Category Archives: Fiction

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Big Sleep,’ by Raymond Chandler

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Her smile was tentative, but could be persuaded to be nice.

Recently I watched an old interview with Andrew Klavan in which he cited The Big Sleep, the first Philip Marlowe novel (1939), which he admires very much. He mentioned how he adopted Marlowe as a literary hero when he read the first scene of this book, where the detective enters the palatial Sternwood mansion. Above the door he sees a stained glass window depicting a knight attempting to free a maiden tied to a tree. Marlowe doesn’t think the knight is trying as hard as he could, and thinks that if he lived there he’d have to climb up himself and help out.

That, Klavan says (and I agree), is the key to Philip Marlowe’s character. He’s a knight out of romance, plunked down in the 20th Century where he has no place. His adventures involve him in many compromises, but he strives to keep some honor.

Even when the fair maidens don’t really deserve rescuing, as is the case in The Big Sleep. Old General Sternwood, confined to a wheelchair, has summoned Marlowe because he has received blackmail demands related to his daughter Carmen. Carmen is flighty, promiscuous, and not very bright. He also mentions a man named Rusty Regan, ex-husband to his other daughter Vivian. The general liked Rusty, but the man has disappeared. He hopes he’s all right. Marlowe intuits (correctly) that the general isn’t really much concerned over the blackmail; he’s trying to work up to asking Marlowe to locate Rusty.

Soon Marlowe will be a near-witness to a murder, with Carmen Sternwood present (high on drugs). Then the body will disappear. And Marlowe will find himself looking for Rusty Regan after all – not because he cares about the Sternwood daughters, but for the old man’s sake.

The Big Sleep is an intriguing book. Plot-wise it’s confusing and not neatly tied up. The author himself, famously, wasn’t sure who killed the Sternwood chauffeur. And there’s one scene where Marlowe is captured by a notorious murderer, who then conveniently goes away, leaving him to be watched by a suggestible woman whom Marlowe persuades to free him. (A very weak plot device, you can’t deny.)

And yet this book is treasured by readers and critics alike. I treasure it myself. The prose is masterful, the characters are fascinating, the atmosphere draws you in, and the conclusion has been a model for all but the most cynical of hard-boiled writers ever since.

On this reading I was particularly struck by a minor character, the purest hero of this story. His name is Harry Jones. He’s a short, unprepossessing man, a two-bit gambler. Yet he makes the ultimate sacrifice for a woman who doesn’t deserve him. Marlowe pays him the greatest respect – he’s the man Marlowe would like to be, but pure knights of that sort do not survive in our world.

Taken all in all, The Big Sleep is a great novel. If you haven’t read it and like hard-boileds, you should. Cautions for drugs and sexual situations – pretty racy stuff for 1939.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Long Goodbye,’ by Raymond Chandler

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She had an iron smile and eyes that could count the money in your hip wallet.

Recently I was poking around Amazon Prime for a movie to watch, and I hit on the old 1973 film adaptation of The Long Goodbye. I hadn’t seen it in many years, and watched it again just to see if I liked it any better than I did in my youth. I found I did not. It’s a Robert Altman vehicle, meaning Raymond Chandler’s story is mostly subsumed in Altman’s improvisations, and Elliott Gould is not Philip Marlowe by any stretch of the imagination. (I must confess the movie did the story no harm by simplifying the plot, though.)

Anyway, I figured I might as well re-read the book (first published 1953) and see how it compared. As I expected, I liked it a whole lot better than the movie, though it’s not without flaws.

Terry Lennox is sporadically one of Philip Marlowe’s few friends. He’s a wounded war veteran with interesting facial scars, and Marlowe encounters him sometimes in evening clothes with rich women on his arm, and sometimes drunk in the gutter. Terry has been married to an heiress named Sylvia, been divorced by her, and then remarried again. Now and then he and Marlowe get together for a drink.

