Reading California Fiction

BITTEN APPLES

    I haven’t been able to learn much about Ramsay Williams (1917-1981). He never published another novel or any short stories. His sporadic acting credits in film and television suggest that he may have shared some of the job-hunting experiences of his protagonist in Bitten Apples. Curiously, although Williams was an American, the book was published only in England. My copy had a career in the Skelmersdale branch of the Lancastershire public library and as a rental in the day-by-day service of W. H. Smith.

    Bitten Apples by Ramsay Williams. MacGibbon & Kee (1960), 223 pp.
    Conrad Eldred, a stage actor pushing 40, arrives in Hollywood to begin a movie career. He contacts Luke Barney, a friend from earlier days in New York who has become a major film star. Luke works hard at his job and enjoys its benefits, his large home in the hills, his plentiful liquor supply, and his unlimited access to beautiful starlets. Conrad isn’t attracted to any of this, particularly its belittlement of women. He’s focused on acting, and although competition is stiff, the studios are fading and he doesn't even have an agent, he’s confident he’ll find steady work. He also has a less salient goal. If an attractive woman, one who’s not hustling to get ahead in Hollywood, should show up, he’s readier than he realizes to begin a relationship.
    The author then puts Conrad’s thespian job quest on hold for awhile and turns the story away from the movie business and toward Conrad’s lifetime search for a soulmate. This redirection is handled fairly smoothly but may make readers wonder whether the plot is straying off track. It’s not. Williams keeps everything under control, and the novel works as intended. He sometimes employs stereotypes (the minor characters at Hollywood get-togethers are uniformly shallow and self-interested) but he handles the friendship between Luke and Conrad with knowing sensitivity. Readers may wish for more action -- less telling and more showing. And they may ultimately ask themselves if they missed some crucial foreshadowing when they get to the book’s surprise ending.

THE DEER PARK (REVISED)

    I've been trying to put together a book about California fiction in the 1950s. That's has caused me to revise some of my previous comments by adding information about the authors and details about the books. Here's an example:      Norman Mailer (1923-2007) was one of the most famous literary figures of the twentieth century. In addition to eleven novels, he wrote poems, screenplays, political reportage, autobiographies, and dozens of magazine and journal articles. Mailer came to Hollywood after the success of The Naked and the Dead (1948) to write for the movies and gather material for a Hollywood novel. Apparently, neither the work nor the locale did much to inspire him. The Deer Park was such a critical failure that Mailer did not try another novel for eleven years. Even so, it is available today in more than 800 libraries in the United States and 300 more overseas. So it deservedly wins my award as the most overrated California novel of the 1950s.

    The Deer Park by Norman Mailer. Putnam (1955), 375 pp.
    A former Air Force pilot, sometimes called Sergius O’Shaugnessy, arrives in a desert resort community after the Korean War hoping to end a spell of sexual impotence. There he meets various displaced Hollywood types. The group includes Dorothea O’Faye, a wealthy former showgirl and gossip columnist who presides over a “court” of hangers-on; Marion Faye, her resentful son and small-time pimp; oil magnate Martin Pelley, her current boyfriend; Jennings James, her publicity man from twenty-five years before; and Charles Eitel, a washed-up director fighting the blacklist. As the story continues, they and others O’Shaugnessy meets become involved in diverse sexual interludes.
    This was Mailer’s third novel and the one that presumably inspired him to become an essayist and literary personality. He seems to trying to show the dissipation of those connected to the movie business by chronicling their sexual relationships. None of the characters is sympathetic or especially interesting. Their affairs are more tedious than exciting. Adding to readers’ detachment is Mailer’s use of O’Shaugnessy as the first person narrator. He puts nothing resembling excitement in his recounting of events. In addition, he is often telling stories second-hand or simply making them up from sources he could not know. Mailer fans may have some interest in this book. Others should probably look elsewhere for a serious Hollywood novel.

NAKED IN BABYLON

    I’m not sure whether readers knew it at the time, but several characters in Naked in Babylon were based on real people: James Dean, Montgomery Clift, Dennis Hopper and even the author herself. Gwen Davis (b. 1936) was finishing her master’s degree at Stanford when the novel was published. She’s gone on to write twenty-two more books, the latest in 2012.

