Book Review: Richard Stark, The Mourner (1963)

After the series-opening trilogy featuring Parker vs. The Mob—The Hunter, The Man with the Getaway Face, and The Outfit—the fourth Parker novel is a letdown. Parker has substantially less at stake in The Mourner (other than his life, of course, which is always at stake), and there is nothing particularly inventive in the narrative given the novels that came before. Competent? Of course. Enjoyable? Well, sure. But that's as far as I'll go. Grade: C+

Pulp Poem of the Week

All who
knew him
for an hour
regretted it

a lifetime.

Jim Tully

Shanty Irish
1928

Review: Richard Stark, The Outfit (1963)

The Parker novels are at their best when they are at their most restrained. While Parker and his cohorts are planning and executing their heists, the narratives are fascinating, but when the guns fire and the fists fly, things get much less interesting. So it goes with The Outfit: The action of the opening chapter tries too hard, and the shoot-'em-up climax is anti-climactic, but everything in between is just about perfect. Grade: B+

Book Review: John Riordan, On the Make (1929)

Fourteen stories, mainly about college boys and working girls. The prose is faux Hemingway; the plots are purposefully stagnant; and the characters are interchangeable. The overall effect is numbing. John Riordan's On the Make reminded me of Robert C. Du Soe's 1938 novel The Devil Thumbs a Ride, about which I wrote, "Much liquor is consumed, many sexual advances are made, and many lives are endangered, but never is there so much as a peek into anyone's soul." On the Make is superior, however, if only because it is a collection of stories: Just as readers may be tiring of one set of empty characters, the next set comes along. As well, Riordan strives for a sociological significance that Du Soe does not: While The Devil Thumbs a Ride feels unconnected to the real world, On the Make wants readers to wring their hands over its scandalous though understated portrayal of Jazz Age youth. More interesting than good. Grade: C-

Pulp Poem of the Week

You look like
you've just seen
your great-grandmother
driving a taxi.

Don Tracy
Criss-Cross
1934

Book Review: Patricia Highsmith, The Talented Mr. Ripley (1955)

For a variety of reasons, I find it difficult to have an authentic response to The Talented Mr. Ripley. First off, of course, is the book's reputation. It has been anointed many times over as one of the Great Classics of Noir, so you read it expecting a Great Classic. An offshoot of this reputation is the book's presence in popular culture, which makes it almost impossible to read the book without already knowing at least a bit about Tom Ripley and his story. And for me, the crowning complication is Tom's portrayal as self-loathing closeted homosexual. I know how Tom's character reads to me in 2010, but what I would really like to know is how I would have responded to Tom if I had read this book in 1955. But here is what I do know: The first third of the novel is unnecessarily slow; in giving such a leisurely introduction to Tom, Highsmith is denying and not trusting her genre. Furthermore, it makes no sense to dwell on Tom's character because Tom has no character. When we meet Tom, he is an empty shell defined by a few desires and neuroses. Things get interesting only when he begins using this emptiness to his advantage, as good sociopaths do. Then, of course, the book gets much better, and this is when we actually begin learning about Tom. Grade: B+

Pulp Poem of the Week

If there was a million dollars
lying in the bottom
of a shallow dishpan of water,
I would sure as blazes
slip and fall on my face
and drown trying to get it.

Gil Brewer
Sugar
1959

Now Available at Amazon.com!

Two books now available from Amazon.com that that everyone should buy: Gil Brewer's The Red Scarf, which many consider to be his best novel, and some other guy's Verse Noir. Click on their titles to go to their Amazon pages.

Pulp Poem of the Week

This guy was so ugly
he could have got himself
a free scholarship into
a college for gargoyles.

