Metro Reading

Lately I’ve been seeing trailers for upcoming books. Most have been pretty lame, but this one (something my buddy posted on his facebook), looks pretty bad ass. Bad ass enough, at least, for me to want to buy it when it comes out.

Nice.

Family Guy did a Stephen King episode on Sunday. I had no idea until my buddy Sham let me know.

Funny.

“Guess what The Stand Girl is reading,” my buddy, Zig, started off the conversation with when he called me a bit ago. That’s exactly what he said, too. Guess what The Stand Girl is reading.

The Stand Girl is one of Zig’s friends. I’ve never met her, but like most good friends, he brings her up in conversation often, and that’s what I know her as. I’m sure he’s told me her real name. Hell, he’s probably mentioned it numerous times before getting tired of me going “Who?” and him replying with “The Stand Girl.” Sometimes you stick with what works. She got the nickname rather easily: One day he told me he had a friend who was a big Stephen King fan. He had talked to her that day and she had just decided to watch the TV version of The Stand straight through one day. People, this is impressive as the miniseries runs about 6 hours. So I asked the next logical question: “Is she single?”

To my dismay, no. She’s married. Jealousy of her husband aside, she became forever known (to me) as The Stand Girl.

So, Zig calls me about a month ago and says, “Guess what The Stand Girl is reading?”

“What?”

“The Stand.”

“Oh, duh. Aren’t you reading that now, too?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “and I was talking to Kevin last night and he mentioned he was reading it, too. How odd is that?”

“Shit,” I said, “that is weird. I’ve been wanting to jump back into it lately, too. It’s been ages since I’ve read it.”

“Now’s a good time.”

He was right. I used to read The Stand every two years or so growing up because it’s that good. Hell, when the full uncut edition came out, I read the abridged version, then immediately read the uncut edition. That’s a couple thousand pages, and I enjoyed every word. But I hadn’t read it in years and I was well overdue for a jump into the battle of good and evil.

As I wrote on my facebook wall, what can you say about The Stand that hasn’t already been said? Considered by many, myself included, this is King’s masterpiece. Yes, he’s had great books both before and since The Stand, but the closest he’s come to matching the enjoyment of The Stand is IT.

The Stand is nothing more than a battle of good and evil, plain and simple. But King is at his best here at what he does best; storytelling and characterization. There are a lot of characters in this book, but each one is unique, and I never had any confusion on who was who. This is a big deal for me, as if there are too many characters, or if they are too cookie cut, I have to page back to see who is who (this is no doubt coming from ADD). But not here, no sir. Each player is instantly recognizable.

If there’s one teeny, tiny, itsy, bitsy problem I have with the novel is the last 200 – 300 pages seem a little rushed. It’s as if King got to page 1,000 or so and said, “Well, shit, this is going on way to long. I need to wrap this the hell up.” It no way distracts from the book’s enjoyment, but if I’m going to read 1,300 pages, I’m going to read 1,500 if that’s what it takes.

Regardless, The Stand is my favorite book, hands down, no question. It was good to revisit it again.

Now to re-watch the mini-series.

When told my buddy my displeasure over Watchmen, he laughed and said, “Dumbass. Why didn’t you ask me if you’d like it? I would have told you not to buy it. It’s not your type of comic.”

He was right, I should have at least asked, as he would have prepared me. He owns a comic book store and is a good friend, so he knows comics and he knows me. I would have bought it anyway for the discussion we are going to have on it (pushes glasses up), but at least I would have been prepared.

“Come up Sunday,” he went on. “I got some stuff you’ll like.”

So I went up Sunday and picked up a few comics (Stephen King’s comic version of The Stand being one of them. $3.50 for about 12 pages. Fuck you Marvel!), with a high recomendation from my friend for Frank Miller’s Batman: The Dark Knight Returns.

Now we’re talking.

I’ve been a fan of Frank Miller ever since I read Hard Boiled almost 20 years ago. I’m an extremely casual comic fan, so I probably don’t even have 5% of what Miller did since Hard Boiled and now, but I’ve been pleased with everything he’s done that I’ve read, The Dark Knight Returns is no exception.