    Naked in Babylon by Gwen Davis. NAL Signet (1960) 222 pp.
    Fresh out of college, Jill Miller moves to California to launch a film career. She attends a party on her first evening in Los Angeles and encounters some people who will impact her new life. With the exception of gossip columnist J. P. Melvin, all are actors connected in some way to screen idol Johnny King, killed in a car crash two years before. Weary star Jason Stone acted as Johnny’s mentor; stage performer Stephen Ryder is touted as his successor; randy starlet Robin McKay was his lover; teenager Linus had a part in his final movie; and a former TV host named Carla has become unusually nasty since his death. Jill likes hanging around with these folks, but her quick wit, cautious behavior and high moral standards do not make her an easy fit.
    This is one of those paperback originals with serious literary aspirations. Davis doesn’t rely on snappy sentences and action sequences to sustain readers’ attention. Instead, she focuses her picture of the movie business directly on the participants of most interest to the public. Producers, directors, writers and the details of filmmaking are missing. So are married people and any sense of domestic stability. The characters are pretty much at loose ends. The successful ones feel insecure and crave publicity. Those nearer the margins smoke dope and show little interest getting real jobs. The author sometimes just hints at what’s going on. Thus modern readers could be more likely to pick up on the drugs (and the sexual proclivities of gay characters) than those of sixty years ago. Davis may not quite fulfill her ambitions. She loses track of Jill in the middle of the book, for example, and doesn’t put the obsession with Johnny King in clear perspective. But she moves the story right along, has an ear for dialogue, and writes nothing that seems implausible. Fans of Hollywood novels are likely to enjoy the book.

RIDERS TO THE STARS

    As far as I can tell, Robert Smith (1914-1988) had a two-part Hollywood career. He began in the mid-1940s as a screenwriter, sharing his first credit with Ayn Rand in 1945 and working steadily until 1960. By that time had switched most of his attention to art direction, working first for television and then for the movies. Riders to the Stars was his only novel -- and it wasn’t entirely his, since he “novelized” a screenplay by Curt Siodmak rather than starting from scratch. Only attentive readers will find his name in the book.

    Riders to the Stars by Robert Smith. Ballantine Books (1953), 166 pp.
At a desert army base east of Los Angeles, Don Stanton leads the team taking the next step in America’s space program. Assisting him are second-in-command Paul Dryden, psychologist Keith Delmar, and space medicine researcher Jane Flynn. Their problem is discovering why meteors survive entry into the lower atmosphere but rockets burn up. Their proposed solution involves selecting pilots well qualified to fly a mission in thermosphere, 400 miles above the earth’s surface. A dozen men are asked to volunteer for the assignment. Among them are bored mathematician Jerry Lockwood, high-strung physicist Walter Gordon, and metallurgist Richard Stanton, son of the project leader.
The story reads like an amalgamation of Winged Victory, a play and movie about pilot training during World War II, and the real-life process of selecting and readying Mercury astronauts, which was still five years away when the book was published. The author operates on the realistic fringe of science fiction. The overall project may be a bit far-fetched and the time frame way too short, but the setting, testing procedures, and technological details seem plausible. And the characters have personality traits that could have been convincingly fleshed out if the novel had gone on longer. As it is, the book is a quick read that might find an appreciative modern audience. Incidentally, folks interested in gender representation could be in for a treat. All the men in the story have Ph.D.s and are usually called “Doctor.” The only woman has an M.D. but is routinely referred to as “Miss Flynn.”

THE SEEKER

    Allen Wheelis (1915-2007) had a long career as a psychotherapist. After the requisite training and a stint as a medical officer during World War II, he moved to San Francisco in 1954 and set up a private practice which continued until his death. He wrote more than a dozen books, including four novels, which focused on psychological issues.

    The Seeker by Allen Wheelis. Random House (1960), 242 pp.
    Oliver, a successful psychoanalyst at the Harrington Foundation in Vermont, is growing increasingly dissatisfied with his life. He has lost interest in his research, which his colleagues consider ground-breaking, and is coming to believe that psychoanalysis itself is either hoax or delusion. He finds no joy in his sexual relationships, neither with wife Aggie or lover Sonya Hartman. Oliver resists the idea, broached by his supervisor and mentor, Stanley Nichols, that his search for meaning should be directed inward through therapy rather than outward through changes in attitudes and behavior. He soon decides that his quest should be made in California.
    In the remaining two chapters, “The Narcissist” and “The Sojourner,” Oliver ponders important questions. Can meaning be found in existing ideologies? Is selfishness a satisfactory response to a purposeless life? Is contributing to the advancement of society merely a source of ego gratification? And so on. Readers may find that Wheelis spends too much time exploring big issues and not enough humanizing his characters. As a result the book may sometimes be a tough slog. But it is a novel after all. So the thoughts of the first-person narrator (as all psychotherapists will avow) do not provide the ultimate explanation of his behavior. Oliver, for example, never takes any responsibility for what happens to his wife. It remains an open question whether the book, which Wheelis based to some extent on his own life, offers a tale of spiritual inquiry, rationalization, or perhaps even deception. In any case, readers with an interest in psychology may get caught up in the book.

