los angeles noir is a collection of short stories. snapshots of the ethos of chandler and cain filtered through a 21st-century, multicultural lens by denise hamilton. this is a literary travelogue from the chinese mansions of san marino to the day spas of koreatown to the windy hills of mullholland drive, the baby gangsters of east hollywood, the OG entrepreneur of leimert park, the old money of beverly hills, and the working class of mar vista. this collection of tales of crime and passion and betrayal are all uniformly good, full of fine phrases and sharply observed landscapes. almost every character, as in the real los angeles, comes from somewhere else originally, and tries to bend the parameters of the disparate landscape to their own will. this is an interesting way to observe a new culture, showdowns in back alleys and buildings, territories of los angeles you know of, but have not yet had a reason to journey to. a gives a fascinating glimpse into the lives of people you see on the street, on the bus, and in the car next to you. each of the 17 stories take 45 minutes or less of your life to read and all have a bitter twist of sorts.

so how best to summarize? new in town, huh? look around, kid - palm trees, movie stars, glittering promises of fame and fortune....now look closer, and you'll see the real act...

the road to los angeles

what to make of 'the road to los angeles'? this was john fante's first novel; started in 1933 and finished in 1936. amazingly the publishers rejected it, and it was eventually published 50 years later.

the story follows arturo bandini, a prideful fool of an eighteen year old as he makes his way in 1930s california. he lives with his mother and sister, works in a cannery, and aspires to be a great writer. arturo has read too many books and has got hold of some bad philosophy.

"It was always the park. I read a hundred books. There was Nietzsche and Schopenhauer and Kant and Spengler and Strachey and others. Oh Spengler! What a book! What weight! Like the Los Angeles Telephone Directory. Day after day I read it, never understanding it, never caring either, but reading it because I liked one growling word after another marching across pages with somber mysterious runblings. And Schopenhauer! What a writer! For days I read him and read him, remembering a bit here and a bit there. And such things about women! I agreed. Exactly my own feelings on the matter. Ah man, what a writer!"

fante pokes fun at nietsche's and hitler's "superman" weltanschauung (worldview). there are parallels in this novel with many disenfranchised teenage boy/men. both holden caulfield (a catcher in the rye) and ignatius j. reilly (a confedercy of dunces) ring loud and true as find similaries of character, fantastically over the top, remarkably coherent and nihilistic in their intelligence, and ultimately tragic in their inability to see the world with any semblance of normality. the passage below neatly encapsulated poor arturo's view of theology:

"Oh Jehovah, in your infinite mutability see if you can't scrape up some coin for the Bandini family." My mother said, "Shame, Arturo. Shame." I got up and yelled, "I reject the hypothesis of God! Down with the decadence of a fraudulent Christianity! Religion is the opium of the people! All that we are or ever hope to be we owe to the devil and his bootleg apples!" My mother came after me with a broom. She almost stumbled over it, threatening me with the straw end in my face. I pushed the broom aside, and pulled off my shirt in front of her and stood naked from the waist up. I bent my neck toward her. "Vent your intolerance," I said. "Persecute me! Put me on the rack! Express your Christianity! Let the church militant express it's bloody soul! Gibbet me! Stick hot pokers in my eyes. Burn me at the stake, you Christian dogs!" Mona came in with a glass of water. She took the broom from my mother and gave her the water. My mother drank it and calmed down a bit. Then she spluttered and coughed into the glass and was ready to cry. She looked at me with a waxy expressionless face. I turned my back and walked to the window. When I turned around she was still staring. "Christian dogs," I said. "Bucolic rainspouts! Boobus Americanus! Jackals, weasels, polecats, and donkeys - the whole stupid lot of you. I alone in the entire family have been unmarked by the scourge of cretinism." "You fool", said my sister. They walked into the bedroom. "Don't call me a fool," I said. "You neurosis! You frustrated, inhibited, driveling, drooling, half-nun!" I heard my mother say, "Did you hear that! How awful!"

