emfiliane reviewed Don't Cry for Me by William Campbell Gault
Review of "Don't Cry for Me" on 'Goodreads'
5 stars
A crime pulp with a heavy heart.
I've read a couple of Gault's later stories, but the raw intensity of his very first novel took me by surprise. He brings a literate sensibility to what should be a slugfest, and an internal reflection that's much more than one-dimensional self-loathing. In 1952, this touch of class was sorely needed in the genre, soon followed by John MacDonald, and even 60 years later it still stands above most crime fiction, with a self-deprecating wink of snobbishness. Rather than murder and intrigue, it's the small human interactions that center the story, heartaches and soul-searching and brusque pugnatiousness covering for fear and existential insecurity. Don't Cry For Me is almost a deconstruction of the pulp crime drama, bearing stock characters but baring their souls.
Gault may not be Joyce, but he packs plenty of intelligent, depressing, often poetic imagery. Pete's longing to understand the …
A crime pulp with a heavy heart.
I've read a couple of Gault's later stories, but the raw intensity of his very first novel took me by surprise. He brings a literate sensibility to what should be a slugfest, and an internal reflection that's much more than one-dimensional self-loathing. In 1952, this touch of class was sorely needed in the genre, soon followed by John MacDonald, and even 60 years later it still stands above most crime fiction, with a self-deprecating wink of snobbishness. Rather than murder and intrigue, it's the small human interactions that center the story, heartaches and soul-searching and brusque pugnatiousness covering for fear and existential insecurity. Don't Cry For Me is almost a deconstruction of the pulp crime drama, bearing stock characters but baring their souls.
Gault may not be Joyce, but he packs plenty of intelligent, depressing, often poetic imagery. Pete's longing to understand the greater world, his searching for insight into thine around him, that genuine desire to hold on to a girl he just couldn't commit to until too late, just for a moment give you a glimpse of the hard but rich vitality that anchors the fast-paced story. The tension never overwhelms, relying on the mood to drive the pages.
Like Michael Connelly much later, Gault also has a particular obsession with the hot Santa Ana winds as a metaphor for the oppression of life in the city. Los Angeles is fertile ground for intrigue, used to the hilt here; roads and cross streets are always mentione, prominently centered on Sunset and Westwood (although USC stars, not UCLA) while ranging from Laurel Canyon to downtown, with lots of stops in Hollywood. If you know LA, you can almost picture every movement.
An interesting historical note is that Pete is basically the prototype for Brock Callahan, Gualt's later and most famous PI. Both are reflective jocks, former Rams, that never can quite make sense of high society nor run with the thugs, though Pete has far more female trouble than Brock.
As bleak and dispiriting and the end is, I felt enriched by the experience of reading rather than just entertained. I'd recommend it to anyone.