I thought it might be entertaining for you to read one of my first forays into short-story writing: a murder mystery I bashed out crafted in 1989. What follows is the story, then Co-pilot’s summary of it (which I think is funny in itself!), followed by a review from ChatGPT.

I hope you enjoy reading the story, and the two commentaries from AI.

The Mystery of the Massage Murders

A Jason Fox Story

by Terry Freedman

Jason Fox grimaced as he stubbed out his cigarette. The neon light from the speakeasy across the street cast an eerie glow over the office. His assistant, Grimwald, was still typing the report on the Menelli case. Good kid, thought Fox. If he had to earn his living from typing, he’d be on Welfare. Still, you had to give the kid credit. If it hadn’t been for him, Menelli would be in Florida by now.

Fox turned back to the file on his desk. He’d been thru the papers a hundred times, but all he’d ever gotten was zilch. Fifteen people dead, apparently from natural causes, each one checking out of the hotel of life while being massaged.

They had other things in common too: one, they’d all been students at the C.H. School of Massage. Two, they’d all bought it a few days after sending off their $10 checks for the theory lectures.

A couple of weeks ago Fox, working undercover, had enrolled at the C.H. School. The dame who ran the course was sweet, but weird. Kept muttering stuff like “Create your own reality, man”, and “There ain’t no such thing as right and wrong” and “Focus on what you want, honey”. She sure didn’t sound like a murderess. Still, you never can tell: remember the Respighi case, Fox reminded himself, where the guy was a top hit man posing as a baroque composer.

Fox had passed the course (he’d slipped the dame a couple of G´s) and had applied for the theory lectures. Now he just had to sit back and wait.

“Hey, kid”, Fox rasped. “If anyone wants me, I ain´t around. If you want me, I’m getting a drink”.

“Sure thing, boss”, Grimwald muttered as he reached for the second bottle of Tippex¹.

The bartender nodded towards Fox. “What’ll it be, mister?”

“Gimme two shots of bourbon, no ice. And make it snappy”.

Suddenly, he noticed the dame in red dress. She came over and sat next to him. Her perfume was like the scent of nectar in a city of broken dreams.

Fox jerked a cigarette into his mouth and then, almost as an after-thought, motioned the pack towards her. She took one.

“What’s yer label, baby? Fox grunted. She lowered her eyelids, like a schoolkid being asked out on a date for the first time.

“Say”, she cooed, in a voice like a mink coat in the frozen wastes of Alaska. “You don’t waste any time, do you? I like a guy who knows what he wants.”

“Ok, sugar,” Fox grated. “Cut the cackle. “This ain’t no chance meeting. Who sent you, and what’s their angle?”

The dame smiled. “Say, you, look kinda tense. Why don’t you let me soothe those tight muscles?”

This was the lead Fox had been waiting for. “Sure, honeypie.,” he grinned. “But I gotta warn you. I got muscles in places that ain’t been thought of yet.”

“They’re the best kind”, she answered. “Follow me. “ While following her as they drove down Manhattan, it crossed Fox’s mind that maybe this chick was on the level. “Naw” he told himself. “Too much of a coincidence.” Fox didn’t believe in coincidences.

Back at her apartment, she poured him a drink, then sat him down to ask him a lot of dumb questions, like “How’s yer heart/spleen/stomach?”, and “Do you wear contacts?”.

“Might as well play along”, thought Fox. Then she told him to get his top off while she washed her hands. When she was out of the room, Fox switched the bottle of oil on the table. It was just a hunch, but since doing the massage course he’d gotten into the habit of carrying a bottle of oil with him, just in case he ever needed it. It

When the dame came back into the room, Fox was already lying on the couch. She put on some rubber gloves “to keep the oil off my hands”.

Then she started to effleurage him. It felt like a Vivaldi concerto: kinda soothing and lively at the same time. Fox closed his eyes.

“That’s right, baby. Sleep. It’ll do you good” she whispered.

About ten minutes later, Fox heard her on the phone. “OK, he’s just had his last massage. Hey, have I ever forgotten to switch the oil?”

So it was the oil. Fox had done right to make the switch. Now all he had to do was follow this dame when she left. But he fell asleep. That effleurage had been more powerful than a box of sedatives. Three hours later, Fox woke up with a start. His head felt like someone had implanted a pneumatic drill in his head and left it switched on. But he had to move fast. There was only one guy who could help him now.

