3 to kill (Jean-Patrick Manchette, 1976)

Wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time, plus a revenge story. Usually not my cup of tea, but this one was pretty special. Not (just) a thriller but also a weird mystery about what the hell is going on inside our main protagonist's head. He acts and reacts in a totally unpredictable manner, and Manchette never really bothers to explain his odd behaviour. A few hints are dropped every now and then, but we don't know (until the end) whether Georges Gerfaut was a bit mental from the very beginning or whether it was this whole violent affair that pushed him over the edge.

And this "confusion" is beautifully complemented by the writing style. There are sections of totally dialogue-less text (opening ten!!? pages), the pace alters from the rapid action scenes to static and (more or less) non-eventful periods lasting months, most chapters are about Georges, but sometimes narration moves to hit-man Carlo or his asshole employer and so on. Pretty wild and incoherent, but still cool and very enjoyable. So if poor Georges is confused about what the hell is happening to him, we are confused about what the hell we are reading and what kind of twist the next chapter will bring us.

The language used is also unique. It's told in the third person by a narrator who uses minimalistic and sparse vocabulary, presenting facts without emotion. Maybe a bit hard to follow at the beginning, but once I had gotten into it, I enjoyed it a lot and laughed my ass off on a few occasions. Just check out the "Cool Lines" section below, and you'll see what I mean. And btw, I loved the fact there was no family shit - we don't even get to know the names of his two daughters.

Another thing I liked about 3 to Kill was its autobiographical aspect; it made Georges more real and probably a bit more sympathetic. He is described as a jazz lover and "leftist militant in his distant youth" and Manchette himself was political activist and saxophone player. There are numerous references to jazz music and musicians, and it's too bad I don't know shit about the genre because it seemed to me that they were chosen carefully to give a specific atmosphere when used. This book is so cool and weird that it wouldn't surprise me if someone tried to create a soundtrack for it.

One last thing before I wrap this up. Don't let my blabbering about style, jazz, and psychological crap fool you - this is still a first-class hard-boiled stuff!! Check out the "Body Count" section and keep in mind that this little jewel is less than 150 pages long.

5/5

Facts:

Hero: 
Salesman Georges Gerfaut

Location: 
Paris, briefly at the seaside town Saint-Georges-de-Didonne, the countryside town of Vineuil and some remote village in the Alps 

Body count: 
8 and not counting Raguse (died of wicked cold). Plus, bull mastiff Elizabeth 

Dames: 
Raguse's granddaughter Alphonsine and Georges' wife Beatrice aka Bea: Catholic on one side and Protestant on the other, Bordelaise on one side and Alsatian on the other, bourgeois on one side and  bourgeois on the other.

Blackouts: 
Yes, one - when he gets thrown from the moving train

Title: 
Cool sounding but not very accurate. Georges certainly didn't plan to kill 3 people, and hit-men planned to kill just one, or, including Georges, two at most.

Cover: 
Cool and iconic picture of a Paris metro station. But again, not very accurate, as the novel spends little time in Paris.

Cool lines:  
From the aesthetic point of view the landscape was highly romantic. From Gerfaut's point of view, it was absolute shit.[The Coolest!]

Alphonsine and Gerfaut were having almost nonstop fun. Between the two of them, things were going well. They were delighted to have engaged at last in sexual congress and intended to repeat the experience as often as possible. 

"You bastard!" Gerfaut cried. "You stinking dirty shit! Son of a bitch of a son of a bitch of a bastard!"[The Coolest!]

But then they had run into this moron Georges Gerfaut. A travelling salesman, though, is usually very easy to kill. Carlo ad Bastien were well placed to draw comparisons because they had exercised their skills in the most varied social milieus, They were beginning to get quite angry with Georges Gerfaut.

The Long-Legged Fly (James Sallis, 1992)

James Sallis wrote a foreword to Derek Raymond's He Died with his Eyes Open, which I really liked. It is a good and honest text, full of (deserved) admiration for that strange novel. So that aroused a bit of curiosity in me, together with the fact that he also wrote a Chester Himes' biography, which is now pretty high on my to-do list. I've heard of Sallis before, of course, and have seen his books in bookstores, but somehow never got around to reading any of his stuff. At least I wasn't sure about it until I had read The Long-Legged Fly. Now I know for sure that I haven't read him because I would surely have remembered such a brilliant and unique style of writing.

And this one is also a bit strange. By form and overall feeling, it is definitely hard-boiled noir-ish stuff. But instead on crime(s) it concentrates entirely on its protagonist. We follow PI Lew Griffin, who specialises (I think) in missing persons cases through the various stages of his life and career spanning from 1964 to 1970, following an episode in 1984 and finally concluding in 1990. The author doesn't really bother to explain what made our guy successful in one period or what drove him into alcoholism and the gutter in another. Individual cases are not related and also not very complicated (or coherent if I'm completely honest), and again, the author doesn't even seem to be interested in plotting.

Sounds strange and disjointed, but it's anything but. At least once, you realise that this is not about whodunnit at all. It's a masterclass in writing, characterisation, atmosphere creating, treating people (and readers) with honesty and respect. Clever and thoughtful stuff that - at least for me - was hardly a page-turner. Quite opposite in fact, as I've read it slowly in the evenings with a cup of tea and not on the bus on my way to work. I just wanted to enjoy it as long as possible, absorb it, and let it sink under my skin.

So my only complaint about it would be that it's too short.

5/5

Facts:

Hero:
Lew Griffin, PI

Location:
New Orleans

Body count: 

3

Dames:
Vicky, the Scottish nurse and LaVerne, his lifelong friend/partner

Blackouts: 
The third part (year 1984) starts with "Light: it slammed into my eyes like fists". But we soon learn that he'd just awoken after a binge drinking (the air reeked of alcohol). Still, this can be at least partly considered as unconscious, as we all know how bad those hangovers can be, right?

Title: 
It was pretty much a WTF title until I had asked uncle Google about it, and he explained that this was the title of one of Yeats' poems. You can listen to it here and try to decipher it if you feel like it. But then again, maybe it's not about this poem at all because Sallis plays in a band called Three-Legged Dog, so he may have some weird fixations about animal legs? Nah, just kidding;)

Cover:
Nice one, always cool to see an air conditioner (or elevator) as a metaphor of descent into darkness. Or am I just imagining things, and it just means that it's pretty fucking hot in Lew Griffin's New Orleans?

