Love Me Fierce in Red Harvest
On James Ellroy and Dashiell Hammett
Hello.
Before I get into the book reviews this month, I have some news:
The 100% Amazon-free version of my book What Living And Dying Is Like is finally available.
It took a minute to put together, but here it is:
The digital edition can be read on any e-reader or tablet or phone. It’s delivered by a company call Bookfunnel who have excellent customer support. You’ll have no problem reading the thing on your device.
The paperback has nice cream paper and you can read it with your human eyes. It looks like this:
Onwards…
Love Me Fierce In Danger: The Life of James Ellroy by Steven Powell
American hardboiled crime novelist James Ellroy is my biggest influence. He’s that author, and every writer has one: the mountain, the giant literary formation that lurks on the horizon, seen from every vantage point.
I’ve read all of Ellroy’s novels, all his shorts, and both of his memoirs. I’ve listened to his podcast and read academic papers on him. I’ve even read a previous book by Steven Powell, specifically about Ellroy. Such is the obsession.
But also, such is the ambition.
Ellroy taught me to go big or die trying. That’s my takeway from his work. So, I’ve spent years here trying to break the guy down into something manageable — Where is my way in? How do I get on this guy’s level? — and so far it’s to no avail. All I can do is pray for a late-career miracle.
But it’s not looking good.
When Ellroy was my age, he was writing American Tabloid.
But Steven Powell’s incredible new biography is not without its consolations. The book is every bit as raw, dirty, and brazen as its subject, and is absolutely written in the tenor of another ambitious fan, someone trying to hold a candle. Thus, Powell really gets in there, turning familiar anecdotes on their head and filling in all sorts of grey areas in Ellroy’s career. It’s fascinating. New revelations about Ellroy’s family heritage. The middle years fleshed out like never before. And then passages on the late career that made me want to re-read 700-page novels. At one point, James Ellroy — the Demon Dog of American Crime Fiction — goes to Donna Tartt’s birthday party.
It’s a lot. A whole new side of the guy.
And by the end of this book, I had a hold of something I’ve only occasionally sensed in this story.
I’m probably a lot happier than James Ellroy.
It’s not nothing.
Red Harvest by Dashiell Hammett
I’ve never been able to find my way with Dashiell Hammett. He’s a bona fide member of the noir canon, so I persist, but it never works. I’ve been putting off Red Harvest — something many consider his masterpiece — for years. Which would be a great lead-in for loving the book, but…
I didn’t love it.
I still don’t get it.
What I can see is — and what I do love — are the cultural echoes of his book. Set in a corrupt and violent town called Poisonville, Red Harvest is the story of The Continental Op, a private investigator sent in to solve a series of murders. Along the way, all hell breaks loose, and the plot is arch pulp; not so much a linear progression of story as a blast beat of individual scenes, each landing heavy. Which may sound like a hoot, but it’s actually a bit of a headache. Think: endless characters and incident.
But coming out of Red Harvest, I can see Frank Miller’s Sin City, Blood Simple by the Coens, Raymond Chandler, and the big guy mentioned above. Hard to fault, and I’m not faulting it, except to say: I prefer what people did with Hammett, over what Hammett did with Hammett.
That’s more than enough.
— IAIN
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"When Ellroy was my age, he was writing American Tabloid."
That line made me do the math. I was that age last year. Ouch. It's these kind of things that keep me from comparing myself to other writers most of the time.
I can relate to what you're saying when it comes to Red Harvest. Hammett is an undisputed master, but he's so influential that it's hard to see it in the context of its original publication. In that way, it's a lot like Golden Age comics.
I'm a big fan of Ellroy as well. Him and Don Winslow are on my Mount Rushmore. I'd have to think who else belongs up there. Anyway, thanks for the good reviews.