Returns is interesting is that it takes place in the future, where Batman is in his 50s and is retired. But a series of events leads him out of retirement, and his age is obviously an issue (he’s still mad as fuck, though).

What’s great about it is it shows not only how human Batman is, but also how angry. I’ve always preferred The Dark Night comics over plain old Batman comics because The Dark Knight work was always… darker. Returns is absolutely no exception to this. The entire graphic novel is somewhat of a downer. Batman is old, he’s beat up, he’s alone (until Robin comes along) and he has no support. Even Alfred is more dickish than usual.

If there’s one thing I didn’t like (and this could simply be the way the graphic novel was consolidated, and not how it played it during the original comic run), it’s how Robin seemed to appear, be trained and bond with Batman in a matter of a few pages. The entire dynamic was incredibly rushed and underdeveloped.

But even with that niggle, The Dark Night Returns is everything Watchmen wasn’t. I’m not knocking Watchmen, as it obviously has its fans, but I believe Returns has a lot more character depth.

My friend gave me another one to read — the title escapes me — but no doubt I’ll dig it.

So the big movie right now (at least for comic book fans) is Watchmen, based on the graphic novel by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons. Over at a forum I frequent, a vote was cast for a “book of the month” discussion and guess what won?

You got it.

I have mixed feelings about a graphic novel (basically, a big comic) as a book of the month discussion. I’m not adverse to reading them, I just don’t believe they have as much meat as a real book. No, scratch that, they don’t have as much meat as a real book. That’s not to say they aren’t enjoyable, or worthy of discussion, but if I’m going to discuss a book, I’d want to discuss a book. But since a vote was cast, and the yays had it, I went out and bought Watchmen.

What a waste of $20.

Watchmen is well written, for sure. And the art I can dig. Even the story is more than doable as it follows around a superhero outcast, Rorschach, as he tries to make sense of the brutal murder of The Comedian, another superhero killed in the first pages of the novel.

For all intents and purposes, Watchmen is a graphic novel I should like. With the exception of one character (Dr. Manhattan), none of the heroes in the book have superpowers. They are just strong, or athletic or whatever. Like Batman (hands down, my favorite hero) or The Punisher, they are just normal everyday folk — unlike that clown Superman, who is just lame. For the most part, any superhero with superpowers is lame, except those in Supreme Power.

In addition to the characters, the story is enough to interest me. It’s a mystery, plain and simple. I should be all over that.

But where it fails, and fails miserably, is the action — or lack of. Nothing ever happens! Okay, so that’s a mild exageration, but let’s face it; comics are a visual medium. No matter what spin is ever placed on it, at the end of the day a comic is visual.

Sure, there is a lot of subtext in Watchmen — the pirate story was pretty well done — and Rorschach is pretty bad ass (even with his annoying Hulk-like speech pattern), but the story really needs to be more interesting than it is in order to justify all the accolades the comic gets. Hell, The Walking Dead doesn’t have action every page, but it has one hell of a compelling story (although I will admit being biased, as I dig zombies more than tight wearing vigilantes).

Regardless of it all, I’ll still see the movie. I won’t rush out to the theaters, as I’m perfectly content on waiting for the DVD. I’ve heard a lot of good things about the movie, most importantly that the movie is more violent than the comic. That’s good for me. Also, I’m curious to see Jackie Earle Haley as Rorschach. He’s done a lot of movies since I first saw him, but he’ll always be Kelly Leak from The Bad News Bears.

I’ve been back filling my Hard Case Crime collection every time they have a dollar sale (members only sale, you cats really need to join the club if you haven’t yet), and Fade to Blonde by Hard Case Crime co-founder Max Phillips — the other founder being Charles Ardai — is one that had most recently come in.

Number two in the HCC catalog, Blonde is yet another fantastic addition to the series, as it has everything pulp lovers need: Babes, brawn, bullets and bite.

