Cover image for Shrink rap
Shrink rap
Parker, Robert B., 1932-2010.
Publication Information:
Beverly Hills, Calif. : New Millenium Audio, 2002.
Physical Description:
6 audio discs (approximately 5.75 hr.) : digital ; 4 3/4 in.
General Note:

Compact disc.
Geographic Term:
Added Author:
Format :
Audiobook on CD


Call Number
Material Type
Home Location
Clarence Library FICTION CD Adult Audiobook on CD Audiobooks
Central Library FICTION CD Adult Audiobook on CD Audiobooks
Williamsville Library FICTION CD Adult Audiobook on CD Audiobooks
Boston Free Library FICTION CD Adult Audiobook on CD Audiobooks
Concord Library FICTION CD Adult Audiobook on CD Audiobooks
Clearfield Library FICTION CD Adult Audiobook on CD Audiobooks
Kenmore Library FICTION CD Adult Audiobook on CD Audiobooks
Marilla Free Library FICTION CD Adult Audiobook on CD Audiobooks

On Order



Sunny Randall, the beautiful blond P.I. who contends with a yen for dogs, painting, and her ex-husband, Richie, is back in Parker's latest, trying to take down a stalker and facing personal demons in the process. Unabridged. 6 CDs.

Author Notes

Robert Brown Parker was born in Springfield, Massachusetts, on September 17, 1932. He received a B.A. from Colby College in 1954, served in the U.S. Army in Korea, and then returned to receive a M. A. in English literature from Boston University in 1957. He received a Ph.D. in English literature from Boston University in 1971.

Before becoming a full-time writer in 1979, he taught at Lowell State College, Bridgewater State College and Northwestern University.

In 1971, Parker published The Godwuff Manuscript, as homage to Raymond Chandler. The character he created, Spencer, became his own detective and was featured in more than 30 novels. His Spencer character has been featured in six TV movies and the television series Spencer: For Hire that starred Robert Urich and ran from 1985 to 1988.

He is also the author of the Jesse Stone series, which has been made into a series of television movies for CBS, and the Sunny Randall series. His novel Appaloosa (2005) was made into a 2008 movie directed by and starring Ed Harris. He has received numerous awards for his work including an Edgar Award for Best Novel in 1977 for The Promised Land, Grand Master Edgar Award for his collective oeuvre in 2002, and the Gumshoe Lifetime Achievement Award in 2008. He died of a heart attack on January 18, 2010 at the age of 77.

(Bowker Author Biography)

Reviews 3

Booklist Review

Parker, of Boston private eye Spenser fame, added a female Boston private eye to his repertoire in 1999. Ex-cop Sunny Randall is unlike Spenser in not being domestic and in not having a passionate love interest (the now-divorced Randall has an on-again, off-again relationship with her ex). She is passionate, however, about her dog, a device that is meant to be endearing but comes off as strange. The other unsettling thing about Randall is that she sounds and often moves exactly like Spenser; his fans will feel like their wisecracking, punch-throwing hero is being channeled by Randall. Still, if you can ignore the overly cute business with the dog and the fact that Randall has swallowed Spenser's speech patterns, you're in for an extremely entertaining ride. In this third Randall novel^-following Family Honor (1999) and Perish Twice (2000)^-best-selling romance novelist Melanie Joan is being stalked by her ex-husband, Dr. John Melvin, a control freak of a psychiatrist. Joan hires Randall as a bodyguard for her book tour. On the tour, Joan's ex keeps appearing in sudden and scary ways. Randall investigates the bad doctor by seeing two shrinks at once and contrasting the manipulative Dr. Melvin's style with that of a psychiatrist whose motives aren't tainted. An intriguing look at the psychology of manipulation combined with a knockout plot that builds to a truly creepy, hair-raising climax. --Connie Fletcher

Publisher's Weekly Review

As if responding to his new status as an MWA Grand Master, Parker turns in his strongest mystery in years with Boston PI Sunny Randall's third outing (after Family Honor and Perish Twice), a particular relief after this spring's flaccid Spenser offering, Widow's Walk. The setup lacks originality Sunny is hired to bodyguard a bestselling author, Melanie Joan Hall, who pens "high-end bodice rippers," just as years ago in Stardust, Spenser was hired to bodyguard a famous TV newscaster but by focusing on an author's plight during her book tour, Parker writes about experiences close to his own, delivering sharp portraits of publishing types and fans. Melanie Joan's former husband, John Melvin, a psychopathic psychiatrist, is stalking her. To learn about and discredit him, Sunny consults another psychiatrist, then enters incognito into therapy with Melvin, which adds tremendous resonance to the narrative as, inadvertently, she must confront her own neuroses during sessions, complexes involving her relationships with her parents and estranged husband. Soon Sunny sniffs out that Melvin has been raping and, occasionally, killing members of his all-female clientele by injecting them with a date rape drug. To nab Melvin, she submits to his using the drug on her, in an intense finale. With layers of psychological revelation, plenty of action, the welcome return of Sunny's supporting crew (most notably Spike, a gay counterpart to Spenser's Hawk) and, as usual, prose as tight as a drumhead, this is grade-A Parker. National author tour. (Sept. 16) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

