Donald E Westlake 1933-2008

Donald E Westlake, my all-time favourite mystery/thriller writer, died on 31st December 2008. A sad day for mystery fans everywhere.

Westlake was that rare beast, an author who was comfortable in multiple subgenres, each one completely different from the rest. He wrote true hardboiled mysteries under the name of Richard Stark, giving us the Parker series. He wrote wonderful traditional thrillers taking serious social issues and giving them the mystery treatment, books such as the Ax stand out in this context. He also turned out a number of screenplays, the most famous of which is “The Grifters”. He published over a hundred books under a dozen or so names. In the process he collected a whole pile of awards, winning Edgars in three different categories.

I’ve read every one of his books published so far (there is at least one more in the works, due this April), and have a number of his books signed by him. While I liked all of them, my true favourites were his caper novels, normally referred to as his Dortmunder series.

Just what is a caper novel? Let me try and explain.

Most crime novels are whodunits, where the storyline follows the discovery of crime(s) and then seeks to identify the perpetrator(s). Where the focus is on the general environment in which the crime took place, it’s a classic “mystery/thriller”, the main genre itself. Where the focus is on the process of “solving” the crime as if it were a puzzle, you could describe it as the subgenre of “detective fiction”, a la Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe or Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes. Where this solving process is described from the perspective of the forces of law and order, a la Ed McBain or Joseph Wambaugh, the book gets called a “police procedural”. If it is in the vein of Erle Stanley Gardner’s Perry Mason through to the John Grishams of today, it would be called a “legal drama”. Sometimes the book is written in the first person by the criminal,  in a gritty and down-to-earth “authentic” style, as in the case of the classic Jim Thompson books or even Westlake’s own Richard Stark series: these tend to be called “hardboiled”. Much of what we call pulp fiction is hardboiled crime, and I’m delighted to see what Hard Case Crime has been doing to further this cause.

In all these cases, the crime itself tends to be committed opaquely, intransparently, and the plot revolves around finding out who did it.

The caper novel, on the other hand, is something else altogether. For one thing, it is written from the viewpoint of the criminal, the person or persons committing the crime. The crime itself is carried out in the open, completely transparently, there is no mystery about the perpetrator. The perpetrators tend to be less than perfect in their skill and in their execution, but this gets balanced off as a result of all other parties involved being similarly less than perfect: the victims, the forces of law and order, even the bystanders come with human failings and flaws.

Westlake’s John Dortmunder is the undisputed king of the caper novel.

I remember nearly doing myself an injury reading Bank Shot, one of Westlake’s early caper novels, while in my teens. The plot was simple, yet absurd. It was about a bank robbery. With a big but. Instead of robbing a bank, as you would normally expect, Westlake’s protagonists steal a bank, kit and caboodle. Now of course that meant they needed to find a bank that was housed temporarily in a portacabin, but that’s what literary licence is about, creating such an eventuality. Anyway, the police give chase while the criminals desperately try and break into the bank’s safe while careering down the motorway.

At the other extreme, more recently, I found the Ax gripping and sobering. Fortysomething manager of print operation gets made redundant, then proceeds to deal with the problem his way. Startling. Challenging. Different.

Donald Westlake gave me many many hours of unbridled joy with his writing, joy in many forms, but joy nevertheless. May his soul rest in peace.

Of Twitter and cricket and business models

Here’s something you don’t see every day:

Some wonderfully evocative phrases:

  • allen bowling feeling bitter
  • woodfull declining warners sympathy
  • one side unplaying cricket ruining game
  • time decent men get out game

So where is all this from?  Here’s the story:

Due to restrictions on commercial radio in the United Kingdom in the 1930s, radio stations were established on the continent to beam programs directly to the United Kingdom. The main station was situated in Paris. One of its advertisers was the Gillette Safety Razor Co. which sponsored reporting of the controversial 1932-33 cricket series played between Australia and England in Australia. These were the days before live radio and television broadcasts of international sporting events. Each day a reporter cabled very brief descriptions of play to Paris where they were transformed into full scripts which were then broadcast to the United Kingdom.

The State Library of New South Wales has seen fit to make the cables available to the world at large, a great and laudable gesture. You can read all about it here, and get to the original cables as well. How wonderful.

Looking at the cables reminded me, at least in part, of Twitter, in terms of the brevity of message, the use of abbreviated words, the terseness of communication. And I couldn’t help but smile at the “business model”, which, bluntly put, was “Typescript, commissioned by Gillette Safety Razor Company”. How long before I receive sponsored news on Twitter, with just a few tweaks on the 1930s model? One way becomes two way, the subscription process is democratic, the subjects covered are infinite, and the writers are global microbrands in HughSpeak?

My thanks to Lloyd Davis for tweeting me about it, and to CityofSound for covering it in the first place, where Lloyd saw it.