He drove over to the East Side, and screeched into Benson’s drive. He pounded the door. Benson leaned out of the window. “Hey!” he shouted. “If you don’t make tracks I’ll call the oh it’s you. Do you have any idea what time it is? It’s —”

“If I need the time”, Fox interrupted, “I’ll call the speaking clock². Meanwhile, I got some oil I want you to analyse. And take it easy cos it could be evidence”

Benson was a forensic guy down at the precinct. He was a useful guy to have on your side - especially when he owed Fox a favour after Fox had saved his butt in the Dagworth scandal a couple of months back.

Fox poured himself a bourbon while Benson worked in his laboratory. If this didn’t check out, he was back to square one. Benson just had to come good.

About an hour later, Benson came into the room.

“What did you say the name of this oil was?” he asked.

“I didn´t”, Fox grunted. “But it smells like ylang ylang”.

“Maybe it smells like ylang ylang, but it sure ain’t ylang ylang. It’s laced with deadly nightshade. Pretty clever. You could kill a guy with this and no-one would ever know, cos all trace of it would disappear from the body within about two hours. And now, if it´s all the same with you, I’m getting back to the sack.”

“Sure, buddy.’ Fox rasped. “Give my love to the old lady and the kids”.

Fox knew that only one guy was clever enough to think up a stunt like this. It had to be the Prof. But why? He drove straight to the airport, and hopped on a plane to the UK. Good thing he’d thought to bring his passport and some travellers’ checks with him when he left the office, just in case....

About six hours later Fox was driving a rental car to Cheltenham. It was hard driving on the English roads. For some reason, they were all driving on the wrong side of the road. But Fox was his own man. He never toed the line for nobody. And if these crazy English wanted to live dangerously, that was up to them. Fox had more important things on his mind than what side of the road to drive on.

Two hours of hard driving brought him to the Prof’s house. Fox burst in. The Prof was pouring himself a drink.

“Ah, Mr Fox.” he said. “I’ve been expecting you. Won’t you join me in a glass of brandy?”³

Fox was fazed, but only for a second.

“Ok, wise guy. I’m taking you in.”, he rasped.

Just then, a couple of hoods appeared at the door. “It would seem that Mr Fox is unfortunately not able to stay, gentlemen.”, the Prof said. “Do escort him out.”

Fox knew he had to make his move now. Good thing he was a black belt karate expert. In a couple of seconds it was all over.

“Ok, Prof” he said. “I know what you did, and I know how you did it. What I don’t know is why you did it.”

The Prof screamed at him. “Why? Why? Do you know how long it took me to earn the status of Professor? Can you imagine the long nights of study, while all my colleagues were enjoying themselves, out with their wives and girlfriends? And yet, whenever anyone from the C.H.School of Massage applied for the theory course, they would invariably address me as “Doctor”. The fools! The buffoons! I decided to avenge myself. But you know, Mr Fox, in a way I’m glad it’s over now.”

“Poor sap” thought Fox. “It could happen to anyone. “The guy just cracked up, I guess. Maybe I oughtta take a vacation myself.”

~

Fox walked into the office. Grimwald was just finishing the first page of the Menelli report.

“Say, boss. You were gone quite a while.”

“Yeah” said Fox as he put “Fairy Wings”⁴ into the cassette player. “Quite a while.”

The End

I hope you enjoyed that. Normal service will be resumed soon.

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2

It used to be the case that you could call the speaking clock and find out the latest time. Much to my astonishment, the service is still going. You phone 123, and a recorded message gives you the time, updated every ten seconds. It used to be a nice-sounding lady, but now it’s a gruff-sounding Scottish bloke. Fortunately, there is now an online version you can use instead: Speaking Clock.

Here is Co-pilot’s summary of the story

When I looked at the PDF of the story, Co-pilot popped up and asked me I fancied having a summary of it. “Why not?”, I thought. so here it is.

Here’s a clear summary of the PDF:

This document is a short noir-style detective fiction story titled “The Mystery of the Massage Murders: A Jason Fox Story” by Terry Freedman.

The story follows Jason Fox, a hard-boiled private investigator working on a case involving a series of suspicious deaths. Fifteen people have apparently died of natural causes shortly after receiving massages, but Fox suspects foul play. All the victims had two things in common: they were students at the C.H. School of Massage and had recently paid for theory lectures.

Fox goes undercover by enrolling in the massage school. The instructor is portrayed as a quirky, almost mystical figure who speaks in vague, New Age-style phrases about “creating reality” and rejecting traditional moral ideas. Fox finds her odd but not obviously guilty.

As Fox continues investigating, he encounters various suspicious and surreal characters, including a femme fatale-like woman in a red dress who appears to be part of the mystery. The tone remains comedic and exaggerated, blending detective tropes with absurd humor.