One night Terry shows up asking Marlowe to drive him across the border to Mexico. Marlowe does this, with some misgivings. Once back, he learns the news – Terry’s wife has been murdered, and the police are looking for him. Marlowe gets arrested and subjected to some third degree… and then the whole business is dropped. Word is that Terry has killed himself in Mexico. Shortly afterward, Marlowe gets a letter from Terry, apparently posted just before his death. Tucked in the envelope is a $5,000 bill, which Marlowe puts away in his office safe because he’s uncomfortable about how he earned it.

Through his connection with Terry, Marlowe gets an inquiry from the publisher of Roger Wade, a bestselling author of historical thrillers. Roger has a serious drinking problem and writer’s block. The publisher has the idea that Marlowe might be the man to nursemaid Wade, dry him out and keep him working. Marlowe is not interested, even after a personal appeal from Wade’s stunningly beautiful wife, Eileen. But that doesn’t stop her appealing to him to find Wade after he disappears on a bender. Marlowe tracks him down at a seedy health spa and drags him home. He forms a prickly friendship with the man, while still refusing the babysitting job.

That’s enough to explain how things start out. The plot progresses in what seems to me a somewhat uneven, lurching fashion, as if Chandler was describing his own difficulties writing it through the creative travails of Roger Wade. The final conclusion is (to my mind) a little unsatisfying – but not as weird as the climax they gave us in the movie.

Critics, I understand, are divided concerning The Long Goodbye. Some consider it Chandler’s best work. Others judge it one of the weakest in the series. I myself enjoyed reading it, but found it a little claustrophobic. The story was, after all, somewhat crowded with author’s surrogates. Both Terry Lennox, the shell-shocked, psychologically broken war veteran, and Roger Wade, the bibulous, self-loathing author, are expressions of Chandler’s own self-image. And almost all narrator characters – including Philip Marlowe – are alter egos of their creators.

Also, the book features a series of “solutions,” each replacing the other as if the author couldn’t make up his mind.

But it’s worth reading. I enjoyed it all in all. Also, there’s references to the war in Norway.

The Kindle link I’m using here is for the edition I read, which is the only ebook edition I can find that’s not part of an omnibus. If you can find a different edition, I advise you to buy that, because this one (published in Ukraine) is laden with OCR errors. The “illustrations” advertised are just old paperback cover art, unrelated to the story.

I find, on searching our archives, that I’ve already reviewed this book here once. I need to review more Philip Marlowe novels, and have set about reading another.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Time to Die,’ by Alex Robert

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In the beautiful city of York, England, a man hangs himself in his apartment. Once he was a high-flying financier, but he helped to engineer a massive Ponzi scheme and went to prison for several years. Inspector Jack Husker, just back on the job after suffering a major injury, is dispatched to dot the bureaucratic i’s and cross the t’s. But the crime scene officer has his doubts about the death, and soon Jack is thinking murder.

When one of his partners in the scheme dies in a fall from his balcony soon after, all doubt is removed.

Jack Husker, hero of Time to Die, has a reputation on the force. He’s the cop the brass send in when they want a battering ram and are willing to overlook a little excessive force. But Jack, teamed with his colleague Lisa Ramsey, with whom he is carrying on a tentative flirtation, will be walking a little softer on this case.

Jack will extend his inquiries to the city of Leeds, where he’ll meet another female detective who makes a strong play for his attention – a distraction he doesn’t need. He’ll find connections to international crime and dangerous gangsters. The final showdown, when it comes, will be (for this reader) a bit of an anticlimax.

I was amused when, in one scene, Lisa has a meeting with a confidential source at the Jorvik Viking Centre (a place I’ve always wanted to visit).

I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this book. It’s part of an ongoing series, and although I didn’t feel that the author shortchanged me at all (except for a frustrating refusal to describe his characters physically), I have an idea I would have followed along better if I’d started at the beginning. Jack’s tactics seemed kind of scattershot to me, and he went into the climactic confrontation without any plan at all, being rescued only by a sort of deus ex machina.

