LAURAN PAINE – The Running Iron.

Five Star, hardcover; first edition, November 2000. Leisure, paperback reprint; 1st printing, April 2002.

   Lauran Paine isn’t a household name, but over the past 50 years he’s been a small powerhouse in the world of traditional westerns. His overall output, including mysteries and romances, includes over 1000 books published, many only in England, under nearly 100 pseudonyms.

   One difference between Paine and his younger contemporaries is that he’s lived closer to the time period he writes about, rather than learning about it second-hand. The characters in his stories are taciturn and close-mouthed. They don’t feel obliged to talk about what they’re thinking, what they’re doing or why. Newer writers seem to explain everything. Paine shows and often doesn’t tell.

   In this story, after Old Joe Jessup dies, his ranch is left to May, his Indian wife, and his adopted son, Little Joe. A neighboring rancher wouldn’t mind adding the land to his own spread. Can one boy, an old woman, and an even more ancient hired hand manage to hold on without him?

   In close conjunction to this, the army is called in to move a small tribe of Indians, May’s extended family, onto a reservation. In terms of action, there’s very little. Each chapter moves six inches forward, then five to ten inches back. The end result is a book that’s both frustrating and captivating.

[UPDATE] 09-16-09. This review appeared for the first time in a newsletter for the Historical Novel Society soon after the hardcover came out, and before Lauran Paine died in 2001. As I noted above, I reprinted it later in my western fiction apazine, where I didn’t do any rewriting, nor have I now.

   Some of the names Paine wrote under, besides his own, are (take a deep breath) John Armour, Reg Batchelor, Kenneth Bedford, Frank Bosworth, Mark Carrel, Robert Clarke, Richard Dana, J F Drexler, Troy Howard, Jared Ingersol, John Kilgore, Hunter Liggett, J K Lucas, and John Morgan.

   I haven’t done any counting, so I don’t know if the list of titles is complete at either Web location — there certainly doesn’t seem to be over a few hundred at either one — but at least you can find partial bibliographies on Wikipedia and the Fantastic Fiction site, the latter with many covers.

THREE GIRLS ABOUT TOWN. Columbia, 1941. Joan Blondell, Robert Benchley,, Binnie Barnes, Janet Blair, John Howard, Hugh O’Connell, Frank McGlynn Sr., Eric Blore. Director: Leigh Jason.

    What this movie is, if I may be allowed to say so, is a screwball comedy that is not only not screwball, but for the most of its 75 minutes of running length, not even funny.

    Robert Benchley always cracks me up, though, no matter what movie he’s in, and as Wilburforce Puddle, the manager of the hotel for which Joan Blondell and Binnie Barnes work, he’s no exception here. Even his name is funny.

    Joan Blondell and Binnie Barnes (as Faith and Hope Banner) are hostesses for the hotel, which caters to conventions, but the wholesome kind. One wonders, though, what the local women’s civic league thinks they have been doing, marching in on the manager to deliver their complaints in person.

    Puddle has other problems. There is a magicians’ convention that is just closing, and a morticians’ convention that is coming in, and never the co-mingling should meet. Not to mention the upstairs ballroom where a defense-oriented corporation and an angry employees union are waiting for a government mediator to arrive, and worst of all, a dead man in the room next to our two ladies.

    Whose sister has just arrived, naturally named Charity (Janet Blair, in her debut film), who’s delinquent from the school where they’re sending her and a delinquent in more ways than that, the way she has eyes for Faith’s fiancé, who’s in the hotel covering the labor battle but who discovers that he has another story on his hands, if the body would ever stay in one place long enough for the police to do anything about it. (Charity also gets what’s coming to her at the end of the movie. Rather remarkably, too, that’s all I can say.)

    Getting back to the main proceedings, also worth mentioning is the wandering Charlemagne, a drunken magician (Eric Blore) who interrupts the proceedings looking for his good friend Charlie wherever the laughs seem to be dying out — which is something like every five minutes.

    It is hard to say what exactly goes wrong, that this movie isn’t more fun than it should be. Everyone tries hard, but it’s tough slogging when the jokes just aren’t as funny as whoever thought them up thought they were. Either that, or my taste in humor and theirs just don’t jibe.