Eventually, Fox tracks the case to a professor figure. After a brief confrontation, Fox claims to understand how the crimes were committed, though the story remains intentionally vague and stylized rather than logically detailed. The resolution is abrupt and humorous, ending with Fox casually returning to normal life, implying the case has been solved in classic pulp-fiction fashion.

Overall, it’s a parody of noir detective stories, mixing crime fiction clichés with absurd, satirical elements and deliberately chaotic dialogue and formatting.

ChatGP’s take

I asked ChatGPT to review the story. I think the proofreading-related comments are quite useful.

This is a very enjoyable comic-pastiche detective story. Its biggest strength is that it knows exactly what kind of joke it is: a deliberately overcooked 1940s/50s hard-boiled detective yarn, filtered through British humour and absurdity.

Overall verdict: 8/10

The story is strongest when it commits to the ridiculousness of Jason Fox. He is simultaneously the cliché hard-boiled detective and a parody of one: cigarettes, bourbon, dames, “the Prof,” wisecracks, karate, forensic science, and melodramatic internal monologue—all pushed just far enough that the reader understands the joke.

What works particularly well

1. The voice is the star

The opening establishes the tone almost immediately:

“Fifteen people dead, apparently from natural causes, each one checking out of the hotel of life while being massaged.”

“Hotel of life” is exactly the kind of terrible metaphor Fox would think was profound. The story repeatedly does this with deliberately strained similes:

“Her perfume was like the scent of nectar in a city of broken dreams.”

and:

“It felt like a Vivaldi concerto: kinda soothing and lively at the same time.”

The contrast between purple noir prose and ridiculous subject matter is very effective.

2. Fox is a good comic character

He’s not simply a parody of a private eye; he’s a parody of the self-image of the private eye.

He thinks he’s incredibly tough and perceptive:

“Fox didn’t believe in coincidences.”

Yet he makes spectacularly stupid decisions, most notably driving on the wrong side of English roads because:

“Fox was his own man. He never toed the line for nobody.”

That’s a lovely piece of character comedy. His macho determination actively prevents him from noticing the obvious.

Likewise, the final:

“Maybe I oughtta take a vacation myself.”

is a good understated punchline after the ridiculous adventure.

3. The central mystery is nicely economical

The plot is actually quite clean:

massage students → unexplained deaths → Fox infiltrates school → mysterious woman → oil → poison → forensic confirmation → Professor → confession.

That’s enough machinery to sustain the parody without making the story laborious.

The oil switch is particularly good because it gives Fox an apparently clever detective moment while also setting up the joke that he happens to carry massage oil around with him.

4. The Professor’s motive is wonderfully pathetic

This is probably the best joke in the story.

The reader expects some elaborate criminal conspiracy, but the Professor’s motive is essentially:

“They called me Doctor instead of Professor, so I killed fifteen people.”

And the explanation becomes increasingly pompous:

“Do you know how long it took me to earn the status of Professor?”

That’s exactly the right scale of absurdity. The Professor isn’t a criminal mastermind with a grand ideology. He’s an academic with an enormous chip on his shoulder.

5. The cultural references give it a distinctive period-comedy feel

The Tippex footnote, speaking clock, English roads, 1960s thriller villains, Vivaldi and Fairy Wings all contribute to the feeling that this is simultaneously spoofing several eras.

The British/US collision is particularly amusing. Fox has this exaggerated American noir persona, then lands in Britain and treats driving on the left as evidence that the English are dangerously eccentric.

What I’d improve

The biggest issue isn’t the comedy or plot. It’s editing and control.

There are several places where the prose looks like a first draft rather than deliberately rough comic prose.

1. There are a few obvious errors

The most noticeable is:

“It”

at the end of the paragraph after Fox switches the oil.

That’s clearly an accidental fragment:

“It was just a hunch...”

followed by:

“It”

This should simply be removed.

There are also punctuation problems:

“Sure, honeypie.,” he grinned.

“Follow me. “ While following her...

“Ok, Prof” he said.

“The guy just cracked up, I guess.

These are small, but there are enough of them that they interrupt the otherwise carefully constructed rhythm.

2. The opening could be slightly tighter

The Menelli material is funny, but the story temporarily makes the reader wonder whether Menelli is going to become important.

You have:

“His assistant, Grimwald, was still typing the report on the Menelli case.”

and:

“If it hadn’t been for him, Menelli would be in Florida by now.”

Then Menelli disappears completely.

That’s not necessarily bad in a comic story—the apparent digression is part of the joke—but I’d either make the Menelli reference even more obviously incidental or give it a tiny payoff at the end.