Cool lines:  
We are not angels, Lew. Angels couldn't breathe the air down here. They'd die.[The Coolest!]

The Secret Lives of Married Women (Elissa Wald, 2013)

Two unrelated stories about the identical twin sisters. Leda, pregnant with her second child, moves into a new home with her husband and their child. There's a guy across the street renovating some vacant house, and for some reason, she feels threatened by him. True, he's a bit pushy and doesn't exactly respect her privacy, but still, it seemed to me that his only real sin was the fact that he had recognised Leda in an old porn movie. And if I understood that shit correctly, it wasn't even hardcore porn. By this time, we are well into 100+ pages, and events finally start to unfold a bit. In a pretty ridiculous turn of events, Leda is left to believe that her husband had killed that poor schmuck, which turns her on so much that they can finally have a decent fuck.

And that's it, the end of the first part. Now we need to go back in time and endure another story, this one about her sister Lillian. She's as stereotypical tough bitch top lawyer type as they come (these writers really shouldn't watch so much TV), who gets assigned to a case involving an ex-nun/ex-professional slave in a BDSM house now working (and being obsessed by) some blind, clueless guy. Again, nothing much really happens for the most part. Except that Lillian gets more and more horny and finally gets fucked hard in a tame SM scene where the only act of sadism consists of a few belt spanks of her ass. And a chapter later, her court case drama ends with a pathetic twist.

In short: it's awful. Truly bad. I guess it probably tries to explore female sexuality, but it falls short and is immature. Far, far, far from a trashy exploitation or pulpy hard-boiled or even a simple erotic story. When I think about it, it's basically far from everything. Which is usually not a bad thing at all, but the problem here is that it is just so fucking boring! Won't even go into the style, as the whole thing feels like being written by a 15-year-old aspiring kid encouraged by winning some literary award in a local newspaper contest.

Why did I buy this piece of shit in the first place? Well, it is published by our beloved HCC, and occasionally I do read a novel written by a female author just to prove myself right about my rule about not reading them. Was also a bit intrigued by Junot Diaz (loved! his Oscar Wao btw) cover blurb, but this too proved right my rule about ignoring that publishing marketing crap printed on the covers.

So this is what I get for disobeying my own rules, and it serves me right. But you have been warned! Just skip this and leave it to the bored housewives and 50 Shades of Grey fans. Many of them wander around airport bookstores where this one belongs.

1/5

Added 7-Dec-2013:
I recently received a very passionate response (to put it mildly) to this blog post, and after re-reading the text, I admit I have pretty much deserved it. It does read mean and nasty and makes me look like a misogynistic asshole, so I do feel a need to apologise and to clarify it a bit. Of course, I do read books written by women; I just don’t read crime/mystery books written by women. I’m not saying they are all bad and won’t go into details about this issue, so let’s just say I don’t seem to understand feminine sensibility about the dark side :) But would love to be proven wrong and will gladly check out any reading tips.

Again, sorry if this text was offensive to you - it certainly wasn't my intention to insult anyone. Will definitely be more mindful about how I put together my posts in the future.

Facts:

Hero:
Twins Leda and Lillian

Location:
Portland and New York

Body count:
None. Or maybe a couple if we count an orgasm as a little death.

Dames:
Twins and ex-nun, ex-professional slave Nanette "Nan" Magdalene

Blackouts: 

/

Title: 
There are not many secrets between these two married women. They are pretty honest to their hubbies except for that Leda's porn flick and Lillian's "SM" quicky in the Hilton hotel..

Cover:
Good as all Orbik's covers are, in this one he caught both of their expressions exceptionally well. But it's not too accurate because Lillian is not naked during her Hilton affair. It likely depicts the picture Nan used for blackmail.

Cool lines: 

/

Shaft's Big Score! (Ernest Tidyman, 1972)

Begins with Shaft returning home to Brooklyn from his vacation in Jamaica, which is a bit odd. I mean, he did visit the Caribbean, but that was two years later in Carnival of Killers. But let's not split any hair over this; we don't really expect these pulpy novels to be very consistent, do we?

And this one is as stereotypical as they come. After 10 pages, the stage is set - his good friend murdered, leaving behind a hot widow and a shitload of hidden money over which two rival gangs (blacks and Italians, of course) will fight mercilessly. And with a few horny dames thrown into this pot, there's our hero in the middle of it, trying to save his friend's honour and missing cash.

Cops are, of course, totally disinterested and incompetent. After the initial killing, they simply conclude that "this was a professional hit and it wasn't the last one". Which I found a bit odd because blowing up the entire building's floor to kill a single guy (not even a mobster!) doesn't seem very professional to me. But again, it's a Shaft novel, and we shouldn't try to make much sense of this black and white, violent world. It's better to just let it ride and enjoy such little nonsense. My favourite one was towards the end when just two (?) bad guys are chasing our main man, who's, btw, armed with a shotgun (!) It's evident that these two suckers are no match for "two hundred pounds of meat and meanness", so why the hell are they chasing him and not the other way around? Maybe because "the lessons of escape were bred into his bones"? Anyways, when they do manage to "corner" him, he simply shoots both of them. The end.

Of course, it's more about the style than the content, but still Mr. Tidyman could try a bit harder on the story aspect. It reads more like a screenplay (maybe that's the reason for the chase mentioned above), which can actually be the case here because IMDB doesn't state that the movie is based on the book, so maybe it was published after the movie came out.

Anyway, it's a fun read with great dialogues, cool slang, and some hilarious one-liners. But it does get a bit repetitive and dull towards the end as there's a 100+ page gap between the initial killings and the final bloodbath.

2.5/5

Facts:

Hero: 
John Shaft, PI - Just under two hundred pounds of meat and meanness ... A man in motion, moving almost as quickly as his mind.

Location:
NYC, mostly in Queens, where "It is is easier to get a cab than a cop. The cabs either have a better radio system or they are more eager to get the work"

Body count: 

9

Dames: 
Arna, the widow. Gail Sharrett, daughter of a mobster kingpin. Rita Towne, the mistress of another mobster kingpin. 

