On “The Age of Innocence” by Edith Wharton *****

Another work about the hypocrisy and shallowness of New York high society in the Gilded Age. This time the main character is Newland Archer, a young man born into wealth who is tired of the stodginess and predictability of the New York scene and its close-minded and often superficial morality. He is engaged to May Welland, but as the novel opens he finds himself drawn to her cousin Ellen Olenska, a gal of uncertain means who married a rich European count and who has left him and returned to New York. She is, as such, due to be shunned by most, but Archer shows her favor and gets her integrated into the New York society, despite being a near divorcee (she never does actually divorce the man).

Men, in turn, are drawn to her and spend much time with her. Archer is himself drawn to her as well, and she to him. But Archer is engaged, and when given the chance to break off the engagement, as his soon-to-be wife suspects his heart lies elsewhere, he insists that is not the case and goes through with the marriage—ahead of schedule. And then the dalliances with Olenska begin and continue.

I cannot much stand Archer. He is a rogue. And the more he falls “in love” with Olenska, the more respect for him I lose. I have a hard time seeing what Ellen sees in him. He seems a desperate man, one so certain of what he wants that he schemes various ways to desert his devoted but dull and dull-thinking wife. Olenska represents both a debauched old Europe and new ways of thinking, and Archer wants that.

May is not without knowledge of what's going on, and she schemes various ways to keep her husband.

Spoilers from here: Eventually May becomes a mom, which puts a death knell on Archer's plans to run away. Ellen, though she “loves” Archer seems to be doing her best, in the later parts of the novel, to stay away from him out of duty to her cousin, even as Archer continues to thrust himself at her.

Who are we to sympathize with? One feels like Archer is supposed to represent some new and better and more genuine way of thinking, but if that is actually better, it seems awfully selfish. Ellen, by contrast, comes across as a decent but flawed woman. May, to me, seems the genuine hero. Like all three characters, she's trapped by and in the moorings of the society of her day, but even so, she does her best to be loyal. Archer eventually succumbs also, becoming a family man and giving up his dream of Ellen. In the end, after his wife dies, while he is still relatively young (fifty-seven), he returns to Europe and has a chance to reunite with Ellen. There's a passage where the narrator says that Ellen is waiting for him and has been. Since most of the novel is from Archer's point of view, it's a bit uncertain whether this is his viewpoint or a third-person omniscient voice intruding (as it does from time to time). The important thing, however, is that Archer opts not to pursue her. He's “old fashioned.” He can't have his great love. Or maybe, he has it—because he notes that he'd rather have the dream and memories than the reality, which of course may not prove to be as great. But if that is an omniscient narrator, Archer is once more focusing on his own wishes and desires more than any other person's needs.

On "Candide" by Voltaire ****

I first/last read this back around 1991, as part of a world literature class. I must have thought well enough of it to have kept the book all these years. Periodically, now, I go back and read books in my personal library, in part as an effort to weed materials out and shrink my library and also give space to newer books, for which there is no room. This one will probably be one I jettison, but not because I did not like it. I'd be keeping it, I suppose, if the work were not in the public domain, but because I can pull it from the Internet, there seems little reason to keep a hard copy, especially when the version I have is pocket sized and not terribly condusve to easy functionality.

The book is interesting enough that I am tempted to try something else of Voltaire's, even if it's unlikely another work is as good as this one. The story is a satire, and the characters are drawn in large strokes. I don't suppose we are to take anything too serious or care too much about anything that's going on.

I long though my world lit professor, who liked to spend most class periods talking about contemporary California politics, didn't really have much to offer. He probably wasn't the greatest professor, but as I reread this, I was reminded that he actually did provide some philosophical context, context I would have loved to have had on this go around. I know that Voltaire was reacting to Leibniz and some other recent thinkers of his time in his account, but I don't remember much of what those folks said or who they were.

The gist of the story, however, involves the travels of Candide, who is greatly under the influence of his teacher Pangloss, who believes that everything always is for the best. Candide is in love with a gal from a rich family, and his impertinence one day in pursuing said gal gets him kicked out of the estate. It's for the best, however, because the land is soon invaded and the gal's family is most all killed off. Luckily, though raped, the gal survives, and Candide is not free to pursue her, as soon as he can get free from his army service.

Travels take them across the ocean, where an important man falls for the same gal and takes her, as poor and young Candide can do nothing to stop him.

