The Vanished by Bill Pronzini
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

"With Cheryl it was her eyes, it would always be her eyes; I could see them once more, mentally, and all the things they had contained, and the reflection in them of what she had in turn discovered in my own eyes..."

Continuing the PIE (Pronzini Immersion Experiment) I have now read The Vanished (1973), one of the earliest novels in the acclaimed "Nameless Detective" series. And I quite like the novel, similarly to Hardcase that I have reviewed a week ago. Nothing particularly memorable but a nice, solid and mostly captivating read.

A young woman, Elaine Kavanaugh, hires the detective (ND henceforth) to find her fiancé, Roy Sands. Roy is a master sergeant and his 20 years in the Army are up. He had spent the last year in Germany and came back to the Presidio Army base in San Francisco from where he has disappeared. Elaine is much in love with Roy: they have been planning the wedding and their future life together. The case takes ND to Eugene, Oregon, and then - after he finds an address of a German art gallery on a piece of paper that could be traced to Roy - to Germany. Roy's three Army buddies are helping in the investigation.

I have been impressed by a very well written passage that describes ND falling in love with Cheryl, a woman he meets while investigating the case. But while the detective's feelings are portrayed eloquently and plausibly, Cheryl's character is not drawn realistically. On the other hand, Elaine, his client, comes through as a full-bodied and compelling character. I like the plausible and logical solution of the case where the denouement is preceded by a fairly graphic but well-written scene of a brutal fight.

As I mentioned in the review of Hardcase it is only natural to draw comparisons between Bill Pronzini's ND novels and Ross Macdonald's Lew Archer series. Both authors try to "humanize" their private detectives. Of course, Macdonald succeeds to a much higher extent than Mr. Pronzini, and reading The Vanished revealed yet another reason for this difference of class. Both detectives are well-meaning, honest, and deeply decent. Yet while Pronzini's hero is just a guy, Macdonald's Archer is a Universal Human Being, embodying the common plight and pain of human existence.

Still, the novel is a true good read, and gets my recommendation. I have two more Pronzinis on my shelf.

Three stars.


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Invitation to a Beheading by Vladimir Nabokov
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

"Accused of the most terrible of crimes, gnostical turpitude, so rare and so unutterable that it was necessary to use circumlocutions like 'impenetrability', 'opacity', 'occlusion'; sentenced for that crime to death by beheading; emprisoned in the fortress in expectation of the unknown but near and inexorable date [...] "

First book by Vladimir Nabokov that I do not like that much. Nowhere even close to the magnificent greatness of Lolita , and not as compulsively readable and memorable as Speak, Memory , Invitation to a Beheading (written in Russian in 1935, translated into English by the author's son in 1959) offers several unforgettable scenes and profound themes, yet - as a whole - it does not speak to me, though it is quite likely that my foggy geezer brain is simply unable to grasp much of the profundity.

Cincinnatus, convicted of gnostical turpitude, is awaiting execution. He has to endure many customary rituals preceding the beheading ceremony. Several people - his wife, the jail guard, the jail director, his lawyer, even the executioner himself - are trying to convince him to happily participate in the involved process of preparing for being decapitated. They are quite offended when he does not share their enthusiasm about the proceedings and doesn't want to play his role in what he terms their "idiotic production." The somewhat surprising ending of the story is divulged on the back cover. For what purpose, I am asking? To me, the publisher offends the intelligence of readers.

The misguided back cover blurb also attempts to "explain" the novel: supposedly it "embodies a vision of a bizarre and irrational world." I completely disagree: to me, the "message of the novel," if any, is clear: one person is nothing against the society. It is irrational to expect that the world will take any notice of one person. One human being is completely irrelevant for the society as a whole.

There are some fascinating themes in the novel: the dichotomy between the internal world of a person and the external world (their "so-called world"). I believe Nabokov wants the reader to consider which world is more "real." Another persistent motif is one of human opacity or impenetrability. To me, though, this motif is quite opaque and the author's intentions impenetrable.

