Elminating the Mystery: "A Gun for Sale"

Book: A Gun for Sale
Author: Graham Greene
Pages: 184
Copy: Penguin Classic that I stole from my brother years ago
Read: early December (I read this for my noir mystery reading group)
Spoilers: nothing extraordinary--I mean, you already know people die

I think it's interesting--and by that, I mean I vaguely regret--that I assigned this book as a noir mystery. First off, there really isn't any mystery. There's suspense, there's uncertainty--but because the book is primarily from the point of view of the murderer, there isn't much mystery. There's a little unraveling that needs to be done, but Greene lays everything out, so it's easy enough to predict what is going to happen. I doubt Greene truly wants to leave people in the dark. Second, there isn't really a central detective the way there is in most noir mysteries. Third, the woman isn't a femme fatale in the usual sense.

I was surprisingly pleased with this book. I tried to read Brighton Rock a couple years ago and got completely bogged down. This book is more snappy, and has a little less of the Catholic moralizing that makes Brighton so gloomy. In the place of Catholicism, there's war. War infects the whole novel, from first page to last. The frenzy, the fear, the release--Greene captures the entire pre-war experience perfectly. He also knows why wars happen now--the book is an indictment of industrial warfare and the effect it has on common people.

What I found particularly interesting was the use of the sole female character. Noir mysteries are almost painfully sexist--women are sex objects, or they're manipulative, or they just want to control men, or they're just there to make phone calls and post letters. Anne is a femme fatale--men are captured and die because of her--but she isn't one in the way, say, Brigid O'Shaughnessy is. She really tries to avoid causing death and mayhem, but she gets trapped and has no choice. She makes morally ambiguous choices, tries to help the criminal, and ultimately makes choices that are in her best interest, not in anyone else's. In many ways, she occupies the space usually held by the detective. It is an interesting move on Greene's part, and it does a lot to upend usual noir tropes.

Greene's use of noir cliches accomplishes that which Chandler was never able to. Green transcends the conventions of genre fiction and manages to make a noir mystery into literature. He does this without the literary flourishes that Chandler attempted. His writing is understated and calm, moving ahead without those cringe-inducing metaphors and similes. His dialogue is stilted, though, and characters tend to monologue in a way that isn't particularly realistic. Additionally, even the criminal speaks like a well-educated, well-off man, which complicates the character. Is Raven as well-educated as he claims? Is he affecting a persona? Or is Greene making all the characters equal by making them all speak in relatively similar ways? There are clear class divisions in this novel, but the divisions aren't marked by the way a character speaks.

Noir mysteries rarely explore political issues. They are usually too wrapped up in the mystery at hand to comment on the wider world. Chandler may mention war a few times, but he doesn't comment on why the war is happening or how it impacts common citizens. Hammett seems to forget any other world exists, other than the world of the novel. Greene uses noir conventions to make a political statement and in doing so, he not only elevates the genre, but he also reveals how pervasive politics can be. Just because a man is a murderer doesn't mean he won't feel the impacts of an impending war. Just because a woman has to make ambiguous moral decisions doesn't mean war won't mean anything to her. The novel barely contains these complexities--if Greene had made his story much longer, it no doubt would have shattered--but that it manages to speaks to its power and its writer's talent.

I'm going to try some more Greene now. I know part of the reason I hesitated to read him is because George Orwell wrote a rather damning review of The Heart of the Matter for the New Yorker. He writes elsewhere about "Catholic writers" and how much he dislikes their work. I'll perhaps avoid the more Catholic of Greene's work at the beginning, but I'll still give him a shot.

As for recommending this particular novel, I can see it appealing to anyone interested in industrial warfare or anyone who is interested in noir mysteries but not in genre fiction (a small population, to be sure). Like most noir, this book is unlikely to appeal to most women, just because the woman (and there is really only one, though there are a couple supporting female characters) isn't well drawn or particularly believable. Still, any woman who likes noir mysteries will find something to like in these pages. This might be a good way to introduce a person to noir mysteries, but only if they know that few other noir stories are as literary.

--Benvolia

Prettying Up Murder: "The Lady in the Lake"

Book: The Lady in the Lake
Author: Raymond Chandler
Pages: 266
Copy: Vintage Crime paperback I've had for years
Read: November 13-16 (I read this for my Noir mystery reading group)
Spoilers: I won't give away who murders who, if that's what you mean

I think there are two kinds of people in this world: people who think Raymond Chandler is a great Noir mystery writer and people who don't. I'm one of the latter. Now, let me explain.

