SUMMER’S HERE…AND THE TIME IS RIGHT FOR TURNING MY BRAIN INTO A BLUNT OBJECT (Monthly Book Report: June, 2015)

Boy, the pulps are taking over. I may start eating broccoli again soon but, for now, it’s strictly cheeseburgers:

The Shot (Philip Kerr, 1999)

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Kerr is probably best known for his Bernie Gunther series, of which I read the first three some years back. Here, as there, he doesn’t expend a lot of effort on style. I gather he strictly rises and falls on the quality of his ideas.

The idea here is a good one. A shadow version of the Kennedy Assassination that holds its tension nicely until it takes one turn too many at the very end (or maybe just finally takes a wrong turn). As such things go, it’s a bit better than Don DeLillo’s crit-friendly Libra, though not nearly as good as James Ellroy’s fever dream American Tabloid, which is almost certainly the best novel ever written by a pud-pulling fascist.

A Deadly Shade of Gold (John D. MacDonald, 1965)

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Given the setup–an old friend is murdered over Aztec gold and McGee wants to help his woman find both the gold and the killer–I had hopes our hero would avoid the sex therapy.

He doesn’t, and, worse, his failure doesn’t ring true. But it’s a small complaint. This is the best and most ambitious of the series so far. It’s nearly twice the prescribed formula’s length and that length allows the formula to open up. Of course, we have the usual sharp socio-political insights, some of them even weighing in on the future, as first-rate pulp has to do in order to remain first rate. So we get McGee on the burgeoning Education Industry:

“It was a building to turn out the men who could house fabulous technicians with that contempt for every other field of human knowledge which only the truly ignorant can achieve. It was a place to train ants to invent insecticides.”

But here, that’s just the setup. The hero is swimming with the sharks soon enough and the real reward is a tangled-but-plausible plot that moves from Miami’s Cuban exile community to the high art antique world (where McGee, for once, actually trades sex for information, though he’s improbably decent enough to feel bad about it) to Mexico’s second tier resorts to a washed-out California paradise nobody in their right mind would ever want to live in, all without dropping a stitch. Somewhere in there, the ugly elements of our current predicament emerge, crouching, waiting to take form.

And, hey, because it’s John D. MacDonald, you can have fun, too. If that’s your thing.

Bright Orange for the Shroud (John D. MacDonald, 1965)

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The sub-plot is a fairly interesting twist. One of McGee’s sex-therapy successes, Chookie the dancer, provides similar therapy for a down-and-outer who comes limping back into their lives after he’s been taken for a ride by a gold-digger who turns out to be part of a larger, nastier shakedown. Not to give anything away, but Chookie and the down-and-outer end up getting married.

Not until they’ve outlasted one of MacDonald’s truly terrifying villains.

It was MacDonald who created the role Robert Mitchum defined in the original Cape Fear (a role that Mitchum strode through with the kind of easy menace such men actually possess in life and which thoroughly defeated Robert DeNiro when he gave it a go a generation later). He repeated a version of it in the kick-starter for the McGee series and it’s hard to believe he can take it any further than he does here with Boo Waxwell, who defines the middle-class fear of the hillbilly so well he jumps off the page and into the nervous system.

You want to know why people carry guns?

Because Travis McGee is a fine fantasy.

In my part of the world, Boo Waxwell’s always around somewhere.

Darker Than Amber (John D. MacDonald, 1966)

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This one’s notable mostly for the first serious involvement of Meyer (McGee’s Watson) in one of the cases. It works smoothly enough and there’s always the pleasure of the writer honing in on the faces-behind-the-faces who generate so much of the world’s misery (Meyer: “A corporate financial statement is the most nonspecific thing there is. If a man can’t read the lines between the lines between the lines, he might as well stuff his money into a hollow tree.”…there’s our long journey down the rat-hole in a nutshell).

But, after a promising beginning, the plot doesn’t amount to much. Putting McGee up against a bunch of second-raters isn’t likely to generate much tension. Granted, it’s always harder to sustain interest once a formula’s elements become too comfortably familiar, but I don’t think that’s the reason this was the first in the series that had me checking page numbers and looking at my watch.

Start finding out for sure, next month I guess.

Til then…