Reading California Fiction

SENIOR SPRING

     As it happens, I have a history with this book. Long ago, when I was an undergraduate at Michigan State, I used to take fiction breaks from my studying in the library. One novel I read, twenty minutes at a time, was Senior Spring. I never quite forgot the book but didn’t expect to run across it again. When I finally got a copy, I was surprised to discover something that I had forgotten -- that the story is set in California. The title of the 1955 paperback edition (cover at left) is Kiss the Night Away.

    Senior Spring by C. G. Lumbard. Simon and Schuster (1954), 243 pp.
    Steve Burnett is starting his final semester at Berkeley. An uncomfortable architecture major, he believes that his courses are too theoretical and other-worldly and fears that his work is becoming shoddy and unimaginative. Life in the fraternity house, on the other hand, remains pleasant and familiar. His roommate, Chalmers Grant, class president and ladies’ man, is often a pain. But the other guys are mostly all right, especially Johnny Stryko, an academic wizard who admires Steve’s artistic talent. Unfortunately, Steve’s girlfriend is also pleasant and familiar. When he meets beautiful and adventurous Cassy Kane, emotions erupt that foretell a bumpy ride ahead.
    This novel paints a convincing but limited portrait of undergraduate life some sixty years ago. Its look at fraternity life -- the parties and bull sessions and casual friendships -- has an air of authenticity. Steve, the narrator and protagonist, speaks from experience. He’s perhaps less career-oriented than college students today, but the attitudes he expresses toward classes and romance have probably not dated much over the years. Perhaps to insure the timelessness of the story, Lumbard focuses on fraternity men in a period when they were less representative than usual. Readers won’t learn much about returning veterans, who formed a conspicuous part of campus life in 1950 and had no interest in close male comradeship. All in all, this is an absorbing read that might well appeal to college students today.

THE GIRL AT THE CROSSROADS

    The Girl at the Crossroads by Jackson Gregory. Dodd, Mead (1940), 225 pp.
    Successful artist Jan Goyanza is making his first visit to the Sierra Nevada. Adventuresome, impetuous and possessed of “a truly superb physique,” he’s instantly drawn to the wild beauty of the mountains. Almost as quickly, he’s enraptured by Gia Condon, a sexy dancer at the Crossroads, a remote bar that draws a rough clientele of miners and ranchers. Others want her too, including crooked mine-owner Gordon Alford and his brutal henchman, Silas Kedge. When her sensuous dancing provokes a brawl, one of her admirers is murdered and Gia and Jan’s lives are endangered.
    The story has the essential elements of a bad silent movie. The characters are stereotypical and the action overblown. Despite the mountain setting, nearly everything happens indoors, as on a stage. The climax at least is unexpected, but it’s also unbelievable and unsatisfying. Jackson Gregory (1882-1943) wrote more than fifty novels, many of which were modern western adventures. Although his books apparently commanded a steady audience, nothing in The Girl at the Crossroads suggests that he was capable of more than light entertainment.

THE MARINA STREET GIRLS

    The purpose of libraries, as we all know, is to provide free access to books (and other materials) so that patrons don’t need to buy copies. Generally, books too obscure for public libraries find a place in university research libraries. And books too rare for all research libraries are available (via interlibrary loan) from one or more of them. Forming an exception to this pattern -- maybe the only one -- are paperback originals from the 1950s. All could have been obtained when printed, and many are still easy to find in bookstores. But research libraries don’t routinely collect them. The Marina Street Girls is a good example. At least thirty copies are available for sale on the internet, but according to WorldCat only one library has a copy. And it’s in Ohio.

