Jesus and Caligari: a Review of Upton Sinclair’s They Call Me Carpenter

They Call Me Carpenter by Upton Sinclair

I confess that I never knew much about Upton Sinclair beyond the fact that he wrote the meat-packing industry exposé The Jungle. It seems like a pretty big oversight on my part, considering that he wrote nearly 100 novels and also won a Pulitzer Prize—though not for The Jungle, as you'd think, but for the third novel in the Lanny Budd series (which is now out of print). I was also surprised to learn that he wrote the book on which Disney based the film The Gnome-Mobile, a childhood favorite that almost no one seems to remember (I was even accused once of inventing it). None of these facts are why I decided to read They Call Me Carpenter.

My interest originated with a reference in a book about horror film history, David Skal's The Monster Show. Skal mentions that Sinclair's They Call Me Carpenter uses a movie theater showing of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari as a framing device. As a fan of silent film—and silent horror in particular—I knew I had to take a look.


The book begins with the main character, Billy, attending a screening of Caligari—"a futurist production, a strange, weird freak of the cinema art, supposed to be the nightmare of a madman"—in the fictitious Western City, California in 1921. The film has been recommended to him by his friend Dr. Henner.

"Being an American," Henner said, "you will find yourself asking, 'What good does such a picture do?' You will have the idea that every work of art must serve some moral purpose." After a pause, he added: "This picture could not possibly have been produced in America. For one thing, nearly all the characters are thin." He said it with the flicker of a smile--"One does not find American screen actors in that condition. Do your people care enough about the life of art to take a risk of starving for it?"

After seeing the film, Billy agrees with Henner's assessment that the film could not have been made America, as it is the product of "an old, perhaps an overripe culture"—which is not to say he didn't enjoy it. In fact, he offers several paragraphs of positive criticism, including:

“I had read many stories and seen a great many plays, in which the hero wakes up in the end, and we realize that we have been watching a dream. I remembered "Midsummer Night's Dream," and also "Looking Backward." An old, old device of art; and yet always effective, one of the most effective! But this was the first time I had ever been taken into the dreams of a lunatic. Yes, it was interesting, there was no denying it; grisly stuff, but alive, and marvelously well acted. How Edgar Allen Poe would have revelled [sic] in it!"

Conrad Veidt in the expressionist masterpiece The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari.

Still musing about the film and its meaning, Billy leaves the theater and finds himself in the midst of a mob that "might have come direct from the inside of Dr. Caligari's asylum." The protesters are livid that Caligari is making money for Germany. "Ya, ya. Boo, boo!" they shout. "German propaganda! Pay your money to the Huns! For shame on you! Leave your own people to starve, and send your cash to the enemy." Billy is incredulous at their fury, knowing that there's nothing anti-American in the film, and contemplates reasoning with them, but ultimately realizes a mob can't be reasoned with. He makes his way through the throng, but not without getting a nasty cosh on the head.

L.A. Times, May 8, 1921.

The theater riot is based in part on Hollywood history. When rioters became violent outside Miller's Theater in October of 1921, the management halted their exhibition of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari after only a few performances, replacing it with silent crime drama The Money Changers. Upton Sinclair may well have become aware of this event because of the fact that the replacement film was based on his own novel of the same name. (As a side note pertaining to my interest in lost films, no reels of The Money Changers are known to have survived.)

After the riot, Billy takes refuge in a church, and here the novel changes into something I (perhaps stupidly) did not anticipate. I'd like to point out that I read this novel in e-book format, so I didn't have cover art as a clue, nor did my edition have the subtitle "a Tale of the Second Coming." Maybe "carpenter" should have made me take notice, but it's a common enough name. Suffice it to say, I was blindsided when the novel turned into a Christian allegory—something which likely would not surprise many other readers. (Even if they don't have the advantage of the cover art or subtitle, the book is still far better known for being about Jesus than it it is for mentioning The Cabinet of Dr. Calgari).