I think two things go into whether or not you like Chandler. The most important factor is who you read first, Dashiell Hammett or Chandler. If you read Hammett first (and enjoy him), then Chandler is an upstart copycat who has no idea what he's writing about. If you read Chandler first, then Hammett is an insane violence junkie.

The second factor is how snobbish you are about genre fiction. Chandler tries hard to make his writing read like literary fiction--using overblown figurative language, obvious allusions, and complex murders that require bizarre coincidences that are only barely plausible, laboring under the impression that complexity equals literary. If you think genre fiction is pointless money-grubbing (read this thoughtful if still painfully elitist piece on the debate between genre and literary fiction--it'll at least give you ammunition, even if it doesn't change your mind), then you can read Chandler happily because he's trying so hard to escape the genre. That being said, he seems to genuinely love Noir mystery, so his desire to escape could really be an attempt to elevate the genre. Unfortunately, to my mind, he reinforces the so-called problems of genre fiction rather than transcending them. Hammett, on the other hand, never tried to escape his genre. He more or less created the genre and then broke the mold. No one--granted I haven't read everything but that's why I'm leading a Noir mystery reading group--no one does Noir better than Hammett. I think that kills Chandler. He wants to be the literary version of Hammett, but that's impossible. Hammett existed happily enough within the confines of genre. Chandler can't stand genre.

The Lady in the Lake is a page turner, I'll give it that. The timescale is off-the-charts unrealistic (almost The Da Vinci Code bad, minus the airplanes), but it's easy to ignore that detail. The case starts out as a simple missing persons, but the body count builds rapidly (interestingly, only one person is shot to death--the rest are killed in a more hands-on way) and the mystery deepens. That the solution requires...well, I don't want to give everything away. But the solution is divisive. Some (probably those pesky Hammett fans) will find the solution absolutely ridiculous. Others (probably those staunch Chandler fans) will find the solution ingenious. I doubt anyone will find it boring.

The violence is mostly off-stage. Sure Marlowe gets beat up a couple times, but all the deaths happen before Marlowe arrives or while he's unconscious. That being said, the first murdered body is described in rather gruesome detail. Eat your lunch after you've read the first 60 pages. But other than that first body, the violence and death is pretty understated. Think Greek tragedy, not Stephen King.

The novel is written in the first person, which is always a difficult move for a writer of mysteries. The author can't give too much away, which means the detective can't think too much. This runs the risk of making the detective seem like a bumbling idiot. Unfortunately, this novel suffers a little from that. It's difficult to tell whether or not Marlowe actually knows what he's doing. He just seems to sort of wander around, getting beat up and finding dead bodies. Then the big pay-off scene comes around and he suddenly knows everything. (For the record, Hammett also uses the first person occasionally, but his detective doesn't seem quite so bumbling to me. Chalk it up to bias, I suppose.)

Two final notes. The diction is awkward. Marlowe tends to use fairly sophisticated diction, which is jarringly out of place in a Noir mystery. He's also a bit of a snob, commenting on the quality of his food and drink, a move that makes him a little dandified.  And then there's the figurative language.

"The minutes went by on tiptoe, with their fingers to their lips."

"One drop of that in the hollow of your throat and the matched pink pearls started falling on you like summer rain." 

The first is the way Marlowe describes the time he spends waiting outside the office of his soon-to-be client, the second describes a perfume. Both sentences occur within the first six pages. Did you wince a little? I winced. That kind of language shows how hard Chandler is trying and how completely he is failing. (Okay, okay--he fails to me. Not everyone agrees.) I can't really see a hard-boiled detective thinking like that. The figurative language reinforces the sense that Marlowe has either slipped down a few pegs socially, or that he has no idea what he's doing--that he's just playing at detective.

Alright, who should read this? I think young people (say 16 or 17+) will love Chandler. He's a little gross and a little violent, just enough to titillate a young reader who hasn't read many mysteries yet. People from LA are likely to love Chandler, just because he celebrates the area. Established mystery readers are going to either be Chandler fans or not, so be careful. Ultimately, the Noir mystery genre is a little more of a man's genre--the women are pretty stock, often deeply sexualized, and often either evil or dumb. Some women won't care--they'll just like the mystery--other women will be offended. That's a deeply personal opinion, so I'd never try to really influence anyone one way or the other. Just keep it in mind.

