Observations from the Balcony

The Mouse and His Child by Russell Hoban is one of my favorite books of all time.  Every few years I read it again and the depths of its story unfolds in new ways every time.  What I took away from it as a child is different then what I take away from it as an adult.

There was a discussion on The Long-Legged Fly by James Sallis over at 4ma about a year or so ago. Here are some observations that I made while reading the book and posted to the group as well as some questions for consideration.

-The Long-Legged Fly was written in 1992; takes place in 1964, 1970, 1984 and 1990; and we are reading it in 2007. Even though it was never intended as such does it stand up as a post-Katrina tribute to the city of New Orleans?

-Detective Fiction, especially of the PI variety, has long since been described as an existential form. Does Griffin fit in with this tradition.

-The final case of the book, David’s disappearance, is unresolved by the end of the book. In PI fiction there is typically some form of case closure. What kind of reaction did the ending provoke. Was the loose thread enough to make you want to read the the next book.

-On page 21-22 when Griffin is in the bar talking to “Blackie” and Abdullah Abded some of the other patrons in the bar are mentioned. One of the mentioned patrons is a pimp in a yellow suit.

On page 36 it is a pimp in a yellow suit that is responsible for turning Corene Davis out.

Is it possible that Sallis gave us a glimpse of the guy before Griffin had even taken the case.

-The three missing women that Lew Griffin search for in LLF all have names that begin with “C”. Corene, Cordelia & Cherie.

-James Sallis is an absolute master at mirroring. He employs it subtly throughout the entire book and the entire series and there are loads of examples. Some of the above would qualify as examples and there are more if you care to look for them.

-The explanation is lengthy and would fall outside of the scope of just this one book but in many ways the two closing paragraphs of LLF are the key to unlocking a number of themes in the Lew Griffin series.

“And so, another book. But not about my Cajun this time. About someone I’ve names Lew Griffin, a man I know both very well and not at all. And I have only to end it now by writing: I went back into the house and wrote. It is midnight. The rain beats down at the windows.

It is not midnight. It is not raining.”

A further clue for those interested in digging deeper is that these words are not Sallis’ or Griffin’s:

“Then I went back into the house and wrote. It is midnight. The rain is beating on the windows. It was not midnight. It was not raining.”
– Samuel Beckett (Molloy)

-The first chapter is clearly not a part of the rest of the book. Based on Griffin’s later in life career change (first as a teacher then novelist) is it possible that the first chapter is actually an un-credited excerpt from one of Lew Griffin’s novels?

Later on in the book (in the beginning of chapter 5 of the 1990 section) we find the following quote: “The more I wrote about Boudleaux, the less I relied on imagination, using experiences and people of my own past, writing ever closer to my life.”

So with the above quote in mind and if the first chapter of LLF is an excerpt of one of Griffin’s novels then is it further possible that the events in LLF influenced it? Is the influence demonstrable? There is a repetition of the line “Didn’t touch the girl” and there are also the similarities of the names “Sambo” and “Samson” in both the excerpt and LLF.

Further still; is it possible that Lew Griffin is actually the author of The Long-Legged Fly?

Here is an old post from another blog from a long time ago.

First I’d like to say that typically, it seems, when the discussion of city-centric characters arises its in relation to PI’s and the books that encompass that PI’s series. One can’t deny the relationship between certain PI’s and their locales. Lew Griffin HAS to be in New Orleans; Kenzie & Gennaro HAS to be in Boston etc. I think there is a reason for this. The PI is a man of the town, his town. More importantly he is, in many ways, the physical embodiment of the city. Their stories cannot be transplanted elsewhere. Griffin IS New Orleans & Kenzie IS Boston.

But doesn’t this, to an extent, make sense.

In a genre like Fantasy, the protagonist is typically someone of low social stature, who is possessed of something that will be the catalyst for categorical change of the entire world (word used loosely). In crime fiction the often times we see that same singular protagonist railing against the system and throwing bricks at the temple. But the larger entity, very often wins, chugging along nearly unchanged but leaving the protag altered. So, if the larger forces absorb and integrate the protag then it makes sense that he is the city itself.

But on a more practical level the PI is someone who exists in different social circles and can maneuver easily in them. This device allows the protag to interact with a cross section of people from different socio/politico/economic strata and is effective in that it allows the author to infuse his chosen locale with life so that that the city becomes its own character in the book. And since the city so clearly becomes its own character then that may be why there is such a strong link between it and the charcters.

Let me say up front that I haven’t seen Dexter because I don’t have Showtime, but my impression of it is that it isn’t location specific. That this is a tale that COULD be told somewhere else. But I do have HBO and I look at something like The Wire and (putting aside the fact that I am from B-more) it absolutely cannot be told somewhere else.

I actually disagree with a lot of what Ingrid Black says but a trunicated version of the quote you provide does also apply to The Wire in that both sides of each season have an inherent knowledge of the city but that whole ghost in the machine business is a little bit of hooey if you ask me.

I haven’t seen Wall-E yet but will soon. But with all of the praise that it has been receiving it got me thinking about awards. Specifically the Oscars.

Much more so then any other studio Pixar has a stellar track record. Even the lesser Pixar movies are still quite good.

If, by the end of the year, an animated movie is the most critically acclaimed movie; if it’s the best movie of that year, could it ever win the best picture Oscar? Or does the presence of The Academy Award for Best Animated Feature forever preclude an animated movie from following in the footsteps of Beauty and the Beast? Is the animated feature Oscar a lesser award?

I hope that there doesn’t exist any prejudice towards animated films in the minds of voters.

The ultimate question may be ‘was Beauty and the Beast a precursor to an animated winner, or will it go down in history as a would be pretender a la A Midsummer Night’s Dream by Neil Gaiman?

