I thought I’d take another run (savage or not) at C. J. Box’s Joe Pickett novels. I didn’t dislike Open Season, the first book in the series, but I wasn’t bowled over by it either. My response to Savage Run is about the same. Entertaining enough, but it never caught me completely. I think there are two reasons. One is the main character, Joe Pickett. Joe is such a nice, easygoing guy that I just hate seeing put through the wringer as these stories do. I generally like my heroes with bigger teeth.

The second reason, I suspect, is just because they’re outdoor books. As you know if you’ve followed this blog, I’m no outdoorsman. I just don’t identify with people who know how to handle themselves in a forest.

Both these objections—if objections they are—are entirely irrelevant, I think. These very elements are probably among the ones that animate Box’s many fans. Very likely you’re one of them.

Anyway, in this story a radical environmentalist, Stewey Woods, is the victim of a booby-trapped cow, which he encounters in a national forest while he’s out on a tree-spiking expedition. Although everyone assumes Woods was the victim of his own clumsiness while sabotaging a private herd grazing on federal land (one of his eco-causes), game warden Joe Pickett is puzzled by the evidence at the scene. Digging deeper, he crosses a powerful local rancher, and finally comes under the gun of a very dangerous man, a “stock detective” in the mold of the legendary Tom Horn.

Author Box squares the circle pretty neatly in this book. There’s a definite critique of environmental extremism here, but while one of the main Green characters is stereotypically vapid and otherworldly, another comes off as rather admirable. The main bad guy is a big rancher, although I don’t think he’s meant to be typical of that class either.

So it’s a pretty good book, though not among my favorites. I’ll probably read another eventually. I’ve heard an interesting supporting character is due to appear somewhere along the line.

Cautions for language and gore.

I think it’s safe to assume that Norwegian author Gunnar Staalesen, author of The Writing On the Wall, has issues with evangelical Christians. Early in this book two characters, a cross-dressing judge who dies in bed with an underage prostitute, and a Bergen organized crime kingpin, are both identified as members of the “Christian People’s Party” (usually translated “The Christian Democratic Party”), the traditional party of conservative Christians in Norway. (Did you know that evangelical Christians control organized crime in Bergen? I didn’t either, but that’s the impression Staalesen leaves.)

I’ll have to admit he fooled me, though. With an opening like that, I took it for granted that the perpetrator of the murder at the center of this story, the death by asphyxiation of a teenaged girl, would be the evangelical crime boss. As it turned out he wasn’t guilty of that, though he was guilty of plenty of other things.

Staalesen’s hero, private detective Varg Veum (the last name’s pronounced VAY-oom), is apparently supposed to be a kind of Norwegian Philip Marlowe, tough and wry and world-weary. I didn’t get that at all, frankly, until a fight finally happened, and Veum turned out to be able to take care of himself, to my surprise. I’d imagined him kind of effete based on his earlier behavior, especially his interest in describing women’s clothing, and home furnishings, in loving detail.

But I may have missed some narrative hints that could be present in the original and lost in translation. The translation here is of that maddening variety that’s technically irreproachable, every phrase literally correct, but tone-deaf in terms of style and nuance, so that the characters speak as no English speaker ever would, mixing formal diction with British slang. All the characters talk the same way, and are equally unconvincing.

Hey, Norwegian publishers! Are you looking for an English translator? I can do better than this guy!

Anyway, it was all fairly unrewarding, especially for evangelical like me. I’m pretty sure Staalesen doesn’t want my business, and he won’t be getting any more of it.

Cautions for language and adult themes.

Dan was laughing. At least that chuckling murmur was near to a laugh. Yet there was no mirth in it. It had that touch of the maniacal in it which freezes the blood. Silent halted in the midst of his rush, with his hands poised for the next blow. His mouth fell agape with an odd expression of horror as Dan stared up at him. That hideous chuckling continued. The sound defied definition. And from the shadow in which Dan was crouched, his brown eyes blazed, changed, and filled with yellow fires.

