Reading California Fiction

HIGH SIERRA

    High Sierra, though generally acknowledged to be one of America’s great gangster books, seems to have fallen through the cracks. It doesn’t have the following of lesser crime books. Maybe that’s because its style is realistic rather than naturalistic. Reading the book is thus not a guilty pleasure. W. R. Burnett (1899-1982) wrote three-dozen other novels and many screenplays during a forty-year career. His most famous book was the ground-breaking Little Caesar (1929).

    High Sierra by W. R. Burnett. Knopf (1940), 292 pp.
    Roy Earle, last of the Dillinger gang, is sprung from a Midwest prison to supervise a hotel robbery in the California resort of Tropico Springs. On his drive west he meets some folks who remind him of his rural past -- an elderly farm couple, Ma and Pa Goodhue, and their pretty but clubfooted granddaughter Velma. When Roy gets to his mountian hideout, he finds his would-be accomplices, Red and Babe, are lacking in criminal experience. Worse yet, they’re ready to fight over Babe’s girlfriend Marie, who is unexpectedly accompanying them. Roy begins to have doubts that the robbery will come off as planned.
    Roy Earle is a tough guy, but this is not your basic tough-guy story. Roy is a well-rounded character. He is nostalgic for the days of his youth, takes a genuine liking to women, and has ideas about crime and society. His moral code is well developed, though not quite traditional. He avoids unnecessary violence. Roy may be a hardened criminal, but he’s not that different from the rest of us. The book’s other characters seem like real people as well. The plot is pure (and by this time familiar) melodrama. It maintains tension because readers know the general outline of what is going to happen but not the details. The book is surprisingly compelling and deserves a larger audience than it seems to have.

THE FLUTTER OF AN EYELID

    I’ve decided not to give away the ending of this book, even though it is one of the main reasons the book is of interest to literary scholars today. It’s just a matter of principle: Anyone reading this probably already knows how the novel ends. Chris at escapgrace has an informative discussion of the book’s version of Aimee Semple McPherson. The illustration at the left by Lynd Ward is from the title page.

    The Flutter of an Eyelid by Myron Brinig. Farrar and Rinehart (1933), 310 pp.
    When Caslon Roanoke, author of dreary New England novels, arrives in Los Angeles, he's struck first by the brilliance of the sunlight. After he moves into his Spanish-style rental house, located in a Laguna Beach-like enclave, he comes to see his neighbors an unfettered products of their welcoming environment. Some are especially intriguing: the beautiful Sylvia Prowse, still longing for her estranged husband; a sensually thwarted antique dealer, Sol Mosier; Mrs. Forgate, reputed murderer of husbands, who may be a threat to her young boyfriend, Antonio, because he’s involved with Hubert Daché, an aspiring poet from Texas; Sylvia’s two unsuccessful suitors, handsome lifeguard Lad Greengable and androgynous musician Jacqueline (Jack) Frear; and — most dramatic of all famed evangelist Angela Flower. Roanoke decides to construct his new novel around the lives of these people.
    This book is notable both for its message and its narrative strategy. Brinig points out the limitations of the California Dream. The residents of the beach colony seem to have it all  sunshine, lovely houses, freedom from everyday concerns — but they aren’t enjoying blissful hedonism. In fact, they are wracked by sexual frustrations that inland Angelinos don’t experience. By the time the action goes way over the top — a reincarnation of Jesus walks upon the ocean — it’s clear that Brinig is playing with the author/narrator distinction. What we’re reading is not wholly his story, what “really happened” in some fictional sense, but also what Caslon Roanoke is making up for his own novel. Brinig manages to keep everything under control as the tale becomes stranger. All in all, this is an entertaining if offbeat read.

FAST ONE

    Paul Cain was the pseudonym of George Ruric, who was born George Carrol Sims in 1902. Fast One, created from five stories he published in Black Mask, was his only novel. He wrote sporadically for the screen in the 1930s and 1940s. How he made a living after than is something of a mystery. He died in 1966. Fast One is still in print. It may, incidentally, be the only California novel to refer to its main female character just by her last name and to do so repeatedly.

