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One to Count Cadence
The time: late summer, 1962. The place: Clark Air Force Base, the Philippines. Sergeant Jacob “Slag” Krummel, a scholar by intent but a warrior by breeding, assumes command of the 721st Communication Security Detachment, and unsoldierly crew of bored, rebellious, whoring, foul-mouthed, drunken enlistees. Surviving military absurdities, reminiscent of those in Catch-22 only to be shipped clandestinely to Vietnam, Krummel’s band confront their worst fears while finally losing faith in America and its myths.
350 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1969
39 people are currently reading
350 people want to read
About the author
James Crumley
61 books313 followersJames Arthur Crumley was the author of violent hardboiled crime novels and several volumes of short stories and essays, as well as published and unpublished screenplays. He has been described as "one of modern crime writing's best practitioners", who was "a patron saint of the post-Vietnam private eye novel"and a cross between Raymond Chandler and Hunter S. Thompson.His book The Last Good Kiss has been described as "the most influential crime novel of the last 50 years."
Crumley, who was born in Three Rivers, Texas, grew up in south Texas, where his father was an oil-field supervisor and his mother was a waitress.
Crumley was a grade-A student and a football player, an offensive lineman, in high school. He attended the Georgia Institute of Technology on a Navy ROTC scholarship, but left to serve in the U.S. Army from 1958 to 1961 in the Philippines. He then attended the Texas College of Arts and Industries on a football scholarship, where he received his B.A. degree with a major in history in 1964. He earned a Master of Fine Arts degree in creative writing at the University of Iowa in 1966. His master's thesis was later published as the Vietnam War novel One to Count Cadence in 1969.
Crumley had not read any detective fiction until prompted to by Montana poet Richard Hugo, who recommended the work of Raymond Chandler for the quality of his sentences. Crumley finally picked up a copy of one of Chandler's books in Guadalajara, Mexico. Impressed by Chandler's writing, and that of Ross Macdonald, Crumley began writing his first detective novel, The Wrong Case, which was published in 1975.
Crumley served on the English faculty of the University of Montana at Missoula, and as a visiting professor at a number of other colleges, including the University of Arkansas, Colorado State University, the University of Texas at El Paso, Reed College in Portland, Oregon, and Carnegie-Mellon University in Pittsburgh.
From the mid-80s on he lived in Missoula, Montana, where he found inspiration for his novels at Charlie B's bar. A regular there, he had many longstanding friends who have been portrayed as characters in his books.
Crumley died at St. Patrick Hospital in Missoula, Montana on September 17, 2008 of complications from kidney and pulmonary diseases after many years of health problems. He was survived by his wife of 16 years, Martha Elizabeth, a poet and artist who was his fifth wife. He had five children – three from his second marriage and two from his fourth – eight grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.
Crumley, who was born in Three Rivers, Texas, grew up in south Texas, where his father was an oil-field supervisor and his mother was a waitress.
Crumley was a grade-A student and a football player, an offensive lineman, in high school. He attended the Georgia Institute of Technology on a Navy ROTC scholarship, but left to serve in the U.S. Army from 1958 to 1961 in the Philippines. He then attended the Texas College of Arts and Industries on a football scholarship, where he received his B.A. degree with a major in history in 1964. He earned a Master of Fine Arts degree in creative writing at the University of Iowa in 1966. His master's thesis was later published as the Vietnam War novel One to Count Cadence in 1969.
Crumley had not read any detective fiction until prompted to by Montana poet Richard Hugo, who recommended the work of Raymond Chandler for the quality of his sentences. Crumley finally picked up a copy of one of Chandler's books in Guadalajara, Mexico. Impressed by Chandler's writing, and that of Ross Macdonald, Crumley began writing his first detective novel, The Wrong Case, which was published in 1975.
Crumley served on the English faculty of the University of Montana at Missoula, and as a visiting professor at a number of other colleges, including the University of Arkansas, Colorado State University, the University of Texas at El Paso, Reed College in Portland, Oregon, and Carnegie-Mellon University in Pittsburgh.
From the mid-80s on he lived in Missoula, Montana, where he found inspiration for his novels at Charlie B's bar. A regular there, he had many longstanding friends who have been portrayed as characters in his books.