Library Journal Review

Parker's P.I. for this outing is Sunny Randall, who is hired to protect a touring author from her domineering ex-husband a psychotherapist, of course. (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.



I ALWAYS LOVED Richie's hands. They looked like such man's hands. I knew that I was guilty of gross gender stereotyping, but I kept my mouth shut about it, and no one knew. His hands rested on the table between us, the right one on top of the left. They were still. Richie was always still. It was one of the things that had made it hard to be married to him. I knew intellectually that he loved me, but he was so contained and interior that I used to crave even the most unseemly display of feeling. He was still now, sitting across the table from me, telling me he'd met someone else. We were divorced. It was fine for him to see other people. I saw other people too. But this was a somebody else he'd met. This was more than seeing other people. This made me feel like my center had collapsed. "Somebody, like walk into the sunset?" I said. "She wants to get married," Richie said. "She has a right to that." "And you?" Richie shrugged. "I'm thinking about it." "Three kids and a house in the western suburbs?" "We haven't talked about that," Richie said. "What about Rosie?" I said. "She likes dogs." I looked at the hamburger I had ordered. I didn't want it. "Rosie would still want to visit," I said. "I love Rosie," Richie said. "Has Ms. Right met her?" I said. "Yes." "They get along?" "Very well," Richie said. "Rosie loves her." She does not. "Rosie will remain my dog," I said. Richie smiled at me. "We're not going to have a custody fight over a goddamn bull terrier, are we?" "Not as long as we remember she's mine." "She's ours," Richie said. "But not hers." "No. Mine and yours," Richie said. "She lives with you and visits me." I nodded. Richie was quiet. "How long have you been seeing Ms. Right?" I said. "About three months." "Three months." Richie nodded. "You're sleeping with her," I said. "Of course." "Do you love Ms. Right?" I said. "Her name is Carrie." "Do you love Carrie?" "I don't know." "And how are you going to find out?" I said. "I don't know." Richie had ordered a club sandwich, on whole wheat, toasted. He hadn't eaten any of it. The waitress stopped at our table. "Is everything all right?" she said. "Fine," Richie said. "Can I get you anything else?" "No," Richie said. "Check will be fine." "Do you want me to have your food wrapped?" the waitress said. "No thank you," Richie said. The waitress looked at me. I shook my head. She put a check on the table and went away looking regretful. Richie and I looked at each other. "Whaddya think?" he said. I shook my head. "I know," Richie said. He looked at the check and took some bills out of his wallet and put them on the table. "The thing is," he said, "I can't get past you." "Oh?" "I mean, we're sort of spinning our wheels." "You could call it that," I said. "I mean this is a nice woman, and she's happy with who and what I am." I nodded. "But I can't get past you," Richie said. "I face somewhat the same problem," I said. "We need some kind of resolution, Sunny." "I thought the divorce was supposed to be some kind of resolution," I said. Richie smiled quietly. "I did too," he said. "But it wasn't," I said. "No. It wasn't." "So what are we supposed to do?" I said. "I'm serious about this woman." I nodded. It was difficult for me to speak. The room around me seemed insubstantial, as if I were drifting in space. "But," he said, "I can't imagine a life without you in it." "So," I said. "What the hell is this, a warning that you're going to try?" "I guess it is," Richie said. The room was nearly empty. There was only one other table occupied, by three people calmly having lunch. The waitress stayed away from us. Discreet. I looked at the money that Richie had stacked neatly on top of the bill. "I miss Rosie," Richie said. "She misses you." I was quiet. Richie was perfectly still, his hands folded motionless on the table. We were so silent that I was aware of his breathing across the table. "Are we really talking about the dog here?" Richie said. "No," I said, "we goddamned sure are not." --from Shrink Rap by Robert Parker, Copyright © September 2002, Putnam Pub Group, a member of Penguin Putnam, Inc., used by permission. Excerpted from Shrink Rap by Robert B. Parker All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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