"...there is some fallibility in the writings of the Bible."
I've always had a fondness for tales of early Hollywood. It was an amazing time and place in history, in a sense the culmination (as author Loren D. Estleman himself argues in this novel) of the American Wild West. There, in the dusty hills of sleepy Los Angeles, a dysfunctional aggregation of eastern Jewish businessmen, stage actors, vaudevillians, European artistes, and ordinary cowboys improvised like mad to create an art form that had never existed before, and so had no rules or traditions to which to appeal.
Loren D. Estleman is best known as a mystery novelist, but he also writes good westerns, and The Rocky Mountain Moving Picture Association contains elements of both genres. It's a fun book, and I enjoyed it quite a lot. . . .
"... he felt uncomfortable, as though that prescient Eye, years in the future, could with a wink summon the police. But it was separated from him by a barrier of time that only the natural processes could shorten. And, in fact, it had been watching him since his birth. You could look at it that way ..."
Miller stood planted there like one of the lions in front of the Art Institute, only meaner-looking. Also, the lions were bronzed and he was tarnished copper. I discovered, after I had bought True Detective, the first of Max Allan Collins’s Nate Heller novels, that it was one I’d already read, some time back. Nevertheless I didn’t regret the purchase. I’d forgotten what an extremely fine book this is—one of those few novels that lift the hard-boiled mystery to a new level. All the Heller books are good. Don’t get me wrong. But it’s impossible to keep a series from becoming formulaic after a while. With the Heller books, you have a series where the same private eye somehow manages to be on the scene for almost every important murder in America between 1930 and 1970. Each one is plausible individually, but they stretch credibility in the aggregate. But this first novel deserves a place all its own. Collins’s own contemplation of the hard-boiled genre led him to want to write a book that stretched the limits and broke the rules, not with malice but for a reason. Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe was an honorable man, trying to keep
“From poetry the reader justly expects, and from good poetry always obtains, the enlargement of his comprehension and elevation of his fancy…” –Samuel Johnson. Lives of the English Poets: Waller. I first heard of the fantasy series, A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin last September, and have now read all five extant volumes: A Game of Thrones (1996), A Clash of Kings (1999), A Storm of Swords (2000) , A Feast for Crows (2005), and A Dance with Dragons (2011). (Two more are projected to complete the series.) It is a long, engrossing skillfully told tale It tells of a war for power. The continent of Westeros had seven kingdoms which were united under the Targaryen dynasty, masters of dragons.. This dynasty was overthrown by one Robert Baratheon. Upon his death, wars break out amongst claimants to the throne and also a rebellion or two by those who want to break away. The social order and technology approximate the mediaeval age of Europe. There is no romanticizing of knighthood, however. The struggle to gain and retain power is shown to be brutal and debased. Mr. Martin juggles many characters and subplots as well as the
The good news—almost wonderful news, except for the One Problem that I’ll detail at the end of this review– is that the late Stuart M. Kaminsky’s delightful Toby Peters novels are being released for Kindle by Mysterious Press. I downloaded the very first book of the series, Bullet for a Star, and read it with pleasure. The Toby Peters novels, if you’re not familiar with them, are light mysteries set in Hollywood. Toby is a very small-time P.I. who nevertheless keeps getting hired for cases involving famous movie stars (and a few other notables) of the Golden Age of Hollywood. In this story, an executive at Warner Brothers (which fired Toby as a security man some time earlier) asks him to look into a blackmail scheme. Someone has sent them a print of a photo of Errol Flynn in a compromising position with a very young girl. Flynn admits the accusation isn’t out of the question, but in this case he’s never met the girl. The studio wants Toby to make arrangements to pay the blackmail anyway. But instead of a simple exchange, there’s a fight, and Toby gets knocked out, and somebody gets dead, and then the action takes
I’m giving up the Internet for Lent. I did the same thing last year. This might at first blush seem a very odd thing to write about on a Webpage. After all, if everyone followed my lead there would be no new posts and no readers on The American Culture from February 22 until April 7. Sam Karnick would not be very happy with me. Thankfully, I know my odd little decision is unlikely to influence anyone, so I can rest assured that the lively exchanges on this site will proceed as scheduled. I will also admit I am being a bit misleading when I say I’m giving up “the Internet.” I work for a software and IT company and am online for most of the workday. I also co-administer the company’s Facebook page. What I’m really talking about is giving up personal Internet use: email, web surfing, social networking (aside from any that pertains to my company), and instead using all that extra time to focus on my family, my spirituality, and my self. As a writer it also affords me the chance to devote my energies to my craft rather than to the perpetual online hustle of selling
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