Set in 1940s Los Angeles, Roy Corson is hired by Rebecca LaFontaine for a little protection from a gentleman named Halliday — a man who has threatened to throw lye in her face. And, oh yeah, Halliday is tied to the mob. But Corson does what any man’s man does in this situation…he takes care of business.

Blonde is a fine example of what pulp fiction goodness is all about, damsels in distress, tough as nails protaganists (and equally slimey antaganists) and razor sharp writing. Author Phillips has a good beat:

From a conversation with a sandwich girl at a party:

“How’s Miss Godalmighty?” she said absently.

“Who?”

“Your date. Miss HIgh and Godalmighty Bellinger.”

“Oh. Fine, thanks. She sends her love.”

“You like tomatoes? Some people are allergic, but I think they’re good.”

“I like tomatoes.”

“What she probably likes is you’re not an actor.”

“That’s it.”

“I guess she’s not too high and mighty for a place like this.”

“I guess she isn’t. What did she turn you down for?”

“What?”

“I said, what did she turn you down for. Or did she just turn you down, period?”

The girl in the kimono didn’t say anything, just kept slicing tomatoes.

You hear that? That snap snap snap? That’s a good beat, kids.

One slight thing I didn’t like about the book is some of characters brought in didn’t have much purpose other than furthering the plot. It’s expected to have a character once in a while that accomlishes this, but Blonde has a few more than it needs. Corson’s interactions with characters like Burri, the head mob honcho, seem a little forced and pointless. Burri isn’t the only one, either. The man (whose name escapes me) who suggested LaFontaine to Corson in the first place pops up once or twice, if only to give Corson some advice and/or information just seems like filler.

Another small problem I had was with the ending. I felt slightly cheated because there wasn’t enough information prior to suggest what was coming. Looking back, there were slight hints, but they were barely whispers and nothing to grab onto. The finale is by no means unbelievable, but it would have been nice if, after finishing the book, I could have said, “OH! OKAY! I GET IT!” But because of the suddeness, it seemed a tad contrived.

These quibbles are easily overlooked, though, because Phillips is really that good with the lingo. The book is by no means a disappointment and is a fun read from start to finish. So much so, that I’m hoping Phillips throws us fans another bone in the future.

Many months ago I was at the much talked about, much loved Wheaton Public Library buying my usual bags and bags of books, when I came across a beat up copy of Rosemary’s Baby by Ira Levin. I, of course, had heard of the movie and was quite aware that it was a book first, but I have never bothered with either.

The movie I never bothered with because Roman Polanski is a fuck and should be skinned.

The book I never bothered with because I’ve never had the opportunity. Well that obviously changed when I saw it for a quarter. (And, to be quite honest, if it were over a buck, I most likely wouldn’t have bought it as the title just never interested me.)

The story of Rosemary’s Baby (for those who have been oblivious to pop-culture for about 30 years) is not complex at all. A woman, Rosemary, and her husband (whose name escapes me, so we’ll call him Hal) move into a new apartment that has a questionable past — suicides and murders and such. The apartment’s tenants are rather… eccentric, to say the least. Strange shit starts happening, Rosemary gets pregnant and the tenants may or may not be devil worshipers and her baby may or may not be demon spawn.

Let’s face it, devil worshipers and demon spawn just aren’t scary anymore. Sure, back in the day you had The Exorcist (which I desperately need to read) and The Omen, and those are still good now. However, people prancing around a pentagram in dark hoods and robes and black candles just don’t cut it nowadays. But damn if that doesn’t effect the enjoyment of this book.

Levin does a fantastic job of just telling you a story. He doesn’t try to do anything else. The entire book centers around Rosemary, and you don’t know anything beyond what she knows. Levin isn’t trying to scare you, he just sits you down in an easy chair and tells you a tale. The entire tone of the book is very conversational and, because of this, reads quickly. But don’t take that as it reads quickly like a pulp fiction novel, where as few words are used as possible, but quickly in the sense you are talking to a friend, and time slips away from you.

