All posts by Lars Walker

Viewing report: ‘Deadwood’

Just now I’m traversing what somebody (I think it was Bunyan) termed “a plain called Ease.” I have a few weeks off from graduate school, so I’m doing a little more reading for pleasure, and also watching quite a lot of TV, both the broadcast kind and the kind you get from Netflix and Amazon Prime.

A couple weeks ago I got to thinking, as I sometimes do, about Wild Bill Hickok, to me one of the more interesting characters of the wild west. I decided, with some reluctance, to watch the series “Deadwood,” which is getting to be fairly old as cable series go, but I’d avoided it.

It proved to be what I’d heard – lively, gritty, and profane. I watched the first season, mainly to see how they treated Wild Bill. Taken in that regard, I was mostly pleased. I’ve waited a long time for a really good portrayal of Wild Bill, and Keith Carradine’s character here is pretty close to the reality, as I see it.

Nevertheless, I finished that first season with the same resolve I reached when I finished the first season of “Mad Men.” I couldn’t think of a reason to spend more time with these extremely unpleasant people. Wild Bill is dead. Seth Bullock and his partner are pretty good, but most everybody else is either a fool or a knave. Continue reading Viewing report: ‘Deadwood’

‘A New Dawn Rising,’ by Michael Joseph

The scenario is an old standard, and still works just fine. Sam Carlisle used to be a cop in the English Midlands, but after a traumatic loss he climbed into a bottle, quit the job, and moved north. Now he’s out of money and looking for work. A local real estate big shot observes him stopping a purse snatcher and offers him a job as his driver and bodyguard. When Sam asks him why he doesn’t hire one of the established security firms, his answer is evasive.

Still, Sam needs the job and he takes it. And that’s the beginning of A New Dawn Rising by Michael Joseph. Things go all right for Sam until his employer is killed in a fire, and it looks like arson, and the police target Sam as the perpetrator.

I liked A New Dawn Rising, mostly, except for one very large plot problem. There’s supposed to be a big surprise near the end, but it’s one that’s been used a thousand times before. It was obvious even to me, and I’m pretty easy to fool. I felt badly for the author, because all in all the book was a creditable attempt, with interesting, well-drawn characters and good dialogue.

You might enjoy it too, if you’re tolerant of plot chestnuts.

‘The City,’ by Dean Koontz


After you have suffered great losses and known much pain, it is not cowardice to wish to live henceforth with a minimum of suffering. And one form of heroism, about which few if any films will be made, is having the courage to live without bitterness when bitterness is justified, having the strength to persevere even when perseverance seems unlikely to be rewarded, having the resolution to find profound meaning in life when it seems the most meaningless.

One of the many things I love about Dean Koontz is the breadth of his artistic pallet. Your average bestselling writer (and I do the same though I’m not a bestseller) will keep doing the thing that made him famous, over and over. And the public likes it most of the time.

Koontz improvises. He tries stuff. He can write horror or fantasy or mystery. He can be funny, or heartbreaking, or profound, or terrifying. The City, his latest, is mostly a fusion of the lyrical and the tragic.

Jonah Kirk, his narrator and hero, tells us of his childhood in the 1960s, first of all in an apartment house in a poor black neighborhood, his father mostly absent. That’s the downside. The upside is that he’s part of a big, loving, extended family. His grandfather is a legendary jazz pianist, his mother a gifted vocalist. And Jonah himself soon finds he has the makings of a great piano man. He also finds a friend in a neighbor, Mr. Yoshioka, a survivor of the Manzanar internment camp.

Moving with his mother out of the apartment and to his grandparents’ house, he soon meets two neighbor kids – Malcolm Pomerantz, an archetypal geek who is nevertheless a talented saxophonist, and his beautiful sister Alathea. They’re all gifted dreamers, and their dreams are large…

But there’s a destiny hanging over Jonah. He once had a dream of a beautiful woman strangled to death, and the next day he met that woman on the apartment building stairway. That touch of premonition in his life kicks off a series of visions and revelations.

And visions and revelations, the author makes it clear, come at a price.