Two magnificent passages need to be mentioned: a bravura piece on the tunneling work targeting Cincinnatus' cell and a fully Nabokovian fragment of magnificent prose that describes the convict's wife eating a peach:

"Or when you, with eyes closed tight, devoured a spurting peach and then, having finished, but still swallowing, with your mouth still full, you cannibal, your glazed eyes wandered, your fingers were spread, your inflamed lips were glossy, your chin trembled, all covered with drops of the cloudy juice, which trickled down onto your bared bosom, while the Priapus who had nourished you suddenly, with a convulsive oath, turned his bent back to me [...]"

And, of course, there is Emmie, who foreshadows the heroine of Lolita. The novel, although a worthwhile read, is less captivating than it might have been, because of its opacity and impenetrability.

Two and three quarter stars.

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Hardcase by Bill Pronzini
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

"The deputy was still alive: twitching a little now, moaning softly. [...] Shot once, in the back just above the right kidney. He'd lost a lot of blood already, the bright arterial kind."

I have recently reviewed Bill Pronzini's non-series novel The Other Side of Silence and quite liked it so I decided to return to his famous "Nameless Detective" series of which I had read two or three installments many years ago. Hardcase (1995) comes from about mid-period of the series and begins with a momentous event: the Narrator-Detective-Whose-Name-We-Will-Never-Learn-But-It-Is-Likely-Italian (let's call him ND) is marrying his girlfriend in San Francisco. The opening scenes are designed to be hilarious, but the comedic payoff is meager and the humor low-brow and quite cliché. Mercifully, the crime thread soon begins: a twenty-three-year-old woman, who works as a model, hires ND to find her real parents. She has just found out that she had been adopted.

The case takes ND to a small farm town near Lodi in Central Valley in California where he learns some gruesome facts from the past that are related to the case. We follow the interesting and fast plot through various places in the Bay Area and - for once - we have a somewhat believable dramatic twist towards the end. The Central Valley scenery is quite well captured.

The other thread of the plot focuses on ND attempting to hire a technology-savvy young assistant. Oh no, not another instance of the "teenager computer whiz" horrible cliché! But there is a cool angle on this. The assistant is a young female African-American student with attitude. The scene of their first meeting is realistic, well-written, and addresses issues of race so much better than the usual cloying, inept, and well-meant-but-counterproductive writing by authors like John Shannon.

While Hardcase is mainly an entertainment read it poses two serious questions. The first concerns the responsibilities of a private detective to their client. What obligation do they have to convey all gathered information to the client if - to the best of their judgment - the information will be harmful to the client? Do they have a right to "play God"? The second is perhaps a bit of my own personal peeve: were I adopted would I be so insistent on knowing who my biological parents were? I emphatically say "no" - does this make me not normal? Why do people need to know who their biological parents were?

There are shades of Ross Macdonald, one of my most favorite writers of all time, in Mr. Pronzini's novel. The prose, though, is not as accomplished as in best works by Macdonald: not as lyrical and not as economical. Still, the novel perfectly fits this website. It is a good read.

Three stars.


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The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B by J.P. Donleavy

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


"'Yes sir, I know that my redeemer liveth. I know it.'"

One of the most unforgettable books I have read in my life! J.P. Donleavy's The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B (1968) combines breathtaking prose, lyricism, and biting humor with sobering reflections on the human condition. It also has the potential to offend many readers on many levels. Descriptions of pre-adolescent sexuality, numerous risqué scenes, and taboo topics make the novel perfect fuel for barbecues in fundamentalist communities. There have been documented cases of Slaughterhouse-Five burnings in this Land of Freedom of ours; Mr. Donleavy's work is a way more deserving book-burning material but - fortunately - not many people have heard about this wonderful novel.

In the grim days of Internet-generated uniformity of opinions, intimidation by political correctness, "safe zones" on campuses and the like, I found this novel a refreshing deviation from the safe-to-read-for-everybody, lukewarm, agreeable pap that dominates the so-called culture these days. We need more rather than less of controversial art to prevent the inbreeding of popular ideas - ideas that most everybody likes.

