easy isn't exactly a law-abiding citizen all the time, he does have a conscience and doesn't go out of his way to look for trouble, the way so many of the criminal 'protagonists' in noir novels seem to do.

I found the parts about Craxton looking for dirt on Jewish labor organizer (and concentration camp survivor) Chaim Wenzler particularly fascinating. Though Hoover's name is never mentioned, I could sense his shadow behind Craxton. ( )

Easy Rawlins salió bien librado de sus encuentros con un demonio vestido de azul y, además, con un buen puñado de dólares. Los invirtió muy sabiamente, y ahora es dueño de varias casas de apartamentos, y vive de las rentas. Nadie sabe que él es el propietario, pues Easy hace de portero, se encarga de la limpieza y el mantenimiento de los edificios y también se hace el tonto, y deja que el gordo señor Mofass, el administrador, se ocupe de cobrar la renta y apremiar a los inquilinos. Easy, no obstante, sabe que para los negros éste es un mundo muy difícil, sobre todo para los negros pobres que aspiran a serlo un poco menos. Los impuestos le acosan y, para defender sus propiedades, se ve obligado a aceptar el «trabajo» que le proporciona el F.B.I., que consiste en infiltrarse en la Primera Iglesia Baptista Africana, espiar a sus pastores y feligreses, y al rojo Chaim Wenzler, un judío superviviente de los campos de concentración nazis, que ahora hace beneficiencia para la muy negra iglesia baptista.

I always started sweeping on the top floor of the Magnolia Street apartments. It was a three-story pink stucco building between Ninety-first Street and Ninety-first Place, just about a mile outside of Watts proper. Twelve units. All occupied for that month. I had just gathered the dirt into a neat pile when I heard Mofass drive up in his new '53 Pontiac. I knew it was him because there was something wrong with the transmission, you could hear it singing from a block away. I heard his door slam and his loud hello to Mrs. Trajillo, who always sat at her window on the first floor - best burglar alarm you could have.

I didn't like this as much as the first one, but it was still a good read. It was a bit complicated, especially for an audiobook, but not bad.

What I like most about both so far is that it takes me to a world that is very different; a different time, different place, and a different culture. It's still very accessible and understandable, though. ( )