Also, Jack’s relationship with Lisa was kind of hard to understand. Two people strongly attracted to one another who seem determined to mutually sabotage their chances. (But what do I know about relationships?)

I wouldn’t rate Time to Die high on my list of favorites, but it was all right. The prose was good. Cautions for strong language.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Operation Echo,’ by Ed Church

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Author Ed Church recently commented on our “About Us” page, and I was reminded of his Brook Deelman books, which I’d much enjoyed but lost track of. I checked and, behold, there is a new volume in the series. I read Operation Echo with great enjoyment.

Brook Deelman, South African-born former London police detective, has now set up a modest private investigation agency with his buddy Jonboy. They have a variety of clients, but they never expected to be approached by Inspector Terry Barnes (retired). Brook has had a strained relationship with the man in the past. But Barnes, having time on his hands now, has decided to try to find the answer to a question that’s been troubling him for many years. There’s a man who belongs to his club, Sir Archibald Gough, a millionaire who made his fortune as a music promoter. Barnes has always felt there’s something… vaguely wrong about Gough. He’s not sure what bothers him about the man, but he’s certain there’s something. He wants Brook and his partner to check the man out.

They do, and are not prepared for where the investigation will take them – back to the Cold War and the year 1963, the year of the Kim Philby scandal and multiple black eyes for British Intelligence. A story of a very secret operation which has left very few traces behind. Punctuated with a knock-down fight or two.

I thought the plot itself was slow getting started, as the original problem, based on a mere ungrounded suspicion, seemed a little implausible. However, the characters – especially Book Deelman, our hero – were so fascinating that I simply enjoyed the ride. And the plot, once it found its legs, ran extremely well.

I highly recommend Operation Echo and all the Brook Deelman books. Cautions for language, but nothing else really.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Dain Curse,’ by Dashiell Hammett

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“Lily and I were true sisters, inseparable, hating one another poisonously.”

Recently, in the course of my explorations of old mysteries on YouTube, I watched once again the 1978 CBS TV miniseries adaptation of Dashiell Hammet’s The Dain Curse, starring James Coburn. The dramatization kept to the plot in broad terms, but made a lot of cuts, most of which, it must be admitted, improved the story. For some reason they moved the setting from California to New York state (contrary to the usual custom of that California-based industry). The plot was streamlined in various ways. The casting of Coburn, a famously lean man, as the “Continental Op” (a fat character who is never named in any of his stories), a case of literal streamlining, was justified through turning him into a fictional version of the author himself (who had indeed been a Pinkerton detective), calling him “Hamilton Nash.”

I had watched the original broadcast on TV, and having watched it again now I was curious to re-read the book. It’s not Hammet’s best work, in my opinion.

The story begins with the Continental Op visiting the San Francisco home of Dr. Edgar Leggett, who is involved in chemical experiments involving diamonds. Some of the diamonds he keeps in his laboratory have apparently been stolen in a break-in. The Op finds Leggett’s story fishy, and before long breaks it down into a messy scheme involving false identities and blackmail. At the end of this episode of the story, the Leggetts’ daughter, Gabrielle (who is a morphine addict) has been orphaned, and is left with the conviction that she is a victim of “the Dain Curse” (Dain is her mother’s name) and doomed to cause the death of any person who gets close to her.

But there are two further sections in the book. In the second, the Op is hired to locate Gabrielle and finds her in the temple of a fashionable San Francisco cult, where he barely manages to save her from murder, after which her fiancé whisks her off to a quick wedding and honeymoon in a southern California seaside town. In the third, there is yet another murder, and Gabrielle once again comes under suspicion. After clearing her, the Op takes it on himself to wean her off her drug addiction.