LUCKY STAR. Fox Film Corp., 1929. Charles Farrell, Janet Gaynor, Guinn “Big Boy” Williams, Paul Fix, Hedwig Reicher, Gloria Grey, Hector V. Sarno. Scenario by Sonja Levien; photography by Chester Lyons and William Cooper Smith; art direction by Harry Oliver. (Originally part talkie, but the soundtrack has been lost.) Director: Frank Borzage. Shown at Cinevent 41, Columbus OH, May 2009.

    This was one of the films severely compromised by print quality. On its original release, the New York Times reviewer described a film in which “many of the scenes highly resemble etchings — dim portraits of aged shingle houses, with their shutters hanging askew,” and in which muted tones “play a large part.”

    Although the print quality left most of these details to the viewer’s imagination, it was apparent that the sets were expressionistic, often angled so that the architecture appeared slightly askew, off-center.

    It was clearly a studio (or a stage) set, a grim landscape with the houses widely separated and sparsely populated, a setting appropriate to the film’s minimalist drama, with the look of some remote European village rather than the American town it is supposed to represent.

    Timothy Osborn (Charles Farrell) and Martin Wrenn (Guinn Williams) go off to war together and while Wrenn returns to pick up his life where he had left off, Osborn comes back as a cripple who lives by himself in a cottage where he takes on odd jobs to support himself.

    Mary Tucker (Janet Gaynor) is the young girl they left behind, now a young woman to whom both men are attracted. Wrenn’s body may be untouched by the war, but his spirit is dark and violent, while Osborn’s bright spirit is undamaged by his experiences.

    Mary’s mother, in a telling performance by Hedwig Reicher, wants a better life for her daughter and forbids her to visit Osborn, supporting the suit of Wrenn, who plans to take her away but whose intentions are anything but honorable.

    This seems a much smaller film than Borzage’s earlier 7th Heaven and Street Angel, but the director’s handling of his actors is so sure that he makes the !miracles of the spirit he favors in his films believable and touching, even when the darkened print sabotages his intentions.

DASHIELL HAMMETT – The Thin Man. Alfred A. Knopf, 1934. Reprinted many times, in both hardcover and paperback, including Pocket #196, 1942.

   I read Dashiell Hammett’s The Thin Man back in High School, and I didn’t like it much because it wasn’t The Maltese Falcon. But just lately, some forty years later, I figured I’d give it another try.

   I sort of wish I didn’t remember the movie (MGM, 1934) so well, or maybe that the film hadn’t been so faithful to the book. It would have been nice to come back to this fresh, not knowing the ending, just to see how well Hammett constructed this tricky mystery, a tale so well put together that one scarcely knows where to look among a cast of cleverly conceived (and, for the most part, sympathetically observed) suspects — or just what it is we’re looking for.

   Is The Thin Man about the murder of Julia West or is it about the con game she was working on the missing Wynant? Is it concerned more with a missing-persons case, or with the kinky, incestuous Wynant family? Whatever the puzzle, it reads quite nicely, with a sense of humor that sneaks up on one very pleasantly indeed.

   I might carp that Nick Charles, the narrator/detective, tells the story rather flatly, which contrasts a bit too sharply with the wise-cracks he and Nora keep throwing around in the dialogue. Compare this to the colorful narration Raymond Chandler gave to Philip Marlowe and you’ll see what I mean: Marlowe is a consistent smart-ass, but Nick Charles only gets colorful when he’s talking to the other characters.

   But that, as I say, is just carping. The Thin Man has a reputation as a mystery classic, and I was happy to discover how richly it deserves it.

   By the way, the movie version, first in a long line of “Thin Man” films, is quite faithful to the book, and generally well thought-of, but it doesn’t hold up quite as well, due largely to a clunky and obvious-red-herring opening sequence (not in the novel) that looks to have been tacked on rather hastily, and someone’s insistence on giving everyone in the cast a Guilty Close-Up.

   You know the kind of thing I mean: someone makes a remark or picks up a clue and we cut to a shot of Maureen O’Sullivan or Cesar Romero looking like their pants fell down. It’s the sort of thing they were doing in the Charlie Chan films over at Fox, and it seems embarrassingly out of place in a film that’s mostly fast-moving and sophisticated.

RUTH RENDELL – Speaker of Mandarin. Pantheon, US, hardcover, 1983. UK edition: Hutchinson, hc, 1983. Paperback reprint: Ballantine, 1984.

