Thursday, July 31, 2014

Book Review: Harry Whittington, Call Me Killer (1951)



Amnesia Noir meets Noir Cop. Our amnesiac, of course, cannot remember whether he actually killed that guy, while our Noir Cop clings to his Noir Ways in the face of encroaching forensics. The plot machinations are a bit much to swallow, but you can go only so far wrong when Amnesia Noir meets Noir Cop. Grade: B

Monday, July 28, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week



To see him
is to wanna
not see him.

          Donald E. Westlake
          The Road to Ruin
          2004

Sunday, July 27, 2014

Book Review: Charles Williams, Aground (1960)



Aground is the sixteenth Charles Williams novel that I have read, and it is my least favorite. I found the characters flat (even by standards of the genre), and the dialogue was unusually wooden. But my big problem—and this is my problem, I must emphasize—is that I know nothing about boats, and most of the novel’s action is narrated in sentences such as this: “The mainsail was jib-headed, so there was only one halyard.” Had I taken pains to decipher every such sentence using appropriate resources, Aground would have taken me ages to read, and I do not know that I would have enjoyed it any more than I did. Aground’s plot centers around our hero trying to get a yacht ungrounded before the bad guys kill him. If you know about boats, you may love this book. For me, it was just a bad match. Grade: D+

Monday, July 21, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week




Don’t fire, men,
until you see
the roots of their hair.


          Charles Williams
          Man on the Run
          1958 

Thursday, July 17, 2014

Book Review: Charles Williams, Uncle Sagamore and His Girls (1959)



The second of Charles Williams’ two novels chronicling the adventures of peckerwood savant Sagamore Noonan, as seen through the eyes of his seven-year-old nephew, Billy. The first in the series, The Diamond Bikini (1956), does not seem to have sold very well (judging from the scarcity of copies on the current second-hand market), but Williams gave it one more go before he was done with this sort of thing. Uncle Sagamore and His Girls deals with Noonan’s efforts to keep his moonshine business going while also controlling the outcome of the sheriff’s election, and the result is highly entertaining. Recommended for anyone with a taste for light-hearted backwoods comedy. Grade: B

Monday, July 14, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week



I have such a beautiful love
for myself—
and the sweet part of it is—
no rivals.

          Raymond Chandler
          The Long Goodbye

          1953

Thursday, July 10, 2014

Book Review: Donald E. Westlake, The Road to Ruin (2004)



11 Dortmunders down, 3 to go. By now I know that I enjoy the Dortmunder formula, and I thoroughly enjoyed The Road to Ruin, but this may have been the weakest entry in the series thus far. The novel is free from the out-and-out silliness that I sometimes complain about (though to some readers, the entire Dortmunder series may seem an exercise in silliness), but it also lacks the gravitas that elevates some of the books in the series. As well, for the first time while reading a Dortmunder novel, I was acutely aware of the padding. The supporting cast (exclusive of Dortmunder's usual crew) seemed to arrive more quickly than usual, all with backstories and occasions for us to see the narrative through their eyes, and all seeming to lengthen the narrative more than enrich it. The heist this time involves Dortmunder & Co. planning to steal a collection of rare automobiles, but—spoiler alert—things go so wrong that we never get to see them even try to drive away with the cars. In sum, if you enjoyed the first 10 Dortmunders, you will enjoy this one, but if you are looking for a random Dortmunder to read, pick a different one. Grade: C+

Monday, July 7, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week



She was like a wind-walloping pennant
flickering and buffeting
back against its flagstaff.

          Cornell Woolrich
          Hotel Room
          1958

Thursday, July 3, 2014

Book Review: Cornell Woolrich, Hotel Room (1958)



The thesis of Cornell Woolrich’s Hotel Room is that “hotel rooms . . . are a lot like people”: they begin new and optimistic, and then they decay until they are torn down to make way for office buildings. (Okay, so maybe the analogy isn’t perfect.) The stories in this collection all take place in Room 923 of New York’s (fictitious) St. Anselm Hotel. Woolrich dedicates the book to his mother, with whom he lived for more than 20 years in a hotel. The first story begins on June 20, 1896, the day of the hotel’s grand opening, and the last story takes place on the hotel’s final night, September 30, 1957, which happens to be one week before the death of Woolrich’s mother. If you are a Woolrich fan, it is easy to read all sorts of psycho-significance into Hotel Room’s proceedings. If you are not a fan, then you are left with a collection of entertaining if overwritten stories, which pluck seven dramatic nights from Room 923’s sixty-one year history. Grade B- 

Monday, June 23, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week



If you put your lips
to a police badge,
you only get
a cold feeling back,
and if you stroke
a .38-caliber revolver,
the .38-caliber revolver
absolutely doesn’t care

          Cornell Woolrich
          Strangler
’s Serenade
          1951

Sunday, June 22, 2014

Book Review: Cornell Woolrich, Strangler's Serenade (1951)



Expanded from the novelette “Four Bars of Yankee Doodle” (1945), Strangler’s Serenade (1951) is Cornell Woolrich running out of gas. If you set out to read Woolrich’s suspense novels in chronological order, this is probably where you stop. The novel’s hero is Champ Prescott, a Big City Cop who is taking forced “rest” after getting shot in the line of duty, but, of course, there will be no rest for him. When he arrives at a boarding house in a small island community, he finds the first murder victim awaiting him. From here, Woolrich foregoes any damaged-cop psychodrama, opting instead for clichés of the Big City Cop showing the yokels how it’s done. Season with a love interest and standard-issue Absurd Woolrich Plotting, and the result is closer to terrible than it is to Woolrich’s Black Period. Grade: C-

Monday, May 19, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week




When you have
nothing inside you,
you feel everything more,
and
you feel you can control
all of it.