The origins of The Dain Curse as a serial story in Black Mask Magazine are very evident, and don’t always help with readability in a consolidated narrative. Each episode (it was originally a four-parter) involves its own dramatic arc, and each ends with a “solution,” though the actual culprit is kept secret until the very end of the book. Hammett was never in Raymond Chandler’s class as a prose stylist, and the writing here is rarely memorable. The plot of The Dain Curse involves a lot of repetition, and doesn’t reach the levels Hammett achieved in The Maltese Falcon, The Thin Man, or even in Red Harvest (which is believed, by the way, to have inspired the Samurai film Yojimbo, and by extension A Fistful of Dollars and a score of other copycats).

But it’s worth reading. I must say though that (in my opinion) the cuts the writers made in the TV version were well taken and effective.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Drive to Kill,’ by Sam Jones

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There are many ways for a book to be bad, and many different ways for readers to respond to badness in books. (I’m speaking here of bad craftsmanship, not qualities of morality.) In my case, really bad prose will usually kill a book for me – if words are fumbled, I’ll dump it. Weakness of plot I can tolerate a little more, if there are other pleasures in the story. So it was (for me) with Drive to Kill, by Sam Jones. It was weak, but good enough to finish.

Dean Blackwood, the hero of the series that this book kicks off, is a sort of special FBI agent. He’s been their go-to guy for extreme investigations in which overkill and brutalization of prisoners are permitted (not sure how that works legally). But in his last case, his family got caught in the crossfire; they survived, but his wife left him and he was reassigned to a desk job in the northwest.

But now he’s come back to Los Angeles to visit his family, hoping for a reconciliation. He goes to the beach for some surfing with an old friend, and a gunfight breaks out in the parking lot. His friend catches a bullet and is killed, and Dean makes up his mind to investigate this thing, whether the cops, the feds, or his wife approve or not. The trail will lead him to the Armenian mob, crooked cops, and somewhere else where he really does not want to go.

The major weakness in this book was the plotting, which was unusually poor. I’m accustomed to today’s thriller writers employing “movie logic,” expecting us to swallow improbabilities camouflaged with fast chases and violence. But author Jones expects us in this story to believe a ridiculous sequence of coincidences – the gunfight that kills Dean’s friend at the start of the story just happens to be related to an old case Dean worked. And then he goes to talk to a witness, and just happens onto another related murder. There’s a further coincidence too, I think, but I forget the details.

Writing tip: You get one major coincidence per book. One coincidence, especially if it kicks off the action, can be permitted. Pile them on, and you lose credibility.

The prose was fair – I’ve seen worse, though the author sometimes needs his verbiage pruned, and occasionally he mistakes homophones. On the other hand, he included what I considered one good, original figure of speech, and in a couple scenes he employed a nice technique for building suspense that impressed me – I may borrow it in the future.

There’s a Christian evangelist in the story who looks pretty bad, but the character turned out more complex than I suspected, so that’s OK.

But all in all, I give Drive to Kill a thumbs down for shabby plotting.

Fiction, Religion, Reviews

‘Descent Into Hell,’ by Charles Williams

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He could enjoy; at least he could refuse not to enjoy. He could refuse and reject damnation.

With a perfectly clear, if instantaneous, knowledge of what he did, he rejected joy instead.

Charles Williams’ novels have been a major influence on my own works (partly, certainly, by way of C.S. Lewis’ That Hideous Strength, but to a great degree on their own account). Of all those books, it’s the 1937 urban fantasy Descent Into Hell that has most kept me company through the years, because I recognize my own vulnerabilities in it.

The book is misleadingly simple to explain, yet complex in the execution. The action centers on the production of a new play by the poet Peter Stanhope, in his home town and residence of Battle Hill, a suburb north of London. Among the actors is Pauline Anstruther, a young woman crippled by constant fear. Occasionally through her life, and increasingly frequently in recent weeks, she has been seeing her doppelganger, a double of herself, approaching her up the street. Her fear of the apparition is increased by her fear that she is losing her mind. She’s ashamed to share the problem with anyone, until finally Stanhope himself draws it out of her. He is surprisingly unsurprised, and explains to Pauline the doctrine of exchange, by which Christians may literally bear one another’s burdens. He promises to carry her fear for her, and the results are immediate. But Pauline learns that this relief is only the first step in her own assignment, that of carrying the burden of yet another person – an ancestor of hers who was martyred under Bloody Mary. (In Williams’ view, as in quantum physics, an effect may precede its cause.)