   This is the twelfth novel featuring Detective Chief Inspector Reginald Wexford and his subordinate, Mike Burden, of the English village of Kingsmarkham. By now they have developed into a competent, professional, and thoughtful pair who work comfortably together.

   It is their very decency and stability that give them the ability to spot the aberrations of the guilty. People trust the middle-aged, overweight Wexford, but frequently they underrate him. Wexford notes and makes use of this. The reader, too, can trust Wexford, accept his judgments, and enjoy the sense of immediacy that creates.

   In Speaker of Mandarin, we see Wexford away from the village that provides a closed environment for many of the books in this series. He is in China, where he has completed a police-related mission and joined a British tour group.

   In the few days he spends with them, he is haunted by an aged Chinese woman hobbling on her tiny bound feet, seemingly desperate to speak with him. She appears and disappears and turns up at the next stop, the next city, only to vanish again. Is she real, or is Wexford hallucinating? The inspector wonders and worries.

   The tour group takes a trip down the Li River, and a man — “Not one of us. A Chinese” — drowns and is forgotten. But months later, back in Kingsmarkham, one of the group is shot in the head, and the plot turns and turns again as Rendell teases the reader into thinking he has the solution — only to surprise him anew.

   Other enjoyable titles in this popular series are From Doon with Death (1965), Wolf to the Slaughter (1968), A Guilty Thing Surprised (1970), Shake Hands Forever (1975), and An Unkindness of Ravens (1985).

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   Reprinted with permission from 1001 Midnights, edited by Bill Pronzini & Marcia Muller and published by The Battered Silicon Dispatch Box, 2007.   Copyright © 1986, 2007 by the Pronzini-Muller Family Trust.

RUTH RENDELL – Master of the Moor. Pantheon, US, hardcover, 1982. UK edition: Hutchinson, hc, 1982. Paperback reprint: Ballantine, 1983.

    The English moors, with their stark, eerie loneliness, have long fascinated writers of suspense fiction. In this excellent novel of psychological suspense, Rendell utilizes this setting as the scene for a series of murders of women, and the combination of the oppressive atmosphere and the killings takes a horrible emotional toll on those living nearby.

    Until he finds the first body, Stephen Walby thinks he knows Vangmoor — considers himself, in fact, “master of the moor.” Daily he traverses its crinkle-crankle paths, up the foins (hills) and past the abandoned soughs (mine shafts).

    But on the day he finds the strangled girl’s body, his life changes. The moor, once a popular place, becomes deserted — “known not as somewhere unique and beautiful but as the place where a young girl had been killed.”

    Not altogether displeased by this, Stephen begins to visit the moor more frequently. The murders continue, and Stephen often returns from his walks in a feverish state. Occasionally he is as low as his chronically depressed father; and his already stressed marriage begins to fall apart. On top of this, other events begin to make Stephen wonder about his parentage; at times he isn’t sure who he is — or what.

    This is one of Rendell’s best novels, and even if the reader begins to suspect what is going on, he can never be sure, up to the last terrifying revelation.

    Other equally gripping tales are One Across, Two Down (1971), The Face of Trespass (1974), and A Demon in My View (1976).

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   Reprinted with permission from 1001 Midnights, edited by Bill Pronzini & Marcia Muller and published by The Battered Silicon Dispatch Box, 2007.   Copyright © 1986, 2007 by the Pronzini-Muller Family Trust.

RUTH RENDELL – The Fever Tree and Other Stories of Suspense. Pantheon, US, hardcover, 1982. UK edition: Hutchinson, hc, 1982. Paperback reprint: Ballantine, 1984.

    One of the most impressive qualities of Ruth Rendell’s work is her grasp of the dark side of the human character and her ability to portray it in a dramatic and convincing fashion. Whether she is writing a short story, one of her compelling novels of psychological suspense, or an entry in her popular series featuring Chief Inspector Wexford of the British village of Kingsmarkham, she depicts fully fleshedout characters in all their complexity.

    The plots work, not so much because of neatly placed clues or clever twists (although these are present, too), but because the underlying motivations are logical and true to the participants’ inner natures.

    The Fever Tree is Rendell’s third short-story collection. (The others are The Fallen Curtain and Other Stories, 1976; and Means of Evil and Other Stories, 1979.)

