"Ο προφήτης του τρόμου", εκδόσεις Άγκυρα.Μιλάμε για τον ορισμό του σκληρού παλπ αστυνομικού μυθιστορήματος, γραμμένο στις ΗΠΑ το 1941. Μέχρι το 1988 η αλογόκριτη έκδοση ήταν απαγορευμένη στις ΗΠΑ, λόγω κάποιων άσεμνων σκηνών και αναφορών, εν αντιθέσει με την Αγγλία όπου από το 1941 κυκλοφορούσε η κανονική έκδοση. Περίεργοι οι Αμερικάνοι σε μερικά θέματα, τι να πει κανείς... Ο κλασικός σκληρός ιδιωτικός ντετέκτιβ της δεκαετίας του '40, στο στιλ του Μάικ Χάμερ και του Σαμ Σπέιντ, στην περίπτωσή μας ο Καρλ Κράβεν, καλείται να βρει την ανιψιά του πλούσιου κυρίου Γκρέισον, την Πηνελόπη, η οποία βρίσκεται στην μικρή πόλη Πόλτον και συγκεκριμένα στον ναό μιας επικίνδυνης αίρεσης, στον ναό του Σολομώντα ή αλλιώς στο "Αμπέλι". Η οικονομική δύναμη του "Αμπελιού" είναι μεγάλη, μιας και ελέγχει τα περισσότερα κέντρα διασκεδάσεως της πόλης, αστυνομικούς, δικαστικούς και ούτω καθεξής. Ο Καρλ Κράβεν θα πρέπει να βρει ποιος σκότωσε τον συνεργάτη του που έψαχνε και αυτός την μικρή κοπέλα, θα πρέπει να αντιμετωπίσει έναν βαρύμαγκα γκάνγκστερ που φοβάται μην του κλέψουν την γκόμενα και θα μπλεχτεί με μια γυναίκα του "Αμπελιού", την Πριγκίπισσα, η οποία γουστάρει να την μπατσίζουν κατά την διάρκεια του σεξ. Ο χρόνος όμως δεν είναι απεριόριστος, γιατί η Πηνελόπη αναμένεται να θυσιαστεί για χάρη του Σολομώντα, ο οποίος βρίσκεται τα τελευταία πέντε χρόνια, νεκρός, σε μια νεκροφάγο. Η συνέχεια θα είναι εκρηκτική. Η δράση είναι ακατάπαυστη, οι σκηνές βίας πολλές και σχετικά γραφικές, η γραφή κλασική παλπ γραφή, οι διάλογοι και οι χαρακτήρες το ίδιο, η πλοκή δίχως τρομερές ανατροπές και αποκαλύψεις αλλά σίγουρα σε κρατάει. Το βιβλίο δεν φτάνει το επίπεδο του Κόκκινου Θερισμού του Χάμετ (μιας και με αυτό συγκρίνεται αρκετά) αλλά σίγουρα προσφέρει διασκέδαση. Εννοείται πως δεν είναι για όλα τα γούστα, αν σας αρέσουν τα σκληρά και παλπ αστυνομικά μυθιστορήματα της δεκαετίας του '40, σίγουρα αυτό δεν θα σας απογοητεύσει. Αν δεν είστε φαν του είδους, μην το διαβάσετε.
opening lines: From the way her buttocks looked under the black silk dress, I knew she'd be good in bed. The silk was tight and under it the muscles worked slow and easy. I saw weight there, and control, and, brother, those are things I like in a woman. I put down my bags and went after her along the station platform. The pulpiest pulp detective novel to come out of the 40's! The story was considered too risque at the time of publication for the sensibilities of readers more used to the posh settings and the stiff upper lip elegance of Sherlock Holmes or Lord Peter Whimsey. Even for me, a long-time fan of the noir movies and of the hard-boiled detectives, the first impression on meeting private investigator Karl Craven is that this is a tongue-in-cheek parody of the genre stereotypes. A little research though demonstrates that the hero of Jonathan Latimer's adventure is, instead of a pastiche, the original mould from which so many other detective will be later cast. Together with Chandler and Hammett, Latimer is one of the founding fathers of the style that stormed and brought down the rules of the criminal investigation game in the British mannner.Karl Craven is not a nice man. He is a cynic without scruples, a lecherous drunkard, an opportunist and a liar. He might be loud, mean, over the top, yet the more time you spend in his company, the more you realize that he is the real McCoy, a true product of the hard times of Prohibion, mob rule and economic depresson. And he's good at what he does, which is why a rich industrialist has hired him to go to a small town in the Midwest and rescue his only daughter from the clutches of a secretive cult.Karl's atitudes towards 'Negroes', anything wearing a skirt, 'healthy' food, domestic violence and other hot button issues might be a turn-off for a thin skinned reader, but if you can relax and put all these quirks in the context of society as it was in the early 40's, you might just have in your hand one of the best adventures in the field. I was having a good time. There were only three things I really liked in the world; food, fighting and ... women. Oh yes, and maybe liquor. Good times for Karl Craven in a nowhere town include, but are not limited to:- murder most foul of his former partner, sent ahead to test the field- barroom brawling with the local mobster, delightfully named Pug Banta- seducing the redhead moll of said Pug Banta- beating up the matron, the bouncer and a couple of the whores in the local bawdy house... then thoroughly thrashing the place as a lesson not to piss him off- an exchange of machine-gun fire during a romantic dinner, with a side dish of a burning car through the windows- (view spoiler)[ looting a treasure trove worthy of the former pirates of the Caribbean (hide spoiler)]
Do You like book Solomon's Vineyard (1990)?