The only problem I had with the book — and this is no fault of Levin, but rather the time it was written — is the ending… or, rather, the reveal of Rosemary’s baby. I believe that, at the time, it may have been shocking, but now it reads a little hokey. The actual ending is really good, unsettling even, because of how Rosemary handles her unique situation, but the description of the kid leaves a little to be desired.

Rosemary’s Baby is the first novel I’ve read by Levin, but I see he’s also written such noted works as A Kiss Before Dying and The Stepford Wives, which I would like to read in the future. Most notably, though (for me), he wrote a sequel to Rosemary’s Baby, called Son of Rosmary, a full 30 years later. I’m really curious about that, and will keep an eye out for it.

I love Daedalus Books. It’s a fantastic place to buy new books at great prices. If you are unfamiliar with them, it’s kind of like a big store consisting of nothing but the bargain book tables found at Barnes & Noble or Borders, plus with some DVDs and CDs in the mix. Between them and the Wheaton Public Library, my book needs are pretty well set.

I went up to the Daedalus a couple weeks ago with my pops, and proceeded to spend more than I should have — I probably have more books “to read” than “have read” in my collection, but, man, I can’t help myself sometimes. It was on this visit that I saw The Getaway by Jim Thompson.

I saw the book on a table for $1.99, and picked it up hoping that it was the book the movie was based on (rather than the book being based on the movie — I’m not a huge fan of those), and I was pleasently surprised to find it was the former, especially since I had no idea there was a book at all. Having enjoyed the Sam Peckinpah flick (staring Steve Badass McQueen and Ali Holy Hell Hot MacGraw), it was a no-brainer to pick it up.

If you’ve never seen the movie (or read the book), The Getaway centers around Doc McCoy and his wife Carol. Recently released from prison (with a little help from Carol, who may or may not of slept with the warden), McCoy plans a bank job to get his debts paid. Things, of course, go wrong and he and Carol end up on the lamb.

I tore into the book, and really enjoyed it. The movie followed it rather closely for the most part, but the book takes a weird and ugly turn about the last third of it, and is completely different from the movie. It’s not bad, both are quite good, actually, but there’s a part in the book — a part that centers around suggested cannibalism — that really didn’t work. At all. It didn’t work so much, that it affected what could have been a much stronger ending.

It’s rare when a movie is better than the book that it’s based on, and while Thompson’s Getaway was pretty damn enjoyable, Peckinpah’s is a little stronger. That, though, could be the McQueen factor.

There’s a lot of things I love about the Hard Case Crime series. Their covers are amazingly cool. The club is reasonably priced (about $6.00 a month). About every quarter they have sweet sales, where they mark down books to a buck or two (just got in 13 books for $21). And, with the exception of maybe one or two books, I have enjoyed everything I’ve read from the catalogue.

But one of the things I like most about the HCC series is it introduces me to authors I may not have heard of (or have seen their work without realizing it). Like Max Allan Collins. I’ll get back to this in a minute.

Due to just being busy as hell, it’s the first HCC book I’ve read in a while. As I was reading it, I was painfully aware that I’ve been away from the pulp for entirely too long (and realized, with glee, while I haven’t read any in a while it also means I have a pretty big back log I can plow through).

The First Quarry is actually the second “Quarry” book in the catalogue, the first being The Last Quarry. Fortunately for me, First is the prequel to Last, and I have not had a chance to read the latter, yet. So that works out pretty good.

It’s 1970, and Quarry, a paid-for-hire assassin, sits in an abandoned house watching the occupant of the home across the street, waiting for an opportunity to close the contract.

As the title, The First Quarry, suggests, this is Quarry’s first job for The Broker, a man who found Quarry through unknown means, and offered him a position in his company. The Broker negotitiates the contracts, and his employees, men like Quarry, fulfill those contracts. A sniper in Vietnam, Quarry came home from the war only to find his wife with another man and…let’s just say he took care of business. Since then, Quarry didn’t really have anything going on in life until The Broker showed up. An opportunity presented itself, and he took it.