    The stories are varied, but all carry the Rendell trademark of evil lying just below the surface of ordinary, even mundane, events. In the title story, a man and his wife are on vacation in an African game preserve, a vacation that is also a reconciliation. The man has been unfaithful and only recently returned to his wife. And as the wife, a childlike woman who insists on breaking the preserve rules, gets out of the car time and time again to look at the animals, terrible thoughts begin to form in both of their minds-thoughts that do not lead to a predictable conclusion.

    Likewise, “Thornapple” is a plant, but nothing so exotic as Africa’s fever tree — merely the jimsonweed that appears in many English gardens. James, a young boy, is a bit of an amateur botanist, and poisonous plants particularly interest him.

    “Not that James had the least intention of putting these poisons of his to use.” But then the accepted order in James’s family is disrupted, causing a great many things to get out of hand.

    Things get out of hand quite frequently in the life of the protagonist of “A Needle for the Devil.” As a child, Alice Gibson’s personal devil often “led her to violence.” She learned to control her impulses by practicing handicrafts, but when she goes into nurse’s training, circumstances force her to abandon most of them, and knitting becomes her salvation. Knitting, with all those lovely sharp needles …

    This is a well-balanced collection, and the stories included are among Rendell’s best short fiction. (One of her short stories, “The Fallen Curtain,” won the Mystery Writers of America Edgar in 1974.)

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   Reprinted with permission from 1001 Midnights, edited by Bill Pronzini & Marcia Muller and published by The Battered Silicon Dispatch Box, 2007.   Copyright © 1986, 2007 by the Pronzini-Muller Family Trust.

WILL THOMAS – The Limehouse Text. Touchstone, hardcover & trade paperback, July 2006.

   This is the third book in the series by Oklahoma librarian Will Thomas about late Victorian sleuth Cyrus Barker (the ‘Guv’) and his assistant/Watson Thomas Llewelyn who made their debut back in Some Danger Involved followed up by Kingdom Come.

   This time out Barker and Llewelyn follow the trail of a pawn ticket that leads them into the shadowy environs of Limehouse, London’s Chinese district, where opium dens and honest shopkeepers meet, and the influence of the Chinese tong societies and their hatchet men haunts them.

   The pawn ticket leads them to a rare book that conceals an ancient fighting technique, dim mak, long hidden from the west, and Llewelyn and Barker find themselves caught between a killer seeking the ancient wisdom and the dangers of the growing tension between the British Empire and China as well as the mysterious man at the heart of all the crime in Limehouse, Mr. K’ing (and any reader of Sax Rohmer and August Dereleth’s Solar Pons should have no problem identifying him).

   Through the smoky dream-ridden opium dens to the back room blood sports indulged in by the high and the mighty, Barker and Llewelyn hunt a killer and try to keep their heads while preventing virtual war from breaking out in the streets of Limehouse. Israel Zangwill, the author of the classic The Big Bow Mystery even features in the plot. (Thomas often features a historical and often literary figure like Zangwill in the books.)

   Luckily for them, Barker is an expert on all things Chinese, from the lethal razor sharp pennies he carries in his pockets to the martial arts he engages in. He even keeps a courageous little black Pekingese, Harm, who frequently features in the novels plot, as he does here. Before the game is brought to bay Barker will have to fight a battle to the death in one of those back rooms to save both his and Llewelyn’s life.

   Will Thomas is an admirer of Sherlock Holmes and Doyle obviously, but also familiar with his Nero Wolfe, and Llewelyn is much closer to Archie than Watson, despite his admiration for Barker, his enigmatic boss.

   The books manage a neat blend of action, mystery, and atmosphere that make them a real pleasure to read, as the action moves, the plot twists, and Barker and Llewelyn find themselves in increasingly hot water and trouble. Thomas knowledge of Victorian literature and history also shows in his casual but in depth portrait of his heroes environs.

   These books are great fun, never letting the research get in the way of the action or plot, Barker and Llewelyn a testy and intelligent match as a team, and the observations of just how close our disparate worlds really are a reminder that the more things change the more they stay the same.

   Playful, smart, fast paced, and involving, this is one of the best historical tec series ongoing, and certainly to become a classic. Once you meet them you will want to get to know Barker and Llewelyn and their worlds better.