For example, Grimwald could still be working on the Menelli report when Fox returns, which you already do. That’s good. You could lean into the absurdity slightly more so the reader understands that Menelli is intentionally irrelevant.

3. Fox’s deductions could be made a fraction more convincing

The mystery works, but the transition:

“Fox knew that only one guy was clever enough to think up a stunt like this. It had to be the Prof.”

is rather abrupt.

The Professor has been mentioned, but we haven’t really been given a reason to suspect him.

For a parody, that’s acceptable. But paradoxically, the joke could become funnier if Fox’s deduction were ridiculously overconfident while having one tiny shred of logic behind it.

Something like: the Professor is the only person who knows both the massage-school operation and the properties of the oil. Then Fox can leap to the conclusion with complete confidence.

That would make the eventual confession feel more earned while preserving the absurdity.

4. The ending could have one harder punch

The ending is pleasant:

“Yeah” said Fox as he put “Fairy Wings” into the cassette player. “Quite a while.”

But I think there’s an opportunity for a stronger final gag.

You’ve established that Fairy Wings is soporific and that Fox has just been knocked out by the massage. Returning to the office and immediately putting on the most soporific music imaginable is funny, but it could be pushed further.

For example, Grimwald might ask whether Fox solved the case, and Fox could say something macho before immediately falling asleep.

That would give the story a more conventional setup → escalation → final punchline ending.

One thing I’d definitely preserve

Don’t modernise Fox’s voice too much.

The dated language is part of the joke:

• “dame”

• “doll/sugar/honeypie”

• “grunted”

• “rasped”

• “wise guy”

• “the hoods”

• “the Prof.”

If this were being revised for publication today, I’d resist the temptation to make it sound like contemporary noir. The anachronism is the comedy.

Similarly, “Welfare,” “Tippex,” the speaking clock, travellers’ checks, cassette player, etc. create a wonderfully specific period collision.

A structural observation

I think the story is actually doing something slightly cleverer than simple noir parody.

It has three layers of spoof:

1. American hard-boiled detective fiction — Fox, dames, bourbon, cigarettes, wisecracks.

2. British TV thriller conventions — the mysterious Professor, polite villain, brandy, English country house.

3. Self-help/massage culture — “Create your own reality,” massage terminology, wellness language, etc.

And the plot brings all three together in the Professor’s absurd revenge scheme.

That’s why the story feels more substantial than a sequence of unrelated jokes.

Bottom line

I’d keep the story essentially as it is rather than substantially rewriting it. Its charm comes from its breathless, slightly scruffy delivery. I’d do a light copy-edit, fix the punctuation/typos, tighten perhaps 5–10% of the prose, strengthen the Professor foreshadowing very slightly, and consider giving the final scene a sharper punchline.

The fundamental idea is good, Fox is an entertaining character, and the Professor’s motivation is exactly the sort of gloriously disproportionate motive that makes a parody detective story work.

And the title “The Mystery of the Massage Murders” is exactly right: wonderfully cheap, lurid and unapologetically pulpy.

Greetings!

Thanks for taking a look. I hope you enjoy reading this article, which is another one in my Start The Week series.

Greetings!

Sorry it’s been a while since writing a “Start the week”. I had three weeks of cr*p thrown at me by the universe. No need to go into detail, because nobody wants to read a misery memoir. Well, I suppose somebody does or they wouldn’t get published. But I don’t want to write one. It did make me think though. I’ve been doing Transcendental Meditation for quite some time, and I remember someone asking Maharishi Mahesh Yogi the following question: If TM is supposed to relieve stress, and generally make life easier, why is it that sometimes all sorts of horrible stuff starts to come your way? He replied to the effect that karmic debt ie the consequences of your actions, always has to be paid. So if you’re about to reach a new, higher level of consciousness, loads of those debts will come back at you all at once. It’s like if you’re about to move, all the people you owe money to will start calling at your door before it’s too late.

All I can say is, I hope he was right. In anticipation of ascending to my new higher plane of existence, I have sent my halo off to be professionally polished.

But enough of this persiflage! On with the newsletter.

Books

The nice person at Penguin has sent me four more Elmore Leonard books: Rum Punch, The Switch, 52 Pickup and Last stand at Saber River.

The first three are crime novels and the last one is a western. Interestingly enough, I was thinking of trying out an Elmore Leonard western. It’s not my usual cup of tea, but somewhere in Freedman Towers I have a book of hard-boiled short stories, some of which are westerns, which I really enjoyed. I can see, though, that I’m going to have to have my phone handy because I am not familiar with some of the terminology.. For instance, what the hell is a swing station?