If the passage above, taken from Max Brand’s novel The Untamed, seems a little turgid to you, I am in agreement. The book was free for Kindle, and I’d never read any Brand, so I thought I’d give him a try. I don’t think I’m going to be a fan. The prose is labored, and dialogue (though the slang is probably authentic, since the author actually worked as a cowboy for a while) clunks like a counterfeit double eagle.

And yet… considering how literary tastes change, I could see how this could have been an extremely popular book in its time. There’s a mythic quality to it, especially toward the climax, where the image of a mysterious rider in the dark, whistling a weird melody as he approaches with death in his hands, evokes a scene that could have inspired Sergio Leone. Continue reading The Untamed, by Max Brand →

I’ve always had a fondness for tales of early Hollywood. It was an amazing time and place in history, in a sense the culmination (as author Loren D. Estleman himself argues in this novel) of the American Wild West. There, in the dusty hills of sleepy Los Angeles, a dysfunctional aggregation of eastern Jewish businessmen, stage actors, vaudevillians, European artistes, and ordinary cowboys improvised like mad to create an art form that had never existed before, and so had no rules or traditions to which to appeal.

Loren D. Estleman is best known as a mystery novelist, but he also writes good westerns, and The Rocky Mountain Moving Picture Association contains elements of both genres. It’s a fun book, and I enjoyed it quite a lot.

Presented in the form of three long flashbacks, interspersed with vignettes describing the main character’s (and Hollywood’s) later history, TRMMPA tells the story of Dmitri Pulski, who when we meet him in 1913 is working for his father, an ice merchant with an operation in northern California. His father, who has received a huge order for ice from the titular Rocky Mountain Moving Picture Association, has grave doubts about the likely solvency of such an enterprise (“Moving pictures are a fad,” he explains, “but people will always need ice.”). So he sends Dmitri south, along with a Russian immigrant co-worker, in a Model T to investigate. Continue reading The Rocky Mountain Moving Picture Association, by Loren D. Estleman →

Hannah Notess and Jeffrey Overstreet watched The Hunger Games and talked about it as a film, an adaptation of a novel, and a story in itself. They say it’s fast-paced, touches lightly on disturbing questions, and doesn’t give you time to think about them.

Notess states, “This is one of the biggest questions the book asks: What does it mean for such a violent spectacle to be broadcast in great detail, as entertainment?”

Overstreet says, “The Hunger Games concludes in a very interesting place, one that seems carefully contrived so that those who want a “happy ending” can see one, and those interested in darker possibilities can look closer and see those too.”

Notess also asks how much, if any, violence does God allow his followers to commit in order to survive. I think the answer in the context of The Hunger Games is different than a real world context. Christians will reasonably and honorable die, if necessary, when placed into a totally unjust, deadly entertainment venue. But if the question is whether to use force to defend your village from the viking hoard or to join the army to destroy the raiders from across the sea, then Christians may reasonably and honorably fight and kill. Perhaps Christians in the world of The Hunger Games should storm the Capitol by every possible means to stop the evil madness. What do you think?

This one’s a heartbreaker.



Yet another Nate Heller mystery from Max Allan Collins here. Flying Blind is all about the disappearance of Amelia Earhart. I’ve always steered clear of the Earhart business myself, because I don’t much care for stories where the girl dies (though I’ve written some, come to think of it). Most of what I know about the Earhart mystery came from an old episode of Unsolved Mysteries, and this book actually fitted in pretty well with the speculations on that show.

This story starts in 1935, when Chicago private eye Heller is hired by Earhart’s slimy husband, P. G. Putnam (of the P. G. Putnam and Sons publishing house), to be her bodyguard on a lecture tour. She’s been receiving threatening letters, Putnam says (although there’s some suspicion he created them himself, to garner publicity). Privately, he asks Heller to find out if Earhart is having an affair. Though he feels guilty about it because he despises Putnam and likes Earhart, Heller agrees to do the job. He ends up having an affair with her himself. Continue reading Flying Blind, by Max Allan Collins →