THE PEARL by JOHN STEINBECK

A little different from my previous experiences of Steinbeck, The Pearl offers a warning about human greed and a reminder of the power that the few hold over the many. In some ways, I think this universal story is something I was heading for with Fever, though it goes without saying that Steinbeck hits the message home with more power than I could ever muster.

Where it differs from the bulk of what I've read before is in its depth. There isn't the same sense of character or depth of reaction. Right from the beginning, there's a sense of parable or fable. The lesson's clear early doors and there's only one way this is heading. It's not going to be pretty. 

Kino is a pearl diver like most of the community he lives in. There's a history and a tradition in his work and he has a simple and fulfilling life. Though the economics of poverty stands against him, he grinds out the day-to-day with his wife and child as the tides come in and out. There's a pride in what he does and where he comes from and such a person is difficult to disrespect. 

Two things happen to Kino that will change his life. The first, his son is bitten by a scorpion. The second, he finds the most beautiful pearl of all time. 

In spite of the anticipated reaction of the local doctor, the baby hangs in there. It's only after news of the pear's discovery has traveled around the island that the doctor steps off his pedestal and deigns to offer treatment. This series of interactions arrives as a barrage of gut punches for the reader. 

Just as everything goes right, everything starts to go wrong. The world of finance closes in against him, he loses trust in everyone and is eventually brought down to the level of the exploiting classes when he loses the plot and attacks his wife for warning him that the pearl will only bring them bad luck. 

It's a raw and tough tale that somehow feels like it's going through the numbers, yet while on the journey of Kino and his family there is genuine tension created. As I read, it was as if the darkness was slowly closing in until finally there was no light remaining. 

A short work that may not be a keeper, but is one I'm not likely to forget in a hurry.

 

NOBODY RUNS FOREVER by RICHARD STARK

 

Nobody Runs Forever is a meaty read. It's full of tension and complication and the many strands weave together into an engrossing pattern with ease. 

I was so involved in it that I barely had time to dwell on the niggle that this is yet another job that Parker would have run a mile from in the past. There are so many wobbly pillars holding up the operation that the alarm bells were ringning mighty loud. There's the fragile confidence of the ex-con with access to the targetted bank information; his lover, wife of the bank owner, who is prone to lose her calm and act upon impulse; the bounty hunter after information about a recently disappeared criminal not long since dispatched by one of Parker's associates; the partner of the bounty hunter who just won't let go; the sister of the ex-con who wants to protect her brother at all costs; the doctor who allows his office to be used by the crew to hatch the robbery who needs the heist to come off as much as any of them; and a beautiful and wayward cop who is right on Parker's tail. 

It's a mess with all those loose ends, yet the plan is too well-formed to walk away from and from the mire of the build-up, the heist emerges. 

The layers of the story are handled brilliantly and the Parker's team have some of the best one-liners anywhere. There's no waste in terms of plot development or within the prose and every nail is hit right on the head. 

Stark really ramps up the tension in the aftermath of the robbery and when I read the final page, I'm pretty sure my jaw must have dropped and I was unsure of anything for a few minutes afterwards. It's such a brilliant ending that I urge you to pick up this one and give it a go. 

An excellent novel. 

One Man's Opinion: THE DEATH OF BUNNY MUNRO by NICK CAVE

The Death of Bunny Munro. 

Well, well, well.

I've been reflecting on this one for a few days and my main thought is that there's no way this would have been published with a biggie if it had been written by a lowly noir indie writer. That's no reflection on the quality of the prose and the poetic turns of phrase which are both excellent, but is more down to the content and the perversities of the protagonist. Bunny Munro is the kind or lowlife scum you're likely to bump into over at All Due Respect boooks, or Shotgun Honey or others of the darker indie presses out there, the kind of publishers who do it for love and likely make a loss rather than a profit on most of their ventures. It made me a little sad to be reminded, once again, that so many great writers out there don't possess the calling card of fame or celebrity to get through the front doors, past security and into the head offices. 

And none of that is Nick Cave's fault. All he has to do is create what is in his mind, work on it and produce things that the rest of us can enjoy.

Bunny Munro is a salesman. Mostly he has sex on the brain, but he also has sex on the bed, in hotel rooms, in restaurant bathrooms, with the lifeless and by himself. When this addiction is weaved within a pattern of alcoholism, it's innevitable that he hits the skids. For Bunny, his decline is almost entirely of his own making- rather than respond to his wife's needs, he leaves her hanging and when he returns home, he finds his son, Bunny Junior, is motherless. 

Bunny is now screwed in a very different way. He takes his son on the road as he travels from door to door peddling his wares. Sometimes he sells, sometimes he shags, sometimes he gets the crap beaten out of him. Before long, he's faced with his comeuppance, a new kind of hell that feels well-deserved (it's unusual for me not to have sympathy for an addict, but Bunny is an extremely unlovable rogue).

I didn't find this one easy. Some of the sexploits and being inside the head of such a mind made me feel unclean. I might have ducked out early if it hadn't been for the sense of exploration, the occasional miracle of phrasing, the cuirousity, the humour and the barbed tenderness of the father/son relationship and the originality of the whole piece.

I'm so glad I stuck with it as there's so much treasure to find. 

Can I recommend it? 

Within limited circles.

Will I be watching the TV adaptation?

Highly bloody unlikely.