The story sounds good though, from reading the cover blurb and the first page. But first on the list for me is Rum Punch. According to the cover blurb,

... the highly dysfunctional arms dealer she works for is not getting any more functional.

Irresistible!

Are we in, or entering, a post-literate society?

A book I haven’t seen, merely heard about, is James Marriott’s The New Dark Ages: The End of Reading and the Dawn of a Post-Literate society. It sounds very interesting. I know that there are people who think that Tik-Tok videos and other (very) short-form content is a kind of literacy that’s on a par with reading, but I have my doubts. I think of reading as a slow activity, one that lends itself to stopping and thinking about what you’ve just read. I don’t think the pause button is quite the same. But as I say, I haven’t read the book so cannot really comment on it. It is published by Bodley Head.

Hot Type: The Magnificent Machine that Gave Birth to Mass Media and Drove Mark Twain Mad

Another book I haven’t seen is Hot Type: The Magnificent Machine that Gave Birth to Mass Media and Drove Mark Twain Mad, published by Bloomsbury. It’s about the invention of linotype, and its consequences. Linotype changed the way newspaper articles were printed — from people arranging individual letters to creating a block — a line of type, hence the name Linotype.The invention led to thicker newspapers and more magazines.

(Un)educated: My Life as a Teacher, and Why You Should Never Become One

Another book I’ve started reading is (Un)educated: My Life as a Teacher, and Why You Should Never Become One, by Francis Foster. Some of it is laugh-out loud funny, but some of it, about his reference being spiked, made me angry because I know someone who couldn’t get another job until the headteacher was ill. With him away, the deputy head wrote her an HONEST reference.

Something similar happened to me. I was head of Computing for just over a year before I saw my dream job advertised. The headteacher was annoyed that I was applying for another job so soon, but I felt the opportunity was too good to miss. I applied and got it.

During the time I was at the school, I vastly expanded the Computing department, so successfully that we had to take on extra staff. Results improved, usage amongst staff went right up, and an Ofsted inspection six weeks after I’d started concluded that I was doing a great job. I mention all this not to boast, but to place in context what transpired.

After I’d been working at my new job for a couple of weeks, my boss, G, suggested I went to the council office to look at the reference I’d been given. I said, “Why?” He said it was because we had the right to see our references, and thought that if people didn’t take advantage of that facility it would be withdrawn. Reasonable enough, I thought. So I trotted along to the council office, asked to see my reference from my previous employment, and gasped in horror and disbelief as I read it:

“Terry Freedman has worked in this school since —.”

When I returned I said to G,” How come you gave me the job, given that that reference made it sound like my biggest achievement was turning up every day?” He replied that he mused that anybody getting a reference like that must be so good that the headteacher didn’t want him to go! So, a bit of an own-goal on the part of that headteacher, and a big disappointment to me, because I liked him but now felt that my liking had been misplaced.

Podcasts

Still on the subject of books, I came across a couple of great podcasts recently. The Book Club, hosted by Tabitha Synett and Dominic Sandbrook, looks at novels. The two hosts have a great rapport between them. What I really like is the fact that they provide lots of background information.

For example, Brave New World has quite a few Shakespearean references — including the title. I’ve been listening to the episode about For Whom The Bell Tolls, and they provide loads of useful biographical information.

The other one is Ex libris, in which each week the host Ben Holden meets a writer in a bookshop or library of their choice. I have of listened to half an episode so far, and thoroughly enjoyed it!

Inside Freedman Towers

One of our neighbours passed away recently. We were speaking to his daughter, L: Me, mum and my partner sang to him.

Elaine: Oh that’s nice.

Me: Poor bloke.

L: He asked us to stop after a while.

Me: I don’t blame him.

LATER…

Me, to Elaine: If when the time comes I am lying here preparing to meet my Maker, please don’t get a load of people over to start singing to me. If you feel you MUST have music, I Suggest “Go now”, by the Moody Blues, as that will encourage me to get a move on.

Art

We visited Saffron Walden recently. In the Fry Gallery, there are paintings by Eric Ravilious and Edward Bawden, which I loved. Here are some examples.

If you would like to read more about these artists, read these posts by :

Eric Ravilious: Extraordinary Realities

Eric Ravilious: About A Boy (£)

If you love art, and reading about artists, is essential reading.

On the road

One of the books on my TBR list is On The Road by Jack Kerouac. A muich shorter read is this article by , which I very much enjoyed reading: Porsche Drivers Don’t Wave.

And if you like blues harmonica, check out the groove on On The Road Again My Canned Heat.

That’s it from me for now. Thanksfor reading!

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Greetings!

