Dastardly Deeds

Performing Autopsies on Great Bodies of Crime Fiction.

Black Alibi–Best 100 Mysteries of All Time

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Black Alibi— Cornell Woolrich–1942–used

The Leopard Man played on Turner Classic Movies yesterday. It’s a must see, again, film. Atmospheric, and in some parts, downright suspenseful and terrifying, it cannot hold a reader’s breath, the way the original source does, Black Alibi. I’ve proclaimed it before, Cornell Woolrich in all his various nom de plumes is my favorite writer, period. Not just favorite crime writer, but writer, of fiction. Yes, that means I like his work more than Dickens, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Poe, Collins, Steinbeck etc.,  ad nauseum. Is he a finer writer? By most standards, probably not. To mine, yes. Because he delivers life at its most frightening, vulnerable, frantic. Hysteria is never far from breaking out in little pustules–here and there–in one of his novels. Fear is attempted to be kept at bay, yet finds its insidious way back into a character’s life, sometimes as an expected guest, others as a stranger wreaking disaster. Black Alibi is a series of  horrific events in separate stories, all part of the larger novel. It begins with U.S. citizens, Jerry Manning, and Kiki Walker finding small success in the South American city of Ciudad Real. Kiki is a headliner entertainer at a local club, and Jerry, her manager. He thinks up a wild idea for publicity, accent on wild. He convinces Kiki to lead a black jaguar into the club for shock and awe, which in turn shocks the jaguar to escape into the night in the city. Each subsequent chapter follows a young woman as she is stalked as prey by what appears to be the missing jaguar. And it’s within these stories Woolrich’s best work is revealed.

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The Short and Shorter Of It Part 3

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You may be under the illusion that 3 of these articles are  revealing every word, pause, comma, dash to the reader. Not so. Remember, there are 100 Malicious Little Mysteries within, and I’m highlighting only a handful.  It’s unusual for me to enjoy that many short stories within one large volume and because of that–I am forced to share. Don’t blame me, it’s the demand of the universe.

Maxine O’Callaghan provided the biggest surprise in An Insignificant Crime. The story is thin, on the surface. A store owner in the late 1900s is ready to call the authorities finally, and have the well known customer arrested for her habitual shoplifting. His employee  son-in-law keeps at him to drop the idea. Narrated by the employee, he points out that the customer isn’t stealing for money, or in malice, it’s something she apparently has no control of. The son-in-law lays on the line that the customer’s father has a lot of influence in the community, and that the father would not tolerate the humiliation his daughter’s arrest would bring. His argument concludes asking the storekeeper why he doesn’t simply charge the customer’s father’s account, like all the other times?. But his father-in-law is obstinate. The clerk thinks:

“The old fool can’t see beyond the end of his thin quivering nose. He would sacrifice the business and our future, his daughter’s and mine, and feel smugly sanctimonious. And for what? An insignificant little crime that would hurt nobody.”

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The Short and Shorter of It–Part 2

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Continuing my exploration of this thick volume full of lovely murders, Bill Pronzini, a superb writer, with a book on my Best 100 Mysteries list, wrote a lyrical love note to the railroad. Pronzini has edited short stories himself, and is the author of the two wonderful Gun In Cheek books about the worst in crime fiction–or best, depending on how you define it. He and his wife, Marcia Muller, are responsible for a huge catalog of  quality work. So I wasn’t surprised to find him within the pages, not once, but several times, alone, or with a writing partner. Sweet Fever  is narrated by an old man who describes he and his grandson’s love of watching the train come through the tunnel at Chigger Mountain.

“The moon was so bright you could see the melons lying in Feride Johnson’s patch over on the left, and the rail tracks had a sleek oiled look coming out of the tunnel mouth and leading off towards the Sabreville yards a mile up the line. On the far side of the tracks, the woods and the run-down shacks that used to be a hobo jungle before the country sheriff closed it off thirty years back had them a silvery cast, like they was all coated in winter frost.”

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The Short and Shorter Of It–Part 1

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I was never a lover of short stories. Until I finally read some. Now I find them appealing due to an ever decreasing attention span. I have read a variety of pieces, mostly crime fiction, and a couple of Carson McCullers, Wilkie Collins, and various themes and authors. Long ago I was in love with Dorothy Parker. I need to revisit her. I found myself returning to one thick volume, 100 Malicious Little Mysteries edited by the late Isaac Asimov, Martin H. Greenberg and Joseph G. Olander. Published in 1981, I have a hardcopy in its 15th printing. Which says a lot about everyone’s attention spans. The stories are written by many different people, most of whom I wasn’t aware of. I’m not a subscriber to Ellery Queen Magazine, or other short story publications. I suppose if I had been, I would be familiar with most of the authors. Naturally, Asimov, Bill Pronzini, and the godfather of crime short stories, Edward D. Hoch are well known. But such names as Henry Slesar, Elsin Ann Graffan, Judith Garner, were strangers to me, and I would guess, they haven’t published full length novels. I should google to research them, but I’d rather move on and relish in the retelling of some of the most malicious tales.

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Hurricane Reading

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So, as the weather gurus are shouting their dire predictions on TV, the local police are calling each home to warn of impending doom, and my mother is repeating every minute change in the forecast,  my thoughts are on what the hell do I read if the power goes, and there’s no DVD’s of Mannix, or  reruns of Perry Mason to watch? Would I be forced to have a conversation?? I think not. So, scurry around I will to unearth absorbing, fascinating titles, while winds threaten to down every  tree, and rain causes leaves to clog the gutters. Sadly, we left the battery search until there are none in the county, so if I find something readable, I’ll be straining my eyes via candles, the old fashioned way.

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The Butter Did It and A Incomparable Bookman

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A look at a yummy bookseller.

The Butter Did It. This is a running joke my friend Jamie McCoy will meet me with whenever he wants to point out my fallibility. Back when hypermodern collecting was all the rage, I would tout the newest first time author, depending on print run, etc. Not all new authors were great or even remained authors. Some faded quickly leaving behind a couple of signed books in someone’s hopeful collection of possible appreciating volumes. The Butter Did It melted away into oblivion and with it Jamie’s hope of resale at a profit. It became the symbol for Jamie and I, of the silliness in  believing every new novel could or should be collected. If I now recommend some book I think was a fantastic read, or possible investment, he utters those cholesterol filled words and we both chuckle, me a bit ruefully. Recently, Jamie had some heart related issues, and I swore to my husband I was going to create a card with the cover of the book on it and declare, ‘Yep, that’s right, Jamie, The Butter Did It! ‘ I never fulfilled that task, much to my regret, lol.

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My Ride With Gus–Best 100 Mysteries of All Time

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My Ride With Gus Charles Carillo 1996–available

As soon as my eyes hit the first paragraph of My Ride With Gus, this second time around, I remembered why I loved it so much. Fast paced, hip–90s style–and seriously funny, the original premise of a hapless rather self centered successful architect accidentally killing an unwanted New Year’s Eve club pickup, slowly evolves into a warm, layered, surprising novel, rich in family dynamics and misconceptions that engage the reader long past the initial crime. As a New Yorker, even one who hasn’t lived in the city for a few years, the setting and authentic language of the novel is especially appealing.

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