Here, the story moves into the territory that I remember, a utopia called Eldorado. (I remembered this tale as similar to Samuel Johnson's Rabelais but now see that this portion of the story falls in its center and is really only a very small section.) Anyway, Candide still pines for his gal, so he leaves utopia--but he's given plenty of money for his journey. This now lets him do things he could not do before, but it also sets him up for constant con games.

In the end, he meets many of the characters from the early portions of the book and finds out all the bad things that have happened to them. Is it really the best of all possible worlds? When Candide finally gets his gal she is washed up. The focus switches then from seeking the best to simply working in one's garden. The ending seems rather stoic.

On “The Bourne Identity” by Robert Ludlum ****

Back in my twenties, before I had read much genre fiction, I had a view of it as largely plot based, with little in the way of character development or good turns of phrase (something I would say I found not to so much to be true, as I've aged and read more widely). As I read through the first portions of this book, my feelings were that Ludlum's work would have fit that earlier definition to the tee. The book opens with some overwritten descriptions of the sea (unneeded adjectives, redundant lines). It felt very much like someone were describing in excess the opening shots of a movie. What's more, as I read further into the book and was introduced to the characters, they seemed equally overwrought and yet not really real; they were elements, simply, in and for a plot—a plot that was, for all of its turns and twists—highly ridiculous.

But if Ludlum's first book in the trilogy fits all the stereotypes that I carried of genre fiction, it also lives within its world exceptionally well. I found myself, even knowing that the plot was ludicrous and the characters mostly cardboard (the main character's girlfriend, after all, after being taking hostage by him, gives up everything in her life to pursue him, risking her life, because at some point he saves her life, a situation she wouldn't have been in in the first place if she hadn't been taken hostage)--even knowing all that, and knowing that Bourne will survive, because there are two more books, I found myself drawn into the plot. What's to happen next? What will Bourne do?

The novel involves a case of selective amnesia. A man finds himself with exceptional military and spy-op skills, but he doesn't know who he is and how he came to obtain such skills. Nor does he know why everyone seems to be after him. The journey is thus one of self-discovery and one of survival. The plot really gets going when the man goes to a bank in Zurich, which has an account, the numbers for which are embedded as a chip in his body. Find the account; find out who he is. Or so that's the theory. But by doing so, he alerts others of his presence and so begins the hunt for him. And even knowing his name only gives him that; who is this man with this name. Periodically, as he comes across familiar scenes or people, he gets glimpses into his past, but they remain veiled. This is spies after spies, espionage to the hilt. It doesn't feel like there's much in the way of political, cultural, or social commentary along the way, unlike say in the work of Greene or Le Carre, but unlike the latter's novel that I read, this one is much more approachable, much more entertaining, and much less dreary. I usually looked forward to reading it, and certainly didn't want to put it down as I got closer to its end--a fitting end to my short spy fiction list.

On "A Perfect Spy" by John le Carre ***

I'm a bit surprised sometimes by what manages to make it to best-seller lists. This is one of those books. Le Carre is no easy reading, engaging as he does in some high-end literary techniques. And what's left after all of it are a number of open-ended questions to ponder.

Usually, this is just my sort of balliwick, but I guess I was looking for something more absborbing. Much like some classic novels, like Pride and Prejudice, this one was a real slog until substantially into the text. I only felt compelled once I was about one hundred pages from the end. By then, a lot of the little things that le Carre had set up started to pay off. But that, of course, was part of what made the earlier passages so challenging. Why shift from sentence to sentence between first- and third-person, for instance? Who is Poppy? Wentworth? Other named people? As one gets toward the end, one starts to discover the meanings of these details.

The tail is essentially one of a spy who has decided to quit it all. He retreats to location unknown to anyone to do as he had always wanted: to write a novel (or maybe his memoirs), which is itself sort of a note to his son. Meanwhile, the spy world is all aflutter over his disappearance. Everyone wants him, because in their view he's done something heinous, but it appears at least initially that it's a hullabaloo about nothing. This two-pronged storytelling means that one set of chapters follows the current day, and the other follows the memoir. We get past and present occurrences. The difficulty is that from one chapter to the next, one is dropped in to a particular place and location without much background, meaning one is disoriented for about the first third of every chapter. When you finally start to figure out what's going on and maybe start to care, le Carre ends the chapter, and you're back in a spot of being lost. I suppose that's reflective of Magnus Pym's state (or really of many a spy), but it makes for a difficult and unsatisfying read.