Somewhat more obvious covers for They Call Me Carpenter.

While in the church, Billy sees the stained glass representation of Christ come to life. Let's not forget that he's had a nasty wallop to the head, but other people also seem to see the man, who does indeed call himself Carpenter as it says on the wrapper. How well you like the rest of the book may have a lot to do with your relationship to religion, or how much you like rather obvious religious allegory. As the two cruise through Los Angeles (or Western City, rather) in the heyday of silent film, Carpenter gets to meet movie stars and directors, like the sultry Mary Magna—a vampy Theda Bara-ish stand-in for Mary Magdalene—and the film producer Abey Tszchniczklefritszch. He turns down a lucrative film contract, appalled at the treatment of the day laborers and the inequity of wealth. His experiences lead to trouble as he can no longer tolerate the injustices he views:

"Carpenter looked about the place, now lined pretty well with cripples and invalids. Only a couple of hours of spreading rumor had been needed to bring them forth, unholy and dreadful secrets, dragged from the dark corners and back alley- ways of these tenements. He gazed from one crooked and distorted face to another, and put his 'hand to his forehead with a gesture of despair. "No, no!" he said. "It is of no use !" He lifted his voice, calling once more to the masters of the city."You make them faster than I can heal them! You make them by machinery and he who would help them must break the machine !""

For me, the novel's saving grace (pun intended just a little) is the look at the silent movie-making machinations and how little has changed as far as exploitation, marketing, and general depravity. Occasionally there are touches of humor, but it, too, is often heavy-handed. I was a tad disappointed that there wasn't a return at the end of the book to the Caligari exhibition, which I had presumed based on the use of the term "framing device." The term was used correctly, just differently than I'd anticipated (and perhaps that was just as stupid of me as being oblivious to the subject matter, as the ending seems like I should have seen it coming).

It's also an interesting companion to The Jungle, with its obvious political agenda, especially concerning labor exploitation. (Sinclair, by the way, was surprised at the reaction to his most famous novel, which he had intended to point out the inhumane treatment of workers. Public reaction zeroed in on the unsanitary conditions in the meatpacking industry and largely ignored the labor issues. "I aimed at the public's heart," said Sinclair, "and by accident I hit it in the stomach.")

If you'd like to judge the book for yourself, it's in the public domain, so you can can score a free Kindle copy (or choose from an array of affordable used versions) at Amazon.com. You can also download it free on Project Gutenberg, where you can opt to read it directly, if you prefer.

*Written as part of the Friday's Forgotten Books event, hosted by Patti Abbott. (Will update with link to this week's entries when the list is posted, but you can still check out past reviews.)*

Book Review: Strange by Charles Willeford

 

A quirky little nibble of Miami noir.

Reading The Woman Chaser made me a Charles Willeford fan on the spot. I even dug the film version, which a lot of people didn’t seem to get. (It was perfect for Patrick Warburton’s idiosyncratic style—the same one that made him the only person who could have possibly played The Tick.) I’ve been anxious to read more from the godfather of Miami noir, so I jumped when Strange showed up as an e-book deal.

Willeford is one of those authors whose own life is as interesting as the characters he created. He won a Bronze Star, a Silver Star, and a Purple Heart in the Army in World War II, then enrolled in the graduate program to study art at the Universitarias de Belles Artes in Lima. He was kicked out when it came to the university’s attention that he not only didn’t have an undergraduate degree, but also had neglected to graduate from high school. No matter. Willeford later enlisted in the Air Force, worked as a boxer, a horse trainer, and a radio announcer, and —oh, yes—wrote a bunch of novels.

It should be no surprise that the folks who populate Willeford’s books are a bit quirky. Strange feels unconventional from the get-go, though the men hanging around an apartment swimming pool swilling martinis should be mundane enough. Maybe it’s the fact that the martinis are in plastic cups. Maybe it’s the creepy vibe of the singles-only building, or the increasingly crude talk of the bachelors. There’s a decidedly swank ‘50s feel to the scene, although it was written in the ‘70s—a fact I didn’t catch on to until one of the men appears in a magenta double-knit suit and is deemed well-dressed.