The latter one is a nymphomaniac (deep pit that could never be filled, a fire that could never be cooled) who fucks Shaft, and it's a pretty funny fuck too because our main man just cannot satisfy her. So after the intercourse, he simply concludes that "If he could have unscrewed his cock he would have given it to her to play with." He also tries to give her some advice, to which she simply responds by saying, "Don't talk. Fuck." [Fatale]

Blackouts: 
Two - on the first occasion he gets knocked off by the explosion, but second one is a more proper because he gets beaten to a pulp.

Title: 
A bit silly, but on the other hand, well aligned with the exploitation genre. Also inaccurate, because I have no idea what Shaft was supposed to score. Rita Towne doesn't really count, and he gives recovered money back to Arna so she can establish a fund for crippled kids and build a school for them. Also, not sure wtf is about that exclamation mark at the end?

Cover: 
My paperback is the first UK publication from 1972, and they didn't even bother with some original artwork for the cover. Just used a movie poster with Richard Roundtree, which is, of course, totally understandable - you can't get much better advertisement than that.

Cool lines:
"Say goodbye to your fucking empty head," Shaft told him. "I don't need it any more." [The Coolest!]


"Got another back there?" he asked the pudgy stewardess, holding up the plastic glass at her. She smiled the pudgy little smile. Did the pilots have to wind them up before each trip? Could she hold that smile as an engine fell off?"Here you are, sir. Scotch on the rocks." The voice had all the sincerity of a radio commercial for hemorrhoid ointment and the girl would probably smile all the way through a blow job. [The Coolest!]


He could see how nervous Kelly was getting. He was jumping like a broad with a sniff of coke on her clit. [The Coolest!]

Mascola didn't answer. He lay stretched out beside Cal's coffin. The right side of his head was missing. A coroner would say there had been probable brain damage before death. [The Coolest!]

"My car or yours?" Gail Sherrett asked coldly as they waited for the elevator.
"Mine's yellow," Shaft said, "with a build-in meter."

The First Quarry (Max Allan Collins, 2008)

Max Allan Collins takes us back to the early 70s on a ride with his anti-hero's debut assignment. Quarry is dispatched to some small college town in Iowa, where he's supposed to "take out" some asshole professor/writer working on a "non-fiction" book on Chicago's mobster. Two women are involved, and a gang war over the drug turf is taking place, so we know there will be plenty of sex and violence.

And since we are reading the Quarry book, we know it will be fun.

It moves forward rapidly, at times even too fast, as characters don't have time to fully evolve and breathe. Collins either drops them altogether (cute blonde at the very beginning) or Quarry simply kills them. There's this likeable private detective, Charlie, who brings few possibilities of mystery entanglement, but he too almost immediately ends up with an additional hole in his head, and storytelling goes back to linear mode. Which is cool, Quarry's novels are by their definition character driven, sometimes (like in this one) it's just too bad that the only character that drives them is Quarry and others are somehow neglected.

But, again, it's fun, especially after reading the initial few chapters and getting into the mood and into our protagonist's sense of humour. He's simply a cool guy and I'll give his first adventure an extra half point on account of how effectively he managed to finish this whole affair without "leaving any loose ends". Nice work indeed.

3.5/5

Facts:

Hero:
Quarry

Location:
Iowa City

Body count:

8

Dames: 
Dorothy "Dorrie" Byron, an asshole professor's abandoned wife and Annette Girard, artistic and slightly confused daughter of the mobster Lou Girardelli. Quarry fucks them both. Twice.

Blackouts: 

/

Title: 
Quarry's first assignment.

Cover:
Excellent one, done by Ken Laager. Liked its dark and sexy feel, and it's also very accurate - it depicts a scene from page 118. One small remark though - Quarry seems to be a bit lost in thoughts and uninterested, but in the book, he's actually horny as hell.

Cool lines:  
"I'm nothing to you but your 'girl' - I'm not a serious writer doing serious work!"
I wondered if a serious writer would use the word 'serious' twice in the same sentence.

She said, "I'm not in love with Professor Byron or anything. We're just good friends."
I could use a good friend who looked like her who would blow me.

[Before killing a guy]  He'd gone to the store. He had to eat, didn't he? Well, actually, he didn't, but he didn't know that.

"Do I look like I was born the fuck yesterday?"
For all the gunk on his hair, he might have been born the fuck a few seconds ago.[The Coolest!]

Pop. 1280 (Jim Thompson, 1964)

Straightforward story about a local sheriff of some godforsaken Texas hillbilly county. A simple-minded dude with simple problems concerning women, trying hard to be re-elected since being a local law enforcer is about the only thing in the world he feels he knows how to handle. See "cool lines" below and you'll get the picture.

Of course, it's not as simple as that. Although incredibly entertaining and easy to read and follow, Pop. 1280 is anything but a simple read. The story is quite complex, involving numerous characters and events that ultimately lead to a significant decrease in the initial population by the end. Plotting is superb, and tension build-up, together with the final twist, are good enough alone for the highest grade this total masterpiece gets from me.

But the real story and detective challenge (for the reader) takes place inside Nick's head. Who the hell is this guy? At the beginning, he's just a simplistic, clueless and almost retarded asshole driven by the desire to be re-elected. As the first bodies start to emerge, we realise that he's not exactly harmless, but he's almost cute, and in a way, we still find ourselves sympathetic towards him. At least I was, maybe because of his hilariously cunning scheming, or his incredible (ab)use of grammar, or simply his questionable luck with women. But there's just so much that man can take, and it becomes more and more clear that our main man is not exactly right in his head.

And this, for me, is the novel's main appeal - was he crazy all along or did something finally push him over the edge? We will get the answer, and it will be a creepy one. Also, an unexpected one, I couldn't see it coming at all.

Pottsville definitely deserves a few words. Cesspool of humanity it is, without a single likeable character around. Liars, cheaters, wife beaters, misogynists, people fucking their relatives (kids not excluded), nymphomaniacs, mentally retarded, simply mean, greedy and ignorant hillbillies (I caught him reading a book!) and most of them total racists. Racism is one of the prevailing themes and Thompson uses it as a tool to emphasize storytelling, sometimes even its humorous parts - I giggled at the scene when Nick spreads around the rumor that his election competitor Sam has "raped a little two year old nigger baby" but stuff like "niggers shouldn't be counted as a regular population since they have no souls" just makes you speechless and leaves you sad. No wonder Nick went a bit crazy in such an environment.

