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 →

I like to think I gave Ed Gorman a fair shake. He’s honest enough to admit his political leanings (liberal), but he makes a genuine effort to humanize his characters, even those awful Republicans. I have to give him credit for that. He tries. But I didn’t like this second book (actually two books; it’s a double volume) of his that I’ve read, and I don’t think I’ll read any more. The Original Sam McCain Mysteries fails, in my view, for two reasons. One is an inadequate main character. The other is, if not a plain political lie, at least a definite—and surely conscious—misstatement of historical fact.

First of all the main character. As the title suggests, he’s a guy named Sam McCain. Gorman gives what seems to be his inspiration for the character in a passage where McCain meditates on his favorite mystery writer, the pre-Travis McGee John D. MacDonald:

There are no heroes in John D. novels, and that’s probably why I like them. Every once in a while his man will behave heroically, but that still doesn’t make him a hero. He has a lot of faults and he always realizes, at some point in every book, that he’s flawed and less than he wants to be.

If Gorman’s goal was to create a character who isn’t heroic, he’s succeeded. Sam McCain is a short young man, a poor lawyer in a small Iowa town in the mid-1950s, forced by penury to do jobs for the local judge, an elitist woman who delights in humiliating him in small ways. He talks a lot about his love for the town beauty, who is herself in love with a rich guy. Meanwhile another girl, apparently just as pretty and with more personal substance, loves Sam and he doesn’t reciprocate. In this he’s clearly an idiot.

He’s also a punching bag. People beat him up a lot in these stories, and he just endures it. When he finally overcomes the murderers, he ought to be grateful to the God he claims not to believe in, because without a deus ex machina or two he’d be long dead. I think he won one fight in the second book. Continue reading The Original Sam McCain Mysteries, by Ed Gorman →

I feel a little guilty about not liking Ed Gorman better as a writer. It’s very obvious that he’s a liberal, but he works so darn hard to be fair to people he disagrees with—like Republicans and evangelical Christians—that I feel I ought to reciprocate in some way. But Blood Moon left me pretty cold.

This is the first book for a series character, Robert Payne, a former FBI profiler who now works as an investigative consultant from his home in Iowa. He’s approached by a woman who tells him she believes there’s a serial rapist and killer hunting little girls. Her own daughter, she says, was killed by this man, but the police and her family don’t believe the cases are connected. Payne agrees to look into it, and soon discovers that each of the murdered girls had visited the small town of New Hope, Iowa before her death. Payne goes to New Hope and begins making inquiries. He also meets the very attractive local (female) sheriff. Continue reading Blood Moon, by Ed Gorman →

[Detective] Miller stood planted there like one of the lions in front of the Art Institute, only meaner-looking. Also, the lions were bronzed and he was tarnished copper.

I discovered, after I had bought True Detective, the first of Max Allan Collins’s Nate Heller novels, that it was one I’d already read, some time back. Nevertheless I didn’t regret the purchase. I’d forgotten what an extremely fine book this is—one of those few novels that lifts the hard-boiled mystery to a new level.

All the Heller books are good. Don’t get me wrong. But it’s impossible to keep a series from becoming formulaic after a while. With the Heller books, you have a series where the same private eye somehow manages to be on the scene for almost every important murder in America between 1930 and 1970. Each one is plausible individually, but they stretch credibility in the aggregate.

But this first novel deserves a place all its own. Collins’s own contemplation of the hard-boiled genre led him to want to write a book that stretched the limits and broke the rules, not with malice but for a reason. Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe was an honorable man, trying to keep clean in a dirty world. Collins’s detective, Nate Heller, is a soiled man, trying to find a way to preserve some degree of integrity. He’s a tragic character, and True Detective is a genuine tragedy, with a plot that functions like the mechanism of a guillotine. Continue reading True Detective, by Max Allan Collins →