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
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
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.for myself—
and the sweet part of it is—
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
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
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
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
Megan Abbott
Dare Me
2012
Monday, April 28, 2014
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.
than an armored car?
It’s stinking with money
and it’s got wheels on it.
Elliott Chaze
Black Wings Has My Angel
1953
Black Wings Has My Angel
1953
Monday, April 7, 2014
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,
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
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
Monday, February 17, 2014
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
Monday, January 20, 2014
Monday, January 13, 2014
Pulp Poem of the Week
Nice old ladies
poison whole families.
Clean-cut kidspoison whole families.
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
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
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
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