The men spend most of their conversation in talking about women and the procuring of them. A good-natured argument about the best place to pick up women soon turns into one about the worst place to pick them up. After various suggestions are discarded (even church is deemed a good place to get lucky, at least to one bachelor), it's agreed that the drive-in is the worst. Women don't tend to go to drive-ins alone, they concur, and if one did, she'd probably not take kindly to being mashed on.

A bet ensues, and while one man attempts to score, the others hang around to witness what they think will be his failure. This is noir, so of course they get more than they bargained for, and a sequence of events lands a dead, overdosed 14 year-old girl in their apartment. How the men choose to deal with this difficulty is what makes the tale even more noir.

Eddie said: “What do you think, Fuzz-O?”

“About what?”

“The whole thing, D’you think we’ll get away with it?”

“I’m worried about Don.”

“You don’t have to worry about Don,” Eddie said. “Don’s all right.”

“If I don’t have to worry about Don,” I said, I don’t have to worry about anything.”

“You don’t have to worry about Don,” Eddie said.

“Good. If you don’t scratch a sore, it don’t supparate.”

“Hey! That’s poetry, Larry.”

Part of what keeps the story cool is the matter-of-factness with which it's told. There's a good, natural rhythm to it, with a nasty streak that runs throughout. The grime isn't hidden down some alley, though; it's right out in the open. Willeford spools it out at a sneaky pace, and the men, who seem pretty innocuous at first, slowly become more and more slimy and grotesque. You can easily see how women might fall for their good looks and cool words at the bar, but just as easily see how lucky they are that these men won’t stick around. 

I didn't know when I started reading it that Strange  is actually the opening segment of The Shark-Infested Custard, a four-part book. It stands well on its own, but if you aim to read all things Willeford, skip this one, and go straight to Shark. (I’m a little peeved that Amazon doesn’t make it more clear that it’s part of a larger work.) If you’re not ready to invest in the whole thing, though, Strange is a good way to get your feet wet with Willeford and with Miami noir.

Other articles you might like:

Remember that time I spotted George W. Bush on a Charles Willeford cover?

Book Review: The Flesh Mask by Jack Vance 

Book Review: Ironside by Jim Thompson

Book Review: The Big Gold Dream by Chester Himes 

Best Books Read in 2014: Another Year, Another Eclectic Round-Up

The books I read this year were an assortment of the good, the bad, and the ugly. If I have one reading regret, it’s that I perhaps spent more time reading review copies of less-than-stellar books than I did reading books I personally chose. Some of those review copies were worthwhile (Jon Bassoff’s Factory Town), while others … well, let’s not even name them. They’re best forgotten.

There were some diamonds in the rough, though, and if I have another reading regret, it’s that I didn’t write full reviews of them for Book Dirt. (Goals for the year, then: read more books from my own to-read list, and review them promptly as I do

Don’t think that because I read some clunkers in 2014 that my best-of picks only seem good by comparison. The following titles would be standouts in any year.  

The Cage by Albert Bels (1972)

I’m tempted to say very little about this unusual mystery novel, originally published in Latvian in 1972, and published in English by Peter Owen books in 1990, because I enjoyed discovering something about which I previously knew nothing, and everyone should do that sometimes. I bought The Cage in a used bookstore, intrigued by the packaging, and perplexed that I’d never heard of the author. The fact that it was translated and on a high-quality press seemed promising. It delivered. The Cage is different from other mystery novels in its almost-philosophical level of introspection, which might be a turn-off for some, but seemed refreshing to me. It concerns the investigation into the disappearance of Edmunds Berz, an architect. As we learn about what kind of man Berz was, we simultaneously learn about the detective, Valdis Struga, especially as he personally identifies with the missing man ("He had the feeling he was looking for himself"). As the book shifts gears halfway through to focus on what actually happened to Berz, it gets even deeper—and more compelling. It’s introspective and claustrophobic in a way that might be described as Highsmithian.