    Fast One by Paul Cain. Doubleday, Doran and Co. (1933), 304 pp.
    Underworld protection specialist Gerry Kells has been enjoying his stay in Los Angeles. He's made some friends and has been winning consistently on the races. He meets with Jack Rose, the mob’s local gambling boss. Rose owes him $2,400 on a bet but wants to talk about something else -- hiring Kells as muscle for a gambling ship he and Doc Haardt are just about to open. Kells, affiliated with rival ship owner Grant Fay, turns down the job. Responding to a phone call, he goes to see Dave Perry, a shady trucking operator whose wife, Ruth, is Kells’s lover. Just as he arrives, Doc Haardt is shot dead in the Perrys’ apartment. Kells soon realizes that he’s being framed for the murder. Finding the real killer is only the first of his problems.
    Raymond Chandler called this novel “the high point in the ultra hard-boiled manner” -- and with good reason. Gerry Kells displays loyalty to his friends but is otherwise without scruple. He’s just as violent and brutal as the gangsters he associates with. They, in turn, take advantage of the corruption of local police and politicians to engage in liquor and drug smuggling. The top racketeers are not satisfied with profits, however; each schemes eliminate the opposition. The book is written in a slam-bang style with simple words and short sentences. The plot is not always easy to follow, but the action seldom lets up. The narrative stays focused on Kells as he careens from one location to another. The ending may be surprising because it does not abandon the overall logic of the story. Fans of tough-guy fiction won’t want to miss this book.

THIEVES' MARKET

    In the introduction to the 1997 edition of this book, mention is made of an unpublished novel by Bezzerides. It was called Not Too Big a Dream and was based on his immigrant father’s belief that “he would get rich in America.” I don’t know why it was never published (though proletarian novels were out of vogue by 1950) or what happened to the manuscript. But if it has the vigor of this book, it might well be worth reading.

    Thieves’ Market by A. I. Bezzerides. Scribner’s (1949), 233 pp.
    Nick Garcos awakes fearing that his life will go the way of his recently deceased father's: He will work tirelessly for decades, fail to please a cold and selfish wife, and die a shriveled failure. After a quarrel with his boss, Nick quits his job loading trucks at one of Fresno's packing houses. He concocts a scheme to escape a life of fruitless and unappreciated work. He will steal his father's life insurance settlement, go to Los Angeles to buy a war-surplus truck, and set himself up as an independent hauler of produce. It turns out to be a plan more easily imagined than executed.
    The Invisible Hand does not seem to be guiding Bezzerides's version of the free enterprise system. The market -- at least the San Francisco produce market -- is anything but self-regulating. Market forces are tough guys with clubs, and anyone trading there must expect deceit and danger. It’s a pretty straightforward metaphor. Fortunately, once the action starts, Bezzerides keeps it in the background. He relies instead on fast-paced writing and vivid descriptions to capture the reader's attention. Anyone hoping for an uplifting American success story will be disappointed. Those with a cynical streak are likely to enjoy the book.

SANTA LUCIA

    Mary Austin (1868-1934) is best known for her appreciation of unspoiled landscape and native people. Land of Little Rain (1903), a series of sketches of the flora and fauna in southeastern California, is her most famous book. In the last twenty years her feminist writings have attracted attention. In all, she wrote thirty-one books during her lifetime. Several collections of her short work have appeared since.

    Santa Lucia by Mary Austin. Harper and Brothers (1908), 346 pp.
    Three women in their early twenties face different problems in a small city south of San Francisco. Newly married Serena Lindley realizes that she knows little about her lawyer husband. Michael Caldwell, deeply attached to her father, begins to worry that she may never marry. And Julia Maybury, who seems to exploit men rather than covet them, is having trouble establishing a monogamous relationship with anyone. All three women are keeping an eye on Antrim Stairs, a recently arrived biology professor. In the next year they will solve their respective problems in one way or another.
    Although the book deals with issues of love and marriage, it stays away from the conventions of the romance novel. Each of the main characters is too complex to be satisfied by an all-fulfilling soulmate. All three stories are developed adequately. As the novel continues, however, the author turns most of her attention to the discontented Julia. Her struggles are the most dramatic and her behavior the most surprising. Unfortunately, Austin’s langourous writing style lessens the the impact of her story. On the other hand, she presents many bucolic (and now barely imaginable) descriptions of what is presumably meant to be the Santa Clara Valley. The book, which is subtitled “A Common Story,” is probably of most interest today for its depiction of women at the turn of the last century.