Cool thing - and another touch of maestro - is that Pottsville doesn't really feel like some big ass metaphor for America's little towns. At least not at the beginning, that is. I had the impression that Thompson simply enjoyed inventing these oddballs and playing with them. However, as the story progresses and darkens, it becomes increasingly clear that the author is a pessimist, suggesting that the only way out of this state of decay (Pottsville) is to become as insane (or religious) as the people living there. To put it into Nick's words: "There can't be no personal hell because there ain't no personal sins. They are all public."

This is unforgettable stuff; it should be made mandatory reading in primary schools.

5/5

Facts:

Hero: 
Sheriff Nick Corey

Location:
Pottsville, 47th largest county of the state (of Texas, I assume)

Body count: 6

Dames: 
His mean, bitchy wife, Myra, plus mistresses Rose and Amy

Blackouts: 

/

Title: 
Pottsville has a population of 1280. But it could also be titled Pop. 1274...

Cover: 
The Orion edition's cover is hardly worth commenting on. I'm also including an older cover that I find interesting because it attempts to market this dark masterpiece as a light-hearted western comedy. Although when looking at the guy's facial expression long enough, you'll see a glimpse of psychotic tendencies in his eyes.

Cool lines:  
"Me?" I said. "I do my job all the time."
"You! You stupid silly spineless fool! You don't do anything!"
"Well, that's my job," I said. "Not doing nothing. I mean. That's why people elect me."

What I loved was myself, and I was willing to do anything I god-danged had to to go on lying and cheating and drinking whiskey and screwing women and going to church on Sunday with all the other respectable people.[The Coolest!]


"Can't very well run a town without one, right, Buck?"
"Right! Why if they wasn't any whores, the decent ladies wouldn't be safe on the streets."
"Kee-reck!"  Ken nodded. "Fellas would get all full of piss an' high spirits and take right off after 'em."

"The next time they even look like they're goin' to sass you, you just kick 'em in the balls as hard as you can."
"Huh?" I said. "But - but don't it hurt awful bad?"
"Pshaw, 'course it don't hurt. Not if you're wearin' a good pair o' boots without no holes in 'em."
"That's right," Buck said. "You just be sure you ain't got any toes stickin' out and it won't hurt you a-tall."

Lemons never Lie (Donald E. Westlake aka Richard Stark, 1971)

I'm not too keen on crime books in which heroes are ordinary people somehow sucked into the sinister underworld. True, occasionally this formula can function (can't remember a good example from the top of my head, though), but Lemons Never Lie is definitely not one of those instances.

Alan Grofield is a stage actor who runs summer theatre (whatever the hell that is?) in some rural godforsaken place. This requires money, and he finances this whole operation by occasional theft. Because, you see, he's also a professional thief.

Could a decent novel ever come out of such a moronic premise? I don't think so, not even when written by one of the genre's greatest craftsmen.

After initial setup, it turns into a cat-and-mouse kind of chase around the USA involving Grofield and some insane psychopathic asshole, Myers. It is written in a fast-paced and straightforward style, with a decent body count piling up, making it easy to read and follow. Quite fluent too, although on a few occasions the whole thing becomes simply laughable. I think I shall remember it by one of the most original torturing scenes - our main man Grofield strips down some poor schmuck and starts opening the front door. Since the outside is so cold, the guy gets terrified of catching pneumonia and immediately spills everything out to his ruthless torturer. I kid you not, read it yourself (page 193) if you don't believe me.

Not good, not bad. Something you take on a plane and forget about when you arrive at your destination and pick up the next book.

2.5/5

Facts:

Hero: 
A member of a increasingly disappearing breed of professionals, Alan Grofield was an actor who limited himself to live performances before live audiences.

Location: 
Las Vegas, Mead Grove, Indiana, St. Louis, Monequois, New York

Body count: 6

Dames: 
None really. There's his understanding and artistic (also an actress) wife, but she hardly qualifies for a dame.

Blackouts: 
Yes, two of them. And since our hero is hardly some bad ass criminal (although he is professional) we can forgive him for the both of them. None is described particularly vividly - In the first one, "Grofield turned around and faced the wall. He knew what was coming, and hunched his head down into his neck, trying to make his skull soft and resilient. It didn't do any good. The lights went out very painfully." In the second one, he was simply hit in the face by a two-by-four and was subsequently out for a mere 5 minutes.

Title: 
One of those intriguing and funny wtf titles, but it has a really simple explanation. Right at the beginning, Grofield scores a jackpot (three lemons) on the slot machine and gets a little annoyed about it because he feels that he has used all his luck.

Cover:
Pretty cool, although the girl should be more in front. But very accurate, it depicts the corpse #3 and the fact that Grofield burns down the house to destroy all the evidence (I think) since he's such a professional. Credited to a guy R.B. Farrell, but a Google search on him didn't come back with anything useful.

Cool lines:  
Tired and aging mixed-race jazz quintet tried to figure out how to make transition to rock. So far, all they were sure of was the volume level; you couldn't hear yourself think. Looking at the conversations going on up and down the bar, and in the booths behind him, Grofield decided the place must be full of lip readers.

He Died with His Eyes Open (Derek Raymond, 1984)

This one is really unusual, almost weird. Not too surprising, since I picked it up because I remembered that Derek Raymond's name was mentioned by Mark E. Smith in his hilarious autobiography, Renegade. So welcome to the wonderful and frightening world of modern British noir!

Begins as yet another police procedural with a badly beaten body found in a dark alley of the dodgy part of London. The inspector in charge of the case discovers the victim's letters and some recorded tapes (ah, good old days!) and starts searching for the bad guys using these recordings.

Kind of. Our nameless sergeant works alone, at his own pace, using some pretty unconventional methods. His sense of justice and punishment is also strange, so his character resembles more of a classical PI than a policeman. So much for the police procedural clichés - which is, btw, just fine with me.

Letters and recordings also prove not to be much evidence. In fact, they serve just as a vehicle for telling a parallel story about our unfortunate victim. Which is cool since his background is really interesting. In fact, it is so fascinating that even our nameless detective becomes more interested in the man's story than the actual crime and begins to form a mental connection with him. I think.