The Shining Girls by Lauren Beukes (2013)

Some of you will be turned off as soon as I say “time-travelling serial killer,” but bear with me. What if I tell you that The Shining Girls is a book about a time-travelling serial killer that manages to be smart and literary? I’m serious. It’s best not to think too hard about why and how Harper Curtis can move through time—I’m not sure he understands it himself. But the fact is, he can, and he makes the most of it in a depraved way. The chapters from the killer’s point of view are as riveting as they are chilling. But, what sets this book apart, besides the unconventional plot, is Beukes’ treatment of Curtis’ victims. They’re all compelling women with interesting stories. They shine, which is why Curtis is drawn to them in the first place. Beukes has found a way, as impossible as it seems, to write a book about eviscerated women that manages to celebrate them at the same time. The historical details are also spot-on, whether she’s talking about fan dancers in secret prohibition-era bars or underground abortionists in the ‘60s. There’s a lot to like here. It’s several books in one, and they’re all good.

The Collector by John Fowles (1963)

Fowles’ The French Lieutenant’s Woman is high on my list of all-time favorite reads, so I could kick myself for waiting so long to try another of his books. Obsession is one of my favorite subjects, and The Collector plumbs its depths in some beautiful and provoking ways. Ferdinand Clegg is a clerk, a nobody, who wins a bit of money, and uses it to purchase a remote house. He then kidnaps the object of his secret obsession, the pretty and privileged art student, Miranda Grey, and keeps her there, much like he keeps the butterflies he collects. What’s brilliant is how, as Fowles reveals the thoughts and feelings of the two, their roles blur. It’s easier to sympathize with Clegg than with spoiled and catty Miranda, but as we learn her backstory, we see that she, too, strives to have someone understand her. Nothing here is black or white (maybe there’s a reason Fowles chose the name Grey?), and the nuances are disturbingly lovely. The Collector isn’t just one of my favorite reads of the year, but ever.

Hangsaman by Shirley Jackson (1964)

This may be the most unusual book I’ve read by Shirley Jackson, and it’s a difficult one to write about. For starters, I’m not completely certain what happened in it—and that’s a good thing. There’s a blurring of reality here that makes even the mundane mysterious. And on the surface, the story is a little mundane, as 17 year-old Natalie Waite leaves her family to attend an all-girl college. She takes walks, she writes letters to her father, she befriends a professor’s wife—all fairly ordinary. The brilliance of Hangsaman is in the telling. The writing is masterful and deeply psychological, to the point that many people, like I did, misremember the book as being in first person. Natalie’s a bit of a fantasist, and she’s maybe even a bit mad (there are shades of The Bell Jar here), so there’s a dream-like quality to ordinary events. Then there are some unusual events that are never quite explained: girls being slapped in the middle of the night, stolen items, a voice behind a wall. I didn’t find out until later that Hangsaman is based on a true event, and I’m not going to mention it here, as it makes the ending somewhat of a spoiler—though still just as mysterious. The first thing I did when finishing the book was turn to the net to see what other people had to say about it. If you read it, I’d love to hear what you think of it.

Revival by Stephen King (2014)

I’m not the only person to include Revival on an end-of-the-year list, and goodness knows, Stephen King isn’t hurting for publicity, but I really did enjoy this. A small-town preacher, Charlie Jacobs, befriends a little boy named Jamie, who looks to him as a mentor. After Jacobs loses his family in an accident, he questions God in a bizarre public sermon that leads to his dismissal from the church—and the town. Years later, Jamie’s life converges with Jacobs again, but now Jamie is a heroin addict and otherwise down-on-his-luck musician, and Jacobs is entertaining carnival crowds with the electrical tricks that have always been his hobby. Things, as they are wont to do in a Stephen King book, become strange. What’s appealing here, though, is that if you remove the supernatural aspects, you’re still left with a well-crafted story about life, and change, and how you can’t go home again. You could also say the reverse: remove the character sketches, and there’s a neat supernatural tale here—one with debts to Lovecraft and Machen, but still fresh. If you’ve grown up with King, you’re getting as long in the tooth as he is, and you’ll find that he does ending-of-age as well as he does coming-of-age. It’s bittersweet, but never boring.