This novel is worth reading for showdowns such as this alone. There are a few more that will have you laughing out loud. (how often does that happen?) john fante's writing is very smooth and languid. I look forward to reading more ramblings from arturo bandini.

play it as it lays

play it as it lays, by joan didion is my first entry. my first review of recommended los angeles literature. where to start? well i should preface this by mentioning how I had previously just failed to overcome the stifling boredom of appointment in samarra, by john o' hara; another recommendation. the pace and characters of which left me completely uninterested. this is not a reflection on play it as it lays, however I did also feel a complete lack of empathy for the main character in this novel; the introduction by david thomson hinted as much, calling this this her 'hollywood book' and denouncing many aspects of it's sordid hard-heartedness.

the story of maria (pronounced 'ma-rye-ah') wyeth from silver wells, nevada. a town in the invisible belt of las vegas; a spec of dirt of a town, she has become a hollywood actress with incomparable issues, and disjointed emotionalism. nothing new. however maria wyeth is caught up in a scott fitzgerald-like web of incomplete feelings, distaste, and general sordid benevolence towards the small coterie of male studio heads and movie producers she counts as lovers and occasionally husbands. maria's only constant is the freeways of los angeles. her pain from the mistakes she has made to be left behind in her wake; driving the freeways, keeping from thinking, a woman with no destination in mind, her only thought; to be on the freeway by ten a.m.

"Maria is never so happy as when cracking a hard-boiled egg on the steering wheel while doing 70 m.p.h. and letting the tension rip on, again and again, she returned to an intricate stretch just south of the interchange where successful passage from the Hollywood onto the Harbor required a diagonal move across four lanes of traffic. On the afternoon she finally did it without once braking or once losing the beat on the radio she was exhilarated, and that night she slept dreamlessly."

throughout, didion maintains a cool and obviously deliberate third-person assesment of her characters, and particularly maria wyeth, and for this one can imagine the author has good reason. similarities and empathy are no doubt involved in telling the story of the desert child of a barren nevada town, and daughter of a local gambler who she learned only gambling mottos from, her mother victim of a car accident along a deserted stretch of parched desert highway - silver wells, which is now a military test site. are we in any position to judge her? then again; should we not condone the relentless way in which maria plays on her ability to get what she wants also? an abortion is only part of the back story. regardless of destination, and how she got there, or why she got there; be it hollywood, las vegas, or the mojave desert; maria is a woman in constant crisis. battling for her life, and a will to love, and to live while suffocating in a place outside of society. surrounded by a raw and blistered wasteland of stunningly evil moguls. the scenes are awash with a litany of agents, doctors and producers whom in didions opinion, have moved the goals towards a power play industry. power, looks and money and not much else informs the characters daily lives, and ultimately led hollywood down it's current path. it is not any wonder her actions are simply a reflection of her soul. arid and sour.


"What do you think," Maria could hear one of the men saying. She was trying to eat and egg roll in the Sands and the two men and the girl had been watching her ever since she sat down. "About what," the girl said. "That." The girl shrugged. "Maybe." The other man said something that Maria did not hear and when she looked up again the girl was still watching her. "Thirty-six," the girl said. "But a good thirty-six."


this is a scathing and startling novel. not hugely enjoyable. difficult to read, and impossible to empathise with the main character, but for all that, the prose is informed and genuine. there is no showbiz glamour here. this is the exploration of a women tainted by hollywood and the people she has met and fallen prey to. now she is simply exacting something back. the venom is all ours.