This continues for the better part of the novel, and then it gradually becomes increasingly bizarre. Our hero tracks down and immediately afterwards starts fucking the victim's wife. He even moves with her into her apartment because (I guess) at this point, he's already connected mentally with her dead ex, so this means he can connect to her physically. Not sure again, but they also fall in love. Or something. In any case, he seems to have figured the whole thing (crime and fucking/loving part) out, so not much of an investigation will follow. There will be a shocking and bizarre (not only metaphorically) ending, but it is not entirely unexpected or surprising. Simply because there's no way that this strange novel could finish in the classical whodunnit style.

So we have two or three stories entwined, but the whole thing is anything but a mess. Very concise, Derek Raymond knew exactly what he was trying to tell and how to convey all those stories. Great storytelling with effortless shifts from hard-boiled, violent content to more mellow, psychological drama. Bleak and depressing at times (Staniland's journey and fate), but masterfully written. Not trying to be clever with tough one-liners, but still with a fair amount of sharp black humour and slang. Not really character- or action-driven, but still tense and compelling. It loses some of its charge towards the end, but it is still immensely enjoyable.

Unique and memorable. It got under my skin a bit, and I will definitely check out other Raymond titles.

4/5

Facts:

Hero: 
Nameless sergeant. Working for the Unexplained Deaths department - A14 branch, "the most unpopular one"

Location:
London

Body count: 

2

Dames:
Barbara/Babsie - Frigid iceberg with gross psychic problems and the mind of a petty criminal.

Blackouts: 

/

Title: 
Probably refers to the poor Charles, but I honestly cannot remember whether his body was found with its eyes actually open. Doesn't really matter; it's a cool-sounding title anyway.

Cover: 
A nice and intriguing one with great artwork. Also relevant: our hero is Nameless (faceless), he smokes (see cool lines below), and the tape recorder plays a significant role in the novel.

Cool lines:  
I lit a Palace filter. It tasted revolting; I only smoke them because I hope they might help me give it up.

"Good evening to you,"  he boomed heartily. "My wife tells me you've come about my brother Charles. What has he been up to this time?"
"Well, he's gone and died," I replied.

Nice and gentle way to break the bad news, but it needs to be said, it's still not nearly as cool as Hoke did it in New Hope for the Dead.

"Well, what about him?"
"Well, he's dead."
"As if I fucking cared," he said. "Who are you, you cunt?"
"I'm a police officer," I said. "And watch your tongue. One more slip like that with it, and I'll tear it out of your head."[The Coolest!]


"Look," he said furiously, when the penny had dropped, "do you want me to come out an round an give you some manners right in the mush?"
"Yes, why not" I said. "If you've got a spare face at home."

"Well, the vehicle wasn't marked." [traffic warden]
"There's a silly reason for that," I said, taking the ticket. It's because a lot of these modern villains can read.

City Primeval (Elmore Leonard, 1980)

The last of the grandmasters has passed away. Not exactly tragic considering his age and recent health problems, but still very sad. But fuck it - this is a hard-boiled blog, so instead of whining about it, I gave my respect to the main man by reading some of his brilliant stuff. I just went to the bookstore and picked up the book with the coolest cover (not an easy task, thanks to Tim Marrs) that I haven't read yet.

Starts very funny by quoting the report of "Investigation of the Judicial Tenure Commission" against Judge Alvin B. Guy. Hilarious reading! We know all about Leonard's crazy characters (and love them all!), but it needs to be said that this guy ranks high in his weirdness top ten chart. In short, he's an even bigger asshole than Maximum Bob.

It's too bad he doesn't last very long, though, because he gets killed right away in the next chapter by the mandatory psycho. In City Primeval this honour belongs to 'Oklahoma Wildman' Clement Mansell, who "likes to live dangerously and likes to kill people". He's an okay psychopath/sociopath, but my problem with him was that I just couldn't decide whether I liked him or not. Which is not a necessary bad thing, right?

However, I did have a much bigger problem with our hero detective, Raymond Cruz, who is assigned to investigate the judge's murder. Won't go into his family shit or macho bullshit or psychological crap, let's just say that he's simply not very convincing or interesting.

So, after a super promising judge asshole, we are left with a mediocre villain and a dull policeman. Plus the usual partner (btw Hunter is also cool but totally underused!), hot blonde pot-head bimbo, hot bitchy criminal lawyer and some shady underworld figures with ridiculous names (like Skender Lulgjaraj for fuck's sake!). Decent cast, but not great. At least not in Elmore Leonard's world.

The major flaw is the story itself and its lack of a compelling plot. Which is even more apparent since the whole thing is character-driven, so its foundations are not very strong to begin with. After the furious start (car chase, followed by the double killing), it just doesn't move anywhere. It gets stuck somewhere between character study and standard police procedural. Instead of some new events being introduced, Cruz falls for Carolyn and shit like that.

There was a moment, though, when I had hoped that pace was about to finally shift a gear up. When Albanian gangster Toma arrives at the scene, it's pretty obvious that he's a mean bastard who'll make things happen. Check out his exchange of Steven Seagal-like bad-ass one-liners with Raymond:

You do what you have to do, I do what I have to do.
No, it's not that simple, because I want him too.
...
You always look in their eyes?
If there's time.
...
It takes time.
No, it doesn't. Tell me where to find him. It takes only a few minutes.
...

A bit silly, but still cool enough. Only it goes on for too long and becomes a tedious game of whose dick is bigger. But must admit that the conclusion is cool because Hunter simply comments that "Fucking Albanians are crazy"

It is funny, there's some sex and there's some action, so even though it turns into a predictable thriller towards the end, it is still very enjoyable reading right up to the final showdown. Without giving away too much, let's just say I didn't choose the word showdown as a metaphor. I will admit I didn't see it coming in spite of warning signs (Gregory Peck), so both the ending and the final twist were surprising. But unfortunately, I was just surprised by how bad Maestro finished the novel.

3/5

Facts:

Hero: 
Homicide Detective Raymond Cruz

Location:
Detroit

Body count: 

3

Dames: 
Sandy - Not the type, at first glance, some management consultant would keep in his stylish apartment. But look again and see fun in her eyes. It gave a man feeling that if he turned her little motor on she'd whirl him back to his youth and take him places he'd never been.