In the course of the story, one runs across Magnus's conman father, his spy overseer and recruiter Brotherhood, his wife Mary, various lovers, and his best friend Axel. To what degree any of these people are who they seem, however, is difficult to know. Are his verious acquaintances and friends really that, or are they just using Magnus for their own agendas? Has Magnus actually managed to do anything of value with his life (and his spy career), or has he just been everyone's pawn?

On "Goldfinger" by Ian Fleming **

I have never liked James Bond movies, so it shouldn't have come to a surprise that I wouldn't like one of the books on which such movies are based. I chose this one for my spy fiction reading list in part because I'd confused it with Dr. No, the first James Bond movie and the only one film I've seen in the series that was at least palatable. But part of me was wary of reading the same book rather than one from a film I hadn't seen, so I'm sort of glad I got confused. The other reason I'd chosen this book was the first sentence, which seemed so incredibly absurd and in line with the Bond mystique that this seemed like a novel that would be emblematic of the series. That opening sentence essentially has Bond sitting in an airport lobby drinking whisky, smoking, and thinking about all the men he's had to kill and how he doesn't enjoy doing it. Oh yeah!

The tale itself is an unsurprising riff on Bond versus an arch nemesis--this time, Goldfinger, a man who likes to collect, um, gold. He has his heart of cornering the market. For this, he's come up with a plan to steal the gold from Fort Knox. But Bond, who sleeps with not one but two gals (and seemed like he might get a little from a third--alas, he never broke her) over the course of the novel, comes to know Goldfinger before then. First, he helps an acquaintance on a side job find out how it is that Goldfinger always wins at cards (he cheats, of course), which is how Bond meets the first gal, Goldfinger's aid in the crime. The second time, Bond is on a mission to enter Goldfinger's world to get a handle on his growing gold empire: this time, Bond plays golf with Goldfinger, who again cheats, which means that Bond has to come up with his own cheat to win. The third time Bond comes into contact, Goldfinger knows Bond is not completely on the up-and-up with him, and so it is that Bond is captured, tortured, and nearly killed, except, well, Goldfinger decides to use him in his Fort Knox scheme. That is, alas, Goldfinger's downfall, and it is also something that makes little sense, given Bond's untrustworthiness.

Goldfinger pulls in several of the top underworld criminal figures to help him. There is a long passage in which each figure is described--just as there are long passages describing the golf game. They grow cumbersome at times. Fleming is a master at physical descriptions of people. It's how he paints his world. But in that is also his failing, because there seems to be little beneath the surface. This is men's fiction, with bravado and adventure. Bond raises fast cars, drinks, kills, sleeps around; every gal he meets is a hottie to bed, and most take to him immediately because of his stunning good looks. What does anyone really want? Goldfinger wants gold. Bond seems happy chasing tail, drinking (even at times that require utmost focus), and going on adventures. Goldfinger has lots of assistants, who are loyal to him for . . . money, I guess? The women, I guess, they just want a hot guy? One doesn't read a Bond novel for penetrating character studies.

On "The Quiet American" by Graham Greene ****

I'm not sure how much this qualifies as a spy novel, though it does have lots of international intrigue. It's focus is really a newspaper reporter and a surreptitious activist (perhaps, he qualifies as a spy). It's really a love triangle story: two guys battling it out for a young Vietnamese gal name Phuong. The story is set in 1950s Vietnam, toward the end of the French role there, as the Americans begin to make a few inroads.

The two men are Fowler and Pyle. Both men are annoying and easy to dislike. Fowler is British, older, the reporter, and has Phuong as his girlfriend. He's married, and his wife (back in Britain) won't allow a divorce. This means that Phuong is nothing but a fling to him. He's using her, stringing her along, saying that one day he'll marry her, as he wants. Pyle is an American, working on distributing plastics that go in to bombs to help the Vietnamese Democratic movement (if it's that). He falls in love with Phuong at first site and sets about to make her his girlfriend and wife, despite the fact that Fowler is already involved with her. Both men are jerks in my view.

The story begins with Pyle's death. Fowler is the immediate suspect, but then the rest of the novel is told in flashback to how these two interacted and came to know each other. Despite the characters being unlikeable and the political discussions seeming somewhat dated (though I suppose they apply to any such colonial situation), the novel brings into focus some big questions about journalistic objectivity and staying outside the news to just observe it. At what point, one asks, does this become a problem as a human being caring about other humans? And at what point does a concern for the general populace become more important than a concern for the individual? These are hard questions.

