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The Real Cool Killers (1988)

The Real Cool Killers (1988)

Book Info

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Rating
3.89 of 5 Votes: 1
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ISBN
0679720391 (ISBN13: 9780679720393)
Language
English
Publisher
vintage books

About book The Real Cool Killers (1988)

Όλα κι όλα τρία μυθιστορήματα του Τσέστερ Χάιμς έχουν μεταφραστεί στα ελληνικά, απ'όσο ξέρω, αυτό και άλλα δυο από τις εκδόσεις Άγρα. Πλέον είναι όλα διαβασμένα, οπότε αν θέλω να διαβάσω άλλα βιβλία του συγγραφέα, θα πρέπει να κοιτάξω στα αγγλικά. Σίγουρα κάποια στιγμή θα το κάνω. Όσον αφορά τους Ωραίους δολοφόνους: Πρωταγωνιστές είναι φυσικά οι αχτύπητοι δυο μαύροι αστυνομικοί, ο Νεκροθάφτης Τζόουνς και ο Φερετράκιας Τζόνσον. Σκληροί τύποι που τα βάζουν με τους πάντες. Ένας λευκός δολοφονείται στο Χάρλεμ. Πρόκειται για τον Γκάλεν, επονομαζόμενος και ως Έλληνας, ένας άντρας με πολλά λεφτά που του αρέσουν οι μικρές μαύρες κοπέλες. Οι ύποπτοι είναι πολλοί και η όλη υπόθεση έχει να κάνει με τις σεξουαλικές ορέξεις του Γκάλεν απέναντι στις μικρές μαύρες κοπέλες. Αλλά ο κύριος ύποπτος είναι ο Σόνι, ένας κοντός μαύρος. Στην όλη υπόθεση μπλέκονται και κάτι πιτσιρικάδες, μαύροι εννοείται, που ανήκουν σε μια συμμορία που λέγεται Οι Ωραίοι Μουσουλμάνοι. Δεν είναι Μουσουλμάνοι βέβαια, Χριστιανοί είναι, αλλά ακούγεται ωραία. Επίσης μπλέκονται διάφοροι άλλοι περιθωριακοί τύποι, νταβατζήδες, ιδιοκτήτες μπαρ, πόρνες κλπ. Από κει και πέρα το σκληρό ντουέτο των μαύρων αστυνομικών, όπως και άλλοι λευκοί αστυνομικοί, πρέπει να λύσουν την δύσκολη αυτή υπόθεση, γιατί προφανώς ο Σόνι δεν είναι και τόσο ένοχος. Έτσι ψάχνουν μαύρους ενόχους μέσα σε ολόκληρο Χάρλεμ... Τρέχα γύρευε δηλαδή. Γίνεται ένας χαμός στην όλη υπόθεση, πολλές παρεξηγήσεις και μπερδέματα. Η γραφή κατά τη γνώμη μου είναι εξαιρετική, δίχως φτιασίδια, σκληρή, μάγκικη, ακριβής, με γαμάτο χιούμορ, μπόλικο βρισίδι και χρησιμοποίηση της αφροαμερικάνικης αργκό σε κάποια σημεία. Οι διάλογοι φυσικά τα σπάνε κανονικά. Αν ο συγγραφέας ήταν λευκός και μίλαγε έτσι για τους μαύρους, σίγουρα θα θεωρούνταν μέλος της ΚΚΚ... Μερικά ανέκδοτα θα ακούγονταν μάλλον ρατσιστικά αν δεν τα έλεγε μαύρος. Πολύ γέλιο. Μην ψάχνετε και πολύ βάθος στους χαρακτήρες, ή ένα μυστήριο που αγχώνει, το βιβλίο είναι ένα καλής ποιότητας παλπ αστυνομικό μυθιστόρημα, με τρελές καταστάσεις. Πάντως το τέλος έχει μια καλή αποκάλυψη.

This is a deconstruction that doesn't feel like a deconstruction. You've got all the "good stuff" you expect from a hard boiled crime story (one of my favorite genres): violence, slang, a mystery, nicknames, sexual perversion, bad-ass protagonists, eccentric criminals, and so on. But it's all turned up too much, and that's the point. Let's start with our "heroes." Coffin Ed and Grave Digger (and yes, their names are very fitting) are two cops who show up in a bunch of Himes' novels: they're black cops in Harlem and for every moment in which they're bad-ass, capable, and full of righteous indignation, there's another in which one or both of them smack around innocent people, shoot at a car they want out of their way, and (in one of the book's earlier scenes) kill a mostly innocent gang member and non-fatally shoot an entirely innocent person while in a paroxysm of rage. Grave Digger describes his job, at least two times, as being "making Harlem safe for white people," and while he isn't particularly happy that that is his job, he goes about it terrifyingly. It's chilling, because these two are your standard 1950s, Mickey Spillane-style, anti-heroes, but amplified just enough for what they do to edge entirely into police brutality. Yet they manage to be better than the white cops and better than the lead villain... all while the worst person in the book, by far, is the murder victim himself.As the investigation goes on, the reader also follows a group of white cops as they hassle people and generally be some racist motherfuckers in that special way that New York cops still can today. Even while they're technically on the side the reader should be rooting for, it comes down very quickly to preferring the utterly cold-blooded gang-leader Sheik, rather than the fine upstanding police officers who our "heroes" work with every day, simply because of the way we see them hassling people. And it is, naturally, never a missed point that the cops are only out in force because a white man was killed in Harlem.But the worst (best) part is that the book is still so captivating and exciting. There's suspense and over-the-top violence and bad-assery and the reader is made complicit in everything, good and bad. The book drags you along through vivid prose and spins you around, making you doubt the side that you're used to trusting -- Hammett, Chandler, and many others have done the same, but it's different here, in large part because, in a Dostoevskian way, who the murderer is doesn't really matter. The reader is eagerly pulled through all of this, and it's thrilling and twisting and terrible and funny, and then it all ends on a surprisingly sweet note that doesn't tie everything together, but gives the reader a wonderful chance to breathe. A masterpiece of crime fiction.