Carolyn Wilder - Prosecuting attorneys referred to her as the iron cunt. [Fatale]

Blackouts: 

/

Title: 
Cool-sounding, but not very accurate, as Detroit City doesn't play a significant role. Probably "Primaeval Justice" would be more appropriate, considering the American Wild West sense of punishment. 

Cover:
Super cool collage of the city, car and Raymond in front. Done by Tim Marrs, who's also the author of other Leonard books published by Orion. Somehow tarnished by Ian Rankin's cover blurb, but luckily enough, my copy has one from the New York Times (An entertainer who can write circles around almost anyone), so it is merely damaged and not entirely ruined.

Cool lines: 
Better to take an extra twenty seconds to be sure than to do twenty years in Jackson.[The Coolest!]


Jesus, the man had nerve. ... Men with nerve died like anyone else if shot in the right place.

Four Novellas of Fear (Cornell Woolrich, 1936 - 1940, republished in 2010)

Reading The Vengeful Virgin got me nostalgic and put me in the perfect mood to read this short collection of four Woolrich stories republished recently. It has been sitting on my shelf for a few months, just waiting for the right moment.

As expected, not much of the asphalt jungle's bright city lights here with cynical detectives investigating complex plots involving dirty politicians, blackmail, or addicted celebrities doing porn flicks. These are simple stories about everyday people driven by simple pleasures, whose actions are motivated by the most basic instincts and feelings. Although fear is mentioned in the collection's title, greed is its most common theme.

Eyes That Watch You (1939)
A nasty and pretty hard-boiled one, even though its protagonist is an old, handicapped lady who cannot even speak. She overhears her daughter-in-law plotting the murder of her son, but she's (obviously) powerless to do anything about it. Everything takes place in this old secluded house which gives a novel great tone. The thing I liked the most about it was the great suspense. Woolrich plays a kind of cat-and-mouse game with his characters (and of course with the reader), and just when you think that poor sucker might get away, he actually gets killed. Nice!

Good story, masterfully written and executed - my favourite of the collection. It's such a good material that I find it a bit surprising it has never been made into a movie. Especially since (according to Wikipedia) Woolrich has had more books adapted into film noirs than any other author of that era.

The Night I Died (1936)
Greed again. And the plot of killing a close family member again. It even starts similarly to Eyes That Watch You, with our hero overhearing a sinister conspiracy about killing him. And once again, it is his greedy spouse, but in this one, he manages to escape the dark demise that she had arranged for him. But unfortunately, in the process, he crosses the line to the dark side, becoming a greedy, violent and paranoid asshole himself. Cool stuff and a good combination of hard-boiled story and psychological drama.

You'll Never See Me Again (1939)
Good opening line (It was the biscuits started it) that implies that once again there will be family trouble. Not murder this time (at least not yet), but a classic plot with an inexplicable wife disappearing and her hubby frantically trying to find her while becoming a prime suspect himself in the process. Fast-paced page turner at the beginning, but unfortunately, in the second half, it dissolves into a standard and predictable "run against the time" type thriller. With 70 pages (and only one corpse!), this is the longest entry of the collection and also, in my opinion, its weakest. Good story, but the plotting towards the end didn't work for me; some stuff was hard to believe.

Murder Always Gathers Momentum (1940)
Excellent and very promising title that indeed delivers (see body count section below!). This one is not so much about money or greed; it's more about cowardice and how it sucks our anti-hero into a spiral of crime. Actually pretty sad, and you really feel bad and sympathetic for the poor sucker. Reminded me of Mickey Rooney in Quicksand. Minus happy end (thank god!) plus cool final twist.

3.5/5

Facts:

Location:
Various small towns

Body count: 

1 + 1 + 1 + 6

Dames: 
Safe to say that only Vera from Eyes that Watch You qualifies as a dame:

She came, the murderess, in pink satin and foamy lace, like an angel of destruction, stroking her loosened hair with a silver-backed brush.  [Fatale]

Title: 
Cool sounding, but I think it would be more suitable to replace fear with greed.

Cover: 
Super eerie photo, unfortunately uncredited. This journey into the darkness with a meaningless speed limit is relevant to all four stories.

Cool lines:  

Eyes That Watch You:

- Are you sure everything's shaped up right?
- Yeah. He's insured up to his ears. All his stock's been bought in my name. The business has been doing pretty good, and there are no other relatives to horn in.

They exchanged a kiss. A blood-red kiss of death. 

The Night I Died

Then we turned in, one to a bed. "I'm dead," was the last thing he yawned.
"You betcha sweet life you are, brother!" I thought grimmly.

Murder Always Gathers Momentum 

He kept buying off time with bullets.[The Coolest!]

Sideswipe (Charles Willeford, 1987)

Another highly enjoyable ride full of thrills and quirky characters with my new best friend, Hoke Moseley. It continues from where New Hope for the Dead has finished. Hoke now lives together with pregnant Ellita Sanchez and his two teenage daughters, but for some reason, he has just had enough. It could be the pile of cold cases at work or a simple case of midlife crisis. Willeford thankfully doesn't even bother to tell us what exactly has made him so fed up with the world. One morning, he suffers a nervous breakdown (I think), so he decides that he needs to simplify his life. He moves to a small tourist resort and starts managing his father's small motel.

But there will be crime, of course. Parallel to Hoke's story, we follow the formation of a very peculiar gang, weird even by Willeford's high standard of craziness. Its leader, Troy, with reptilian looks, is a self-proclaimed criminal psychopath who, in prison, befriends an elderly Stanley. Also a psychopath but not yet a criminal one, as for the time being, he seems to be happy enough with occasional dog poisoning. These two men form some kind of weird father/son homosexual relationship and are joined by Troy's hot ex-stripper girlfriend with a disfigured face, who is a (failed) abstract artist.

Sideswipe feels like a combination of the first two Hoke's novels. The structure of mixing his personal story and the gang's job preparation is almost identical to the one from Miami Blues, and little episodes concerning his daughters keep the tone similar to New Hope for the Dead. There's once again a mandatory minor case that Hoke solves along the way. There's a robbery in the local hotel, and he helps the police force to find the thief.

