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Posts Tagged ‘Henry V’

I’m a later-comer to the Elmore Leonard oeuvre.  Naturally I’ve heard the name and had even watched Get Shorty without exactly knowing who wrote it.  I picked up Cuba Libre not even knowing it fell in the category of crime fiction — I simply wanted to read something new.  Leonard died before I ever read a word he wrote.  I guess it wasn’t all that new.

I’m not going to say I’ve downed the Leonard collection of 46 books, 7 screenplays and 2 teleplays before I made some observations.  My first note to myself was, that as intricate as I found the plots and as quirky as I found the characters, I always put down the novels as if I hadn’t had a full meal.  Now, I’ll admit, when I picked up the novels, I saw them as fiction, not crime fiction.  They were on the library shelves for contemporary fiction — and the library has a section for crime fiction.  Maybe they jumped ship.

What I love about the novels is similar to what I love about Shakespeare.  The messenger who appears before Henry V is full of sauce and vinegar for the English king.  He claims he was told to put it on and later basically apologizes for underestimating the valor of the man whose reputation was gained as Prince Hal.  They guy appears for basically eight to ten lines and he has as rich a life and purpose as any other character in the play.  The same is true for the Lords who plotted with the French and are found out before the troops leave for France — they are justified and believe in their cause (for all of one or two lines each).  Leonard has a similar capacity to see to it that each of his characters has a personal objective that is rarely subservient to the needs of anyone else.

In Road Dogs, various characters who’ve been fleshed out in other novels intersect. Jack Foley (Out of Sight) and Cundo Rey (LaBrava) come together via prison and connect with Dawn Navarro (Riding the Rap), who is waiting for Cundo in Venice, CA.  Each time the plot twists, it is more or less a revelation that a character is adjusting how they play the scene to get what they want.  Each character in the book has an agenda, from the FBI agent who trails Foley and threatens a local gangbanger into gathering a group of hoods to act as surveillance, to the movie star who is set up by Dawn as a mark for her psychic con game.  What is true for Shakespeare is true for Leonard — there’s no such thing as an auxiliary character.  Every person you encounter is central to their own life and has their own designs on how the game should play out.

The other commonality in Leonard’s work is a mirror of the hard-boiled detective.  Like the private investigators of Raymond Chandler or Dashiell Hammett, Leonard centers his work on criminals who have their own code of honor. I’d consider calling them “hard-boiled criminals,” but that phrase tends to imply something else.  Jack Foley, for example, will consider double-crossing Cundo Rey and even sleep with Dawn, his common-law wife, but as events unfold there is a bond to his yard-mate that he cannot dishonor.  Neither can he go through and pretend to exorcise the new widow Danielle’s house of ghosts — it is abhorrent to him to play on her grief as part of the scam.

So then, the novels are lean, the characters self-motivated, the plots make credible twists as each character adjusts their methods to get what they want — what accounts for the half-hour after Chinese meal syndrome?  Simply this — there are few, if any, character arcs.  There are only plot arcs.  Once again, I blame the library for not alerting me that I was reading something other than crime fiction — no one expects Sam Spade to come to some kind of self-realization during one of his private investigations.  Half of the fun of the hard-boiled detective is the narrative voice making snide observations about “losers” and “dames.”  However, Hammett atones for Spade’s lack of character arc by his vulnerability.  Sam always believes one wrong person and gets trundled into a shack or shot up with narcotics as a result — and from there he gets hardened and recovers his dignity (along with whatever prize he may have been sent to discover).

The criminals in Leonard are generally too wary to be vulnerable.  They break bread with each other knowing that there are knives at every place setting.  And most of them finish the novel, dead or alive, no smarter than they began it.  Like Chinese food, it’s a fun night out, but it makes me question his ten rules of good writing.  They don’t really tell you very much (did you expect them to?):

  1.  Never open a book with weather.
  2.  Avoid prologues.
  3.  Never use a verb other than “said” to carry dialogue.
  4.  Never use an adverb to modify the verb “said” … he admonished gravely.
  5.  Keep your exclamation points under control. You are allowed no more than two or three per 100,000 words of prose.
  6.  Never use the words “suddenly” or “all hell broke loose.”
  7.  Use regional dialect, patois, sparingly.
  8.  Avoid detailed descriptions of characters.
  9.  Don’t go into great detail describing places and things.
  10.  Try to leave out the part that readers tend to skip.
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