“Of course, I was a normal member of the public now - I still had a badge, but the number was probably void. Fortunately, I’d worked with Missing persons enough times to know a couple of of the staff by name, and so I could call and ask for one of them personally. The sad fact is that missing people ended up in our city all the time, in various sates of mental and physical cohesion, and I was one of the few cops who had conspicuously cared about putting names to some of them and maybe sending them home. As currency went in Missing Persons, I was a rich man until proven otherwise” — The Cutting Crew by Steve Mosby

Yesterday’s post had to do with books that have possibly apocryphal legends that surround them.

One of which was by Charles Willeford.

But what about actual legendary books.

I’d say that the most legendary book in crime fiction is Grimhaven by Charles Willeford, the original sequel to Miami Blues. Story has it that he didn’t want Hoke Moseley to be a series character so after the huge success of Miami Blues he wrote what some consider to be one of the most nihilistic books ever to completely torpedo the idea of Hoke becoming one. The book was so dark and depressing that his publishers refused to publish it. He eventually wrote a new sequel and we were treated to more Hoke books.

So if this book exists on the hazy borderlands of legend and history then why did I use the word ‘actual’ above? Because here’s the kicker — the book actually still exists. It’s in the archives of the Broward County Library. It can be read but since some collectors made copies of it years ago it can no longer be copied. There it sits, so tantalizingly out of reach.

I really do want to read this book.

I do wonder if there are other legendary books for other genres though.

If a publisher were to secure the rights for Grimhaven I’m sure there is an eager audience waiting to snap it up.

I wonder if it can possibly live up to the expectations or if it would suffer like The Black Album by Prince (which seemed down right disappointing when it finally surfaced).

Sometimes books have legends that are associated with them. Whether the legends are apocryphal or not who knows but the legends ARE there.

Here are two:

-I Was Dora Suarez by Derek Raymond - The story goes that an editor or publisher read this in manuscript form, threw up all over his desk and refused to publish it.

-The Shark Infested Custard by Charles Willeford - It was written in the 70’s but was deemed too dark and depressing to publish. It was eventually published after Willeford died.

I wonder what other books have legends.

“After Bambi, he had been forced to live in cheap efficiency apartments, and he had even tried living in private homes with kitchen privileges. But he had gone deeper into debt as the years passes. He ran up large dental bills himself as his dentist tried vainly to save his teeth, but at last they were all extracted, and he was fitted with a complete set of grayish-blue dentures. These fragile-looking teeth were so patently false that they were the first things people noticed about Hoke when they met him.” –New Hope for the Dead by Charles Willeford

I apologize for the brevity.

I still find myself amazed that more people haven’t readRobert Ward. I say read because people are probably familiar with his work, even if they don’t realize it, given his screenwriting work on Hill Street Blues, NYPD Blue and others.

In 1985 Ward wrote a classic novel about out of work Baltimore steel workers called Red Baker that would become, over times, a cult classic. When I interviewed him this is what he had to say about it:

Robert Ward - I wasn’t really aware that there was a myth about my career. If that sounds like false modesty I assure you it’s not. Though I knew some people had read Red Baker I wasn’t aware of very many, and didn’t know it was a cult book until a couple of years ago when I went to my first Bouchercon (in Las Vegas) and other writers kept coming up to me ,saying, “Whoa your Bob ward. You wrote Red Baker.” I was knocked out that so many other writers knew of the book. Knocked out and truly surprised. And, of course, pleased.

From the opening line Red’s story would resonate with all who read it.

“The story I am about to tell you is how I, Red Baker, lost my job, my pride, my family and came damned close to losing my home and life, but through an act of ingenuity got them all (for the time being) back again.”

But Red Baker’s dramatic near fall from grace would prove to be just one side of the equation. 20+ years later Ward brought us Four Kinds of Rain and we finally got to see a character cast from the same mould as Red but instead make every single choice differently and the results are horrific, surreal and also terribly original resulting in one of the best novels of that year.

If I had the money I would buy a couple of thousand copies of Red Baker. Then I would give everyone at Bouchercon a copy after they have toured the Inner Harbor.

Over at Gawker there was this post on Dane Cook where they listed the rules for handling a heckler. So I wondered what would happen if I changed the word heckler to reviewer. Would such a change act as a guide to authors?

Dunno let’s find out.

Don’t engage a reviewer unless you have to.
This is the simplest rule of all, which Dane Cook flagrantly ignores. A rude comment on MySpace? Were any entertainer to take the time to personally respond to all of their online hate, they would have little time to do anything else (unless they were Dane Cook, who would just be chilling, regardless). Restrict your energies to those who are reviewing you in front of a large audience.

Turn the crowd against the reviewer.

This is accomplished by subtly placing yourself and the crowd together as one group, and positioning the reviewer as an outsider who is assaulting both of you. This is key. Don’t allow the crowd to merely be a neutral observer, refereeing the spat. If that happens, they may well decide the reviewer was right, because—let’s face it—you are a jerk. The crowd would never indict itself at the same time as you, though, so be buddies with the mob.

Always be funnier than your reviewer.

Goes without saying. If your name is Dane Cook, this could be a problem. If your reviewer is funnier than you, just call security and sit quietly.

Don’t let your mouth write checks your ass can’t cash.

That reviewer that just called you a pussy: Can you really kick his ass? If not, don’t say so. That literary critic who said you can’t string a sentence together: Is he a far better writer than you? Then don’t call him a hack. That commenter that pointed out your idiotic error: Are you really going to execute him? (Yes, you are). Always be sure you can back up what you say. Humiliation compounds at a geometric rate.