--Benvolia

Is Marriage Really Worth It?: "Middlemarch"

Book: Middlemarch
Author: George Eliot (or Mary Anne Evans, if you prefer)
Pages: 802, including endnotes
Copy: a Barns and Noble Classics I bought years ago (it's pretty ugly and it has tons of typos--find a better copy to read)
Read: I read this for book group, so I started it the middle of October and finished it November 11th
Spoilers: exceedingly minor ones--don't worry, I don't give away specifics

This book came with such high praise, I should have known I wouldn't love it. Almost without fail, whenever a book comes with recommendations, I dislike it. That being said, I didn't hate this book. I can see myself reading this book again in 20 or 30 years and having it make a huge impact on me. That's not to say that this book is meant for 40 or 50 year-olds. I think it has a lot to say to young people, especially young people who are in a relationship for the wrong reasons.

One of the reasons I didn't overwhelming enjoy this book is because I just ended a relationship I was in for the wrong reasons. This meant I read most of the book cringing and yelling at the various characters who marry exactly the wrong person for exactly the wrong reasons. That being said, I think this book has one of the most important quotes any young person could read:

She was not in the least teaching Mr. Casaubon to ask if he were good enough for her, but merely asking herself anxiously how she could be good enough for Mr. Casaubon. (Chapter V)

 That is the sort of advice everyone should get quite early in their lives, especially women. I think women spend much of their lives changing themselves to fit whatever they think their men want, and never pause to wonder why their men aren't trying to do the same. That's why I think this quote is so important to many young person, not just women. I don't think many men realize just how much women feel the pressure to change. (I'm sorry to hold up society's emphasis on heterosexual relationships--if anyone wants to chime in about how this dynamic works in relationships I haven't experienced, please do. I'd love to hear if it's different, the same, more complex, less complex...however it works.)

Now to the plot. This is a book about marriage. Unlike Jane Austen, who traces the courtship of her characters but ends the novel at the marriage, George Eliot explores the actual marriage. Courtship is basically skipped, but the marriage part is meticulously detailed. This is both tedious and endlessly fascinating. There are two marriages that are explored in great detail, and one was a great deal more interesting to me than the other, but I think the two different marriages need to be contrasted against one another. No matter how annoying I find Dr. Lydgate and his foul wife, his marriage contrasts sharply with Dorothea's marriage to Mr. Casaubon. If one or the other were missing, the novel would fall apart.

Eliot does have a few side issues she wants to explore, though, which means that several chunks of this novel discuss marriage only indirectly. One of these side issues is medicine in the 1820s and 1830s, a topic that is about as exciting as it sounds. A great deal of medical reform began around this time, but even Eliot can't make it that interesting. Instead, it boils down to petty bickering between the old guard and modern interlopers. Perhaps to those interested in medical history these sections will be funny or more interesting than the marriages, but to me they distracted from the main plot and slowed the novel down. There is also a blackmail plot, which is marginally more interesting than the medical history. However, the bad past doesn't seem that bad and the victim suffers what I thought was an unrealistic punishment. However, I think my reaction may be a modern one; it certainly seems plausible that people of the 1800s would have been horrified. Finally, there is the issue of the Reform Act, a historical event that seems fascinating but Eliot treats the subject unevenly. In several sections, the Act comes to center stage, but Eliot never really looks at the subject in depth. Perhaps the original audience of the novel would have known all the circumstances surrounding the Act, but I think Eliot could have fleshed out the debate more and made it more central. It certainly seems more interesting than the medical subplot.

I noticed a few interesting things about this novel. Eliot seems to have some sort of economic or capitalist critique going on, but it's hard to tease out. It's hard to say if she's actually critiquing industrialism and the other trappings of capitalism, or just noticing their effect on the lives of people. I think it would take a great deal of research to figure out just what she's saying (research that I don't want to engage in, primarily because I find this novel just tedious enough that actually spending that sort of time with it would probably make me want to stop reading altogether). Also interesting is the way Eliot uses babies as a way to characterize marriage. This is so unrealistic that it's endlessly fascinating. One marriage is childless, but the rest of the marriages result in at least two children. Somehow Eliot uses children to reflect on the strength of a marriage, while also using children to reflect on the parents. I don't want to give too much away, but if you read this book, pay attention to the babies. They seem loaded with symbolic importance, the sort of symbolic importance that is absolutely impossible in real life. In an otherwise realistic novel, this symbol is striking.

