Friday Links: Welcome to Noirvember Edition
"He sounded like a man who had slept well and didn't owe too much money." - Raymond Chandler, 'The Big Sleep'
But first, your weekly Vine: Thursday was Chapter 50: “Anthony and The Demons.” Today is Chapter 51: “Josie The Real Estate Agent.” We got a guest reader on the podcast this week! Katie Lago is an artist, writer, and naturalist based in Chicago. Her work blends elements of dark comedy, folklore, Gothic horror, and natural history. Visit StoryLago.com for more about Katie, who is a delightful person and dear friend of ours.
As we transition from October Horror to Noirvember, it’s maybe worth saying they’re kinda cousins. Both are about darkness, both are about inescapable evil, and both make for good David Fincher material. Honestly? Both are kinda literature for moralists. For as much as the fans of these genres love to sit in the atmosphere of hopelessness, despair, and terror—I don’t think you read these genres without having a little hope.
Or maybe I’m naive. Who’s that behind me? It’s either a vampire, or Eddie Mars.
What I’ve Been Reading Lately:
Quick CWs: to read 1930s-1940s noir is to come across casual bigotry that you almost miss because it’s so old-timey and so not part of the way anyone reading this blog is trying to live in the 21st century. Fortunately, in this book, it’s not “huh, didn’t know that slur for Danish people even existed” or “he said Hondurans eat what?” There are a couple of gay men who are treated not very well by cops (being cops), there’s some casual misogyny, there’s the old slap-a-dame-who’s-drugged-see-if-it’ll-wake-her-up. I think there’s a real heart and attempt to be good at the center of this novel, but it is pretty hopelessly 1930s.
That all said, the language in this book (positive)! The descriptions! The swagger, not from a made-for-Bogart protagonist, but from seeing your environment in a wholly unique way. The Romantic approach to living in a rotten world. It’s a novel written for writers by a writer’s writer (who, admittedly, was writing a potboiler to make money). It’s often imitated, but only ever surpassed by the Coen Bros. I’m talking, of course, about The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler.
The most unrealistic thing about this novel is that it rains in Los Angeles twice in the course of a week. Everything else is basically “let’s dramatize how awful capitalism is.” To me, that’s the heart of noir: not necessarily rolling around in the muck with shady characters for the sake of slumming it, but to get a working class look up at the sins of rich people or the impossibility of becoming a rich person if you weren’t born one. Of the Big Three (Hammet, Chandler, Cain), it’s kind of a no-contest who’s the best—no one makes a page sing like Raymond Chandler. Even if I appreciate Cain for varying up his protagonists more and considering, at least for a passing moment, that a woman might pick up one of his books one day.
Let’s dispel some clichés: I don’t think the word “dame” is used once in this novel, and if it is, it sailed right past me. It’s not all grim and gray. All of the action takes place during the day in Los Angeles, one of the most beautiful cities we have. It’s not actually that complex of a plot, even though it has that reputation—I think Faulkner maybe just drank his way through the screenplay, and that’s why it’s confusing. They spell everything out two or three times in the last 10 pages or so. It’s also very, very funny. A few choice quotes:
“Hair like steel wool grew far back on his head and gave him a domed brown forehead that might at careless glance seemed a dwelling place for brains.”
“It seemed like a nice neighborhood to have bad habits in.”
“I don't mind your showing me your legs. They're very swell legs and it's a pleasure to make their acquaintace. I don't mind if you don't like my manners. They're pretty bad. I grieve over them during the long winter nights.”
“‘Tall, aren't you?’ she said.
'I didn't mean to be.’
Her eyes rounded. She was puzzled. She was thinking. I could see, even on that short acquaintance, that thinking was always going to be a bother to her.”
Of course, it’s not as funny as The Big Lebowski. If you don’t feel like Chandler, just go watch Lebowski, man.
LINKS!
Something to listen to while you read? Why not George Sakellariou playing “Take Five” on nylon string guitar? Yeah, it’s a good one.
Fun profile from Jon Hansen in Block Club of Miguel Esparza, the Spanish announcer for the Bulls, the Blackhawks, the Bears, and (we’ll forgive him for this one, he seems like a cool guy) the Cubs. My favorite detail is them asking Miguel if he knows anything about hockey, Miguel saying “of course,” and then going home and YouTubing “Hockey 101.” Feels like that’s how a lot of broadcasters got their start, Bob Costas couldn’t have known where the Spirits of St. Louis were gonna take him.
My half-baked “read the history, then read the poets” idea from a few The Line Break podcasts ago gets some validation, as
and Behind The Bastards looks at the Hawk’s Nest Tunnel disaster. Check out Part 2 for an extended look at Muriel Rukeyser and The Book of The Dead, which I haven’t read but have at least heard of, and will be putting on the list. Part 1 | Part 2Interview with Tananarive Due in Chicago Review of Books by Devi Bhaduri. I’m very excited to read The Reformatory soon. Tananarive is so clear and thoughtful about writing about the horrors of our time—while also writing excellent horror stories. “During the Trump era, especially after the appearance of COVID-19, I began to feel an uneasy sense of not really knowing my neighbors, and a slow burning anxiety that strangers might attack us for political or racial reasons…” Man, if that quote doesn’t speak to you, idk how to tell you about this country.
A trauma resource center is now open in North Lawndale, reports Trey Arline in Block Club. This is coming on the heels of a mass shooting that wounded 15 at a Halloween party. Look, we should always hold politicians to impossibly high standards. The same day I’m writing this, Block Club has another article about a driver with a .20 BAC killing a cyclist and being released without charges. Bike advocates are justifiably angry, and are saying Brandon Johnson’s admin has been slow to respond to cyclist safety. I believe and respect the angry cyclists of Chicago. But I also like to take note of when “things we’ve been agitating for for a long time” happen. A trauma center in North Lawndale is a good thing.
Two right-up-my-alley craft pieces from two of my favorite Substacks on writing. First, Matt Kendrick
on the importance of constraints, or as they say in Britain, “The Benefits of Restriction.” Second, Lincoln Michel on the importance of digressions about sea monsters in your novel, or more line-in-the-sand, “Your Novel Should Be More Like Moby Dick.” Read these, plus my Wednesday column “The Writer As Paleontologist,” and the National Book Awards should start rolling in.
What’re you still doing here? Go read Vine!
If you’re in the service industry, may you clean up in tips this weekend.
Sorry you got an email,
Chris
My favorite part of the script of TBL is when Maude (Julianne Moore's character) is telling the Dude about people who take no pleasure in sex and the Dude replies only saying, "Oh, no." I have never laughed harder at a comma in all my life.
Just wanted to say I love your writing and perspective (Lebowski is also my favourite noir), and on your transition from Horrortober to Noirvember, itreminds me of a comment someone made like: noir is horror with a final bro instead of a final girl