Crumley died at St. Patrick Hospital in Missoula, Montana on September 17, 2008 of complications from kidney and pulmonary diseases after many years of health problems. He was survived by his wife of 16 years, Martha Elizabeth, a poet and artist who was his fifth wife. He had five children – three from his second marriage and two from his fourth – eight grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.
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August 19, 2025
THE WILD BUNCH
Battere il passo
Sei portatori, Quinn, Franklin, Levenson, Collins, Haddad e Peterson; due per controllare la strada, Cagle e Novotny; più uno per battere il passo, Krummel; nei panni del cadavere, Morning; apparvero le lacrime nei nostri occhi, e la fierezza sui nostri volti stravolti dall’alcol; e vaffanculo a tutto il resto.
Ecco spiegato il titolo: il feretro col soldato morto dentro viene accompagnato alla sepoltura sorretto da sei commilitoni, con due che fanno strada, e uno che batte il passo (la cadenza).
I nomi sono tutti quelli dei protagonisti: Krummel è il sergente io narrante, nato nel sud degli Stati Uniti, da lontani avi germanici mischiati a Comanche. Morning, quello dentro la bara, che in questo caso, sta dormendo ubriaco, un morto finto, è l’alter ego di Krummel, croce e delizia, grande amore e grande amicizia che marciano di pari passo con grande odio e grande rabbia.
Gli altri sono la squadra agli ordini del sergente Krummel.
Il romanzo, che è l’esordio di Crumley nella narrativa, esce nel 1969.
E allora, Dispacci di Michael Herr, che è del 1977, e che finora io ho ritenuto la madre di tutti i libri sulla guerra del Vietnam, ha almeno un precedente.
Precedente non di grande successo, ma se non altro luminoso, quasi fulgido: tra l’altro, contiene già tanti aspetti e umori di quella che la letteratura americana sviscererà e consacrerà come la “dirty war” (dopo di che sono seguire solo guerre sporche).
Cristo, che ragazzina. Nove anni. Nove anni e ne sa più lei di Aristotele, Platone, Sant’Agostino e del fottuto Edmund Burke tutti insieme nella vasca da bagno di Archimede.
Sin da questo suo esordio, per proseguire anche nei suoi romanzi noir che ho letto, lo stile di Crumley, come in un drink ben miscelato, è fatto di ridondanza, eccesso, esuberanza, di pari passo con intensità, squarci di poesia, ironia, dialoghi magniloquenti ma sempre incisivi, asprezza e dolcezza che si danno la mano, rotolano tra le righe nel prato della pagina, si coprono del fango di parole e punteggiatura.
Noi tuttavia sappiamo che non c’è più nessuno dietro di noi, noi sappiamo di essere gli ultimi, e i migliori, fra i barbari e i conquistatori dai lunghi coltelli, sappiamo di essere gli ultimi fieri giganti verdi della storia, che si muovono sul territorio dapprima con il fuoco e con la spada, e poi armati di radio a transistor e dentifricio, non più alla ricerca di pascoli più verdi o per il piacere dell’azione per l’azione, ma in cerca di allocchi inerti perduti nelle spaziose budella della Storia…
Il cocktail di eccesso ironia e poesia non è solo caratteristica dello stile, ma anche delle trame, a cominciare da questa che, terminato il racconto di cosa è successo e ha portato il sergente narratore in ospedale, ha un ultimo quinto di libro piuttosto inusuale: non annunciato, all’improvviso entra in scena l’amore, e per un momento sembra di essere dalle parti di Jules e Jim, ma poi tutto cambia di nuovo.
Uno per battere il passo, con la diretta voce del sergente Krummel che dall’ospedale, su consiglio del suo medico curante, scrive a macchina una sorta di memoria, o diario, o cronaca, o romanzo – da non trascurare che Krummel prima di essere sergente era uomo di cultura e lettere – racconta le vicende di un gruppo di reclute al suo comando di base nelle Filippine durante la guerra del Vietnam.
Siamo nei primi anni Sessanta. Il gruppo di militari è addetto alle intercettazioni, gente tecnologica più che d’azione. Ma quando, dopo qualche mese di vita nelle Filippine a base di turni di lavoro seguiti da turni di sbronze e scopate e risse, con momenti e situazioni alla M*A*S*H*, sono trasferiti in Vietnam, le cose cambiano dal giorno alla notte nel tempo di un battito d’occhi.