    The Marina Street Girls by Rae Loomis. Ace Books (1953), 169 pp.
    Mama McLeod (born Maria Ochoa) runs the most popular brothel in Estrella del Mar, a Monterey-like town with a military base nearby. She anxiously seeks tokens of respectability while fending off anti-prostitution crusaders. Her current goal is to arrange a marriage between her granddaughter Bella Verdi and renowed pimp Averil “Admiral” Hamerigopian, the father of Bella’s son. But Mama needs to keep her own marriage intact too, now that Jay White, her fifth and best husband, may be getting too friendly with pretty store clerk Arlita Mackey. Also of concern are the lives of her employees, among them Dolly, the assistant manager; Jackie, the Admiral’s latest conquest; and clean-cut Nadine, who’s in love with one of the brothel’s frequent clients, Sergeant Danny Taggart.
    This novel invites comparison to John Steinbeck’s Cannery Row and Sweet Thursday. Like those books, it’s set in Monterey (thinly disguised) and features a cast of out-of-the-mainstream characters. To make the connection clearer, Rae Loomis has Steinbeck put in a brief anonymous appearance. The author adopts Steinbeck’s comically ironic tone but makes the characters grittier and their problems more serious. That they remain sympathetic is Loomis’s great achievement. The book avoids the twin perils of sensationalism (which paperback fans might have expected in 1953) and satire (which modern authors would probably deliver today). The Marina Street Girls still engages after more than half a century. Readers are well advised to head down to the library and check out a copy. (Oh, wait.)

THE BOOSTERS

    The Boosters by Mark Lee Luther. Bobbs-Merrill (1924), 352 pp.
    George Hammond’s placid life back east has disintegrated. He’s mourning the collapse of his architectural firm in the recession following World War I. His overbearing wife Alice is supporting the family with money from an inheritance dating back to the Gold Rush. And now he’s in Los Angeles trying to restart his career with the aid of Spencer Ward, his annoying brother-in-law. Others don’t share his disorientation. Carefree Son Milt, in his mid-twenties, finds work easily. Daughter Rose, just out of high school, seizes new social and business opportunities. And Alice happily begins bilking tenants in the apartment house she buys. George finally lands a job as a draftsman for a schlocky architect, but his spirits don’t begin to rise until he meets Anita Gray, Spencer’s ex-wife, who appreciates his talent and attitudes.
    The Boosters is usually credited as the first of the many coming-to-Los Angeles novels, in which the newly arrived protagonist is flummoxed by the weather, landscaping, architecture and overall oddness of the place. Coming under special scrutiny here are the residents’ boundless enthusiasm for their home town (hence the book’s title) and the city’s real estate boom, which seems to be making everybody rich. Luther maintains a consistently light-hearted tone as the Hammond family goes through one surprising episode after another. The author spends much time on the relationship between Spencer and Anita, perhaps because he finds Anita, a beautiful divorcée with a successful career, an especially L. A. sort of character. In any case, the book is still a fun read -- and an essential one for fans of Los Angeles fiction.

THE BEACH HOUSE

    Stephen Longstreet (1907-2002) was a guy with many interests and a remarkable capacity to turn out books. In a writing career than spanned more than fifty years, he produced forty-four novels under his own name and ten more under pseudonyms. He also published around seventy-five non-fiction works -- on art, music, history and even Jewish cooking. Longstreet was active in Hollywood as well, chalking up some twenty movie and television credits, including the screenplay for his earlier California novel, Stallion Road.

    The Beach House by Stephen Longstreet. Holt (1952), 366 pp.
    Mike Zelsmith, independent producer of high quality films, is preparing for his next project. He’s hired John Fennel, who’s been out of the country for a decade, to adapt one of Fennel’s novels for the screen. Zelsmith has his assistant and story editor, Walter Chase, working on the film and he’s hoping to feature his beautiful girlfriend, set designer Mollie Binning, in a lead role. Zelsmith, however, realizes that his relationship with Mollie, which is not secret though so far not sexual, will lead to trouble raising money. That’s because the man who usually provides funds, movie financier and father-in-law Edward Garoyan, wants Zelsmith to dump the girlfriend and restore his marriage.
    This novel does not quite get the job done. The story mostly follows Zelsmith, describing his actions and revealing his thoughts. But it never convincingly explains his passion for films or for Mollie. If he himself were more puzzled, the story might have been more intriguing. The other characters also lack depth and are defined less by what they do than by what others say about them. Supplementing the main narrative are entries from Fennel’s journal. Here Longstreet explicitly lays out some ideas about love, L. A. and the book’s characters -- ideas that are interesting enough but probably belong somewhere in the main story line. That said, the novel is an easy read and gives some sense of life on movieland’s margins. Even today it might appeal to dedicated fans of Hollywood fiction. A more nuts-and-bolts approach to a similar subject is Richard Brooks's The Producer (1951).