Favorite books read in 2013

Favorite books read in 2012

What were the best things you read in 2014? Any specific reading goals for the coming year? Comments are always welcome.

Factory Town Review at Hellnotes

I've got a review over at Hellnotes.com of Jon Bassoff's latest psycho-noir Factory Town, and I'd love for you to take a look. You might remember that Bassoff's Corrosion was one of my top reads of last year, and I gave Factory Town a brief write-up in my Halloween round-up recently. 

If that's enough to sell you on it, you can peruse the ordering info by clicking below. Otherwise, check out my full review at Hellnotes, and let me know what you think. I'd love some visitors over there (and the issue with commenting appears to be fixed).

Jon Bassoff's Factory Town is available as a print or e-book.

Book Review: Beat to a Pulp: Superhero

Beat to a Pulp: Superhero

Edited by David Cranmer, Scott D. Parker

September 2012, 1.99 Kindle

Beat to a Pulp: Superhero, available at Amazon.

The Beat to a Pulp anthology series may be a throwback to the era of pulp magazines, but don’t expect dusty relics. The collections have a decidedly modern sensibility, keeping the action and the grit, while discarding some of the more dated tropes. As a whole, the series encompasses all that the pulps once offered: crime fiction, noir, hardboiled detective stories, westerns, sci-fi—even the occasional weird tale. Usually bargain priced, the books live up to their imprint’s name, packing a lot of punch for the buck.

This collection may be the best of the Beat to a Pulps to date, and that’s partly thanks to the theme. Each story takes on the topic of superheroes, and the fun is in finding out just what that means to the authors involved, as each has a decidedly different interpretation.  The heroes (and villains) range from children to senior citizens, from masterminds to ordinary garbage men. Some follow a solid code of ethics, while others are out of control and bent on revenge. The story’s settings span from the Revolutionary War era to some time in the far future, though plenty take place in the here and now.

Don’t worry that the unusual settings and characters are just a gimmick. These stories show some writing chops, and even the simplest of them are just waiting to give you a wallop when you least expect it. Jake Hinson starts things off well with “The Long Drop,” in which a future New York City patrolled by caped super-cops is combined with an old-school frame-up. The ending manages to be both witty and satisfying, if not happy, but that’s the nature of noir—if anything seems to be going too well … just wait.

Kevin Burton Smith’s “Revenge of the Red Avenger” is narrated by a six year-old, yet manages to avoid sentimental cheese. While it just might get you in the feels with its world of secret clubs, best friends, and cobbled-together hero outfits made of towels and rain boots, the dark grimness of reality is painfully present. Even childhood wonder has another side. Liam Jose’s story (“Dark Guy in … Terror on the Digger!”) also features children, but gets even more gruesome. It may be the most brutal revenge story you’ll ever read that transpires in classroom coat closets and on the playground.

The characters aren’t all kids—not by a long shot. (And they’re not all good guys, either.) In “Spoiled,” Keith Rawson introduces us to an aging megalomaniac millionaire who is more villain than hero, and has become even more frightening as his mind starts to crumble. The heroine of Sandra Seamans’ “Moon Mad” would seem more at home collecting cans from dumpsters than busting up a sex slavery ring, but that’s the beauty of the story. A self-appointed (and mentally unstable) vigilante tries to keep his apartment building free of what he perceives as villains among the tenants in “Phantom Black and the Big Wide Open” by Garnett Elliott, even though it means frequent beatings for himself. In one of the strongest entries in the collection, Thomas Pluck’s “Garbage Man,” a trash hauler gets into a tense standoff with a neighborhood gangbanger.