Appena messo piede in Vietnam, c’è la prima morte pazzesca.
Seguono un paio di scontri a fuoco particolarmente cruenti nei quali Crumley profonde generosa dovizia di particolari (budella e denti e schegge d’osso e cervelli spappolati…), e durante i quali si scopre che il fuoco amico fa più danni di quello nemico.
I feriti sono trasferiti di nuovo nelle Filippine in ospedale.
E a quel punto si ricuce con l’inizio.
A me Crumley ricorda molto Sam Peckinpah, un regista che amo, che ha detto dei personaggi dei suoi film che non erano altro che perdenti
senza più apparenze né illusioni da salvare. È solo gente che rappresenta l’avventura disinteressata, quella da cui non si trae nessun profitto aldilà della semplice soddisfazione d’essere ancora vivi.
Ecco perché ho usato come titolo a questo mio commento quello del suo film più famoso, Mucchio selvaggio.
Un po’ cowboy, un po’ poeti, un po’ cinici e un po’ romantici, un po' reazionari ma soprattutto anarchici, con un forte sentimento dell’amicizia.
Una delle anime più radicate degli Stati Uniti.
Ed ecco una poesia che rende bene gli umori della narrativa di Crumley, poesia che ha prodotto il titolo del suo romanzo più fortunato, quello considerato il suo capolavoro, L’ultimo vero bacio. Si intitola Toni di grigio a Philipsburgh ed è del poeta Richard Hugo. Recita come segue:
Magari vieni qui, domenica, per sfizio.
Diciamo che la tua vita è andata a rotoli. L’ultimo vero bacio
te l’hanno dato anni e anni fa. Percorri queste strade,
tracciate da dementi, passi davanti ad alberghi
che non sono durati, a bar che invece sì,
agli angosciosi tentativi della gente del posto
di dare un’accelerata alla propria vita.
Soltanto le chiese sono ben tenute. Quest’anno
la prigione ne ha compiuti 70. L’unico prigioniero
è sempre dentro, senza sapere cos’abbia fatto.
Il principale affare trainante adesso
è la rabbia. L’odio per i diversi grigi
inviati dalla montagna, l’odio per la fabbrica,
l’abrogazione della Legge sull’Argento, le ragazze più apprezzate
che ogni anno partono per Butte. Un solo
buon ristorante e i bar non riescono a spazzar via la noia.
Il boom del 1907, otto miniere d’argento in attività,
una pista da ballo costruita su molle –
tutti i ricordi si trasformano in sguardo,
nel verde del panorama distingui il bestiame al pascolo
o i due comignoli alti sulla città,
due forni spenti, l’enorme fabbrica da cinquant’anni
sul punto di crollare che alla fine non verrà giù.
Non è questa la tua vita? Quel vecchio bacio
che ancora ti brucia gli occhi? Questa sconfitta non è così precisa
da far sembrare la campana della chiesa niente più di un
un puro annuncio? Suona e non viene nessuno.
Non fanno rumore le case vuote? Bastano il magnesio
e il disprezzo per sostenere una città,
non solo Philipsburg, ma città
di sventole bionde, vero jazz e liquori
che il mondo non ti lascerà mai avere
finché la città da cui vieni non sarà morta dentro?
Risponditi di no. Il vecchio, ventenne
quando costruirono la prigione, ride ancora
malgrado le labbra rotte. Un giorno di questi,
dice, mi metterò a dormire e non mi sveglierò.
Digli di no. Stai parlando con te stesso.
La macchina che ti ha portato qui funziona ancora.
Il denaro con cui ti sei pagato il pranzo,
non importa da quale miniera venga, è d’argento
e la ragazza che ti ha servito
è snella e i suoi capelli rossi illuminano il muro.
Hue, Vietnam, cimitero di guerra.
Battere il passo
Sei portatori, Quinn, Franklin, Levenson, Collins, Haddad e Peterson; due per controllare la strada, Cagle e Novotny; più uno per battere il passo, Krummel; nei panni del cadavere, Morning; apparvero le lacrime nei nostri occhi, e la fierezza sui nostri volti stravolti dall’alcol; e vaffanculo a tutto il resto.