The novel recounts the first twenty-something years of Balthazar B's life beginning with his early childhood in Paris when he was raised by nannies in a very rich family. His father had died in the boy's early years and the mother was mainly focused on preserving the vestiges of youth. The boy attends exclusive public schools in England and the famous Trinity College in Dublin, and faces the tribulations of the early adulthood. Ostensibly the author focuses on the romantic and sexual aspects of Balthazar B's life: a boy's coming-of-age usual stuff - masturbation, school pranks, pubic lice, first love - but a discerning reader will notice that underneath the titillating facade of the novel the author tackles more important life issues.

The novel is exceptionally rich in humor in its entire range: subtle and understated funny phrases, sentences, and passages are intermixed with laugh-out-loud fragments. From the childhood memory of the Enema Anglaise, through the utterly hilarious scenes of public school housemaster excoriating smuttiness ("concerning things between the legs") and combating boys' masturbation, the live demonstration of dangers of pubic lice for medical students at the Sorbonne, to one of the funniest scenes I have ever read - the neighborhood vigilantes interrupting a carnal coupling:

"'Sir, gurgling and groaning and some cries have been heard out in the garden.'"

Yet underneath all this ribald humor there is so much understanding of human foibles, so much compassion that there is no doubt whatsoever about the author's intentions.

The portrayal of Balthazar B is subtle, nuanced, and realistic. A child, a boy, and a young man in search of love. "While others are cunning and deceitful," Balthazar "remains always [...] kind." B's best friend is Beefy, also an unforgettable, vivid character, always in search of "pleasurings." For reasons of public decency I can quote only one of the many beatitudes coined by Beefy:

"Remember, blessed are they who are willing victims of the whip for they will scream to high heaven."

It may seem that the novel is light-hearted and fun all around. Absolutely not! It is full of lyricism, melancholy, and even sadness. Miss Fitzdare thread is bittersweet and makes an old man want to cry. And I have left the best thing for last: the extraordinarily accomplished prose. When I read books I mostly care about the beauty of the prose and the author's mastery of the literary craft. This is what makes me round my rating up to the rare maximum, reserved only for masterpieces.

Four and a half stars.





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The Killer Inside Me by Jim Thompson

My rating: 2 of 5 stars


"Krafft-Ebing, Jung, Freud, Bleuler, Adolf Meyer, Kretschmer, Kraepelin [...] I took down a bound volume of one of the German periodicals and read a while. I put it back and took down one in French. I skimmed through an article in Spanish and another in Italian."

The Killer Inside Me (1952) is my third classic early noir novel by Jim Thompson, after Pop. 1280 and The Getaway . It has been fun to read a novel almost exactly as old as I am and not finding it awfully dated. Alas, that's one of the very few good things I can say about the novel. Yet, according to the blurb on the cover, Stanley Kubrick wrote

"Probably the most chilling and believable first-person story of a criminally warped mind I have ever encountered."

I completely disagree but then who would you tend to believe more, Mr. Kubrick or me?

Lou Ford is a sheriff's deputy in an oil-boom town in West Texas. Already before the tenth page of the story the reader encounters sinister tones: Deputy Ford is afraid that his sickness might come back, and it is clear that he is not talking about flu. The sickness seems to run in his family: for instance, his brother had been convicted of having sex with a little girl. The deputy is asked to deal with a town woman who sells her bodily charms to men. Well, he beats her up and, obviously, they began an affair: we all know that nothing attracts a woman to a man better than getting solidly beaten by him.

Other than dealing with women - he is also a target of another lady's romantic interest - Deputy Ford has another mission. He wants to punish the powerful owner of a construction company on whose building site Ford's brother died in an accident after release from prison. Note that I am nor giving any spoilers as all those threads are mentioned at the beginning of the novel.

About one-fifth into the book the reader will encounter the first of brutal and graphic scenes of murder and the plot embarks on its twisty and very gruesome path. The problem is that I have been unable to find the portrayal of Deputy Ford believable. For instance, we are told that he reads medical journals in German, French, Italian, and Spanish and that he solves calculus problems for fun. Maybe solving calculus problems for entertainment signifies criminally warped mind? Particularly when compounded with reading medical papers in five languages.

Seriously, there are some memorable passages in the novel, like the rant about how horribly messed up our world is (messed up by us, of course) and there are chilling undertones showing how corruption is the most natural way the world has always worked and will always work. But in my view one thing that novel is certainly not - a believable portrait of a sociopath. Unless Mr. Kubrick is right.