Peter Cheyney
Poison Ivy
1937

Book Review: Richard Stark, The Man with the Getaway Face (1963)

In the first Parker novel, The Hunter, Parker thumbs his violent nose at organized crime, thereby necessitating the getaway face. By the end of The Man with the Getaway Face, however, Parker knows that his new face will not be enough; sooner or later, he will have to deal with "The Outfit." Therefore, the second Parker novel seems rather like killing time until this showdown, but it's a pleasant way to kill some time. The Parker novels are the noir equivalent of cotton candy—and I mean that in the best possible way. Grade: B

Review: Richard Stark, The Hunter (1962)

The defining moment of the first Parker novel comes in a throwaway scene: Parker, searching for a location from which to surveil his prey, forces his way into a beauty shop, knocking out its proprietress with a punch to the chin. Parker gags her and ties her wrists and ankles together, cutting the cord with pair of scissors that he finds in a desk drawer. At first, he doesn't think anything of the inhaler that he finds along with the scissors, but then he notices that the woman is dead. Parker's reaction? There's no good reason why a gag should kill someone, so he's angry at the abstract stupidity of the woman's death. For just a moment. Then he goes about his business. Grade: B+

Book Review: Martin M. Goldsmith, Double Jeopardy (1938)

You can hear the gears grinding in Double Jeopardy’s breathtakingly awkward opening sentence:

I suppose it was that five-point-nine that was to blame—or the gunner who fired it; or maybe it was my own fault for lagging behind the rest of my battalion as we advanced deployed through that ploughed-up cemetery; but, somehow, I find myself laying it all before Anita’s door.

Martin M. Goldsmith’s second novel is unapologetically plot-driven, but Double Jeopardy offers surprisingly little drama. As narrator Peter Thatcher describes how Anita, his femme fatale, played him for a fool and framed him into prison, readers will never have a doubt what is going on, even while Peter is too thick to see it.

Sometimes when noir fiction is dramatically weak, our empathy for the protagonist compensates with cathartic pleasure as we bear witness to inevitable doom. Not so here, as Peter Thatcher’s narrative becomes increasingly overwrought:

Unfortunately, there is no way I can find to adequately describe my suffering. But then I am reasonably certain that even the great Russian masters of tragedy—Tolstoi, Maxim Gorki, Dostoievski—would be quick to perceive the emptiness of their words in the telling of my story and would probably throw down their pens in despair.

Nobody knows the trouble Peter has seen, which he keeps reminding us in his ongoing attempt to wear out our goodwill. Grade: D+

Pulp Poem of the Week

Lying
requires
imagination.

Dashiell Hammett
The Dain Curse
1929

Book Review: W. R. Burnett, The Silver Eagle (1931)

The Silver Eagle is the follow-up to W. R. Burnett's groundbreaking gangster-novel debut, Little Caesar (1929). Businessman Frank Harworth is just smart enough, just persistent enough, and just lucky enough to have earned a place among the nouveau riche of late 1920s Chicago, but he isn't satisfied. Frank wants to be accepted by the old(er) money of the city, and he wants to make even more money himself. The former desire leads to romantic entanglements; the latter, to mob entanglements. Frank's character is sympathetic but not sufficiently complex to sustain much interest. Grade: C

Semi-Shameless Self-Promotion: David Rachels, Verse Noir (2010)

This allows you to sample a few of the poems in my collection, Verse Noir. It's much easier to read if you click on the full-screen icon.

Pulp Poem of the Week

The three stenographers,
with the wisdom of those
whose jobs are still solid,
guessed he'd got it
between the eyes.
Their faces were three pennies.

Benjamin Appel
Brain Guy
1934

Book Review: Jim Thompson, Savage Night (1953)

From one perspective, Savage Night is fairly pedestrian noir. A mob assassin, Charlie Bigger, insinuates himself into a small town as part of his plan for killing a witness in an upcoming trial. This plan, of course, proves to be unnecessarily complicated, as the conventions of noir sometimes require. So far, nothing memorable. But Jim Thompson adds to the mix a startling grotesquerie that turns Savage Night into something altogether new in the noir vein. I will say nothing more about this, as Savage Night should not be experienced by summary, but I will note that it is easy to imagine Flannery O'Connor learning a few of her tricks from Jim Thompson. Grade: B-

Pulp Poem of the Week

Gorilla Haley's skull was fractured.