On "The Secret Agent" by Joseph Conrad ***

I was never able to get through Lord Jim, but I was a teen at the time, and then in college I read Heart of Darkness and came to admire it--but I think that was in part because I wrote a paper on it and as such read the book several times over. This book feels like it would need to be read more than once to truly appreciate it; unfortunately, it didn't bear so much interest in me that I felt compelled or desirous of reading it a second time.

The story is one of a secret agent named Verloc who involves himself with various revolutionary anarchist groups to feed, I suppose, information to the government. But that government isn't so impressed by the information that Verloc provides. He's threatened with being cut loose.

Reverse back a bit. Verloc is married and takes care of a wife, his wife's mother, and his wife's mentally challenged brother. The everyday front he has is an adult bookstore--racy photos, books, gifts, and other stuff that men might like, though don't want anyone else to know it.

We also meet along the way the various revolutionaries and some police and law enforcement types. In the middle of the book, a bomb goes off, and a man is blown into pieces. Some witnesses say another man was with him. Who was the other man? Who was the man blown up? Much of the rest of the plot revolves around this. In the process, we see more about Verloc's character, the character of those involved in law enforcement, those involved with the government, and those involved with the revolutionary movements. No one comes off looking very well, and one feels sad for those unwittingly caught up among them.

On "Road Dogs" by Elmore Leonard ****

I placed this as my last book on my Elmore Leonard list after reading that it had characters from City Primeval, La Brava, and Out of Sight. It also, as it turned out, had a character from Maximum Bob, which I didn't read. But really, the book is one about characters from La Brava and Out of Sight; other characters are simply mentioned.

This is a Jack Foley book, the main character in Out of Sight. Cundo, a violent offender in La Brava, is also here. Now, they're prison pals. Cundo has a good deal of money and a good lawyer, and he sets Foley up with that lawyer on an appeal, who gets Foley out of prison with barely a sentence to his name. Now Foley owes Cundo big time.

Cundo is crazy about some gal named Dawn, a woman who professes to be psychic but who by and large seems largely to be a conman. Dawn wraps Foley into her arms and tries to enlist him in her schemes—one to rip off a grieving actress and another to rip off Cunda. But Dawn is too confident in her appeal as a woman, uses it to get power over a lot of men whom she uses. But it's not enough, by and large. For some money is remains too important. And for Foley, it's a kind of honor. It seems he's determined to go straight, if only he can find a way.

It was probably George Clooney playing Foley in the movie Out of Sight that did it, but he remains my favorite Leonard character. I can't see help but see him playing the role, his cool and suave persona, likeable even if a crook.

On “The Hot Kid” by Elmore Leonard ***

This is one of Leonard's later books and also one of his works of historical fiction. As a writer of westerns, Leonard would seem to have been a natural for the historical fiction genre. The difference, of course, is that instead of writing in that standard genre, he would now apply his crime-writing skills to something of an earlier era. In this case, we're talking 1930s America and the era of prohibition gangsters.

As with so much of Leonard's fiction, this one is built around a superhero: Carl(os) Webster, a U.S. marshal who is a quick draw and whose standard line is something along the lines of, “If I you make me pull out my gun, I shoot to kill.” And indeed, he does. In one instance, he manages to shoot four people before one of them gets a clean shot at him. His one misstep seems to have been when he was a teenager, when instead of shooting a guy to maim him, he kills him. But otherwise, he's fast and accurate.

The main antagonist is one Jack Belmont, the child of an oil baron who could have it all and easily, but he's enamored of the thrill of the criminal life, and so instead of taking a job in his dad's business, he opts to become a bank robber—and a literal joy killer: that is, a guy who enjoys killing for the joy of it.

Inevitably, the two men are to meet, and the novel dances around the eventual final confrontation until it finally happens.

I did not find this to be one of Leonard's better books. In many ways, it was predictable. The line between good and evil seems fairly obvious, even if Webster likes to dally with men of questionable ethics and prostitutes, and the women in the book seem to be interested in men merely for the degree of excitement they bring, no matter which side of the law they are on. I chose to read it, however, because the work centers on a couple of themes that were close to Leonard growing up: namely, the criminal underworld specifically of this era and baseball. So the idea was to see those interests play out in a book, which was likely a fun and worthy endeavour for Leonard as he was closing in on the end of his career.