Two stars.



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Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


"Then Night, like some great loving mother, gently lays her hand upon our fevered head, and turns our little tear-stained face up to hers, and smiles, and, though she does not speak, we know what she would say, and lay our hot flushed cheek against her bosom, and the pain is gone."

I had first read Jerome K. Jerome's classic Three Men in a Boat (1889) in the mid-1960s when, as I seem to remember, it was a recommended book in my Advanced English class in my Warsaw high school. During the intervening 50-plus years I have managed to forget what a fun and delightful read it is. I have just been re-reading the novel on the San Diego trolley during my daily commute and again my fellow passengers tended to move away from me as I was giggling and LOL'ing.

Since most everybody knows what the book is about detailed synopsis is not needed. The narrator, known only as J., and his two friends, George and Harris, accompanied by Montmorency, a fierce fox-terrier, set out on a two-week boating trip up the Thames, from Kingston to Oxford and back. The account of this trip is interspersed with interesting asides about the history of the Thames region.

Many passages from the novel now belong to the canon of world literary humor. The story about Uncle Podger attempting to hang a picture on the wall, the tale of Harris guiding a group of people through the maze at Hampton Court, or the piece about weather forecasts are unconditionally hilarious: I do not believe anyone can read them with straight face. The humor is subtle, tactful yet it targets some of deepest human foibles and weaknesses. The readers who are acquainted with the unforgettable British TV show Fawlty Towers will recognize the type of humor.

Yet there is no shortage of delightfully silly humor either as in the passage about a dog floating down the Thames:

"It was one of the quietest and peacefullest dogs I have ever seen. [...] It was floating dreamily on its back, with its four legs stuck up straight into the air. It was what I should call a full-bodied dog, with a well-developed chest.

As I was falling asleep last night I suddenly remembered the dog's "well-developed chest" and could not stop laughing and I had to turn the light on and re-read the passage a few times to tame the severe case of giggles. In a stroke of literary genius the author juxtaposes the extremely funny bits with exaggeratedly lyrical passages about the river, moon, and nature in general. The poetry of prose produces a hilarious effect as well.

And finally the most spectacular feature of the book: its timelessness. I am a somewhat ancient person and the book was published a few years before my grandmother was born, almost 130 years ago. Yet it does not feel dated at all. With cosmetic changes in text here and there the novel would be indistinguishable from something written and published in 2018. I find this truly amazing and am so happy that I decided for a re-read over half a century later.

Four stars.



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From Russia With Love by Ian Fleming

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


""'You are very handsome,' she said. She searched for a comparison that would give him pleasure. 'You are like an American film star.'
She was startled by his reaction. 'For God's sake! That's the worst insult you can pay a man!'"

Indeed. Bond, who quite cares about his image, certainly wouldn't be thrilled when compared to, say, Leonardo DiCaprio. From Russia, with Love (1957) is the fifth installment in Ian Fleming's Bond series. In Author's Note Mr. Fleming ensures the reader about the accuracy of the background to the novel, and in particular about the authenticity of the SMERSH ("Death to Spies") organization in Russia. Well, we now know better. Nevertheless, the author offers quite an interesting story that happens in mid-1950s, a tense period during the Cold War.

The reader first meets the chief executioner for SMERSH, a man who is on a fast career path because of severe shortage of executioners when there are so many millions of people in the Soviet Union that urgently need killing. We also meet the formidable and monstrous Rosa Klebb, the head of Department II, whose favorite pastime is partaking in torture of prisoners and closely watching their faces:

"[...] she would watch the eyes in the face a few inches away from hers and breathe in the screams as if they were perfume."

Colonel Klebb authorizes an elaborate plan to kill Bond ("Shems Bond") with the use of Tatiana Romanova, an extremely beautiful clerical employee of SMERSH. And then, of course, we have Bond himself, much more human than in the movies, regardless of who played him on film.

I have also enjoyed the vividly painted character of Darko Kerim, perhaps the most interesting person in the novel, a man who wants to have "This Man Died from Living Too Much" on his tombstone. But then, the introduction of Kerim to the plot leads to two completely gratuitous scenes - fight to death between two Gypsy women and then the attack of the Bulgars - that markedly cheapen the overall stylish tone of the novel.