Meanwhile, we also have the chilling tale of Lawrence Wentworth, a noted but superficial military historian, also a resident of Battle Hill. Wentworth is experiencing what we now call a midlife crisis. He has grown obsessed with Adela Hunt, a pretty and superficial young woman who’s engaged to a young man but likes to flirt with him. Through the machinations of a local witch, Lawrence is presented with a simulacrum of Adela, a soulless automaton which embodies his lustful imaginations of what he thinks Adela ought to be. Under the spell of the false Adela, Lawrence gradually disengages from everything that mattered to him – even some of his petty sins might have offered a roundabout road to salvation, if he desired it, but all he really loves, at bottom, is himself as he seems himself reflected in the false Adela. And so he is damned.

There’s yet another plot thread, touching both Pauline’s and Lawrence’s stories, involving a pitiful ghost who never lived much of a life and died a suicide. He wanders in a sort of limbo in another dimension of Battle Hill, and a way to salvation is offered to him as well.

What I had forgotten about Descent Into Hell was how dense and difficult the prose is. The characters’ actions are fairly straightforward. But the author is constantly informing us what is going on on the heavenly or spiritual level. And that commentary is what makes the book a difficult read. Author Williams goes very deep into his theology and his personal speculations on theology here. I’m more familiar with Williams’ thinking than most people, but I often had trouble following.

And yet it was worth it – for me. I do love Descent Into Hell.

There were interesting points I noticed for the first time on this reading: for instance, Lawrence neglects his scholarship as part of his process of damnation, but Stanhope, in another place, sets aside his poetry, in a different way, and that’s part of his process of sanctification. Nice touch, symmetrical and instructive.

Recommended, if you’re up for a challenge. This e-book edition contains some OCR errors.

Authors, Fiction, Reading, Religion

The doctrine of exchange

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Charles William.

I’m re-reading Charles Williams’ Descent Into Hell. It’s my favorite of his novels, and (I was pleased to learn) often considered his best by critics. If you haven’t read it, it centers on two characters – a young woman who repeatedly meets her doppelganger walking up the street, and a middle-aged historian who becomes obsessed with a young woman and is offered a soulless simulacrum of her. One of them is drawn into the community of God’s grace, while the other “descends into Hell” through self-indulgence. I have an idea I can write an article about this book that might illuminate some current issues.

Because I have my finger, you know, on the pulse of societal change.

Silly, I admit, but I think I may actually be in a unique position to comment, due not to my wisdom but to my failures and sins.

Anyway, it’s also in this novel that Williams demonstrates most clearly his doctrine of exchange, the idea that the Christian teaching that we should bear one another’s burdens is more than a metaphor. He believed that we can pray to literally take on our brothers’ and sisters’ fears, difficulties, and pains, suffering them for them – because it’s lighter to bear when it’s someone else’s. And they in turn can bear ours.

Williiams’ friend C. S. Lewis reported that he attempted this exercise with his wife Joy, when the pain of her cancer was most difficult. He felt some pain, he said, and she told him her own was diminished.

That’s all very subjective, of course. Not nearly as dramatic as what happens in the novel. I made the experiment myself at least once. As I recall, the sick friend I prayed for did report he was feeling better soon. But again, it’s subjective. Not the sort of dramatic outcome we would like to see.

Of course we can always spiritualize it. Regard it in terms of the mystery of Christian community, the fellowship of the saints.

But that wasn’t what Williams believed. He took it literally.