I loved The City. It was a beautiful story, beautifully written. It broke my heart. I read it with fascination, but could only take it in small chunks, because of the sadness.

Highly recommended. But keep a hanky handy.

R.I.P. The Rockford Files (James Garner)

The death of James Garner this weekend has affected me more than is reasonable. I certainly didn’t know the man, and we very likely wouldn’t have gotten along if we’d met. He was a lifelong lefty, and by all accounts a pacifist. His favorite movie of his own was “The Americanization of Emily,” an anti-war film whose message (as I recall it) was that anybody who fought in World War II was a chump.

I read Andrew Klavan’s laudatory post today, along with our friend S. T. Karnick’s more equivocal one. Klavan sees Garner’s Maverick and Rockford characters as laudable examples of American individualism, lost today in a flood of cop shows. Karnick finds the anti-heroism of those same characters a sign of cultural decline.

For me, although I like Maverick, The Rockford Files is a personal touchstone. I consider it the best network detective show ever produced in America. Over a six year run the characters remained lively (often very funny), the acting excellent, and the scripts only slipped a little at the end.

I read a critique once that described the Jim Rockford character as “pusillanimous.” I don’t agree. What he was, in my view, was a believable good guy. Unlike the standard American TV hero, he had no illusions of invincibility (you could sometimes detect the limp that came from Garner’s real life bad knees). Like any sensible man in the real world, he didn’t fight if he could talk his way out, and he’d run away if he had a chance. Because fights with other guys are rarely a good idea. But when he had no choice, or when a principle, or a friend or client, was threatened, Jim stood up and gave as good as he got.

The relationships made the show work. Jim’s father (the great Noah Beery, Jr.) loved him dearly and worried about him, and Jim clearly reciprocated. Nevertheless they nagged and teased each other all the time, and did not hesitate to trick each other out of a free meal or a tank of gas. Jim’s old prison buddy Angel (Stuart Margolin) was a brilliant addition – a man with no redeeming qualities whatever, but Jim remained loyal to him. We never knew why, but we loved him for his grace. His lawyer, the lovely Beth Davenport (Gretchen Corbett) admitted she was in love with him, but had accepted the fact that the guy couldn’t be domesticated. And Sgt. Dennis Becker of the LAPD (Joe Santos) put up with a lot of flack from the department in order to maintain a sometimes stormy friendship with the low-rent PI. It was an ensemble effort, and a thing of beauty (by the way, I pulled all those actors’ names out of my memory without consulting Wikipedia, which will give you an idea how many times I’ve watched the credits).

The rusty trailer on the beach at Malibu. The copper-brown Pontiac Firebird. The wide-lapelled 1970s sport coats. The gun in the cookie jar. The answering machine. It all felt, if not like home, like a friend’s home to which we were welcome once a week. It meant a lot to me. Still does. I watch it every Sunday on the MeTV broadcast channel.

Jim Rockford made me want to be a better man. And it didn’t seem impossible to do it his way.

I’m not sure I want to live in an America without James Garner in it. We take ourselves too seriously already.

The Cole Sage novels, by Micheal Maxwell

A few days back I reviewed Micheal Maxwell’s novel Diamonds and Cole, which I liked very much. I liked it so much that I went on to purchase the next three books in the series, Cellar Full of Cole, Helix of Cole, and Cole Dust, and read them all at speed. Though I have quibbles, I recommend the series highly.

First, the quibbles. The titles, as you can see from the previous paragraph, are a little silly.

Secondly, there are weaknesses in plotting. Occasionally our hero Cole Sage makes an improbable deductive leaap (always correctly, of course). And the stories tend to be episodic, a sin to which I too am prone in my own books.

And there are word problems. Author Maxwell is prone to homophone confusions, like “waste” for “waist.” At one point he describes Cole’s granddaughter’s hair, well established as dark and curly, as “flaxen.” Maybe he doesn’t know what flaxen means. Who sees flax these days?

But I easily forgive these minor sins, and I think you will too. Cole Sage is a fresh kind of mystery hero. He’s essentially optimistic, and he enjoys making life better for the people he meets. No cynical, hard-boiled attitude here. Cole likes life, and he likes people.