He became insane. He later became

a member of the Chicago police.

Jim Tully

Circus Parade

1927

Book Review: Ed McBain, Big Man (1959)

A direct descendant of W. R. Burnett's Little Caesar (1929), Ed McBain's Big Man tells the story of Frankie Taglio, a young man in New York who falls in with the wrong crowd (or right crowd, depending on your point of view) and soon finds himself a career mobster. Frankie's rise through the mob hierarchy is somewhat difficult to explain: There are strangely few gangsters between him and the top, and Frankie doesn't seem to have much going for him other than a bit of intelligence and the willingness to use a gun. (Then again, maybe that's all any gangster really needs.) Big Man has a fair amount of action, but its drama is driven less by the crimes that Frankie commits than by the changes in his character as he ascends the mob ladder. Grade: B

Pulp Poem of the Week

The flare of my gun
showed me nothing.
It never does,
though it's easy
to think
you've seen things.

Dashiell Hammett
Red Harvest
1929

Book Review: Jim Tully, Shanty Irish (1928)

Kent State University Press, which has reissued four books by Jim Tully, has hung its hat on Rupert Hughes’ claim that Tully was the father of hardboiled writing in America. Unfortunately, Hardboiled Tully is not much in evidence in Shanty Irish, which veers between pathos and sentimentality in its portrayal of ignorance, poverty, hard work, and drunken blowhards. Grade: D

Pulp Poem of the Week

I filled
my mouth
with fish
and thought
of Kafka.

Roger Zelazny
The Dead Man's Brother
c. 1971

Book Review: Gil Brewer, Sugar (1959)

Gil Brewer's novels of the late 1950s are sort of like a bag of Hershey bars: As you're eating them, you know they're not the best chocolate in the world, but they're consistent, and you'll like them just fine if you don't eat them all at once. Like Brewer's other novels of the period, Sugar is noir from the Everyman school: Jess Cotton is an ordinary guy, struggling to make a living sell air conditioners. But even before temptation falls into his lap, he has already decided that he will do anything, legal or not, that has a big enough pay-off. Then comes the title character, a missing suitcase full of money, and noir. Of Brewer's novels published in 1958-1959, Sugar is a cut slightly below The Bitch, The Vengeful Virgin, and Wild to Possess. A somewhat scare Brewer title, but worth it if you can find a reading copy. Grade: C+

Série Noire Project #1: Peter Cheyney's Poison Ivy (1937/1945)

This is part of an occasional series concerning the question, “What is noir?” It assumes that you have read the previous parts of the series:

Notes Toward a Definition of Noir

Série Noire Project: Introduction

Série Noire Project #1: Peter Cheyney's Poison Ivy (1937/1945)

In analyzing the nature of the early Série Noire, some critics cherry-pick the writers who are the most familiar to them and who are also (not coincidentally) held in the highest regard today: Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett, and James M. Cain. But to claim that these writers, taken alone, are representative of the early Série Noire is a distortion born of wishful thinking. In fact, Marcel Duhamel, the founder of the Série Noire, chose to include many novels that are held in low regard today, including the first novel in the series: Peter Cheyney’s Poison Ivy (originally published in 1937; published in the Série Noire in 1945).

Poison Ivy was the second novel by the British writer Cheyney; like his first novel, This Man Is Dangerous (1936), it is narrated by American G-man Lemmy Caution. Native speakers of English—and especially American native speakers of English—will likely find Lemmy Caution’s narrative voice laughable, and this comedy, whether intentional or not, may well dominate their reading experiences. The opening paragraph of the first chapter establishes Caution’s voice:

Was I pleased or was I? I’m tellin’ you that kickin’ around Alliance Nebraska never pleased me any; more especially when I say that I have been rusticatin’ in this dump so that I am already beginnin’ to think I am growing hay in my hair. But I reckon that the ways of the main “G” office is nobody’s business, an’ I have also got an idea at the back of my head that they have kept me kickin’ around this spot all this time so that the bezuzus I started over the Miranda van Zelden case could die down. (9)

This is so far from a realistic portrayal of any American idiom that it sounds like rocks in a blender. But in trying to understand the novel’s inclusion in the Série Noire, the reaction of an American reader is beside the point. Caution’s voice would have been perceived differently by Cheyney’s British audience, and it would have been perceived even more differently by the Frenchman Duhamel. Duhamel, of course, is our focus: What did he see in Poison Ivy that led him to label it noir?