Have you ever tried it? Know anyone who has?

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom,’ by Erle Stanley Gardner

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For some reason, perhaps because of the old TV series (which I hated as a kid but quite like now), I never really considered reading a Perry Mason book until fairly recently. I’ve been pleasantly surprised how much I’ve liked them. There’s no great writing here – the prose can be pretty shopworn – but Erle Stanley Gardner was a top-notch plotter. One reads these books for the surprises. Today’s review: The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom.

Attorney Perry Mason is putting in late hours in his office one night, when he spots a pair of lovely female legs on the fire escape. He confronts the possessor of those legs, persuading her to come inside. (Mason is certain that she tosses a gun into the alley in the process, but she insists that’s not true.) She tells him that she has been concerned about the oil exploration company that occupies offices directly above his. She thinks someone is up to something shady there, and as a relative is an investor, she wanted to see what was going on. The story’s a little thin, but she manages to escape Perry in the end.

The next day Perry meets the manager of the office upstairs, who wants to hire him on a divorce matter. He recently went to Mexico to get married, not realizing that his first wife, who had told him she had divorced him in Reno, did no such thing – and now she’s trying to use bigamy as a lever against him. Perry learns that she has gotten the police involved, and accompanies his client and the new wife to Mexico, where they can get a Mexican divorce and marry legally.

But when the police put out a warrant for murder against his client, things get complicated.

There are some very nice plot twists in The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom. I especially liked one where Perry tries to get a jump on the prosecution strategy and it comes back to bite him. Lots of lies, lots of twists, and a surprise ending in the Gardner style.

First class, undemanding entertainment. I enjoyed The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Gates of Fire,’ by Steven Pressfield

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“Listen to me, boy. Only gods and heroes can be brave in isolation. A man may call upon courage only one way, in the ranks with his brothers-in-arms, the line of his tribe and his city. Most piteous of all states under heaven is that a man alone, bereft of the gods of his home and his polis. A man without a city is not a man. He is a shadow, a shell, a joke and a mockery….”

Radio talk show host Hugh Hewitt has a custom, whenever he interviews a new guest, of catechizing them on books they might have read. One he always asks about is Steven Pressfield’s Gates of Fire, a fictionalized account of the Battle of Thermopylae. So when a deal on the book showed up, I decided to buy it, though Greek antiquity is outside my usual field of interest.

What I encountered was a story of astonishing intensity. There were enough incidental resemblances to my own recently finished Erling Skjalgsson saga that I’m glad I waited till now to read it, so I can say without any doubt that I wasn’t influenced by it any way. (Though my books are not nearly so hard-barked.)

In the aftermath of the Battle of Thermopylae, where 300 Spartans died in a heroic last stand against the invading forces of the Persian Empire, one severely wounded Greek is discovered on the battlefield, and brought before the victorious King Xerxes, who wishes to know what sort of men these were who stood so valiantly.

The Greek, whose name is Xeones, explains that he is not properly a Spartan, but a servant, a squire to one of the officers. He is happy, even proud, to tell the story of his life and of how he came to know the Spartans and their ways, and how they bore themselves up through that last terrible massacre.

Gates of Fire is a harrowing book, one that dives deep into the warrior ethos in its most purified form, not sparing the horrific details of what happens during a battle. I read it with both horror and fascination, as I imagine most readers will. This is not a book for the faint of heart.

Historically, from my own reading, I know that in spite of all this, author Pressfield has done a little covering up. The Spartans, whose courage is unquestioned, were in fact one of the cruelest cultures we know of in history. There are only hints in this novel of the pederasty that was taken for granted in their military training of boys, and the actual condition of the slaves is softened here – among other cruelties, the Spartan ritual of manhood involved hunting down and murdering a slave.

For all that, Gates of Fire is without question a monument of historical fiction. Author Pressfield dares to stare far more directly into the face of battle that I ever have in my own writing.

Highly recommended, for the strong-minded reader.