a word on john

2009 has been a roller-coaster. a major dip on that ride occurred in april, when I received some terrible news one lunchtime at work. one of my best friends had died. not easy to digest lunch after hearing that. this was a great person. someone oblivious to the fads and fashions of music trends and all; even though he had been very much involved with people in the acid house music explosion of the late 80's, and this made him strangely all the better; and completely unaffected for and by it. john christian willcox was a fantastic person who lived an unconventional life that just seem to get stranger and more unbelievable each year. one of the first in our group of london friends and dj-types to emigrate the grey skies of london for sunnier climes. john decided to move to the cayman islands to become a certified diving instructor; which he duly did. he also became an occasional bartender at the diving resorts. his life was pretty much perfect. I took a trip one christmas and new years from new york cold to cayman sun, and it was one of the greatest times of our lives. life is not bad when you live in a pink shack on the ocean that has cable tv and playstation, and your cost of living and stress is completely negligible.

paradise was lost however, when the following christmas, while cycling to work along the beautiful coastal roads of cayman brac, a drunk driver in a sports car smashed into him; breaking almost every bone in his body. the backpack he had bought on a trip to new york not long before saved his life; however he was airlifted to a miami hospital by helicopter and underwent multiple operations to fix his body. it was two years before he would walk and be mobile and independent again, and something definitely that changes a person, no matter how happy-go-lucky their previous disposition. not that he changed personality too much. amazingly he would always laugh and joke about what happened and say it wasn't meant to be; or some other joke. life can be cruel. this was a real hammer-blow though.

he slowly convalesced back in england at his parents house, and eventually moved to amerika; firstly to new york where myself and his closest friends were living. he had now met and was with his future wife, a person that must ultimately hold some responsibility for his life from then on in. new york was a bit much for them. it is a long story why. so they decided to move to virginia where she was from. they married, and while she was there for him throughout, it is a relationship that his friends and family would rue. despite a beautiful son being born, this was a relationship that seemed to take alot out of john, and did not it seems, make him happy.

it is always difficult to view these situations. you feel helpless. you cannot really advise someone how to live their own life. it just doesn't work. ultimately they make their own decisions, and have to stand by them. john knew that.

I feel that this blog is a note to myself, and one that i will revisit and ammend as and when i wish to add to it. I wanted to put down in some words, as a reminder, that he no longer is available to call. I no longer get text messages from this person. I no longer exchange amusing emails with him either. he is no longer there.

los angeles with a car

It has been a while since I visited my own blog. exactly one calendar year it seems! (I apologize to the the blog for being so lackadaisical). I cannot imagine others are still tuning in. It has been an interesting one year since my last entry. some ups, and some very sad downs. I lost a close friend to an accidental overdose of some kind, and I had a job that drove me insane through sheer lack of organization and competence from distracted higher-ups, were chiefly among the lows. the absolute pleasure I felt at being laid off from this position in august, was monumental, and an indication that I am happier not working there. the highs include; enjoying life in los angeles more, a trip to london with emi, indeed, remaining married and not yet ballsing that up, though there is always time.

what else? I am able to now drive motor vehicles. Indeed I have purchased a motor vehicle. I am one of those people now. I live in the 'city of angels', so it is deemed as necessary as oxygen, or starbucks. my car is indeed a great addition. It allows me to drive around aimlessly, stalk taco trucks, visit vistas, and peruse mighty canyons, and generally enjoy the scenery los angeles has to offer. motion is key. It is best to keep moving at all times. I am not concerned with my lack of career right now, as it seems the whole world, and particularly the american part of it, is in a recession so deep, it is culturally unable to comprehend its uselessness and own financial guilt to the rest of the world. there are no jobs worth having unless you wish to earn $10 an hour, minus tax. so, I shall venture to london; to visit the family and friends from a distant life. hopefully they remember me. In any case; I shall soon return to this blog, and shall write my findings on current reads. I joined the los angeles public library, and have a long list of reads that concern the town I live in; recommendations for my los angeles book club came from far and wide, and I thank those that contributed titles by all the usual suspects (james elroy, aldous huxley, charles bukowski etc) and so, I shall soon be posting my thoughts on joan didion's 'play it as it lays'.