In the second book, Cellar Full of Cole, we find our newspaper reporter hero, newly relocated from Chicago to San Francisco, facing off against a serial killer who targets little girls. His investigation is motivated in part by his fears for his own granddaughter, who he never knew existed until the previous year.

In Helix of Cole he is singled out by an old ‘60s radical, on the basis of a news story he wrote decades ago. This radical has a nuclear device, and a god delusion, and he won’t let anybody but Cole near him.

Finally, Cole Dust is an entire narrative departure. Cole learns a relative he barely knew has died, leaving him a house in Oklahoma. In that house he finds the journal of his grandfather, a man he barely remembers. Spending a month in residence, he gets the chance to get to know a remarkable, courageous, deeply flawed man with a dramatic, tragic story. He also gets acquainted with the inhabitants of a nice little town, portrayed more sympathetically than such people would be portrayed in most mysteries.

Another book by Maxwell, a flawed but interesting non –Cole novella called Three Nails, provides some insight into the author. It would appear he’s a Christian of some sort. Probably more liberal than I am, but emphatically Christian, even evangelical. Which means he’s doing what so many of us talk about but rarely do – writing novels that aren’t evangelistic tracts, but straight stories in which Christianity is implicit rather than preached. For which I laud him.

There must have been some rough language, but I don’t recall much. There are a couple homosexual recurring characters, one of whom is what you’d call “flamboyant.” But there’s no preaching on the subject, pro or con.

All in all, I endorse the Cole Sage novels highly, though your mileage may vary. E-book only, and not expensive.

‘Joe Average,’ by Duncan MacMaster

Duncan MacMaster is the proprieter of The Furious D Show, one of the most interesting movie blogs in operation. His focus is not movie art or movie personalities, but movie business. In other words, his focus is a particular brand of insanity. And that’s always entertaining.

He’s also written a novel which isn’t bad at all. Joe Average is a satire in the form of a superhero story.

Ken Burton is pretty much Superman, but less romantic. Overweight and physically unimpressive, he was nevertheless struck by a meteor as a teenager, and acquired incredible strength and the ability to fly (he lacks x-ray vision). The only person who knows his secret is his girlfriend Mina, who happens to be a brilliant scientist. She’s spent her life trying to figure out exactly what gave Ken his powers.

After hiding his light under a bushel for years, Ken as an adult begins to intervene in situations where people need rescuing and bad guys need stopping. Mina happily provides him a suitable costume (no tights, thank you) and a base of operations. Through a misunderstanding, his chosen superhero name, “The Avenger,” ends up as “Joe Average.”

All this does not escape the notice of powerful figures in government, who wish to hitch their political wagons to Joe’s popularity. And if he won’t play their game, they are more than willing to use innocent people to extort his cooperation, and even to attempt to produce their own custom-made superhero to displace him.

I enjoyed Joe Average very much. The sympathetic characters were appealing, and the political satire – at times – delicious. The weakness of the story is that more time is spent with the evil people than with the good guys, resulting in what I think of as That Hideous Strength Syndrome, named after one of my favorite novels, one which many people find hard to read because the time with the villains is so aggravating. Which is one of the points of the story, but it can make it hard going for long stretches.

Cautions for language and adult situations (the young lovers fall into bed as soon as they declare their feelings. Waiting for marriage isn’t something that comes up). All in all, pretty good, though. I liked it.

‘Vengeance is Mine,’ by Harry James Krebs

Benjamin Tucker is a true crime writer living in North Carolina. He’s the divorced father of a teenage daughter, and has recently been remarried, to a woman who is both beautiful and very rich. His new wife and he love each other – though they fight a lot – and he mostly lives in the guest house behind the mansion, just because it’s convenient for his work. He’s fond of his mother-in-law, an elegant alcoholic (sort of a mature Nora Charles, and her name is indeed Nora), and devoted to his goofy dachshund. The key to his personality is the teenage trauma of the murder of his girlfriend, of which he was briefly suspected. He spent some time in a mental hospital, overcoming the shock.