If you’re new here, I’m Terry Freedman. I love writing, reading and writing. If you like this article, why not subscribe?

Greetings!

I’ve been catching up on my reading, and here is the result, largely based on books I’ve recenltly been sent by publishers. Several of these are not yet published, so consider those reviews, or partial reviews, to be a series of heads-ups.

The books I’ve looked at are:

• Celtic Wonder Tales

• Hard Rain Falling

• La Brava

• The Life of Crime

• Split Images

• The Complete C Comics

• Here is where we meet

• About Looking

• Giovanni’s Room

• G.

… though not necessarily in that order, because I’m feeling rebellious!

But enough of this persiflage! On with the newsletter.

Split Images, by Elmore Leonard

I’ve just started reading this, and it has me gripped already. I like the fact that it doesn’t mess about: no long-winded descriptions of the dawn in russet mantle clad walking over the hills and all that rot. Well, not so far at least. In fact, the beginning is so straightforward that I wondered for a moment if I was reading non-fiction.

Is it me, or is there some bleak humour here? A bloke has entered a millionaire’s home uninvited, and the owner has shot him. While he is lying in hospital, he tells the police officer interviewing him “I came here to search for my life.” The policeman responds: “You find it?”

Very deadpan I think.

I thought this would make a nice companion piece to Hard Rain Falling (see below). The nice people at Penguin also sent me another book by the same author — Elmore Leonard (who, by the way, receives no mention in The Life of Crime, reviewed below) — La Brava (ditto). They must think I need cheering up.

La Brava, by Elmore Leonard

Before I read a book properly, especially if it has only just arrived, I like to get its measure. I look it up and down. Are its shoes polished? Does it have a good job? Would I be happy if my daughter brought it home for dinner? In other words, does the first paragraph grab me, and does the next paragraph keep me gripped? This is important. I have too much to read, and too little time, to want to waste my life away being bored.

Thus it was that I opened La Brava.

I thought, “Another noir novel. Another murder mystery. Yawn.” But I started reading and, annoyingly, was hooked immediately. Why “annoyingly”? Because I already have several books on the go, and I was hoping to put this one aside for a few weeks. But as I say, I started reading, and by the time I put my now-empty cup of tea down I had read the first chapter. Like Split Images, the author launches straight in, no long description, no efflorescent prose, no persiflage.

Before I had received these books I was a straight down the line Raymond Chandler man. Now I can see I am going to have to widen the scope to include Elmore Leonard.

Celtic Wonder Tales, by Young, Gonne, et al

I am not familiar with Irish myths and tales, so this beautiful collection of stories is quite an eye-opener. One of the stories I have read so far is a rewrite —or a pre-write, I’m not sure which— of the Arthurian legend of the sword in the stone.

As you would expect, good battles with evil, which is clearly a universal theme.

The illustrations are quite ethereal, just like the text. As I might have said back in the days when I had waist-length hair, this book gives off good vibes.

Hard Rain Falling, by Don Carpenter

This is a very compelling book to read, but to describe it as noir fiction is almost an understatement. It is pretty bleak most of the time. The protagonist doesn’t have much going for him, or at least has had a rotten start in life. I don’t wish to say too much because of spoilers but he does turn his life around to an extent.

I have no idea if the American penal system is as harsh as it seems to have been in the mid-60s, when this was first published, but Hard Rain Falling would be an excellent book to give someone who has embarked on a life of (petty) crime. Do consider this an idea for a present for the juvenile delinquent in your life.

The bleakness is such that I stopped reading the book in bed, because I didn’t want depressing dreams. But it’s a compelling read while ensconced in an armchair or on a train journey.

Two things I didn’t like much. Firstly, it doesn’t have the great lines we find in Raymond Chandler’s work, though I acknowledge that it’s probably not fair to compare the two writers.

More seriously, there are long, long passges of telling the reader what someone is thinking. The experience reminded me of those old movies and TV where ther is a voiceover telling you what’s going on instead of simply showing you.

Still, it’s a good read on the whole, and satisfyingly different from a lot of the new novels coming out these days.

The Life of Crime, by Martin Edwards

The Life of Crime is a 700+ pages volume covering all kinds of crime novel, tracing the genre from its beginnings in the 18th century right up to almost the present day. Mind you, despite its comprehensiveness it doesn’t appear to include the Cormoran Strike novels by Galbraith, at least not judging by the indexes. Note that plural. There’s an index of titles, index of names and a subject index, plus a select bibliography. I love all the cross-referencing, and the little known (by myself at any rate) facts.