STALLION ROAD

    Stallion Road by Stephen Longstreet. Julian Messner (1945), 303 pp.
    At first it seems that Longstreet is going to construct a panoramic picture of California’s horse-breeding culture. He begins with an outsider, novelist Henry Purcell, as narrator. He adds a variety of characters to illustrate different aspects of the community. But then he loses track of the big picture and focuses on a few individuals. Most prominent among them is Larry Hanrahan, a full-time vet who raises stallions on his central coast ranch. He’s an earnest, straightforward guy whose hobby is developing an anthrax vaccine for the Army. Larry has only one flaw, gambling, and its consequences have left him strapped for cash. The banker’s wife, Daisy Otis, hopes to add adultery to his vices. Her chances appear dim, however, when Larry meets the androgynously pretty Fleace Teller, another horse breeder who needs money. It’s love at first sight, but the road to happiness is likely to be rocky. Their horses are set to compete for prizes and contracts. And Fleace has other suitors whom she finds attractive: Richmond Mallard, a horse-breeder who owns a restaurant and casino, and Henry, the narrator. Problems, both amorous and equine, arise as the story continues, and Longstreet resolves them in unexpected ways. Unfortunately, his writing style is more pedestrian, making the narrative drag on occasion. The book illustrates a popular reading choice from two generations ago -- the plot-driven novel set in contemporary America and featuring fairly normal people. Readers looking for that sort fiction today might well enjoy the book. Two added points: The movie of the same name, starring Ronald Reagan, often does not follow the novel, especially in its ending. And the book’s refusal to acknowledge the Coast Range and the Central Valley makes some of the action implausible.

THE GAME

    The Game by Jack London. Macmillan (1905), 182 pp.
    Joe Fleming and Genevieve Pritchard, flush with first love and scheduled to be married soon, are out looking at rugs. He’s young and handsome; she’s young and beautiful. But they are more than an attractive couple. Their purity and steadfastness make them exemplary members of Oakland’s working class. In Genevieve’s mind there’s just one problem: Joe’s love of prize fighting. Since the sport bolsters his ego and provides extra income, he doesn’t understand her misgivings. But to keep her happy Joe agrees to give up boxing after his next match. After flashing back to the early days of their courtship, the story moves ahead to the crucial fight.
    Explorations of gender differences don’t get much more elemental than this. Men, London says, are wired for violence. The most virtuous of them are as drawn to the fight as the most brutal. More than half the book focuses on the match: the smokey arena, the enthusiastic crowd, the nearly naked contestants, and the fight itself. London’s descriptions are vivid and detailed. And they’re given from Genevieve’s viewpoint. Disguised as a man, she discovers an all-male bastion that shocks and amazes. Women reading the book today might have the same reactions. A quick and easy read, this novella furnishes an exemplary introduction to London’s work. Downloads of the book are free.

AGAINST A DARKENING SKY

    Against a Darkening Sky by Janet Lewis. Doubleday, Doran and Co. (1943), 301 pp.
    Mary Perrault lives with her family on the outskirts of a small Santa Clara Valley town about thirty miles south of San Francisco. In her early fifties but looking younger, she’s dedicated primarily to raising her four children, especially her teenage daughter Melanie. Mary appreciates the rustic beauty of the area -- the story begins in 1928 -- and the companionship of her neighbor and childhood friend, Agnes Hardy. When Agnes and her children are killed in a traffic accident, Mary’s outlook on the world begins to change.
    Unfortunately, Mary is neither demonstrative nor introspective. So the story develops a one-thing-after-another quality. Although stuff happens, events have no larger meaning. Readers may suspect that Mary is becoming less secure, but the author does little to confirm these suspicions. (Something about economic conditions might have been appropriate as the story moves into the 1930s, for example.) The narrative sometimes drifts away to Melanie and her problems with love and work. Sadly, she is no more interesting than her mother. Mary’s son Duncan is featured in a couple episodes; her husband hardly gets a mention. In the end it’s not clear what the author is trying to do. Perhaps she took inspiration from Vice-President Henry Wallace’s 1942 declaration of “the century of the common man” and decided to show just how ordinary everyday life among common people could be.