LOVERS SHOULD MARRY

    Modern readers may be more struck by the book's dedication -- “For Dashiell Hammett” -- than its content. Nell Martin (1890?-1961) was Hammett’s girlfriend in the late 1920s and early 1930s. He dedicated his favorite book, The Glass Key (1931), to her. Martin’s writing career seems to have lasted less than a decade. She produced a spate of short stories in the mid-1920s, then published six books. Lovers Should Marry is the last of her novels.

    Lovers Should Marry by Nell Martin. Macauley (1933), 316 pp.
    Jerry Thayer is the dynamic half of a new real estate firm in Los Angeles. Young and beautiful, she has no qualms about using unconventional methods to achieve business success. Her partner and fiancé, Bill Adams, is good looking but lacks imagination. He is constantly berating Jerry about doing one wrong thing or another. His deeper concern is that she will slip from his grasp -- to start a movie career, for example. The sooner they get married, the happier he will be. When Jerry inadvertently purchases a luxury car, Bill thinks her irresponsibility has gone too far. But much is yet to come.
    This is a comic novel that bounces from one mildly amusing episode to another. Much of the humor comes from the notion, later appropriated by sitcoms, that bickering couples are funny. The author seems of two minds here. Jerry and Bill's recurring arguments may be the spice that keeps their love-life going or may be a sign of their basic incompatibility. The book deserves some credit for depicting real estate agents in action. Buying, developing and selling land has long been a major economic force in California (and Los Angeles in particular) but seldom the subject of literary exploration. Generally, however, the author keeps big ideas well submerged.

VANDOVER AND THE BRUTE

    You have to wonder what Frank Norris (1870-1902) would have produced if he had lived as long as his contemporary, Theodore Dreiser (1871-1945). Norris had already published five novels and a fair amount of criticism by the time of his death. On the way was his sixth novel, The Pit (1903), a piece of sluggish realism that was to have been the second part of his trilogy about wheat. No one knows, of course, how far he would have continued in this vein. But he might have done better to return to relationships between men and women, a key aspect of Vandover and the Brute, his first novel, and other early works.

    Vandover and the Brute by Frank Norris. Doubleday, Page and Co. (1914), 354 pp.
    After graduating from Harvard, Vandover returns to San Francisco to become an artist. He works diligently and seems to be having some success. He spends his free time among other young men of his social class. Vandover realizes that he does not share all their experiences -- especially sexual ones. A “desire of vice” begins to grow. He decides to take action when he meets a prostitute in a “fast café.” This and similar encounters change his attitudes toward women and social convention generally. Vandover finds that the pure and hardworking side of his personality is increasingly in conflict with its sensuous and brutish side. Resolving this conflict becomes more and more difficult as his life continues.
    This book was published posthumously and (as Norris’s brother says in the introduction) is closer to a first draft than a final version. The plot is not fully worked out. Some episodes seem irrelevant and others redundant. Vandover’s fate is unclear at the end. Still, the novel has its virtues. The descriptions, especially those of a shipwreck and an anxiety attack, are vivid and compelling. The underlying ideas—taken from Zola, Darwin, Dostoyevsky, and some predecessor of Freud—are put together in a strange but not inconsistent way. General readers may find the whole thing a bit too peculiar, but students of American literary or intellectual history could conclude that the book is (to use one of its many slang phrases) “hot stuff.”

MEMORY AND DESIRE

    Wives in moviedom's upper crust do not come off very well in most novels. They usually can be summarized in a word or two -- bitchy, shallow, acquisitive, etc. They are seldom sympathetic. So it's a happy surprise to come across one presented in depth. Leonora Hornblow (1920-2005) was a Hollywood wife herself. Her husband was Arthur Hornblow Jr., a successful film producer for more than twenty-five years. She published only one other book, The Love Seekers (1958).