For example, David Goodis wrote noir fiction that apparently was so bleak that another novellist, Ed Gorman, said of Goodis that:

He didn’t write novels, he wrote suicide notes.

What a recommendation!

Like all the best books, this can be read chronologically or dipped into. It will keep you engaged for a long time.

The Complete C Comics, by Joe Brainard & Bill Kartalopoulos

“Perfect is the enemy a good.” Are you familiar with that expression? I am (obviously) and I aspire to live by it, but rarely do. In a way, I am like Claudius in Hamlet:

My words fly up, my thoughts remain below.

Words without thoughts rarely to heaven go.

Thus it is that, if I spot an error in a drawing, I am very likely to erase that part of the drawing, or even discard it and start again. For example, if I draw a speech bubble that turns out to be too small for the amount of text I want to put in it, out comes the eraser.

But in C Comics, not only is the mistake left uncorrected, quite often it is adorned with an arrow actually pointing it out! This strikes me as a very psychologically healthy approach. As Kartalopoulos writes, in this way the error becomes part6 of the aesthetic.

I have enjoyed reading the C Comics, especially the mock advertisements and the parodies of famous comic book characters like Nancy, Archie and Veronica.

An essay by Bill Kartalopoulos gives us the history of the C comics, dating from the early 60s.

The C comics content is often weird, but in a good way!

Here is where we meet, by John Berger

A strange sort of book, this. A mixture, it seems to me, of fiction and autobiography. But some of the autobiography is, I believe, more true in an emotive sense than in a literal one; evocative, in the same way that Parisienne Walkways is evocative.

When people die, there is always a sadness, I think. As if their legacy is not necessarily anything tangible, but resides in the thoughts and memories of the people who threw them. Reading this book made me feel how I felt when I wrote about the Gold hawk café.

The story about visiting Borges’ grave was, dare I say it, haunting, and describes an occurrence that I think would have appealed to Borges himself.

The one about Kraków is beautiful, but punctuated abruptly by recollections of the Nazis, One such shocking interruption is the one about the Jewish ghetto, in which thousands of Jewish people died of malnutrition or disease.

The beautifully written introduction very much sets the tone of the booki: wistful, a little sad, but triumphant too.

About Looking, by John Berger

This is a collection of essays or meditations on looking and seeing or, fundamentally, visibility. The means of making something visible is important, but not necessarily the main point. Photography is covered, as in The suit and the Photograph, an essay on the work of Paul Strand, and a response to Susan Sontag’s book On Photography. Art is also covered, and I found his “take” on Magritte especially interesting.

The prose is functional, competent, rather than lyrical. No reason it should be lyrical, of course — this is a non-fiction book after all — but I do find it a little dry.

I’m looking forward to reading the chapters on Turner, Millet, and why we should look at animals.

Giovanni’s Room, by James Baldwin

Giovanni’s Room, which is the only work of James Baldwin’s that I’ve read so far apart from a few articles and a short story, starts at the end. The result is a story that is intriguing and gripping within the first few minutes.

The writing is both beautiful and effective. You can feel the walls of Giovanni’s Room bearing in on you. You feel grubby from the sleaziness of some of the settings and scenes — the ones which involve hanging around bars looking for someone to pick up.

All the characters are portrayed with sympathy and are well-drawn. They all feel like real people. The interesting thing is that even when the narrating character behaves reprehensibly, such as by not helping his friend Giovanni, you cannot bring yourself to judge him.

This is a definitely a book worth reading if you value good writing, an interesting story involving a young man struggling with his sexuality, and a glimpse into the underbelly of French nightlife.

My only criticism, which is unfair given that it was first published in 1956, is that David’s girlfriend Hella seems quaintly old-fashioned. She feels it is necessary to be attached to a man. This is strange, considering that she has been independently-minded enough to travel around Spain by herself.

She also makes a comment that perhaps even now is incisive and indisputable:

Americans should never come to Europe. It means they never can be happy again. What’s the good of an American who isn’t happy? Happiness was all we had.— Hella, in Giovanni’s Room

Thoroughly enjoyable, if at times uncomfortable, read.

G., by John Berger

The funny thing about reading the first few pages of a book is that the outcome can sometimes be the opposite of what you’d expect. Take G. for example. The blurb on the back cover reads:

“G. is a young man forging an energetic sexual career across Europe on the eve of the First World War.”

Really not my cup of tea at all, and the Introduction did nothing to persuade me otherwise.

Still, it is the duty of a reader to read, or at least have a damn good reason for shirking that duty. The possibility of sleaziness is less important to me than the beauty of the writing. True, that principle has not yet persuaded me to persist with Nabokov’s Lolita, but I held to it when embarking on Giovanni’s Room (see above).