    * Should anyone think they have caught Thomas in an anachronism, the term “mean streets” was first coined by Victorian writer Arthur Morrison to describe London’s less wholesome districts, in the book Tales of Mean Streets (1895). Morrison is probably better known today for his stories about Sherlock Holmes rival Martin Hewitt.

    That said, I will grant that in The Limehouse Text Thomas uses the term a number of years before Morrison’s book was published.

       The Cyrus Barker & Thomas Llewelyn series:

1. Some Danger Involved (2004).
2. Kingdom Come (2005).
3. The Limestone Text (2006).
4. The Hellfire Conspiracy (2007).

5. The Black Hand (2008).

6. “In progress,” according to the author’s blog, August 2009.

OFF THE RECORD. Warner Brothers, 1939. Pat O’Brien, Joan Blondell, Bobby Jordan, Alan Baxter, Morgan Conway. Director: James Flood.

   Joan Blondell plays a reporter (Jane Morgan) in this movie, and so does Pat O’Brien, but he’s the kind of guy (named “Breezy”) who thinks women should stay at home and be married (in this case to him) rather than have a career, especially writing for the same newspaper.

   To show him, Jane finds a story on her own – successfully, too, as it produces several headlines and puts a punk hoodlum into prison and his young brother (Bobby Jordan) into reform school. The big boss, though, as big bosses have a way of doing, manages to stay on the outside.

   Feeling guilty about the boy in reform school, Jane persuades Breezy to adopt young Mickey. And of course to do that, they also have to get married, although Breezy is the last to know that’s the reason — and the first to object when he finds out.

   The first third of this 60-minute movie is in the same dark and gritty mode as many of the Warner Brothers gangster films being made around the same time, and so are the last 15 minutes or so. In between, if it’s not a comedy — young Mickey definitely does not want to be adopted – it is considerably lighter in fare than the rest of the film.

   Bobby Jordan made a career out of playing pseudo-delinquents and young toughs on the fringes of the law, including long stints with the Dead End Kids, East Side Kids and the Bowery Boys. In this one, at the age of only sixteen himself, he reminded me of none other than a young Lloyd Nolan, often wearing a felt hat, necktie and a suit jacket that looks a size or two too large for him and trying to look as grown-up as he could.

   But to my mind, Off the Record is Joan Blondell’s picture. She uses this film to show off her fine ability as a straight actress as well as a flair for wisecracking comedy. Although she’s largely forgotten today, both of these talents stood her well over a long career in movies and TV, which extended from her debut in 1930 to her death in 1979 at the age of 73.

   I have had two (relatively) recent trips to the theatre. First up was a belated visit to the West End to catch up with the award-winning production of The 39 Steps based on the Hitchcock film version rather than the Buchan book version.

   Four actors (strictly three actors and an actress) take on a variety of roles (strictly one actor is Richard Hannay and the others take multiple roles), and the film is recreated rather hammily and for laughs but quite accurately under the circumstances.

   It was a marvelous production and I enjoyed it thoroughly, laughing aloud at times (and I am only rarely a laughing aloud type of person). The production was very similar to the three-man version of The Hound of the Baskervilles which I saw last year but which this production actually preceded (and so should probably take more credit).

   I can heartily recommend it any of you who get a chance to see it.

   The second play I got to see is And Then There Were None, the third from the Agatha Christie Theatre Company. The company tours each year with a new production — last year was The Unexpected Guest, which I saw, and two years ago they did The Hollow which I missed.

   Anyway I caught up with And Then There Were None in Norwich and thoroughly enjoyed it. There’s no point my rehashing the plot, but if you are familiar with it you might like to know that the ending of the book was restored, rather than the different ending that Agatha Christie gave to her play version.

   Suffice to say I enjoyed it all. The cast was made up of reasonably well known from television actors including Gerald Harper (bast known as Adam Adamant from the ’60s and Hadleigh from the ’70s), Peter Byrne (best known as Dixon of Dock Green’s son-in-law from the ’50s) and Alex Ferns (best known from Eastenders in the ’00s).

   Throw in Denis Lill who was Inspector Bradstreet in Granada’s Jeremy Brett/Sherlock Holmes series and Mark Wynter ’60s pop singer turned actor, and you had a pretty good cast.

   Next year’s production, which I shall make every effort to see, is Spider’s Web.