There’s not a bad story in the bunch, though some will naturally resonate differently with different readers. Just as comic book fans have their preferred heroes, you’ll definitely have a favorite. 

6 Recommended Scary Reads for Halloween

A few years ago, author Neil Gaiman proposed the idea of giving books for Halloween—an All Hallow’s Read. “Give children scary books they’ll like and can handle,” he wrote. “Give adults scary books they’ll enjoy.” While I like the idea of Halloween as a book-giving (and book-getting) holiday, I don’t think you can beat giving a book to yourself.

With that in mind, I present this year’s picks for Halloween reads. Just as in previous years, I try to select books I’ve read that are less likely to be recommended (I presume you’ve heard of Dracula), and I always include books of varying degrees of horror. Even the squeamish should find something here to like, though there’s no lack of creepiness.

Be brave! Halloween only comes once a year. You might discover, though, that you want to visit the dark side all year long. (In that case, check out the Halloween picks for previous years here and here.)

The Beetle by Richard Marsh

The Beetle, by Richard Marsh, 1889. Click to order.

The Beetle was published in 1889, the same year as Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and you might be surprised to learn that the supernatural horror novel initially outsold the vampire tale three times over. While the public ate up the story of an insect creature “born of neither god nor man,” critics found it a little too unpleasant, declaring it “sordid and vulgar.” While it may not be (very) vulgar by today’s standards, it’s still plenty unpleasant. The title insect is a shapeshifter who has come to London in pursuit of a member of British parliament, Paul Lessingham, who has angered the devotees of a bizarre Egyptian cult. The creature is alternately a slobbering old codger or a brazenly naked woman, but is at its most terrifying as a huge, slimy scarab that attacks in a revolting way that is almost sexual. Part romance, part horror, and part detective story, The Beetle shifts perspectives several times, then culminates in an action-laden pursuit by train with an unforgettable ending. The Beetle was filmed in 1919, though all reels are now lost. Until some smart filmmaker makes it again, you’ll have to plumb its perversity in print.

Factory Town by Jon Bassoff

Factory Town by Jon Bassoff, 2014. Click to order.

If 19th-century horror isn’t for you, then how about something that’s brand spankin’ new? Last year, Jon Bassoff’s Corrosion made my list of favorite books of the year, and now—just in time for Halloween—he’s done it again. By “it,” I mean he’s come up with something that’s just as dark and depraved as his debut novel, yet it’s startlingly different. In Factory Town, Russell Carver is seeking a missing girl in a strange, decayed city that resembles Jeunet & Caro’s Delicatessen: a post-apocalyptic ruin that feels simultaneous historic and futuristic. As Russell frantically searches for the girl, he witnesses a seemingly-endless parade of bizarre characters engaged in disturbing activities that make it difficult to tell exactly what’s going on, or where (and what) the town actually is. Hell? A dream? Some sort of institution? You’ll think all of those things at times, and more, until the clues, cleverly inserted into this insane landscape by Bassoff, start emerging, along with the truth. Factory Town is like a spiral—it swings around many times before you’ll start to narrow in on the center, giving you time to realize (and fear) what’s coming. Get ready for a full review soon, but in the meantime, see for yourself why Bassoff is becoming the name that defines psycho-noir.

I Am Legend by Richard Matheson

I Am Legend by Richard Matheson, 1954. Click to order.

Written in 1954, Richard Matheson’s sole-survivor novel has been, and still is, tremendously influential to the zombie genre. That’s despite the fact that the undead in his book are somewhat more like vampires than what we think of as zombies today, but the fact remains that without I Am Legend, there would likely not have been a Night of the Living Dead. It’s been directly adapted into film at least three times (Does I Am Omega count?), beginning with Vincent Price in The Last Man, then Omega Man, and most recently, I Am Legend. Think you don’t like zombies? Then you should know that the best part of I Am Legend—and its focus—is the emphasis on survival. Protagonist Robert Neville spends his days scavenging the city for supplies and re-fortifying his house before the night sets in. As the years pass, his worst enemy might actually be loneliness. At 160 pages, the book is really more of a novella, and the action makes it a quick read (or re-read).