Eliot's real power lays in her asides and in the voice she gives her narrator. She has some of the finest insults in 19th century literature and some of the strongest observations in literature. The narrator of Middlemarch comes and goes unpredictably, but whenever the narrator is present, you're privy to some of the funniest observations (or drolly accurate summaries) I've ever read. That being said, this book is going to appeal to very specific people. People who like classics could attempt this book, but I'd recommend reading it in a group. Otherwise you might not have the strength to force yourself through it. Because this novel looks particularly at marriage, I'd recommend it to classics readers who are marriage or are in a committed relationship (not because I want to cause problems, but because I think it's always good to think about your relationships and what you're sacrificing). This is also a classic in feminist literature (if it isn't, it should be). Eliot looks directly at the limited choices women have (marry or don't marry, and even if you do marry your choices are incredibly limited) and how those limited choices destroy women. Finally, to any young people who feel ambitious, I'd suggest you read this book. Suffer through some of the dull parts and you'll learn all you need to know about adult relationships--their pitfalls and their joys.

--Benvolia

Dystopian Books: "Logan's Run"

Title: Logan's Run
Authors: William Nolan and George Clayton Johnson
133 pages (Hardcover)
Copy: UC Davis library
Read: early June
Spoilers: several itty-bitty ones

Because I saw the film before I read Logan's Run, I had exceedingly low expectations.  The movie, while intriguing in some respects, has such bad acting that the film is nearly unwatchable--the female lead is particularly annoying--and the special effects are limited by technology.  I picked the book up with trepidation but a feeling of duty (I'm reading dystopian literature this summer in preparation for my Senior Honors Thesis).  I was surprised by the book and its intriguing view of the future.

This is a dystopia that explores the cult of youth so beloved by our modern society.  In this world, people are killed at 21 because society has decided that life after 21 is too horrible to contemplate.  Thus, the "ages of man" are skewed--a 16 year old, for instance, is considered a consenting adult.  Drugs and sex figure predominately in the early part of the book (rather similarly to Brave New World) and while people seem to have jobs, it is hard to know exactly what these jobs are.  The only clearly defined occupation is Logan's job as a Sandman, a sort of special policeman who pursues "runners," people who run away on their death day rather than submitting quietly.  The life stage of a member of this society is determined by a "flower" (some sort of jewel implanted in the hand) that changes color as part of its 21 year decomposition.

The book is slim and seems to be cut short.  The entire piece has the feel of a fairly detailed outline.  The action moves at an extraordinary pace and the time seems impossible (think compression along the lines of The Da Vinci Code).  Plus, injuries are fleeting which makes the novel seem more like an action TV series.  I have the feeling, though, that if the novel had been expanded any it would have become absolutely unbearable.  And, really, why bother to demand realism in a book of this nature?  Obviously the authors are caricaturing one aspect of culture and it seems that the fast, unrealistic pace could be part of the book's main philosophic thrust--face paced lives and a fast paced book.  It works fairly well.

I read the book to see how it depicts the environment.  I have to say, the characters in the novel have an interesting relationship to the natural world.  Nature is the way to freedom, but it is also out to kill them.  The novel depicts traveling through a cave-system with creepy success, elaborating on the claustrophobia of the characters and the disgusting creatures that live in the caves.  A sense of death pervades the scene, in a more or less realistic way.  The vague realism of the cave scene, however, is overwhelmed by later, more unrealistic scenes.  Later in the novel, Logan has a prolonged fight with a tiger.  The scene strikes me as incredibly odd.  The tiger hunts Logan and carries a grudge, finally attacking him in a decidedly abnormal fashion.  The scene is more anthropomorphic than real.  Ultimately, the final scene presents a firm denial of Earth, in a scene that is unexpected and out-of-place.  On the whole, the book seems to find nature dangerous and most likely lethal, and seems to think we'd all be better off without it.

Of course, the depiction isn't all that surprising.  Science fiction, in many ways, denies the value of Earth and upholds the value of technology.  There are science fiction novels that deal exclusively with nature, but they are a more recent development.  Still, if Logan's Run is placed alongside Fahrenheit 451, for instance, this extremely negative natural depiction becomes more striking.  I wonder if this negatively viewed environment is part of youth (perhaps the environment can't be seen or understood until one is older than 21) or merely a symptom of a societal separation from nature.  At any rate, it's a curious depiction.

I'd recommend this novel to anyone interested in the intense glorification of youth because Logan's Run has much to say about age and maturity.  I'll warn that there is sex, but not too detailed, and there is drug use.  There are also violent scenes (and sexually violent scenes) and questionable depictions of women.  Nevertheless, Logan's Run is an interesting dystopia, fast paced and intriguing.  It's definitely a product of its era, but it's still fairly relevant.  And it's way better than the movie, so don't be turned off from the novel if all you know about it is the film.  The book is more interesting and the film leaves a lot of the most thought-provoking parts out.

-Benvolia