         Megan Abbott
         Dare Me
         2012

Monday, April 28, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week




Funny to be
in this neighborhood
in the daytime.

          Donald E. Westlake
          Don’t Ask
          1993

Monday, April 21, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week



What could be more perfect
than an armored car?
It’s stinking with money
and it’s got wheels on it.

     Elliott Chaze
     Black Wings Has My Angel
     1953

Monday, April 7, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week



all
the logic
of
gonorrhea
in
a convent

     Charles Williams
     Girl Out Back
     1958

Monday, March 31, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week



Unless his testes
were regularly evacuated,
they became the seat of his central nervous system
and sent throughout his body
venomous communications in the forms of
neuralgia, dyspepsia, and a twitching
of the inner eyelid, maddening
though not visible to others.

          Thomas Berger
          Sneaky People
          1975

Sunday, March 30, 2014

Book Review: Thomas Berger, Sneaky People (1975)



This review is unfair to Thomas Berger’s Sneaky People, as it is a function of my genre expectations rather than the actual quality of the book. I like Thomas Berger, and when I read a passing reference to Sneaky People as his “noir” novel set in the 1930s, I bought a copy immediately. The plot gets rolling when Buddy Sandifer, owner of a used car lot, puts out a hit on his wife. That sounds noir enough, and the book certainly has its dark moments, but Sneaky People is a sex comedy, and I am the victim of bad intel. I kept waiting for the novel to be something that it never became. If I had encountered Sneaky People in a different context (“Hey, you’ve got to read this hilarious Thomas Berger novel!”), I doubtless would have liked it more. If I could call a do-over and read this book again for the first time, I would. Grade: C+

Monday, March 24, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week




He clenched his teeth.
He’d like to get her
to dance for him,
you know?
Yeah.
Then give it to her solid.
Then the rest.
And when he was really pumped up,
give it to her right.

          Gil Brewer
          Memory of Passion
          1962 

Monday, March 3, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week




The undertaker’s eyes
always look like
they’re measuring you for a coffin,
and the astronaut’s eyes are
always looking
up to the sky.
My father was mostly
unemployed.
His eyes had
stories written across them.

          Sherman Alexie
          “Witnesses, Secret and Not”
          1993

Monday, February 24, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week



sex with
needles

          Motörhead
          “Be My Baby”
          2006

Monday, February 17, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week



There’s point driving
the getaway car
if nobody’s going
to get away.

          Donald E. Westlake
          Bad News
          2001

Monday, February 10, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week



A little man—
a clerk or a butcher—
he can hide for a while,
but a guy so dumb
he can only make dough
writing words on paper—
he ain’t got a chance.

          Steve Fisher
          I Wake Up Screaming
          1941

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Book Review: Donald E. Westlake, Bad News (2001)



An excellent Dortmunder in which Westlake succumbs to his weakness for low-hanging fruit only when he has to name law firms. (Kleinberg, Rhineberg, Steinberg, Weinberg & Klatsch, anyone?) This time out, Dortmunder helps to create a false heir to 1/3 of an Indian casino, and much of the fun is the route by which he ends up participating in this job that is far from his usual line of (illegal) work. While Bad News lacks the (surprising) gravitas of some of the preceding novels in the series, by this point the members of Dortmunder's crew (Stan, Tiny, Murch, Murch's mom) have (surprisingly?) passed the threshold of LOVABLE, and time spent with them is time delightfully spent. Grade A-

Monday, January 27, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week



I loved her
like a rabbit loved
a rattlesnake.

          James M. Cain
          Double Indemnity
          1943

Monday, January 20, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week



don’t run
when nobody’s
chasing you


          Charles Williams
          Man on the Run
          1958 

Monday, January 13, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week



Nice old ladies
poison whole families.
Clean-cut kids
commit multiple holdups and shootings.
Bank managers with spotless records going back

     twenty years
are found out to be long-term embezzlers.
And successful and popular and supposedly
    happy novelists
get drunk and put their wives in the hospital.
We know damn little about what makes
even our best friends tick.


          Raymond Chandler
          The Long Goodbye
          1953 

Monday, January 6, 2014

Pulp Poem of the Week




His understanding of economics was,
you go out and steal money and
use it to buy food.
Alternatively,
you steal the food.

          Donald E. Westlake
          What’s the Worst That Could Happen?
          1996    

Monday, December 30, 2013

Pulp Poem of the Week



Skeezo what?
Frantic?

          Richard S. Prather
          Always Leave ’em Dying
          1954

Monday, December 23, 2013

Pulp Poem of the Week



These chickens of mine are lucky.
They don’t know

what’s coming their way.
They may end up on a table
but they don’t have the newspapers
to worry them to death first.


          Seymour Shubin
          Anyone’s My Name
          1953