Tight Little Stitches in a Dead Man’s Back by Joe R. Lansdale

"Tight Little Stitches in a Dead Man's Back" by Joe R. Lansdale, 1986. Click to order. (Kindle edition is currently .99)

If you don’t have much time for a Halloween read this year, consider this short story. It’s probably one of the best sci-fi horror stories ever crafted, and it's certainly one of Lansdale’s best. It’s literate, disturbing, and startlingly original. The story takes place after Earth has been massacred by a nuclear bomb. Paul, one of the survivors, was part of the team responsible for creating the bomb, and his guilt (especially over the loss of his daughter) is crippling. He spends his nights allowing his wife to work an elaborate tattoo onto his back, with her enjoying inflicting the pain she believes he deserves almost as much as he enjoys doing his penance. When the survivors, who have been dwelling underground, decide to check out the surface, things get weird. The fact that this strange little story is so powerful is testament to Lansdale’s skills, and if you’re wary of shelling out for a single story, get over it. This one is well worth the buck.

Come Closer by Sara Gran

Come Closer by Sara Gran, 2006. Click to order.

Amanda’s life seems perfect and normal—she’s a happily married architect—until she starts noticing odd things, like a persistent, unexplained noise in the apartment. Even more strange is the fact that she starts doing unusual things herself that seem beyond her control. She writes an obscene message to her boss. She burns her husband with a cigarette. She talks to strange men in sketchy bars (which means that she’s also going to sketchy bars). Her atypical behavior might be related to the dreams she’s having of a beautiful but somewhat demonic woman. Is Amanda slowly becoming possessed? Or is she insane? While the idea of insanity vs. possession is an old one, Gran’s book is refreshingly modern and smart, not to mention well paced and told in a cool, straightforward way.

A Good and Happy Child by Justin Evans

A Good and Happy Child by Justin Evans, 2007. Click to order.

I picked up Justin Evans’ debut novel on a whim, attracted by a cover that looks both demonic and literary, covered in blurbs from pretty credible sources. I have to say that the packaging is perfect, because the book is plenty creepy, and it will definitely appeal to those who prefer their scares on the intellectual side. George Davies is a thirty year-old father who finds that he’s unable to pick up his infant son, as if he’s revolted by him. In therapy, George begins to recall his childhood, which was profoundly disturbed after his father died in unusual circumstances, just after sending a series of rambling letters. He acquires an imaginary friend, who may be supernatural or simply a psychological result of his trauma. His parents’ academic friends become involved in ways that could be exacerbating the problem, and secrets from the past are revealed as we begin to understand more about why the adult George is the way he is. A horror novel for those who don’t necessarily like horror, though it’s just dark enough to impact those who do.

Have you read any of this year’s selections? What did you think? If you have a scary novel or story to recommend, tell me your favorite in the comments section.

Book Review: The Pothunters by P. G. Wodehouse

My reading of Wodehouse has been haphazard up till recently. I devoured the Jeeves and Wooster books when I first discovered them, then set about reading whatever turned up at the used bookstore: a Blandings novel here, a Psmith there. It occurred to me at some point that reading all of Wodehouse’s 90-or-so books is something I’d very much like to do before I die, so I’ve begun reading them in order of publication to fully appreciate his evolution as a writer.

I didn’t originally plan to review each novel, which is why you may have already read my reviews of Tales of St. Austin’s (his third published book, though the stories included were among his first written fiction) and William Tell Told Again (his fifth book). I’m backtracking now, in the interest of ultimately having a complete set of Wodehouse reviews (provided I don’t get hit by a bus).

First edition of the Pothunters, 1902.