The reader may enjoy the extended plot sequence that happens on the Orient Express and a delightful and cinematic passage of one of the bad guys coming to his well-deserved death through Marilyn Monroe's lips (yes, through her lips). I quite like the ending, a little ambiguous and somewhat surprising. Readers with some knowledge of Russian will appreciate cool puns on names: Rosa Klebb and Mr. Nash. I also had to smile when I was reading Mr. Fleming's footnote in which he refers to his correct prediction of twists the Burgess and Maclean cases.

Overall, From Russia is quite a nice read. Yes, it is very dated (almost as old as this reviewer), but if one were to delete the idiotic Gypsy and Bulgar scenes, it would be a solid three-star old-style thriller. I will read some more Fleming.

Two-and-three-quarter-stars.



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Enduring Love by Ian McEwan

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


"We were running toward a catastrophe, which itself was a kind of furnace in whose heat identities and fates would buckle into new shapes."

Another outstanding novel from Ian McEwan. I have recently reviewed here The Child in Time and the near-masterpiece On Chesil Beach. I like Enduring Love (1997) more than the former but less than the latter. Anyway, I had a great time with the novel - it is a truly compulsive read. In addition to all the wisdom it packs it is also a great suspense story, one of the best suspense novels I have ever read.

Joe Rose, a Ph.D. in quantum physics working as a successful science writer and journalist, is having a picnic in the Chilterns with his common-law wife, Clarissa. Also a Ph.D., she is a literary scholar specializing in the poetry of Keats. Joe and Clarissa have been "seven years into a childless marriage of love," a very strong, enduring relationship. During the picnic they witness a dramatic ballooning accident and Joe rushes to help. The accident changes his and many other people's lives forever.

The totally riveting chapter One is a true masterpiece of prose. I read these 16 virtuoso pages three times to savor all the delicious literary details and the sharp observations of psychology. The first moments of the accident are portrayed in a sort of slow motion, from differing perspectives, and in a post-modern fashion: the narrator writes

"I'm holding back, delaying the information. I'm lingering in the prior moment because it was a time when other outcomes were still possible; [...]"

The narration slows down even more in Two when the first rescuers reach the scene of the accident. It is here that the main thread of the plot is set up: the thread that focuses on the other enduring love. It is also here that the author begins to masterfully tease the readers and play with their emotions. If one needs a literary work of art to convey a message Mr. McEwan offers a clear one: no one ever knows what exactly has happened and what exactly is going on.

We have clever allusions to juxtaposition of rationalist approach to life with life's utter randomness. We have an implicit discussion about the relationship between science (evolution theory) and literature (Keats). We even have an Appendix where the author quotes a fictitious research paper from The British Review of Psychiatry about the de Clerambault's syndrome that manifests itself in "erotic delusions." And we have another extraordinary passage of prose describing Joe's behavior when he - self-deludingly - retrieves the stapler from Clarissa's office. All this is totally wonderful and a five-star rating for the novel was clearly on the horizon.

Alas, we also have the restaurant scene, which - although it indeed it provides a sort of dramaturgical climax to the plot - cheapens the story, in my jaded view, and is just 'too much of a good thing.' Neither am I particularly impressed by the somewhat crude attempt by the author to tease the reader with the words 'curtain' and 'signal' later in the novel. The gun buying scene is absolutely hilarious, particularly the bit about Steve's giggle-inducing moustache, but it really feels spurious in the novel. But, to me, the author's greatest sin is the fourth-from-the-end sentence in the Appendix; I am not a fan of obsequiously reader-friendly gestures.

Despite all my - quite likely exaggerated - criticisms Enduring Love is a fantastic read, a well-written jewel, and I enthusiastically recommend this suspenseful yet deep and mature novel. And as the icing on the tasty cake here is another wonderful quote (incomplete for obvious reasons, insert a smiley here):

"[...] for seconds on end I had wholesomely and simultaneously indulged two of life's central, antithetical pleasures, reading and [...]"

Four-and-a-quarter stars.



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