the greening

neither of choice, nor in any particular order, but it has happened. my life has become "green". finding a job in los angeles (finally), at a company that is carbon conscious, was a pleasant surprise. 'organic' is a word; often misused and mostly mis-quoted however. it's a major issue, as "fake" green companies, of which there are many, try to cash in and try and convince you they are coldplay. eco-friendly, certified organic, low carbon, wind powered, climate neutral, ethically made. the impact this has on the end consumer is noticeable. consuming "green" products through a vague feeling of guilt, and only a temporary thought to make the right choice, with a cursory glance at the label. we all do it. question the packaging that envolves a tiny item just purchased. wondering all the time, if this packaging is bio-degradable. certainly the i-gadget we have just purchased is not. well, we hope that maybe, possibly, the 8-foot box this came in is "green" at least. what can I do? what is a carbon footprint anyway? it is too shocking to analyse your possessions in this way. it is interesting. it leaves you thinking more and more about what the future holds for consumerism. a new culture of eco-awareness, now we have "greening" and carbon offsets to insinuate all areas of consumerism. look around. "green" policy is now a priority, for companies desperate to stay onside. a new generation of carbon conscious consumers are making their views known by asking 'is this green?'

I have a large amount of "green" clothing. why? it is not my favourite colour. maybe it had a beneficial effect, as my "green" card was approved recently, and should be delivered within the year. hopefully packaged in recycled paper, and hand delivered in a carbon labelled envelope. I doubt it. until then, I will eat green food.

earthquake weather

5.4 on the bastard earthquake-o-meter is apparently not enough magnitude to worry most californians when it comes to earthquakes. I can tell you it was not an enjoyable experience on tuesday for a non-earthquake-proof person. jesus christ. my apartment building was shaking. I genuinely believed it was the big one, it was emanating from a place called chino hills, where i never intend to visit. ever. let us take a look at the stats then ernie, and americans do love their stats. it would seem, depending on who your reading that we range from an over 50% chance, to a near 99% probability that a fatal, giant, bastard earthquake will roll underneath the state of california within the next 30 years. great to know. cheers. nice one. LA is a challenge some days, and you now have the added option of the ground swallowing you, or the building you are in falling down on top of you. I don't know what earthquake weather is, maybe only joe strummer did, and that's why he deliberately avoided all mention of earthquakes on his album 'earthquake weather'. I heard from a local, that when the weather is a certain 'way' -  it is earthquake weather. I have no idea what weather patterns to watch out for, so this was of little help. some people just laughed their way through it i know, and carried on tapping away at their work computer keyboards like it ain't no thang. not me. I felt much like a tiny ant might, when a small child might happen upon an ant-hill and amuse himself for just a short while by brutally destroying the ants home, kicking it to pieces until it falls apart, as the tiny ants run for their lives and get the hell out of dodge. it's all a sense of perspective though eh? surely retribution will one day come in the form of giant ants who will colonize the earth and destroy new york city (why is it always new york city?), then the excellent will smith or bruce willis will save us in the movie version of the real event.

the los angeles times took a happy-go-lucky angle, and I suppose when they are only getting photos on the wire of korean shop-keepers picking up bottles of head and shoulders shampoo and shrugging it off. why panic? might as well publish a story entitled 'Ho, hum, another not-the-Big-One'. maybe this rationale makes more sense. what can you do anyway. there is a definite routine that kicks in, from the first moments of a quake. first, comes a sharp jolt of fear. you then start praying - even as a non-religious type. once you hear things start smashing, you panic more, and when the quaking eventually subsides, in creeps the sense that you've cheated the odds. you can then clean up the broken glasses, and picture frames with a stupid smile on your face, and supposedly have a right old laugh at your good fortune to have avoided a certain death. brilliant. okay, to the los angeles times we go for a final view on the matter.

"This was a whole lot of nothing," Chino Valley Independent Fire District Capt. Jeremy Ault said. "We expected the worst, but we received the best. You remember: I live in California. I thought it was the big one too. But it was not. Again"