KILL THE BOSS GOOD-BY

    Peter Rabe (1921-1990) was born in Germany, came with his family to the United States in 1938, and later received a Ph.D. in Psychology. After failing to find satisfying work in that field, he took up crime fiction. He wrote eighteen novels, all published as paperback originals, between 1955 and 1960. Rabe then cut back on his writing and returned to academe as a psychology professor. Several of his books (including this one) have been reprinted.

    Kill the Boss Good-By by Peter Rabe. Fawcett Gold Medal (1956), 126 pp.
    Tom Fell handles gambling operations in San Pietro, site of a popular racetrack northeast of Los Angeles. He’s spent the past month at a sanitarium, hoping to calm his manic tendencies. His therapist, Dr. Emilson, thinks he should stay and rest. But Cripp Jordan, his assistant, worries that Fell’s absence is permitting Pander, his second in command, to seize control of the business. Fell returns home, pleasing his wife, Janice, but not allaying the concerns of his associates, especially Herb Sutterfield, the police commissioner, who has not received the latest payment of protection money. Meanwhile, the leaders of the Los Angeles syndicate seem ready, at least for the moment, to let Fell and Pander resolve their power struggle without interference.
    This book has several distinct virtues. The writing is crisp and helps to build tension through the use of short, staccato sentences. The author keeps the pressure on by limiting scenes of violence. Minor characters are well drawn and fill in a convincing scene of underworld activity in an ordinary city. The protagonist, on the other hand, may need further delineation, since his frenzied behavior is not associated with later feelings of depression or inadequacy. In addition, the relationship between his wife and the police commissioner deserves more attention, and the value of several scenes needs to be clearer. So Rabe should probably have spent more time figuring everything out. Even so, fans of crime novels (or of manic personalities) will have little trouble getting involved in the book.

FOOL'S GOLD

    Dolores Hitchens (1907-1973) did not publish paperback originals, but nonetheless her output was impressive. She produced some forty-five books in a career that began in 1938 and continued until her death. Only occasionally did she stray from standard puzzle mysteries, many of which featured a cat named Samantha, move into other crime stories, even those about hard-boiled detectives. She used three pseudonyms (Dolan Birkley, Noel Burke and D . B. Olsen) and also co-authored five novels with her husband, Bert.

    Fool’s Gold by Dolores Hitchens. Doubleday (1958), 187 pp.
    Skip and Eddie, long-time buddies now in their early 20s, have both compiled police records and spent time in custody. They are taking night classes but don’t see much future for themselves. But as Skip gets to know Karen, a young classmate, he formulates a plan. She’s employed as a companion to Mrs. Haverman, who has a big, old house overlooking the Arroyo Seco. It turns out that the old lady’s former son-in-law, a Las Vegas hotel owner named Stolz, brings bundles of cash on his periodic visits. Skip figures that if Karen can find where the money is hidden he and Eddy can sneak into the house and snatch it. He outlines the scheme to his uncle Willy, an ex-con with underworld contacts. Willy thinks Skip will need help from more experienced criminals if the plan is to succeed.
    Readers, of course, know from the title that the plan isn't going to work. It has too many players and too many variables to succeed. So the questions focus on what will go wrong and how disastrous the failure will be. Hitchens presents the characters in enough depth to create sympathy for the characters. Skip, though his career prospects are pretty dim, isn’t a lost cause. He needs discouragement, not aid, from uncle Willy, who in turn actually thinks he’s doing the right thing. Eddie and Karen need more life experiences. Then they might see they have less at stake with Skip -- a long friendship, prospects for romance -- than they imagine. Minor characters receive attention as well. Hitchens moves the viewpoint around as she builds tension. Nothing prevents the book from entertaining a modern audience.

SKYPORT

    Curt Siodmak (1902-2000) had a writing career that spanned seventy years. He was born in Germany and, after receiving a Ph.D. in Mathematics, became involved in the film industry there. The rise of the Nazis sent him first to France, then to England, and finally in 1937 to the United States. He’s best known today for his work in the horror genre, especially the screenplay for The Wolfman (1941) and the novel Donovan’s Brain (1943). An earlier foray into science fiction was Riders to the Stars (both novel and screenplay, 1954).

    Skyport by Curt Siodmak. Crown (1959), 159 pp.
Star metallurgist Lee Powers is planning a dramatic new project, the construction of a large hotel to be located in orbit about 1,000 miles above the Earth’s surface. Technological problems have been solved. Architect Sven Sorenson is prepared to design the building. What Powers needs now is financing. Hotel magnate Tom Wharton is on board; others with money to invest can probably be convinced. But the key player is megalomaniacal rocket builder Cecil Kettner. Kettner has manufacturing facilities, a large staff that includes veteran test pilot Mike Ives and beautiful secretary Angela Loring, and a discontented daughter, Monica, who might prove helpful if her father tries to seize control from Powers. If Kettner can get what he wants, the project will be ready to begin.
    Modern readers know that the journey from the first sputnik to the international space station has taken more than sixty years. So they might read this book as a space fantasy filled with outmoded details. But the novel is not set in the distant future. The story proceeds on the premise that the building of an orbiting hotel (a “luxury resort,” actually) could be happening nearly at the moment that readers are learning about it. Siodmak eventually shows that the scheme has it difficulties. Mostly, however, he’s interested in machinations down on the ground, where characters are vying for fame and power. Modern readers may need to suppress some expectations to fully appreciate the book.