Troy's gang is so colourful and such an insane bunch of characters that it almost threatens to steal the entire show from Hoke at times. Sometimes I could almost sense that Willeford was aware of this and would react by giving his hero an additional storyline to prove that he still was the main man. One of the novel's highlights is the episode where Hoke promptly ships his daughter to her mother on the first plane to L.A., immediately after he learns that she has some weird medical problems (bulimia) and doesn't have a clue how to deal with the situation. And she's accompanied by some lowlife teenager whom Hoke has just met 10 hours before. She informs his wife that she's a trained nurse, and to make sure they would stay together, he even handcuffs both girls together!

Don't like to repeat myself, but this is truly great stuff. Simple and effective. Funny but also ugly at times. Full of black humour but also compassion.

And it could also come with a message. Is life even possible to be simplified?

5/5

Facts:

Hero: 
Sergeant Hoke Moseley

Location:
Miami and Ocean Mall, where Hoke is recuperating and trying to simplify his life.

Body count: 6 (plus one baby in the past)

Dames: 
Possibly Ellita Sanchez and questionably disfigured Dale Forrest, once Miss Bottlecapping Industry of Daytona Beach. And Hoke's daughter Sue Ellen is on the right track to become a real babe - she had grown a green mohawk and went to see Dead Kennedys gig (ticket costing 35$!!?).

Blackouts: 
None, unless we count that weird nervous breakdown.

Title: 
Another intriguing one that escapes my understanding. I checked a few online dictionaries, but couldn't find anything relevant. Any suggestions?

Cover:
Nice and in the same style as the rest of Penguin reprints of Hoke Moseley novels. Maybe a little too similar to Miami Blues.

Cool lines:  
As mentioned, Hoke is still our main man, but this time I will use cool lines to let Troy explain his complex personality:

I'm a professional criminal, what the shrinks call a criminal psychopath.[The Coolest!]

What it means is, I know the difference between right and wrong and all that, but I don't give a shit. That's the official version. Most men in prison are psychopaths, like me, and there are times - when we don't give a shit - when we act impulsively.

- I don't have time to go into all of the ramifications of my personality, it's too complex. I've been tested again and again, and it always comes out the same. Psychopath. And because I'm a criminal, I'm also a criminal psychopath. You follow me?

- Yeah, I think so. But if you aren't crazy, what are you?

- It's what I told you already. I know the difference between good and bad, but it makes no difference to me. If I see the right thing to do and want to do it, I do it, and if I see the wrong thing and want to do it, I do that too.
- You mean you can't help yourself then?
- Certainly I can. I'll put it another way. I can help myself, but I don't give a damn.
- And because you don't give a damn, you're a criminal psychopath, is that it?
- You've got it.
- But why don't you give a damn?
- Because I'm a criminal psychopath. Maybe, when they give you some tests, you might could be one, too.

Smoking comforts ordinary men, but I'm not an ordinary man. There aren't many like me left. And it's good thing for the world that there isn't. There'll always be a few of us in America, in every generation, because only a great country like America can produce men like me.I'm not a thinker, I'm a doer. I'm considered inarticulate, so I talk a lot to cover it up. [The Coolest!]

Badge of Evil (Whit Masterson, 1956)

The book on which my favourite Orson Welles movie, Touch of Evil, is based. To be honest, I had no idea that the film was even based on a book until the back blurb on this one caught my attention in the bookstore. And since I'm obviously not Orson's die-hard fan, I must admit that he did one hell of a job on his screenplay. One of those rare occasions where the movie is much better than the original book.

It's simply not hard-boiled enough. A story about dirty cops, set in police stations and the DA's office, should be driven by strong characters and sharp dialogue, moving forward at a rapid pace. Smoking, drinking, cursing, fighting, etc. Or at least be a solid police procedural. Instead, we get a predictable "one against all, good against evil" tale of the white knight fighting for the ungrateful lady Justice against a flawed system orchestrated by weak politicians and compromised media.

And family shit, lots of it. Mitch's wife Connie is so pure, cool, beautiful, full of understanding and dedication to her hubby that she doesn't even bitch too much about their ever-postponed family vacation. I don't think that any of the authors had seen Fritz Lang's masterpiece The Big Heat, released a few years prior. Because if they did, Connie would be blown into pieces sometimes at the end of the first act, making Mitch go on a bloody revenge rampage. But nothing like that happens - our hero is confused and scared most of the time and gets a lucky break at the end.

Also didn't like the writing style much. Too technical and formulaic, so it never really takes off. Once the evidence fixing is established, the plot becomes almost nonexistent, and the whole thing shifts into boring drama/thriller mode. My speculation is that these kinds of narration problems may occur as a result of the collaboration between two writers working on the same book.

Decent enough material that, unfortunately, hasn't aged very well. But still immensely cool to read it if you like Touch of Evil. It's genuinely incredible how Wells managed to turn this unquestionably original, yet somehow mediocre, novel into a timeless masterpiece.

3/5

Facts:

Hero:
Mitch Holt, 35, assistant district attorney

He knew that soon he would be in a position to open his own private practice without unduly endangering the eating habits of his family.

Location: 
Some big town in southern California near the Mexican border. I assume that would be San Diego (it's definitely not LA), but probably the authors were vague about this intentionally to emphasise the metaphor about corruption and the weak legal system across America.

Body count: 

4 (2 suicides)

Dames: 
None really. His whining wife Connie hardly counts as a dame.

Blackouts: 

/

Title: 
Obviously, it alludes to McCoy, but I would hardly categorise a poor bastard as an evil one. He was merely an overworked asshole with a god complex. And since the title "Badge of an overworked asshole with a god complex" really does sound stupid, let's not bitch about it too much.

Cover: 
Good old-fashioned one, like all covers of Prologue Books are. It would be cool to put little figures of Holt, McCoy and Quinlan into the web.

Cool lines:  
To be a successful prosecutor was the same as being a successful salesman or a successful preacher. You had to believe in your product.

He settled for a stubby .32 pistol that had both convenience and authority.

The bullet tugged at the lapel of  Holt's coat in passing and then went on its way with a complaining whine of having missed.[The Coolest!]

The Vengeful Virgin (Gil Brewer, 1958)

I knew I'd never get enough of her. She was straight out of hell.