On "Tishomingo Blues" by Elmore Leonard ***

I added this Leonard novel to my list because of the unavailability of some other books and, gladly, because this is the one Leonard lists as being his favorite among the books he wrote. I can see why. The book involves a lot of material about Civil War reenactments, the Dixie Mafia, and Tunica, Mississippi, all topics that interest me. But in that is the problem, because whereas Leonard likely enjoyed the research, the book itself didn't translate terribly well into fiction. I'd have rather read nonfiction books on each of these subjects. What's more, having lived in Mississippi for three years and the South for decades, I found Leonard's evocation of the Deep South to be a little superficial; it just didn't feel like the work of someone who knows the South, with all the complexities that come with the region (the Civil War focus probably didn't help with presenting a more nuanced view of the area).

The plot of this one didn't really grip me either. In the end, what it is about is two warring underworld factions, one gang essentially beating up on another to take over the other's turf. Crime pays, in much of Leonard's fiction, even if the criminal who gets paid in the end is the lesser of two evils--the person who happens in to a fortune rather than setting out to do bad stuff. This is true here, to an extent, but it's also true that some of the scummier people end up very well off; indeed, the book is full of scummy people, so it would be difficult to avoid such an end.

The central character of the book is Dennis Lenahan, a diver who takes his show on the road, playing to crowds at various attractions. A slow time finds him in Tunica, where he sets up as the attraction at a new casino/hotel. This is at a time when Tunica's fortunes were on the upswing, with legal gambling casinos along the river having brought much-needed tourists and money to the region. From his diving perch, Dennis witnesses a murder by a member of the so-called Dixie Mafia. Threatened if he dares to go to the authorities with what he's seen, Dennis stays quiet, dithering throughout the book about whether he should come clean and serve as a witness. News of his presence, however, leaks out anyway, which brings trouble for everyone.

Meanwhile, a man from Detroit named Robert befriends Dennis. Robert seems to know a lot about the Civil War, and he likes pushing the buttons of the folks he meets by claiming, for example, that a photograph he has of a lynching shows his grandfather (the lynchee) and the grandfather (the lyncher) of the persons to whom he shows the picture. Robert, though, isn't some civil rights provocateur; he's just another crook, looking to infiltrate the drug trade down South. The Civil War reenactment is a perfect cover to kill off the folks he needs to to pull off his plan, except of course that the southerners whose buttons he's pushed have similar plans for Robert and his crew. I didn't care about any of these jerks.

Dennis, in one way, is the worst of the bunch. He's not outright evil. In fact, he's dragged into the novel's events against his will. But it's his complicity that makes him so utterly frustrating. He doesn't seem to care as much about the right or wrong of any action as just staying out of trouble--but not because he seems scared. He comes off as a guy whose morality is governed simply by what is best for him. If he can get away with something, he'll do it, which makes him in a way a passive and less interesting character.

On "Out of Sight" by Elmore Leonard *****

My favorite film based on an Elmore Leonard book, at least among those I've seen, is this one--perhaps, in part, because it was directed by Steven Soderberg. The film takes liberty with the order in which the story is presented and works really well as a result (this is one film where the previews did it a great disservice: it looked like a slick and ridiculous movie to me, but good reviews and Soderberg's name compelled me to see it after all, and I was happy to have done so). I am glad also now to have read the book, these many years later, even if it's hard not to picture George Clooney in the role of Jack Foley. The book, unlike the movie, is a straight chronological tale.

There are a few things not to like about the novel even so. One is a complaint I'd have about most all of Leonard's work. That is that the story in the end doesn't emotionally resonate. Leonard tells a good tale, but one never gets too close to any of the characters that one actually ends up crying. That said, some of the characters are least likeable, most especially Foley, such that one does wish him well. He's a man who made bad choices in life and now feels he has no choice but to continue down the same road, even though he wishes he could do something else.

The other issue is that I don't really buy the relationship that is forged between the bank robber Foley and the U.S. Marshall Karen Sisco. Two conversations and a few hours of time are certainly enough to make one fall madly for some other person; it is possible. But even so, it's hard for me quite to figure that either of them would risk as much as they do for each other based on a couple of encounters, Sisco's penchant for falling for crooks, as she has in the past, notwithstanding.

