Paperback 603: Dell First Edition B203 (PBO, 1961)

Title: Angel Eyes
Author: Robert Dietrich (pseud. of Howard Hunt)
Cover artist: Robert McGinnis

Yours for: $16


Best things about this cover:

• I call wig.
• It's like there's a giant vacuum just out of frame, sucking the left side of her head away—earring and hair eerily defying gravity.
• She died the way she lived: fondling her bongos.
• She died the way she lived: on a giant magic diaper ride.
• She died the way she lived: one shoe on, one shoe off.

Best things about this back cover:

• Chunky pictorial question mark for the win!
• "I'm Bentley. Steve Bentley." — Steve Bentley, wowing them with his Bond imitation.
• You might ask what / the rationale is for / the line divisions on this back / cover copy

Page 123~

"As for any feeling I have about that little Bolac whore, I could put it all in a thimble and still have room for my finger."

I don't know what "Bolac" means and I don't care—this line is unimprovable.

~RP

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Title: Steve Bentley's Calypso Caper
Author: Robert Dietrich (pseud. of E. Howard Hunt)
Cover artist: Tom Miller

• Quite a nice female figure, but unfortunately crowded and partially obscured by garish text.
• Her hair is gorgeous, from a painting perspective. I mean, you wouldn't want hair that actually looked like that (the "color" alone is frightening), but that's some nice, fine, confident brushwork.
• The more I look at that title font, the more it looks like it was created by a toddler with dull scissors. Terrible.
• Who gets this made up and spangled while also getting practically naked? Seems like a lot of work.
  I should start tagging books that use the hackneyed "—to murder!" / "—of murder!" / "—by murder!" finish.

• "They found the naked body of Victor Polo!" Oh sure, tease me with the near-naked body of that woman on the cover and then bait-and-switch me with the naked (and dead) body of some guy named Victor Polo. He's probably not even hot.
• "And me, Steve Bentley." HA ha. Least meaningful name drop ever.  "And me—Steve Bentley ... [cough] ... [tumbleweed] ... you know. Steve Bentley! ... come on! ... [crickets] ..."

The bartendress uttered a laugh like the caw of a robber crow.

First, some words were not meant to have feminine forms. Second, I wondered for a split-second what a rubber crow was supposed to sound like.


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