Now a serial killer has started murdering women in Ben’s town. Because Ben writes about these things, he gets involved with the investigation, and it soon becomes clear that the killer has fixated on him and his loved ones. All Ben’s brains and courage will be needed if he’s to protect the women he loves.

That’s the premise of Vengeance is Mine, by Harry James Krebs. It was an enjoyable novel, with engaging characters I learned to care about. Ben isn’t always prudent in his decisions, and I didn’t always approve of his moral choices. But he was relatively believable, and quite likeable.

I hope there will be more novels featuring him.

Cautions for the usual stuff.

Norway Day, 2014



The Viking Age Club at Minnehaha Park (artist’s conception)

Sunday was Norway Day at Minnehaha Park, so I went forth in my PT Cruiser, Miss Ingebretsen, and faced the challenge of human contact.

We’d had a Swedish Day too, about a month ago, in the same location, but it was rainy and dank and not very lively. This Sunday was beautiful; just about ideal. I did not do any fighting; my disability has me sidelined. It was kind of relaxing to watch the young guys bash each other.

I’d bought a wooden staff, and that’s what I use for support when I’m in Viking character. My experience is that staffs are mechanically inferior to canes in terms of support. I wonder why they were so popular for so long in history. Maybe it was because they double as pretty formidable weapons.

The other Vikings were all impressed with my “new” car. In fact, listening to their comments, I realized that they’d been concerned about my safety, driving around in the rattletrap that Mrs. Hermanson, my Chevy Tracker, had become. Which suggests to me that I made the right decision, if a little late.

They also noted that little black bugs were attracted to her, landing on her skin and just staying there, like yuppies in a Starbucks. I wonder if anyone’s ever done a biological study of the affinity of little black bugs for PT Cruisers.

Had some shocking news – two of my dearest friends are moving to another state. What was most shocking was the fact that I’d been informed about it some time back, and had completely forgotten about it. It was the first time – at least the first time I’m aware of – that I’d ever completely suppressed unwanted information. I’m as good at self-delusion as any man, but I usually don’t just block stuff out. I’m too pessimistic by nature.

Kind of disturbing.

I’d hate to think I’m becoming an optimist.

You catch more flies with PT Cruisers than with vinegar, after all.

‘Cooper’s Daughter,’ by Mark Yorst

Wall Street Journal columnist Mark Yost has written a really gritty detective story, Cooper’s Daughter. I’ve talked about Raymond Chandler’s rules of private detectives before in this space. Max Allan Collins has commented on this blog about his creation of a detective who would break those rules, but Mark Yost takes it further. His private eye, Rick Crane, who operates in upstate New York, extorts sexual favors from straying wives in return for his silence to the husbands who’ve paid him, and also acts as a collector for organized crime bosses.

But his life takes a turn when an old man asks him to investigate the beating death of his daughter, who had been dating a local minor league baseball star. His investigations cause him to step on important toes, and guys with heavy fists try to persuade him to stop poking into the matter. But he’s moved by his client’s grief, and seeks a kind of personal redemption in finishing the job.

The morals of this story are interesting. Rick commits adultery both recreationally and romantically, but also tells us he’s a regular churchgoer.

Rick Crane is an interesting and complex hard-boiled gumshoe, and I look forward to further stories about him. Cautions for adult themes and language.

‘Raylan,’ by Elmore Leonard

I read a couple Elmore Leonard novels decades back and concluded that, although he was a good writer, I just didn’t like him. He knew his business, but he wasn’t a somebody whose company I enjoyed.

After I started watching the FX TV series “Justified,” based on his character Raylan Givens, US marshal, I decided to give him another try. I think the series is pretty good. I especially like the way “rednecks” are treated as actual human beings, with a range of IQs and wisdom levels. So I tried Leonard’s novel Raylan.

Consumer report: Nope. I still have the same reaction to Leonard that I had when I was younger. I can’t say precisely why he rubs me the wrong way, but he does. The same characters I enjoy on TV get on my nerves in this book.

Which is not saying it’s bad. It just doesn’t please my palate.

It’s about lawmen and drug dealers in Kentucky coal country. Some plot lines are discernible from the TV series, but in a much modified form. Cautions for adult themes and lots and lots of rough language.