Significantly, Duhamel’s statement describing the Série Noire says nothing about the importance of language or idiom. Rather, the Série Noire emphasizes character as revealed through action: “What remains is action, anxiety, beatings, massacres—violence in every evil shape and form. As in good films, characters reveal their souls through action, and readers fond of introspective literature will be left to turn backflips.” Therefore, even if Duhamel had been aware of Cheyney’s shortcomings as a stylist, he may not have cared much, given both the Série Noire’s emphasis on action and the dampening of Caution’s voice in translation. (How do you say “bezuzus” in French? According to Duhamel’s translation, you say “le chambard.”)

In Making Crime Pay (1944), Cheyney describes his method of storytelling as “realistic” rather than “intellectual” (20). This distinction runs parallel to Duhamel’s emphasis on action over introspection. Cheyney says that he was drawn to the possibilities of “realistic” fiction circa 1935 by British gangster films and Paul Cain’s Fast One, an American novel published in 1932. (It is amusing to note that Cheyney wrote his nonfiction with as much care as his fiction; he gets both author and title wrong, citing A Fast One by James Cain.) The main lesson that Cheyney seems to have learned from Fast One is velocity of plot. The violence comes quickly and keeps coming, regardless of whether the narrative makes sense. In a similar vein, Cornell Woolrich later argued that anything is acceptable in a plot provided that it increases narrative tension. According to Woolrich, if a story is becoming ever more suspenseful, then the writer is doing his job even if the plot, when closely examined, is gibberish. But in Paul Cain and Peter Cheyney, suspense hardly seems the goal. Their plots simply go until they have reached the necessary word count, and then they stop with the best sense of closure they can manage. Their plot points are discrete events that provide little cumulative drama.

Poison Ivy’s action for the sake of action is consistent with Duhamel’s understanding of noir, as he does not mention suspense as one of the Série Noire’s characteristics. Instead, he emphasizes that these novels are unsettling: “Briefly, our goal is simple: to stop you from sleeping.” The key to this goal, as Duhamel describes it, is the portrayal of a world without moral center. There will be violent crime, but there may not be good-guy cops or likeable detectives to ensure that justice is served—which, of course, brings us to Lemmy Caution and the fact that Poison Ivy is the second of ten Caution novels.

The idea of a detective-hero who appears in a series of novels is antithetical to most definitions of noir. If there is a detective who solves the case and lives to detect another day, then how dark can the novel be? Thus, we find Allan Guthrie, in introducing his personal list of the top 200 noir novels, explaining his definition of noir in only one way: He “rules out most detective fiction—unless the detectives are victims, crooks, lunatics or are generally shafted in some major way.” Duhamel, in describing the Série Noire, seems somewhat sympathetic to Guthrie’s point of view, commenting that readers “will see cops more corrupt than the criminals they chase.” However, when he goes on to say that a “sympathetic detective will not always solve the mystery,” he implies that a “sympathetic detective” will sometimes “solve the mystery,” despite the fact that Série Noire “is a world of amorality.” In novels featuring sympathetic detectives, presumably there are other elements that make the world amoral.