Ecco spiegato il titolo: il feretro col soldato morto dentro viene accompagnato alla sepoltura sorretto da sei commilitoni, con due che fanno strada, e uno che batte il passo (la cadenza).
I nomi sono tutti quelli dei protagonisti: Krummel è il sergente io narrante, nato nel sud degli Stati Uniti, da lontani avi germanici mischiati a Comanche. Morning, quello dentro la bara, che in questo caso, sta dormendo ubriaco, un morto finto, è l’alter ego di Krummel, croce e delizia, grande amore e grande amicizia che marciano di pari passo con grande odio e grande rabbia.
Gli altri sono la squadra agli ordini del sergente Krummel.
Il romanzo, che è l’esordio di Crumley nella narrativa, esce nel 1969.
E allora, Dispacci di Michael Herr, che è del 1977, e che finora io ho ritenuto la madre di tutti i libri sulla guerra del Vietnam, ha almeno un precedente.
Precedente non di grande successo, ma se non altro luminoso, quasi fulgido: tra l’altro, contiene già tanti aspetti e umori di quella che la letteratura americana sviscererà e consacrerà come la “dirty war” (dopo di che sono seguire solo guerre sporche).
Cristo, che ragazzina. Nove anni. Nove anni e ne sa più lei di Aristotele, Platone, Sant’Agostino e del fottuto Edmund Burke tutti insieme nella vasca da bagno di Archimede.
Sin da questo suo esordio, per proseguire anche nei suoi romanzi noir che ho letto, lo stile di Crumley, come in un drink ben miscelato, è fatto di ridondanza, eccesso, esuberanza, di pari passo con intensità, squarci di poesia, ironia, dialoghi magniloquenti ma sempre incisivi, asprezza e dolcezza che si danno la mano, rotolano tra le righe nel prato della pagina, si coprono del fango di parole e punteggiatura.
Noi tuttavia sappiamo che non c’è più nessuno dietro di noi, noi sappiamo di essere gli ultimi, e i migliori, fra i barbari e i conquistatori dai lunghi coltelli, sappiamo di essere gli ultimi fieri giganti verdi della storia, che si muovono sul territorio dapprima con il fuoco e con la spada, e poi armati di radio a transistor e dentifricio, non più alla ricerca di pascoli più verdi o per il piacere dell’azione per l’azione, ma in cerca di allocchi inerti perduti nelle spaziose budella della Storia…
Il cocktail di eccesso ironia e poesia non è solo caratteristica dello stile, ma anche delle trame, a cominciare da questa che, terminato il racconto di cosa è successo e ha portato il sergente narratore in ospedale, ha un ultimo quinto di libro piuttosto inusuale: non annunciato, all’improvviso entra in scena l’amore, e per un momento sembra di essere dalle parti di Jules e Jim, ma poi tutto cambia di nuovo.
Uno per battere il passo, con la diretta voce del sergente Krummel che dall’ospedale, su consiglio del suo medico curante, scrive a macchina una sorta di memoria, o diario, o cronaca, o romanzo – da non trascurare che Krummel prima di essere sergente era uomo di cultura e lettere – racconta le vicende di un gruppo di reclute al suo comando di base nelle Filippine durante la guerra del Vietnam.
Siamo nei primi anni Sessanta. Il gruppo di militari è addetto alle intercettazioni, gente tecnologica più che d’azione. Ma quando, dopo qualche mese di vita nelle Filippine a base di turni di lavoro seguiti da turni di sbronze e scopate e risse, con momenti e situazioni alla M*A*S*H*, sono trasferiti in Vietnam, le cose cambiano dal giorno alla notte nel tempo di un battito d’occhi.
Appena messo piede in Vietnam, c’è la prima morte pazzesca.
Seguono un paio di scontri a fuoco particolarmente cruenti nei quali Crumley profonde generosa dovizia di particolari (budella e denti e schegge d’osso e cervelli spappolati…), e durante i quali si scopre che il fuoco amico fa più danni di quello nemico.
I feriti sono trasferiti di nuovo nelle Filippine in ospedale.
E a quel punto si ricuce con l’inizio.
