The Black Dahlia

Some books are just practically impossible to reduce to stars, and I feel that way about The Black Dahlia.

The thing is, I know I'll be reading the rest of the Quartet, if only because LA Confidential is one of the best movies I've ever seen, and I know there's plenty more. So I can't stop, obviously. But the sheer vile brutality the first half revels in is just too much at times; I should have at least checked reviews to steel myself to the endless casual racial epithets and casual cop violence I was immediately thrown into. Bucky's superiority complex and self-loathing that went along with it could grate at times, but Ellroy took no pains whatsoever to try to convince you that he was a hero, merely one of the least horrible of a whole cast of monsters.

The second half tightened up significantly, losing the violence for shock's sake, bring a greater pathos and a much more substantial lone gumshoe story.

The ending was disappointing; aside from being too neat and tidy to match the grisly tone of the beginning, it was just a grand conspiracy unraveled over the course of the final few chapters, ensuring that everything makes sense and nobody keeps a secret by the end.

It was a good book and it was a terrible book. I'm still really mixed up about it. In that respect, as least it's memorable.