    Memory and Desire by Leonora Hornblow. Random House (1950), 211 pp.
    Gordon Cram, a married New York novelist with a mongoloid son, is on one of his recurrent screenwriting stints in Hollywood. He's fallen out of love with his wife, Louise, and ordinarily would be happy just to escape his marriage for awhile. But on this visit to Los Angeles, something unusual has happened. He has taken up with a beautiful divorcee, Alma Tavis. Formerly a model, she lives more than comfortably on her divorce settlement. Gordon has developed strong feelings for Alma, though they're not as strong as her feelings for him.
    This is a straightforward story about love and marriage, though it's not close to a standard romance. The writer is a closed-in sort of guy who is afraid of love. The women live for nothing else. Hornblow makes it pretty clear from the beginning how the affair in Hollywood is going to turn out. So the ending is no surprise. The characters are well drawn, though they lack the intensity of those in the similarly plotted My Face for the World to See. The point of view alternates among the three main characters. As an insider herself, Hornblow refuses to either glamorize or satirize life among moviedom’s rich and successful. Because the characters are subject to various interpretations, the book would probably make an excellent reading group choice.

MIMI

    You might imagine that novels about the film industry in its Golden Age would all be listed and analyzed by this time. Yet paperback originals and their hardcover predecessors (primarily published by Godwin and Phoenix) have often fallen through the cracks. The last eight books I've reviewed depict some aspect of the movie business. Five of those published before 1960 -- Gentleman from Parnassus, Burn, Baby, Burn!,  Flowers for the Living, The Tycoon and the Tigress, and now Mimi -- get no entry in Slide's The Hollywood Novel (1995), though they certainly belong there. And even their authors aren't listed in Baird and Greenwood's Annotated Bibliography of California Fiction (1971). There's bibliographical work to be done here.

    Mimi by Robert W. Taylor. Pyramid Books (1953), 158 pp.
    Erstwhile novelist Mimi Germaine, pushing fifty and low on cash, fears her life is falling apart. Her cottage north of Sunset Boulevard is in a shambles. She drinks too much and her good looks are fading. Aspiring actor Roland King, her much younger boyfriend, is getting uppity. Her son Jamie is hanging around with young men who are obviously gay. And her best friend, Naomi Burton, has just made a pass at her. Only weary police inspector Peter Ordway, who has taken a shine to her, offers the possibility of protection from the forces that are closing in on her.
    This is about as serious an effort to expose the underside of Hollywood as a paperback original is likely to deliver. Degradation and corruption are everywhere. Yet the characters are not unsympathetic and their motives are understandable. The author is not just interested in Mimi. He shows that each character is desperate in his or her own way. Roland needs to kindle his acting career; Naomi must save her shaky marriage; Jamie faces issues of sexual orientation; Peter hopes to add some spark to his deadening life. To bring these problems into sharper focus, the author shifts the point of view from one character to another. This said, the book isn't entirely successful, largely because of an unwarranted plot turn, perhaps required by the publisher, toward the end. The novel may be a little grim for modern tastes, but it will hold the reader's attention.

THE TYCOON AND THE TIGRESS

    In selecting paperback originals I've tried (not always successfully) to stay away from detective stories. These books feature familiar protagonists, multiple murders and culprits to be discovered. Instead, I've been looking for more character-driven novels, in which solving the crime (and there usually is one) is not an important part of the plot. Often the protagonist is a romanticized version of the intended reader -- an unattached thirtyish guy who is a bit tougher, a bit more accomplished, and way more attractive than your average Joe. The Tycoon and the Tigress offers such a character.

    The Tycoon and the Tigress by William Cox. Fawcett Gold Medal (1958), 188 pp.
    Bob Decker, once a tennis star and army officer, now an engineer, goes to work for Foster Kane, an oil magnate and movie mogul. Decker discovers that the nature of his new job depends on passing character tests devised by Kane. The women he meets -- fading movie star Mona Hayes, more-than-a-secretary Anne Meredith, and Kane's fiery wife Madge -- all find him attractive, but their lives seem to revolve around Kane. Despite the warnings of a cynical screenwriter friend, Bones Lahaffy, Decker likes his new life in Southern California. As he gets to know his recent acquaintances better, however, his misgivings begin to grow.
    This book works better in concept than execution. The author begins by creating Bob Decker, a worldly but virtuous protagonist who has no understanding of life in Hollywood. At first Decker finds everything pretty wonderful though slightly puzzling. Then he gets beneath the veneer of sumptuousness to the underlying corruption. All of this happens quickly and somewhat implausibly. A more serious problem is that Foster Kane is too big a figure to be a supporting player. He and his relationships should be the center of the novel. Using a shorthand reference to the famous movie does not provide an adequate substitute for exploring the complexity of the situation. So the book is never quite satisfying. Still, it's readable enough and may entertain fans of Citizen Kane or the Hollywood novel.