A me Crumley ricorda molto Sam Peckinpah, un regista che amo, che ha detto dei personaggi dei suoi film che non erano altro che perdenti
senza più apparenze né illusioni da salvare. È solo gente che rappresenta l’avventura disinteressata, quella da cui non si trae nessun profitto aldilà della semplice soddisfazione d’essere ancora vivi.
Ecco perché ho usato come titolo a questo mio commento quello del suo film più famoso, Mucchio selvaggio.
Un po’ cowboy, un po’ poeti, un po’ cinici e un po’ romantici, un po' reazionari ma soprattutto anarchici, con un forte sentimento dell’amicizia.
Una delle anime più radicate degli Stati Uniti.
Ed ecco una poesia che rende bene gli umori della narrativa di Crumley, poesia che ha prodotto il titolo del suo romanzo più fortunato, quello considerato il suo capolavoro, L’ultimo vero bacio. Si intitola Toni di grigio a Philipsburgh ed è del poeta Richard Hugo. Recita come segue:
Magari vieni qui, domenica, per sfizio.
Diciamo che la tua vita è andata a rotoli. L’ultimo vero bacio
te l’hanno dato anni e anni fa. Percorri queste strade,
tracciate da dementi, passi davanti ad alberghi
che non sono durati, a bar che invece sì,
agli angosciosi tentativi della gente del posto
di dare un’accelerata alla propria vita.
Soltanto le chiese sono ben tenute. Quest’anno
la prigione ne ha compiuti 70. L’unico prigioniero
è sempre dentro, senza sapere cos’abbia fatto.
Il principale affare trainante adesso
è la rabbia. L’odio per i diversi grigi
inviati dalla montagna, l’odio per la fabbrica,
l’abrogazione della Legge sull’Argento, le ragazze più apprezzate
che ogni anno partono per Butte. Un solo
buon ristorante e i bar non riescono a spazzar via la noia.
Il boom del 1907, otto miniere d’argento in attività,
una pista da ballo costruita su molle –
tutti i ricordi si trasformano in sguardo,
nel verde del panorama distingui il bestiame al pascolo
o i due comignoli alti sulla città,
due forni spenti, l’enorme fabbrica da cinquant’anni
sul punto di crollare che alla fine non verrà giù.
Non è questa la tua vita? Quel vecchio bacio
che ancora ti brucia gli occhi? Questa sconfitta non è così precisa
da far sembrare la campana della chiesa niente più di un
un puro annuncio? Suona e non viene nessuno.
Non fanno rumore le case vuote? Bastano il magnesio
e il disprezzo per sostenere una città,
non solo Philipsburg, ma città
di sventole bionde, vero jazz e liquori
che il mondo non ti lascerà mai avere
finché la città da cui vieni non sarà morta dentro?
Risponditi di no. Il vecchio, ventenne
quando costruirono la prigione, ride ancora
malgrado le labbra rotte. Un giorno di questi,
dice, mi metterò a dormire e non mi sveglierò.
Digli di no. Stai parlando con te stesso.
La macchina che ti ha portato qui funziona ancora.
Il denaro con cui ti sei pagato il pranzo,
non importa da quale miniera venga, è d’argento
e la ragazza che ti ha servito
è snella e i suoi capelli rossi illuminano il muro.
Hue, Vietnam, cimitero di guerra.
October 31, 2018
3.5 STARS Bloody, bawdy poetry from one of the best writers to ever put pen to paper. This is Crumley's first novel, and I'm pretty certain there's a lot of autobiography going on here. It's a beautiful riff on drinking, sex, fistfights, war, politics, the sixties, hippies, religion, more drinking, drinking, dying, living, courage and cowardice. And most of all it's about simple day-to-day survival. Set in 1962, first in the Philippines, then later--tragically--in Vietnam, the book is narrated by Sargent Krummel, and the voice and story structure are occasionally too intrusive for my taste, especially when the narrator speaks directly to the reader, my only complaint about the book. Beyond that quibble, I thought it was good stuff. I also thought it remarkable that a hardass, rough-and-tumble old soldier like Crumley--and this was written in the 1960s mind you--wrote about several hot-button topics, from race to cross-dressing "Billy Boys," with compassion, empathy, insight and a wise heart. This is a far different kettle of fish from his five-star fiction; it's episodic and chaotic, almost a diary, but the incredible, transcendent writing and Crumley's wry take on a fractured world are worth the price of admission. Read KISS and TREE DUCK first, and if you like them, give this a shot.