Shirley and I generated something together that drowned out conscience. This was just something we were going to do together. And, of course, the money. I wanted it. I would get it.

Shirley Angela was under my skin like the itch and it was going to take a lot of scratching.

He was ready to die. He was old enough. He sure as hell was rich enough.

Doom. You recognize doom. 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.

Boy meets girl. They are both young, horny and greedy, and the only thing standing between them is the girl's wealthy stepfather. Sounds like a postman is ringing twice, doesn't it? Feels almost like heresy writing this, but in many ways this one is even better than Cain's famous masterpiece.

We know the whole plot (and its ending) after reading just a few pages. But what Brewer manages to pull off masterfully is the immense build-up of the tension and suspense as we dive deeper into the vortex, approaching the inevitable doom of our condemned lovers.

And the trick is that in this crime book, there will be no mystery! There are some characters introduced (Victor's doctor, Shirley's horny neighbour, Jack's ex-girlfriend) that could (and usually would) form some sort of alliance with one of our protagonists to double-cross the other. There's no such thing here; the final big twist is essentially nothing more than a lack of any twist.

And Jack himself - as one would expect from the TV fixer-upper - is a pretty lousy killer. To be blunt, he's a total amateur! He even prepares a list of all the possible fuck ups and then forgets to destroy it, so it can be found by the cops when they search his apartment. He also has second thoughts about the whole thing and is prepared to call it off  (He'd croak natural, and everything would be perfect). But of course, there's no way out; the greed got hold of him, and he's doomed.

Great stuff, just don't expect an intriguing story full of twists and subplots centred around some colourful anti-hero. Without a question, still pure pulp with both sex and violence pretty graphic and disturbing ending, but this is for me foremost a sad, cold and intense book about the dark places in our souls and addictions in our heads.

4.5/5

Facts:

Hero:
Jack Ruxton, a TV repairman and the owner of a small electronics shop.

Location:
Miami. However, it doesn't play a significant role except on one occasion when our hero is in the water and becomes concerned about the alligators.

Body count: 

3

Dames:
Shirley Angela, a confused and horny combination of femme fatale and damsel in distress. Her neighbour, Mayda Lamphier (nervous type, and loud). Jack's neurotic ex-girlfriend, Grace.

Blackouts: 
None, but there's a funny description of the nightmare where Jack is chasing Mayda through an endless living room full of TV sets. 

Title:
Obviously, and without some major spoilers, it refers to Angela. And the second part is a kind of twist.

Cover: 
Cool and very hot! By Gregory Manchess. But not 100% accurate - although there is a scene involving piles of money and fire and a naked (not just in underwear!) chick with a gun. And for some reason, two empty whiskey bottles are missing.

Cool lines:
Not many witty one-liners or cool descriptions here. It goes as far as "The language she used would have shamed a drunken Marine"

The Rip-Off (Jim Thompson, 1985)

Legendary Jim Thompson finally gets his debut and long-overdue entry on this blog. The Rip-Off was his last book, published posthumously eight years after his death. I did some googling, but I'm still not sure whether it's supposed to be one of those luckily lost & found "masterpieces" or if it was simply the case that the author wasn't satisfied enough with the finished product and had decided not to publish it at all. Unfortunately, I'm inclined to think that the latter was the case, especially since he was "rediscovered" in the 80s, and publishers probably just wanted to cash in on some of that new and fresh fame.

The story is a bit silly with more than just a single plot hole and some hard-to-swallow coincidences, but it's still okay. It's centred around this quasi-intellectual guy, Britt Rainstar, whose life gets turned upside down when he accepts a pretty odd writing job from a mysterious and beautiful executive, Manuela Aloe. A series of bizarre (and life-threatening) events starts to unfold, and Thompson skilfully mixes them with Britt's background story about his bitchy blackmailing wife and her greedy redneck father. There are some cool twists towards the end, and the final revelation is kind of surprising.

Writing is as good as one would expect from an old-school master with 20+ masterpieces under his belt. Characters are decent and believable enough most of the time. Especially our leading hero, and maybe not so much about his two female companions. I liked the stuff about his condemned house, which, in the end, becomes a character in itself.

A major letdown is the style. Not at all gritty, dirty, dark, or hard-boiled, which is what I expected (see the body count section of the facts). At times, it's almost comical, and these repetitive style shifts really damage the pace and whole structure of the book. Towards the end, I started to feel a bit ripped off and just wanted to finish it.

I'm not sure about this one; it's not bad, but it's certainly not very good. I guess it's okay for Thompson's die-hard fans and completists or academic researchers of his work. I'm neither of these, so all I can say is that it reminded me that it's been too long since I've read his stuff. But the next one will be one of his oldies.

3/5

Facts:

Hero: 
Britt Rainstar, age 40. A bit unusual intellectual: he writes in-depth monographs on various unreadable subjects like ecology and ethnology. Native American descendant, living in a condemned house near the garbage dump.

Location: 
Not specified, but the growing pile of garbage in the backyard of his house could symbolise a typical modern American town.

Body count: 
Surprisingly (and disappointingly!) - none. Although justice will be served as one bad guy will get a 20-year prison sentence and another one will be sentenced to two (!?) lifetimes.

Dames:
Manuela Aloe: I looked at her - the silver blond hair, the startlingly black eyes and lashes, the flawlessly creamy complexion. I looked around and found it impossible to believe that such a delicious bon bon of a girl would do harm to anyone.

Plus cop/nurse Miss Kate "Kay" Nolson. Plus Connie, his greedy wife, who refuses to become an ex-wife. Plus, let us not forget his bitchy alcoholic housekeeper, Mrs Olmstead.

Blackouts: 
He gets knocked out frequently. There is no less than four blackouts: he gets beaten up twice, shot at and pushed down the stairs in a wheelchair.
 

Title:  
Not sure. I see several possibilities:

• Britt is being ripped off by his wife and her greedy father
• Thompson titled it as a joke reference to his The Kill-Off
• Titled by the publishers to indicate they ripped us off by selling the book whose author had passed away almost ten years ago.

Cover: 
Pretty standard stuff

Cool lines:  
"Just what happened here, miss? Why was that door locked?"
Manny grinned at her impudently. "A broken-down bed and a locked door, and you ask me what happened? How long have you been a woman, dear?"