JILL'S HOLLYWOOD ASSIGNMENT

    A friend of mine recently referred me to piece in the New York Times called “In Praise of the ‘Career Romance.’” The author, Sadie Stein, described novels from about sixty years ago which told of young career women who achieved important successes in their jobs. One of images accompanying the article showed the jacket of Jill’s Hollywood Assignment, a book I’d acquired but hadn’t yet read. I decided this was the time to do it. But the story went off in an odd direction that defied feminist sensibility (see below). Was the author, Marguerite Nelson, some sort of traitor to her sex? No, I soon discovered: The book was actually written by Lee Floren (1910-1995), one of America’s most prolific novelists. He was best known for his westerns, but he dabbled in other genres as well, including, it seems, “Career Romances.”

    Jill’s Hollywood Assignment by Marguerite Nelson. Avalon Books (1958), 220 pp.
    Jill Lohman, only two years out of journalism school in Montana, already stands in line for a promotion at her Hollywood newspaper. She works hard, writes concisely, uses contacts throughout the movie business, and never gets caught up in media frenzy that she helps to create. So she’s surprised when handsome young actor Rake Nelson flirts with her at an interview. He’s diverting her attention from her college boyfriend and now husband wannabe, Bill Wilson, who runs an advertising sheet in a small town about two hours from Los Angeles. Then a former roommate, beautiful Martha Durant, shows up for a screen test. Jill pulls strings to get Martha’s career going in the right direction but harbors increasing doubts about everything Hollywood.
    Unlike other novels with Hollywood in the title, this one offers nothing titillating or even suggestive. Jill repulses a pass from Rake and engages in one serious kiss. That’s as sexy as the book gets. Instead, the author focuses on the conflict between career and marriage. On one side are exhausting work with little sense of fulfillment, endless contact with shallow and greedy people, voracious advertising replacing the work of reporters, and smog. On the other are love, children, small-town friendliness, writing as a hobby, and clean air. The book contains enough information for its intended audience (high school girls, presumably) to give an idea what a journalist in Hollywood might do. But it doesn’t promote a career in journalism -- or in any form of paid employment, as far as that goes.

HONEY IN THE FLESH

     Honey West was probably the first of California's "ungenteel" women detectives and certainly the first to turn into a franchise. She starred in nine novels, all paperback originals, between 1957 and 1964. Then she showed up in a short-lived TV series in 1965 and 1966. She also inspired a comic book, a board game and a doll complete with accessories. And more than that, a case can be made that Honey sparked the creation of today’s bevy of fictional female detectives. The author, incidentally, was a married couple, Doris Fickling (b. 1926) and Forrest Fickling (1925-1998), who did most of the writing.

     Honey in the Flesh by G. G. Fickling. Pyramid Books (1959), 159 pp.
Private detective Honey West and her boyfriend, homicide investigator Mark Storm, are among those viewing the body of a young woman pulled from the harbor at Long Beach. They think she’s Josephine Keller, a contestant in the beauty pageant underway in a half-finished building by the beach. Mawson Lawrence, organizer of the event and fearing bad publicity, wants proof of her identity. He hires Honey to gather more information. After she meets with two newspapermen working on the story, reporter Fred Sims and photographer Hank Kirsten, she heads to the pageant site to query some of the contestants. They all are beautiful: Miss Germany, Freda Fisher; Miss Mexico, Rita Perez; Miss France, Gigi Gautraud; and Miss New York, Toby Smith. Honey no sooner tells them that a fellow contestant has been killed than a woman arrives claiming to be Josephine Keller.
      I was unimpressed by the first book in the series (This Girl for Hire) but decided to give Honey another chance. I’m glad I did. This rendition provides her more action sequences, more opportunities to defy her blow-hard boyfriend, and more reasons to keep her clothes on. But in trying to give her a hard-boiled edge, it detracts from the premise of the series, which is that voluptuous Honey can create excitement just by showing up. Her figure gets some attention -- measurements are on the back cover -- but her actions don’t come close to anything seductive. The story itself moves along quickly, though some of the events don’t make much sense. The characters, of which there are many, are no less shallow than those in other detective stories. Honey’s first-person narrative is clear if not clever. Because she’s more spunky than sexy, she may attract more female readers today than she did sixty years ago.