April 25, 2014
After LOVING The Last Good Kiss I thought I would follow up with Crumley's first and only war novel.
Firstly, it's really good, and definitely worth reading. What's interesting is how the central character shares the same gritty cynical, hard-as-nails outlook as CW Sughrue (and Crumley too, I imagine). It's all about being a man, and grappling with the conflicts that come from having both a violent nature and a strong compassion. On rejecting thought in favour of action. On refusing to fight on principle, or killing despite them.
It's brilliantly written, but I didn't enjoy it as much as The Last Good Kiss. I think that's because it lacks the plot structure that all good mysteries must adhere to, which keep you glued to the page. I wish I could have met Crumley, I bet he was an awesome bastard, but I get the feeling that the more I read his books, the more I'll know the man, warts and all.
Firstly, it's really good, and definitely worth reading. What's interesting is how the central character shares the same gritty cynical, hard-as-nails outlook as CW Sughrue (and Crumley too, I imagine). It's all about being a man, and grappling with the conflicts that come from having both a violent nature and a strong compassion. On rejecting thought in favour of action. On refusing to fight on principle, or killing despite them.
It's brilliantly written, but I didn't enjoy it as much as The Last Good Kiss. I think that's because it lacks the plot structure that all good mysteries must adhere to, which keep you glued to the page. I wish I could have met Crumley, I bet he was an awesome bastard, but I get the feeling that the more I read his books, the more I'll know the man, warts and all.
November 4, 2022
This was a slow, painful read. While I never served in Vietnam (I was in the Air Force then and figured out how to avoid Vietnam) I was in during that ill-conceived escapade that politicians still have learned from. I was briefly on Clark AFB in the summer of 1971, then again from 1972-74. My wife of 50 years is from Pampanga. There are no surprises for me in this book, even though I was not a drinker, smoker, or whore chaser... all activities that indeed consumed airmen's time and money just as it did in the period ten years prior to my arrival. With the withdrawal of the US bases following the eruption of Pinatubo, the airmen have been replaced with generic western (plus Korean and Chinese) sex tourists. They tend to be older, but they are still the drunken boors on Walking Street that they've always been.
Crumley recounts the trauma of events around Clark for a communications group made up of Army enlistees. The set up for strife with the base's airman is obvious from the start. While I didn't know it this graphically when I enlisted, guys like this are exactly why I didn't wait to be drafted. I knew some wackos in the Air Force, but nothing quite like these guys. Concurrently, none of these characters sound unbelievable. This is why MASH, the movie and the tv versions, were never funny to me. Stehen Leather's Private Dancer, though set in Thailand, gets the bar scene so accurately that it could have been set here.
Many of the set descriptions of Clark, Angeles City, and Mt. Arayat are quite accurate, reflecting time Crumly actually spent here.
As a first novel, it can be a slog in spots, especially the rambling description of the main character's heritage. The US audience wasn't ready for this kind of novel about their evils in SEA, so it made sense that he switched to crime novels, though even those didn't bring great fortune.
Crumley recounts the trauma of events around Clark for a communications group made up of Army enlistees. The set up for strife with the base's airman is obvious from the start. While I didn't know it this graphically when I enlisted, guys like this are exactly why I didn't wait to be drafted. I knew some wackos in the Air Force, but nothing quite like these guys. Concurrently, none of these characters sound unbelievable. This is why MASH, the movie and the tv versions, were never funny to me. Stehen Leather's Private Dancer, though set in Thailand, gets the bar scene so accurately that it could have been set here.
Many of the set descriptions of Clark, Angeles City, and Mt. Arayat are quite accurate, reflecting time Crumly actually spent here.
As a first novel, it can be a slog in spots, especially the rambling description of the main character's heritage. The US audience wasn't ready for this kind of novel about their evils in SEA, so it made sense that he switched to crime novels, though even those didn't bring great fortune.
December 21, 2012
This is not anywhere near as good a book as Crumley's "The Last Good Kiss." It's another fictionalized My-Adventures-As-A-GI in Vietnam novel, and is as clumsy and awkward as a baby trying to take its first steps. I read 100 pages and gave it up. [That's my break point: 100 pages.] Frankly, with 650 [and counting] Vietnam War-reminiscence-novels out there, I'm really glad I took a different approach with "Wild Blue Yonder."