Delaney Bramlett RIP

It is with some sadness that I note the passing of Delaney Bramlett, who died last Saturday. For many of us he was just Delaney, as in Delaney and Bonnie and Friends. Friends who played regularly with Delaney and Bonnie, friends who included Eric Clapton, Duane Allman, George Harrison, Dave Mason, Leon Russell and Rita Coolidge. Here’s the full line-up as shown in Wikipedia:

Delaney Bramlett
Bonnie Bramlett
Eric Clapton
Duane Allman
Gregg Allman
George Harrison
Leon Russell
Carl Radle
Jim Gordon
Jim Price
Dave Mason
Rita Coolidge
King Curtis
Bobby Whitlock
Jim Keltner
Jerry Scheff

Oh yes, and he also mentored JJ Cale, amongst others. He encouraged Clapton to sing, taught Harrison how to play slide guitar, both Duane Allman and Leon Russell counted themselves as proteges of his. Some CV.

Most of us of a certain age remember many of the people listed above, some as sessions musicians, many as stars in their own right. Readers of this blog would know that the song many consider to be the rock classic, Layla, was performed by Derek and the Dominoes. But not many would know that all four of the members of Derek and the Dominoes were “friends” of Delaney and Bonnie: Eric Clapton, Bobby Whitlock, Carl Radle and Jim Gordon. There is enough evidence to suggest that without Delaney and Bonnie, there wouldn’t have been a Derek and the Dominoes.

I first came across Delaney somewhat indirectly; I was watching a film called Vanishing Point which, to people of my generation, defined car chase films along with the incomparable Bullitt. And stuck in the middle of this classic Seventies film was a pair of musicians. Delaney and Bonnie. I had to know more.

There wasn’t an internet in those days, but what I did find out was enough. Delaney and Bonnie had formed the touring support act for a small group called Blind Faith.

I was hooked, and I continue to be hooked. Delaney Bramlett, thank you for all you’ve done, the enjoyment you’ve provided to a whole generation.

Looking forward to 2009

For some people, 2008 was the Year of the Crunch. The year that Lehmans finally fell, the year that fresh MBAs suddenly stopped wanting to work for investment banks. The year that stock markets crashed worldwide, property prices slid alarmingly and jobs disappeared.

For some people, 2008 was the Year of the Change. The year that hope returned to many people as Barack Obama was elected President of the United States of America. An amazing story when you think it is only 40 years since the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.

When you leave aside the markets and the elections, the storylines get thinner. The Mumbai attacks, the Beijing Olympics and the Large Hadron Collider are the principal ones that come to mind; events in Zimbabwe continue to concern and frustrate me, and the situation in Cuba only serves to mystify.

As was the case in Mumbai, 2008 was a time of sadness for many, as people lost their loved ones in wars and accidents and natural disasters. My condolences to all who have suffered loss. The world also said goodbye to some people known by all and sundry: Bobby Fischer, Paul Newman, Edmund Hillary, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn and Mark Felt (Deep Throat during Watergate) are those I particularly remember;  I also thought it was remarkable that Albert Hoffman, the man who discovered LSD, and Mahesh Yogi, the Maharishi who gave us Transcendental Meditation, managed to outlast their Sixties contemporaries so well.

For a small group of people, 2008 was the Year of the Shoe.

All in all, we’ve had better years, haven’t we?

But I’m not complaining. I have nothing to complain about. I have a great wife and great children, I enjoy my job, I’m part of a healthy and active and growing church, I feel part of my community. We have a warm house, the views are beautiful, there’s food in the fridge. A grand piano, a bunch of guitars, a flute. Two cats and a kitten. Books and music aplenty.

I am content and happy. Two years ago this Christmas, I’d just gone into ventricular fibrillation, my life expectancy was being measured in minutes, my “ejection fraction” was nearly at single figures. Now my medical insurers refuse to pay cardiologist visit bills on the basis I don’t need such services. I am content, happy and glad to be alive.

That’s what I wish for all of you, for 2009. Contentment. Happiness. Gladness in being alive. And this photograph, my all-time favourite, is to help you remember what’s important. A boy sitting on the steps of an orphanage holding on to his first pair of shoes. I know I’ve written about this photograph before, but I have no qualms in referring to it again. None whatsoever. [Update: Over the years I’ve discovered the name of the orphanage and, more recently, even the child’s name. Such is the power of the web.]

To all of you. 2009. May it bring you contentment. Happiness. Gladness in being alive.

Wouldn’t it be great if I had my own dodo skeleton?

…..and my own Maltese Falcon while I’m at it?

I’m paraphrasing the kind of utterances of Adam Savage (of MythBusters fame) on a mesmerising video you can watch here. I’d never heard of FORA.tv until a friend of mine, @bb42, tweeted me a few days ago and *told* me I was going to *love* the video.

Bill, you were right. For the rest of you, particularly those who are obsessive, those who understand obsession, those that are closet obsessives, I’d recommend your giving up seventeen minutes of your time. It’s worth it.