old books

The Night Has a Thousand Eyes. Best 100 Mysteries of All time

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Pulp paperback version who lists Hopley as author, and then claims another Woolrich pen name as the real author.

The Night Has a Thousand Eyes—George Hopley–(Cornell Woolrich)–1948–IP

Of  the numerous novels of suspense Woolrich has written and I’ve read, The Night Has a Thousand Eyescaused the most tense and angst filled moments. The uneasy

The younger Cornell Woolrich.

reality of a Woolrich novel is the knowledge that the conclusion of the story can go either way. A relentless dark hopeless story can end miraculously, or tragically. The reader is unaware of which will prevail until nearly the last words. The journey to the conclusion can be nerve shattering in intensity. In the instance of this novel, it haunted me, and now that I’m rethinking, it still does. It’s a novel of predestination, of a lack of control over life and death, of hope that ekes along, but barely.

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Arthur Rackham

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A typical Rackham brown reprint, and human tree.

When I first discovered golden age children’s illustration, Arthur Rackham reigned supreme. I was enamored with his fairies, elves, sprites in various forms–from Peter Pan, to English Fairy Tales, to Rip Van Winkle and The Wonder Book. Not able to afford first editions, even then, I settled for typical reprints. Not exactly the finest copies, at least they made more of his illustrations available to me than did the David Larkin outsize paperbacks showcasing the various artists. After a trip to London and a bunch of postcards later, I was so transfixed by his art, I decided to write a thesis for a theatre class in college. The thesis had three

Trees a la Rackham.

parts. The first, a written analysis of his work and influence, second, makeup based up his characters, and third, a small production utilizing aspects from his artwork.  I can’t for the life of me remember what the makeup consisted of, nor what the small production was all about–but I still have my paper–with grammatical errors, misspellings, and postcard examples of his work, still intact.

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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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When Shipping Costs, Cost a Sale

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I hate paying for shipping. For anything. Psychologically, the seller would be better off charging the shipping within the price, and give ‘free’ shipping, rather than add it on–for me, anyway. I’ve desired a certain Oxalis plant for years. The only online store that sells the bulbs charges so much shipping, I won’t buy them. For three teeny rhizomes, I’m to shell out 10 bucks? Really? So, I deprive myself of that gorgeous plant.

Recently, I finally had to give into my desire for a certain book–well, the illustrations within the book. I’ve never heard of it before–a friend on flickr had scanned plates from it, and it’s weird and quirky enough for me to lust after the book. Problem–I can’t afford the prices being asked for this title. Even though under 100 bucks, that’s still to rich for me at the moment. I knew there was a copy for around 45 dollars out there, and was still listed every time I checked. I finally broke down and decided I had to have it, even though in rather poor condition, and not a first. Another crappy thing–the book is in the UK–not unusual as it was published there. And, I’m guessing, never published in the US. I expect to pay more shipping, logically that would have to be the case. When I checked the shipping price, it seemed very reasonable–I think it was 6 or 7 dollars, as opposed to US regular shipping costs–around 4 or 5. So, I’m  excited. I took the plunge, ordered the book, now to wait for it’s arrival and to drool over the contents–all 16 crazy plates, plus black and whites I’ve never seen. And because the illustrations are so intriguing–I’m going to do the unthinkable–read the book too.

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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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Bookish Halloween Costumes

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Hey, where’s the pork pie hat?

Once again, it is time for Halloweenie, and last minute costumes are being assembled. Why not dress up as your favorite literary character? I’d love to say this idea came to me out of the clear orange and black sky, but again, ABE led the way with their take on literary costumes. Some of their suggestions left me cold–as in, I have no idea what the book in question is about, let alone want to create a costume from a character. They suggest some of the usual suspects–Wizard of Oz types, Tom Sawyer, Ahab (must carry long harpoon) but most are original and offbeat. I’d never think of  being a character from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to The Universe, specifically because I’ve never bothered exploring the outer limits of the book. They suggest wearing a bathrobe and look confused. Hmm. I do like the idea of going as a giant ham, like Scout in To Kill a Mockingbird, even if she was in a school pageant, with nothing to do with All Hallow’s Eve. Consider dressing as the psycho ‘nurse’ in Misery with some torture device in your hands, says ABE. I’d go one better–why not the nurse from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest? Uh, what did she wear, again? Besides sadism on her sleeve? They have another Stephen King novel– It. Gee, how original, a sociopathic clown–never see them on Halloween, duh. Hey–I have the perfect Cujo–my dog Louie–and he doesn’t need a special costume, his teeth says it all. I’m really  into the futuristic fireman from Fahrenheit  451. The ABE article suggested lugging a stack of books around.  Better yet–go as a bookseller, you could attach either a ladder to your body with books at the top or be covered in store and book dust with a huge cardboard box attached at the hip. And that stack of books.

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