At the beginning of Poison Ivy, Caution, who has been working in Alliance, Nebraska, is summoned to New York. The FBI believes that someone may be planning to hijack a shipment of gold headed from New York to Southampton, England, and they want Caution on the case because he is unknown to local criminals. His method of investigation is to provoke the mob, to survive the resulting violence, and to see what he learns as a result. He explains, “Now I have always had an old-fashioned idea that if you are tryin’ to find somethin’ out a great thing to do is to start as much trouble as you can . . .” (64). A predictable result of this method is that Caution finds himself in serious trouble on several occasions, but, like the hero of a Saturday matinee serial, he always finds a way to escape. In one instance, Caution confirms that a character is against him by intentionally walking into an ambush. This gives him an important piece of information, but it places him in a situation that he has no realistic chance of surviving (though, of course, he does—“I have always found that you gotta take a chance,” he later explains [182]).

Where, then, is the darkness of Poison Ivy? Is it amoral? Will it keep readers from sleeping? To begin, its villains are certainly immoral. Not only do they commit murders and other acts of violence in the name of greed, but the novel’s chief villain kills because he “[gets] a kick out of it” (111). But there are very few detective novels, noir or otherwise, that do not have an immoral villain. Thus, what makes Poison Ivy a candidate for noir is the immoral streak in detective-hero Lemmy Caution, which weakens his ability to give the novel a moral center. Caution throws punches first and asks questions later. We first see this when he punches a man who has been following him. Caution says, “I know that a war is about to start any minute now an’ I reckon that I might as well be the guy who starts it . . .” (48). Later, after Caution has won a fight, he hits his opponent when he is down: “He goes down with a wallop an’ I pick him up with my left hand an’ smack him down with my right again just for luck because these mobsters . . . are just a pain in the neck to me anyway” (55).

Furthermore, Caution will do immoral things to get information: He promises to frame two gangsters for murder if they refuse to talk to him (57). Then, when wants to keep them quiet, he has them arrested with the promise that they will be let go after two weeks—unless, of course, they talk, in which case he will frame them for something (62-63, 64). Caution realizes that not everyone approves of his tactics:

[S]ome of my methods are inclined to be a bit tough, an’ I have got an idea that these English coppers are not so pleased with any strong-arm stuff, but I have found very often that the best way to make some guy talk quick an’ plenty is to smack him down first of all an’ then start gettin’ nice with him afterwards. All the guys who don’t believe in force are the guys who cause all the trouble in the long run because there is only one way to deal with mobsters any place in the world an’ that is with a good sock in the puss in a quiet corner. (168)

Soon after this declaration, Caution beats a mobster, pulls a gun on him, and then tells him, “You an’ me is goin’ is to have a nice little quiet talk without any interruption. An’ you be good an’ do your stuff otherwise I am goin’ to paste seventeen different kinds of hell outa you” (171).

Strung together out of context, these bits may make Caution seem menacing, and by extension the novel may seem amoral, but readers of Poison Ivy may see things differently. After all, Caution beats only mobsters, and readers may well take pleasure in seeing the bad guys treated this way. But will this pleasure make readers feel guilty—and will this guilt stop readers from sleeping? Perhaps in French translation, but in the original English, Caution is difficult to take seriously. As a result, English-language readers may not see Caution as a dark character at all.

Caution’s darkest moment comes after he has caught the mastermind behind the gold heist, and the criminal asks if Caution will leave him alone with his gun so that he can kill himself. The criminal says, “[M]aybe that would be the easiest way out for everybody,” and Caution replies, “I wouldn’t know about that, but if you do decide to bump yourself off, do it nice an’ quick, an’ don’t make any mistake about it” (180). Thus, Caution allows this self-execution, and readers may well question the morality of this sort of justice.

This darkness, however, does not last for long. One commonly cited hallmark of noir is an unavoidably bleak ending: The atmosphere is gloom, and the hero is doomed. But the ending of Poison Ivy is exactly the opposite. The title character, a standard-issue femme fatale, turns on the mob and then throws herself at Lemmy Caution, so our hero-detective brings the bad guys to justice and gets the girl, too. So while the gloom-doom definition of noir may apply to some novels of the genre, it does not work as a description of the early Série Noire. The ending of Poison Ivy, however, raises an interesting question to ponder about Duhamel’s description of the series: Can a book with a happy ending disturb readers enough to leave them sleepless?