Still, Foley is the real soul of this story to me, a guy who seems to have a good heart but who doesn't feel he can make better choices, who in essence has a kind of death wish and a desire to be someone else and somewhere else. Given a "chance" to break out of prison, he takes it, claiming that he'd rather die than ever go back. Once out, it's back to robbing banks (he's very good at it, having done something like two hundred heists), but he finds himself dragged into something much more sinister by the ex-cons with whom he associates.

On “Rum Punch” by Elmore Leonard *****

The basis for Tarantino's Jackie Brown, this novel about Jackie follows the plot line at points fairly closely. It works better as a novel, I think, than it did as a movie, which I found disappointing. Still, as I am now through several Leonard works, I find that what perhaps makes his novels less interesting than they could be is his limited third-person omniscient point of view (that is, he wanders around from perspective to perspective). I find that the technique means that we are not ever for long with one person's perspective and thus rarely become emotionally connected to anyone. Thus, there's a degree to which the novels are more heavily plot dependent to sustain one's focus.

One issue with reading this novel so many years after seeing that movie is that I kept imaging certain actors as certain characters, even though Tarantino chose to change up some of the characters significantly. Jackie, for example, in the novel is a hot-looking fortysomething blonde; in the movie, she's a good-looking African American woman; my mind kept returning to the film rather than the book. The dynamic, however, is significantly different with the racial change.

The story is essentially that of a bail bondsman, a gun runner, federal agents, and the gun runner's associates. Max Cherry, the bondsman, has a run-in with Ordell, the gun runner, whose money is tied up overseas. That money comes in via Jackie, a flight attendant who sneaks it in in her luggage with each flight. She gets caught; Ordell posts bond; Cherry falls for the gal. Schemes are laid wherein multiple parties decide to abscond with the money Jackie brings in each month. It's uncertain really whose side each person is on until the end.

On “James” by Percival Everett ****

I “read” this book over a weekend car trip via audio listening. It was a great production in terms of the reader being very engaging. The book itself . . .

I'd been wanting to get around to Everett's work since seeing American Fiction (based on his novel Erasure). Of course, all the awards James won made me understand the degree to which I needed even more to get to Everett's work. One presentation I saw recently called his sell-out novel, much like the work discussed in Erasure, insofar as this is a historical novel about the African American experience that tends to gobble up awards and sales.

In James, Everett sets out to retell Huck Finn from Jim's point of view, or at least, that's how it begins. In that sense, the novel is a refreshing retelling of some of the troubling aspects of the iconic novel. As fun as Huck Finn is and as much as Huck Finn sets out to right American wrongs with regard to slavery, its infantalization of Jim has always been disturbing. Perhaps, there are minor signs that Jim isn't the innocent he's portrayed as in that novel, but if those signs exist, Everett makes them explicit here, sometimes to comic effect. The enslaved workers speak in a patois and act stupid around whites, but are elegant and clever around other enslaved people. Everett makes explicit that they are “signifying.” And there are some neat tricks, where Jim, at one point, is forced to pose as a white guy posing as a black guy—with numerous complications.

On the whole, the first half of the book follows Huck Finn's timeline rather closely. In a way, it's great to read the events from Jim's point of view. But there's also a certain predictiveness to it, given that it's simply following another book's plot. The second half of the book, however, breaks significantly with its source material, and the work becomes a slave revenge work. There's power in that, I suppose, but also at points a certain preachiness that makes the piece seem overwritten. I was left feeling torn between my sadness at not seeing the rest of the source novel from Jim's point of view and my relief that this novel went another direction and thus ended up not being as predictable. Neither solution, however, seemed like it would have been wholly satisfactory.

On “Get Shorty” by Elmore Leonard *****

 

I come to this work having already seen the movie, which colors the whole thing. Would my reaction to the work have been the same? I liked it, especially the characters (and especially the main character), and then again, I was not as enthralled as I have been by some other works, because I kind of knew where everything was headed (at least until the end). It was hard not to see Travolta and Hackman and Devito as the characters in their various roles.

Except, everything did not quite head in the same direction as the movie, at least as I remember it. The ending kind of fell apart, rather than tidying up everything as well as the movie did, but that's kind of the book's point. I like both the book and movie endings in their own way. They're doing somewhat different things and making a similar point.