Do You like book The Real Cool Killers (1988)?

The opening of the novel is one of the most puzzling and challenging I've ever read. Things happen and they seem absurd. People shout at each other, wound each other terribly, a man is shot to death, and there seems to be no reason for this.But as the novel unfolds, reasons start to surface. By the end, we know there was nothing absurd in the opening scene, but everything happened for a reason. Reasons tightly entwined with human passions and twists.For me, this is the most fascinating aspect of the novel.I love Chester Himes. I love his visceral, powerful way to handle his characters, the way he drills reasons and passions inside them. The way they talk, the way they act. His characters always seem so real, they always act in response to inner desires and outside pushes, so that they seem real even when they act absurd - or seem to.Still, this second novel set in Harlem it's not as powerful as the first one (`Rage in Harlem'). The action only spans a few hours, but while the investigation (lead by Grave Digger Jones) is tight, with a strong logic leading it, and with strong characters populating it, the parallel thread regarding the kids' gang is not as strong. The two threads meet at the end, but in the apartment where the kids hide nothing relevant seems to happen. The action meanders a little, there seems to be no real purpose but to take time while the investigation has its course. I didn't get bored because of Himes' incredible ability to create situations and his mastery in creating dialogue, but I did enjoyed the investigation more, and I did look forward to go back to Grave Digger when I was reading the kids.In spite of this, I enjoyed it. A lot.
—Jazzfeathers

Second of Chester Himes crime stories. This time "Coffin" Ed Johnson and "Gravedigger" Jones spend the night chasing the killer of white man in Harlem. It's as anarchic, gruesome and farcial as Himes other novels. Dumb racist police, dumb aggressive criminals and our two detectives intimidating everybody in sight.This story is slightly different from his first novel A Rage In Harlem as this story is more darker in tone - the villains being more evil and exploitative and people being beaten and killed simply for the thrill. No one comes out of it a saint.Himes started writing these pulp crime novels for the entertainment of white readers and this is pulp stripped to it's basic thrills - sex, violence and casual racism. At one point Gravedigger says he's making Harlem safe for the white man what Himes does is similar giving the white man a vicarious thrill ride through Harlem safe between the book covers.
—Iain

This is the 2nd book in Chester Himes's Harlem Cycle and it's just as absurd and insane as his previous masterpiece in the series, A Rage in Harlem, which I loved. The plot starts almost immediately and moves at a breakneck pace. Just like in A Rage In Harlem, the story is so crazy, and the writing so sharp, that it's hard to stop reading. Something that sets Chester Himes apart from so many others is his ability to inject a mix of witty comedy and social commentary into his work, as well as astute observations about living in Harlem in the '50's: "The white manager stood on top of the bar and shouted, 'Please remain seated, folks. Everybody go back to his seat and pay his bill. The police have been called and everything will be taken care of.'As though he'd fired a starting gun, there was a race for the door." The super-hard-boiled Harlem detectives, Grave Digger Jones and Coffin Ed Johnson, are back on the job again when a big Greek dude gets shot and killed by a fake gun in the middle of a crowded street in Harlem, causing all hell to break loose. After Coffin Ed gets suspended for blasting his .38 all over 128th Street when some little gangster throws perfume at him (Coffin Ed had a little run-in with some acid a while back), Grave Digger investigates the case solo. Throughout the course of one night, he discovers that there is more to the case that he originally thought, and it seems like all connections lead to some young hookers and a gang that calls themselves the Real Cool Moslems.Himes's descriptions throughout the novel are richly evocative with his usual playfulness. Should he be considered the James Brown of Crime Fiction? There, I coined it first! You can practically smell, hear, and taste his wicked version of Harlem. Check out this gem: "The joint was jammed with colored people who'd seen the big man die, but nobody seemed to be worrying about it.The jukebox was giving out with a stomp version of 'Big-Legged Woman.' Saxophones were pleading; the horns were teasing; the bass was patting; the drums were chatting; the piano was catting, laying and playing the jive, and a husky female voice was shouting:'...you can feel my thighBut don't you feel up high.'Happy-tail women were bouncing out of their dresses on the high bar stools.Grave Digger trod on the sawdust sprinkled over the bloodstains that wouldn't wash off and parked on the stool at the end of the bar." Once again, an entertaining read from the great Chester Himes.
—Richard Vialet

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