So, I began to read this, and discovered writing that was gentle and lyrical. The strange thing is, though, that it is not obvious why that should be the case. The sentences seem somewhat staccato, but there is also a nice balance to them. Perhaps that’s it. Take this, for example:

“He arranged for singers, she reported to her mother, to accompany us at night, either side of us, in gondolas. I will remember it always.”

The characters I’ve met so far are interesting, their circumstances more so. I’m looking forward to reading the whole novel.

Thanks for reading this, I hope you found it enjoyable.

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Thanks for dropping by. I’m Terry Freedman, and I’ve been writing for decades, and I’m still learning! Anyway, I write here about books I’ve come across, everyday life and other ephemeral stuff, and I also like experimenting in my writing.

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Greetings!

I found…

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On the last two courses I taught, only one person filled in the course evaluation, even though all the students enjoyed the course (or, at least, said they had). I thought that maybe it was just me, bu…

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A few days ago I received a copy of a very interesting literature book. It will be published on 9th August, and I thought I would share it with my paid subscribers now.

A paid subscription helps to support my addiction, which is reading.

But enough of this persiflage! Let’s dive in.

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Thank you for your letter. I seem to recall that it was my turn to write to you, but life had other ideas so I’m glad you have kick-started our correspondence again.

Moving sentiments

It sounds like you and Jim have been very busy -- exciting stuff. As for downsizing, everyone seems to be at it. My best friend and his wife have moved from the …

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Here in London the mood is one of joyous celebration. People are dancing in the street, and giving hugs to random strangers. The unaccustomed heat (68 F today and that was cool by recent standards) has not been enough to prevent the merriment.

And what is the reason for such joy and jubilation, especially bearing…

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Quite by chance I’ve been reading about bureaucracy recently — such as in customer (dis)service — and it reminded me of North Thames Gas’s attempts to drive me mad. That was many years ago and North Th…

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I should not be fulfilling my duty as a Brit if I didn’t moan about the weather, so let’s get that bit over with. The heat has been a bit too full on for my liking. I’ve drawn a picture to illustrate what I mean:

But enough of this persiflage! On with the newsletter.

Meeting Jim and Erin

As I last wrote, we met up with …

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I said to Substack ages ago in Office Hours, a weekly discussion forum they used to host, that it would be great to be able to have coloured text, and here we are! I also asked them to enable text flow around a graphic. Also, a spellchecker wouldn’t come amiss. Fingers crossed!

But enough of this persiflage! On with the newsletter.

Terry

Meeting …

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In this newsletter:

• Inside Freedman Towers.

• The course is over, long live the course.

• An implication I resented.

• How I’ve organised my books.

• Experiment #100.

But enough of this persiflage! On with the newsletter.

Terry

Inside Freedman Towers

Later this week we’re meeting a couple of people from America, a fellow Substacker and his lady wife. We’re goi…

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One of the things I’ve been trying out is reworking a piece of text into a completely different style. A full exposition and explanation are given here:

Experimenting with styles

In today’s experiment I’d like to tell the story in the style of a palindrome. This is the 100th experiment! Woo hoo!

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I mention several books this time, and there are a few very short videos at the end. Enjoy!

But enough of this persiflage! On with the newsletter.

Terry

My courses running in June and July at the City Lit can now be applied for using a 15% discount code. In fact, you can use the discount code on all courses to the value of between £99 and £500 ru…

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In today’s newsletter we have:

• Inside Freedman Towers.

• The deeper meaning of A Void.

• Some relaxing music by Thomas Tallis.

But enough of this persiflage! On with the newsletter.

Terry

Inside Freedman Towers

These feline layabouts, they get everywhere.

Mind you, they do work. We don’t have any mice, despite living near a field. We don’t…

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I thought I would devote today’s issue to, mainly, a heads-up about some of the books I’ve received for review. But first, in my post Midweek musings #3 I mentioned leaping on the slowest train to Oxford imaginable – and then forgot to include the illustration I’d commissioned (from myself as it happens, but it still counts!). So, belatedly, h…

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A bit of a change today: two articles on being lost. But enough of this persiflage! On with the newsletter.

Terry

Lost causes

Until recently I hadn’t read anything by Basil Boothroyd, a prolific writer who contributed to Punch magazine for many years. Somehow, I had managed to avoid him, quite unintentionally. But then mentioned him in a comment…

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Well, I was reminded of it recently when I was sent an email asking me about myself. I think it was from the National Health Service. I was so astounded that I took a couple of screenshots. Click each pic to see the list in its full glory:

But the idea goes back much further than this.

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