Like the book La Brava, this one has something of a metafictional vibe, if the book were a movie. That is, Chili Palmer is a guy working for the mafia, enforcing the payment of extortionary loans. He goes to Hollywood to track one of the guys who hasn't paid up—a guy who faked his own death to get out of paying the loan and to grab his own pile of cash from an airliner for wrongful death. There, Palmer falls in love with the film industry and wants to become part of it. He pitches a movie to a producer/director of B movies. The film he pitches doesn't have an ending, because it's Chili Palmer's own story, the story of how he ended up in Hollywood via his attempt to track down this guy who faked his death. Everyone who hears the story loves it, up to the point that Palmer gets to, which is wherever Palmer himself is in the novel. As such, of course, there's never an ending—even at the book's end, which leaves quite a few things up in the air, like how Chili is going to fund a movie, what happened to a mafia guy who's tracking Chili and likely to turn him in after being set up, and so on.

On "Freaky Deaky" by Elmore Leonard ***

The superhero in this book is a guy named Chris, ex-bomb squad, looking for another spot in the police force--preferably homicide, but settling for the moment for sex crimes. Chris can essentially read the criminal mind, knows what's going to happen before it does. The rest of his life, though, isn't much together.

The book ends strongly and starts strongly. But it lacks a strong epilogue and in between is not quite as enthralling as one might hope, given that the characters are somewhat predictable. The majority of them, of the crooks that is, are sixties radical burnouts who have turned to money making, but unlike those who sold out and went to Wall Street and the like, these radicals took their knowledge of illegal activities to take advantage of others, run cons, and steal big.

Robin has her sites on a couple of rich guys named Mark and Woody, who were sort of on the edge of protest movements back in the day. For her scheme, she enlists Skip, a demolitions expert. Both spent a bit of time in jail.

Back up: Chris is on his last day on the job in the bomb squad. A guy blows up, because the cops don't quite know how to defuse the bomb and the guy loses patience. Now in the sex crimes division, a hot-looking gal comes to report a rape. Chris ends up trying to arrest her assailant Woody on a trumped-up charge. Woody is an all-out drunk but rich. That richness gives him a bit of authority, enough to get Chris suspended for his arrest attempt. Mark, Woody's brother, got little of the inheritance from their mom and fancies himself a theater producer, but Woody, who got most of the inheritance, funds the productions. Donnell is Woody's caretaker, an ex-Black Panther who is also looking to steal as much as he can from Woody.

Robin plans to use Skip to blow stuff up around Mark and Woody, threatening them essentially until they give her a nice chunk of cash. It's a dumb plan that slowly gets better the more things fall part. Rather than blowing up stuff around the two, for example, Robin ends up planning to kill off Woody and Donnell, so that Mark garners the inheritance--in other words, she enrolls Mark in a pay-to-kill scheme. But things don't go as planned.

Meanwhile, Chris's meeting with Woody ends up getting him suspended from the police force--mostly because Chris has broken up with his girlfriend and has to move out and thus out of the city and can't be on the force. This info becomes public knowledge via Woody's associates. So Chris strikes out on his own to "save" the gal he's fallen for, which is what brings him in contact with the bomb pro Skip and his associates and their schemes.

On “All Quiet on the Western Front” by Erich Maria Remarque ***

So a film based on this book has been up at the top of the charts on Netflix for a few months. I have known about and seen the book for years, but I never got around to reading it. At least one of my kids read it for school, however, so we had a copy on our shelf, and looking for something to read while on vacation, I settled on it.

As far as being a harrowing portrait of war and particularly World War I, this is a fine book. It has a little of the zaniness that is typical of many war books—practical jokes played among the troops, trying to get off or away from oversight to get a little extra food or sex, and so on. But the whole thing is tinged with a spirit of sadness and despair. These are men—barely more than boys, really, as they are typically 17 or so—who are discovering not the joys of life but its end, way too early.

And that is where this book is perhaps slightly more unique. It indites the culture that would send such young people to war, sometimes against their will, and certainly with a great deal of encouragement about the need to serve country and people, even as the older people stay home to “make decisions.” The main character, Paul Baumer, is part of a company of one hundred men, many of them from the same school. They've barely had a life. As the novel progresses, we watch the company slowly shrink, the boys become hardened (even as newcomers join the fray). Those moment of levity and spread thin across more moments of simply tedium punctuated by other moments of terror and plenty of descriptions of it: grisly ones of body parts strewn across the landscape where another company has just been. We have the coming home on leave section, where Paul hardly knows how to explain what he's been through and yet plenty of people want to hear about his “adventures.” We have Paul coming face to face with a man he kills and wishing he hadn't; indeed, trying to save his enemy. We have Paul trying to save many of his comrades—which brings us back to his company. I believe we join the action when there are roughly 38 or so such men left; we leave off action when there are 7. Such is life on the front lines—or indeed, in World War I, when a generation of young men were essentially wiped out in war. It is a hopeless book.