Works Cited

Primary Source

Cheyney, Peter. Poison Ivy. 1937. Toronto: Collins, 1947.

Secondary Sources

Cheyney, Peter. Making Crime Pay. 1944. London: Faber and Faber, 1946.

-----. La Môme Vert-de-Gris. French translation of Poison Ivy. Translated by Marcel Duhamel. Paris: Gallimard, 1945.

Duhamel, Marcel. [On the Série Noire.] 1948. Quoted in “Série Noire Project: Introduction” by David Rachels. http://noirboiled.blogspot.com/2010/07/serie-noire-project-introduction.html. Accessed 16 July 2010.

Guthrie, Allan. “200 Noirs” at Allan Guthrie’s Noir Originals. http://www.allanguthrie.co.uk/pages/noir_zine/articles/200_noirs.php. Accessed 16 July 2010.

Coming next in the series . . .

Série Noire Project #2: Peter Cheyney’s This Man Is Dangerous (1936/1945)

Pulp Poem of the Week

A guy does what he has to do
and no more.
You've got an out now.
You can stay in Cuba now
and enjoy yourself.
Without that out
you'd be braver than hell.
If you've got a guy cornered
then he's brave.

Lawrence Block
Fidel Castro Assassinated (a.k.a. Killing Castro)
1961

Book Review: Dan Wells, I Am Not a Serial Killer (2009)

In its deepest DNA, I Am Not a Serial Killer is a young adult novel, but there is enough genetic material spliced in from horror and psycho noir that the book was published by Tor and shelved in the (Adult) Mystery section of my local mega-bookstore. Following somewhat in the footsteps of (Darkly Dreaming) Dexter, it tells the story of a teenaged sociopath who is working to surpress his inner monster and of the problems he faces when a practicing serial killer goes to work in his hometown. This is the first novel about a serial killer that I have passed along to my fourteen-year-old son. Grade: C+
Footnote: My son says that this is

“the best book ever.”

Author Photograph: Peter Cheyney

From the back cover of Poison Ivy (Penguin 723; 1950).

Pulp Poem of the Week

The strong
travel light.

W. R. Burnett
Little Caesar
1929

Book Review: Peter Cheyney, Poison Ivy (1937)

Lemmy Caution, American "G" man, is the creation of Peter Cheyney, a British writer who made a bundle with his ersatz hardboiled writing. The plot of Poison Ivy, the second Caution novel, deals with the mob's attempt to rob a bullion shipment headed from New York to England, but the main thing readers (especially American readers) are likely to remember after finishing this book is Caution's over-the-top, unintentionally parodic (at least I think it's unintentional) narrative voice. As a literary creation, Caution is so bad that he is almost entertaining. I can imagine someone wanting to read a second Caution novel, but I can't imagine someone wanting to read a third. Grade: D+

Book Note: Alan Emmins, Mop Men: Inside the World of Crime Scene Cleaners (2004, 2008)

Neal Smither and his business, Crime Scene Cleaners, are great material for a book, but are they enough material? The answer is yes and no. Author Alan Emmins had enough material for a great book, but that book would have been only 60% as long as this one. Instead, he turns backflips padding his way to a bloated word count, and you can actually pinpoint the moments where he first becomes desperate and then gives up. Desperate: Beginning on page 181, he drops in a chapter on cryonics--material that he had lying around from a planned magazine article that he never wrote. Giving up: Beginning on page 242, he drops in 19 tedious pages, verbatim, from a court transcript. If you are interested in this book, proceed as follows: Read all scenes where Neal Smither is on stage. Read all scenes that involve actual cleaning. Skip everything else.

Pulp Poem of the Week

Doom.

You recognize

Doom

easily.

It's a feeling,

and a taste,

and it's black,

and it's very heavy.

It comes down

over your head,

and wraps tentacles

around you,

and sinks long dirty fingernails

into your heart.

It has a stink

like burning garbage.

Doom.

Gil Brewer

The Vengeful Virgin

1958