The Pothunters was Wodehouse’s first published novel, and it first appeared in serial form in Public School Magazine, a monthly publication read primarily by public school boys (keep in mind that, in England, “public school” refers to what most Americans would think of as private school). The serial version was cut short when the magazine ceased publication in March, 1902 (it was bought out by the publisher of a rival magazine, The Captain, for whom Wodehouse would later write stories). Rather than leave the story hanging, the last part of The Pothunters was summarized in the final issue, taking the form of a letter, in which one of the characters explained the gist of the plot’s resolution.

Adam & Charles Black published the complete story in book form in September of 1902. (As Wodehouse’s first publication, it is now highly sought after by collectors in the first edition, and commands prices of several thousands of dollars in average condition.) The book takes place at the fictional school of St. Austin’s, where most of his school stories are set (when they’re not at Wrykyn). Wodehouse himself attended public school and participated in a lot of the activities that turn up in the tales: cricket, boxing, working on the school magazine.

Wodehouse’s personal experiences might make for a realistic touch to The Pothunters, but it might come off as too real for those expecting latter-day Wodehouse shenanigans. There’s a quaintness, if not hilarity, to the book. The plot (which there’s not a lot of) concerns the theft of some sports trophies (the “pots” of the title) from the school pavilion, along with some petty cash. A student, Jim, is in a bit of a bind for a couple of reasons. Not only did he break into the pavilion to crib some test notes, but the amount of money taken is the same amount he lost betting on boxing. While students, teachers, and even the police try to solve the case, Jim spends most of the novel worrying about winning his lost money back by winning at sports.

While there’s a bit of a crime here, don’t expect Wooster and the cow creamer. Wodehouse’s first effort lacks the master plotting and subplotting he’s known for. It also lacks the characterization. I found the boys difficult to keep straight, and not just because instead of Gussie Fink-Nottle and Catsmeat Pirbright we’ve got names like Jim and Tony—it’s the lack of any real, defining characteristics. It may have been Wodehouse’s intent to write about schoolboys that could be any schoolboys, but it leaves the reader with little to latch onto. In subsequent works, even minor characters are important threads in the plot, and often reappear in unexpected ways. Here, they meander onstage and are soon forgotten. 

Wodehouse as a young cricketer.

Of course, this is Wodehouse, so even if there’s a lot more room to breathe between jokes, he still tucks them in. A few plum lines:

“The first match he struck promptly and naturally went out. No first match ever stays alight for more than three-fifths of a second.”

“It seemed to Tony for the next half-minute that his cousin’s fists were never out of his face. He looked on the world through a brown haze of boxing-glove.”

“James, my son, if you will postpone your suicide for two minutes, I will a tale unfold.”

“ … in the centre of the ring the band of the local police force—the military being unavailable due to the exigencies of distance—were seating themselves with the grim determination of those who know that they are going to play the soldiers’ chorus out of Faust.”

“Parker made no comment. He stood in the doorway, trying to look as like a piece of furniture as possible—which is the duty of a good butler.” [Shades of Jeeves?]

At times, it’s easy to forget the era as the boys go about their studies and their cricketing, but the date becomes obvious when someone lights a candle at night, or when the boys duplicate the school rag via jellygraph. A reference to the “lamented Sherlock Holmes” makes the year even more apparent, as the fictional character was still dead in 1902, having apparently died in 1893’s  “The Final Problem,” and not to be resurrected until “The Adventure of the Empty House” in 1903.

In all, The Pothunters is on a whole different plane than Wodehouse’s later work. It’s clear that he was writing for a very specific audience (schoolboys) in a very specific time. While his later work very much has the feel of the era to it, the stories and the humor are timeless. For Wodehouse fans, it’s interesting to get a glimpse of the young writer before he perfected his craft. For those new to the author—well, your interest level might depend on your fondness for English public schools (and cricket).

The Pothunters, free Kindle edition 

Free at Project Gutenberg

Written for Friday's Forgotten Books. Pleas check out some of the other diverse entries.