That hopelessness isn't what caused me to rank the book as relatively average. It is a powerful depiction of war, no doubt. It is not, however, much of a novel. I never really felt I came to know Paul's comrades (or even Paul) that well, which kills some of the pathos one would otherwise feel. There is also not much in the way of plot. Episode follows episode but without much of a buildup or structure. I suppose one could make a case for such a plot being not unlike (the) war itself, but the lack of character development really does seem a weakness. Yes, men come and go, but Paul seems very attached to those around him; I wish I could have felt the same way. Instead, they were names of people come and gone.

On "Glitz" by Elmore Leonard ****

Having now read six Leonard novels, I'm coming to see a pattern, which is not unlike most novels in the Western genre, even though Leonard moved over to writing crime fiction. At the center of each book is a superhero, some man is simply so full of incredible insight and ability that he makes everything in his world work out for the right. Most of these men also have a bit of a weakness that gets them into a little bit of trouble, and usually that weakness is a woman--though often a source of their strength is also a woman. I go right back to the main character in 52 Pickup, for example, whose affair is really the start of all that man's troubles, but the blackmailers have picked on the wrong guy, and he's helped along throughout his ordeal by his strong wife. Or think of La Brava, who falls for a not-so-good movie star, but again, she and her cronies have picked on the wrong guy.

In Glitz that man is Vincent Mora, a cop from Miami, who is recovering from an injury in Puerto Rico. (The novel starts off with a great hook--Mora getting shot while being mugged on his way home from the grocery store.) He falls for a twenty-one-year-old prostitute who is simply after a money and the better life it will bring. Mora is her ticket, until something better comes along: an opportunity to work in Atlantic City. Like the girls trapped in Epstein's web, this is not the opportunity it appears, Mora warns her, and sure enough, she ends up dead a few days later, which is what brings Mora up to New Jersey to investigate her death. There are a cache of mob characters Mora investigates on his way toward solving the crime, each of whom doesn't really know what he's up against. Tough guys they are, they are no match for the tougher and smarter Mora, who knows how to turn them against one another for his own gain.

But there's also a serial killer on the loose, one who has it out for Mora, who busted him a decade ago and who is out on an easy sentence and constant good fortune that allows him to stay free. And there's a lounge singer with whom Mora takes up. The lounge singer turns out to the be the strong woman who saves/aids Mora, and the serial killer, Teddy, his arch nemesis, whose main skill is not so much smarts as luck. Leonard does a neat, common trick and brings us back to the novel's start at the end, but with echoes of new meaning and resonance.

There is much to like in this book, but as I noted, there does seem like something of a formula to it--and also, the constant violence wears a bit thin. If shootings and deaths and fights really were this common in everyday America we'd be in sad shape and have no reason ever to venture beyond our homes outside of bare necessities. I'm finally getting around to Leonard at a time in my life when I am less willing to give such things as much of a pass.

On "La Brava" by Elmore Leonard ****

This one took a bit longer to get into than the previous works I've read of Leonard's. The plot doesn't really get ticking till halfway through. Instead, Leonard spends a good deal of space introducing us to the characters involved. There's Joseph La Brava, the cameraman and ex-government agent. There's his friend Maurice. There's some woman named Jean Shaw, a former actress. And then there's this other plot going on, with Richard Nobles and a guy named Cundo. They're the seeming crooks in this narrative, but it's hard to know exactly what their angle is in terms of what they're plotting other than some small-time bad stuff.

Meanwhile, La Brava finds himself being pulled into Jean Shaw's life--romantically--in part because he was a big fan of hers as a teen, and to be involved with a movie star, even one fifteen or twenty years his senior, is a real turn-on, like being in her movies themselves. But clearly, Maurice, an old friend of hers, has the hots for her too, though she generally just rebuts his advances while taking advantage of his friendship.

About halfway through the book, the plot with the crooks begins to converge, and we learn that things aren't quite what they seem, even as real life begins to converge more and more with Shaw's past films, as the novel becomes almost metafictional. What counts as real? What counts as acting? The book grows hard to put down at that point, until the final, somewhat emotionally unsatisfying close.