This is my first Latimer novel. Definitely harsher than what I would expect from a '40's pulp novel. It goes a long way to dispelling the myth that earlier generations were any better than the current. One thing about this period that amazes me is how much our heroes drink and Karl Craven can keep pace with the best of them. Sex, crime, double crosses and a cult; what's not to love. Oh, I almost forgot the mandatory dead partner that needs avenging. Predictable? If you've read any of this genre then yes it is but still a fun journey nonetheless.
—Jeff Parker
SOLOMON’S VINEYARD by John Latimer offers a real treat for readers who’d like to savor a story by one of the pioneers of the hardboiled style of detective fiction. Originally written in 1941, it was banned in the U.S. because of sexual references and a kinky encounter. It reflects the attitudes of its time and conventions of the pulp fiction heyday. Contemporary readers unable to enjoy this as a period piece will find something to offend every sensibility: racism, ethnic slurs and sexism. The macho fight scenes and graphic violence are so over the top as to be campy. The same holds true for the prodigious drinking and eating of the novel’s anti-hero detective. This may reflect Latimer’s well-established tendency to include comedic elements in his work.Still, the beat, the pace, the dialogue all add up to a satisfying and well-crafted mystery. The subject matter – a young heiress who’s fallen captive to a mega-church style operation awash in money and spellbound by a charismatic leader – provides a surprisingly contemporary note.Mystery fans who want to explore the dark, tough, morally ambivalent roots of hardboiled P.I.’s could make a good start here.
—M. Myers
*3.5 Stars* From the way her buttocks looked under the black silk dress, I knew she'd be good in bed. The silk was tight and under it the muscles worked slow and easy. I saw weight there, and control, and, brother, those were things I like in a woman. Yea, from that first line, we know that this book puts the "hard" in hard-boiled. This one might just be the "hardest" of them all. I can see now why it's publication was delayed for FORTY years(!) due to content. It follows private detective Karl Craven, who's hired to travel to a small town to convince a young woman to leave a religious sex cult that has wild orgies every year in the woods, worships a rotting corpse they keep in a temple, and chooses a girl to go marry the corpse and have sex with it. Like Craven says about his story in the prologue: "It's got everything but an abortion and a tornado."I thought it was pretty cool that Craven's true nature was kept vague throughout the story, causing the reader to never fully know where he stood on certain things and never be able to predict what he would do. We know he's supposed to be a detective, but is he disguising himself as one? Is that a lie? Is he a con man? Or maybe he's just the worst private eye in the world and is just using the job to bed down as many ladies as possible? This added an interesting dynamic on top of the craziness. But at the the same time, it was a thin line to walk for a writer because I also felt like I was distanced from him as well. He also sometimes seemed like a real dick in the way he treated women, minorities, or for that matter, every other human being he came in contact with...I also thought the book was unexpectedly funny because Craven seemed like he didn't really give a damn about solving the case for most of the story. He spends a good amount of the book either napping, eating, taking multiple showers, reading Black Mask magazines, or having rough sex with the cult's princess, who likes to get punched around while in bed instead of getting kissed. I just got a kick out of how laid back he was, as if he thought that the pleasures in life were the priority and everything else would work itself out in the end. And who knows, maybe it will. You'll have to read to find out. I took a peek into the grave. Flowers had almost covered the coffin. I thought: there goes $135. It was the first time I'd ever spent that much on a doll without getting something in return.
—Richard Vialet