Because nothing is ever easy in a pulp novel, this is no simple job. So many things complicate this seemingly simple hit, it no longer becomes a case of “What can go wrong, will,” but “Yeah, shit’s just gonna go wrong, whether it can or can’t.” But a credit goes to author Collins’ skill, because everything that goes wrong is feasible, and it all comes together in a believable way in the end.

The First Quarry is written in first person narrative, but it is also a diary of sorts, as Quarry addresses the reader (think TV’s “Dexter”). It works extemely well because Quarry (via Collins) is very matter-of-fact with a witty, dry sense of humor. It works extremely well, and a solid introduction to Max Allan Collins for me.

Now, as I mentioned, I like how the HCC catalogue introduces me to authors I’ve read before, authors I’ve never heard of and authors whose works I’ve seen, but wasn’t aware of who they were. Well, Collins is the author of The Road to Perdition (you know, the movie that Tom Hanks is actually enjoyable in?). I didn’t realize this until I hit Collins’ website and noticed that on his bibliography. Completely fitting considering how much I enjoyed the movie’s noir style — and I still need to pick up that graphic novel.

The Fist Quarry is yet another solid entry in the Hard Case Crime catalogue. I can’t wait to read The Last Quarry.

Wow. It certainly has been a while since my last update, but after finishing Money Shot by Christa Faust, I had to post about it.

A while back, I wrote a blog about how, for the most part, I do not enjoy mystery novels (or, more specifically, crime novels) written by women, as they generally get tied up with crap I don’t care about (ie: feel good garbage). Of course, there are exceptions (like Janet Evanovich), but those are few and far between.

Well, if Money Shot is any indication, Faust is a very welcome addition to my limited library of female crime writers. (And before any panties get in a bunch and accuse me of being misogynistic, can men write romance novels as good as women? I’m guessing no.)

Anywho, Money Shot, aside from having a terrific oh-so appropriate title, centers around Angel Dare, a former pornstar turned business woman (her business caters to women in porn). When she gets a call to pull a favor for a friend, a quickie movie, Dare reluctantly agrees. (Partly because the guy she’s to ‘do’ is the current top dog in the industry and he specifically asked for her).

Once she shows up to the shoot, though, she’s beaten, tortured and raped — all over a missing briefcase that she knows seemingly nothing about. Fortunately for our heroine, she manages to live through this ordeal (not for the lack of the baddies trying), and takes it upon herself to give a little payback.

Just scope the book’s first paragraph:

Coming back from the dead isn’t as easy as they make it seem in the movies. In real life it takes forever to do little things like pry open your eyes. You spend excruciating ages trying to bend your left middle finger down far enough to feel the rope around your wrists. Even longer figuring out that the cold hard thing poking you in the cheek is one of the handles of a pair of jumper cables. This is not the kind of action that makes for gripping cinema. Plus there are these long dull stretches where people in the audience would probably go take a piss or get popcorn, since it looks as if nothing is happening and they figure maybe you really are dead after all. After a while, you start to wonder the same thing yourself. You also wonder what will happen if you throw up behind the oily rag ducttaped into your mouth or how long it will take for someone to notice you’re missing. Otherwise you are mostly busy bleeding, trying not to pass back out, or laboriously adding up the cables, the stuffy cramped darkness, the scratchy carpet below and the raw hollow metal above to equal your current location, the trunk of an old and badly maintained car. That’s what it was like for me, anyway.

How can you not like that opening?

And, the best part is Faust keeps that finger snapping beat the entire novel. Good times, indeed.

Part of the Hard Case Crime library, Money Shot is probably the best I’ve read of the series. And that’s impressive because, with the exception of maybe two, they all have been top notch reads.

I’m eagerly looking forward to more from Faust. She’s a fantastic writer, she has crazy wit and she’s pretty damn hot to boot.

That’s right. I said “to boot.”

If you dig the hard boiled, pick this one up immediately.