January 23, 2022
Giving the book three stars for the beginning, the rest of the book was poor.
February 29, 2024
Possibly wowing executives and moneymen equally, the premise of a prostitute's brutal murder in war-torn Saigon during the Vietnam War and playing on interpersonal dynamics of two hot dog CID officers while fighting the system didn't resonate with audience thirteen years after hostilities ended in Southeast Asia. At all. Rubbing off on 1960s flair and wartime chaos, OFF LIMITS is more of an action thriller cum mystery than it is a chronicle of America's ten thousand day war. Whereas the slogan of the modern Department of the Army Criminal Investigation Division is 'Do What Has To Be Done', the tag line of the 1988 film promised 'Going too far is what they do best'. Pushing the envelope and often going too far is the MO of all involved in 1987's ONE TO COUNT CADENCE, overtly labeled a Vietnam War novel, though less of a combat chronicle like PLATOON and more of a dark humor dramedy like M*A*S*H.
Frolicking close to Baguio, the summer capital of the Philippines and about 840 miles east of Vietnam across the South China Sea, roughly the same longitude as the former national capital city of Hue, the 721st Communication Security Detachment feels sort of apart from the works in August of 1962. Fifty thousand Filipinos call Baguio home, including the close-by entertainment sector catering to US Servicemen and their scrip, no green backs allowed. Tearing up the American image abroad, the town was often declared OFF LIMITS for the men of the 721st, but they never cared to pay for anyone's mistakes but their own. After all, they didn't make the world, they just had to live in it like everybody else. Why exactly do they act the way they do? The weather, the Army, and their screwed up lives are top contenders, for foreign affairs are strange and expensive adventures. ONE TO COUNT CADENCE thus asks, what's a soldier for otherwise, to paint latrines and file reports? Their posh gig on a Filipino base was all life, love and happiness, just outside the crater of destruction that was to become the Vietnam War. To help them understand the slow murder of time, the boredom of escape and pure nihilism of the peace-time soldier is Sergeant Jacob Slagsted Krummel with a Master's degree in Soviet Studies, hailing from a time when names were old-fashioned, properly pronounced, and when names mattered. It was also a time when there weren't so many Vietnam War casualties that America had gotten casual about them yet. With working out, drinking and carousing when not busy with their signals comms work, it was gonna be a long 18 months in-country.
Torn between going full POLICE ACADEMY with THE SHORT TIMERS, M*A*S*H, and CATCH-22 baked in for good measure, ONE TO COUNT CADENCE tilts towards an examination of the absurdity of war and military life. What that means for the Sergeant with reactionary morality and a Puritan middle class mind and his men is that A RUMOR OF WAR is on the horizon. Their technicolor world of wine, women, and song is about to worsen their bitterness and bias. A nightmare of death and a cold wind over an open grave is waiting; stark black and white, a negative world undeveloped by dawn. Cursing at anything that takes the sting out of being 10,000 miles from home and in mortal danger, their war is marching, digging, sweating, stinking, and enduring. Rain without pause on Hill 527 and a week of pain, filling sandbags, sleeping on the ground and guard duty. A harsh reminder that in war, the difference between laughing and healthy and not can merely be seconds, a twist of fate, a wrong turn. There is no sense to it, war is stupid and the most terrible thing man can do to himself, for even hard work cannot keep death away.
As America did as a nation, ONE TO COUNT CADENCE ends when JFK is assassinated in late '63, fighting the grinding agony of having no meaning. Uncertain when or where the fighting stopped or differentiating between night and day, ONE TO COUNT CADENCE nonetheless theorizes that anger is easier than reflection, kindness never really repays cruelty, the finger of God is never satisfied, and that no sleep is safe - it all echoes death. Not totally sinking into lugubrious quicksand, ONE TO COUNT CADENCE adds levity via army life fun such as payday drunk, 201 file, IHTFP, Leavenworth talk, Article 15, lifers and culture vultures. A mediocre Vietnam War book to absurdly challenge the gods of war themselves, ONE TO COUNT CADENCE insists that victory is not the only face of war and that war is a fire that brands a man. Savor the heat of violence, the bond of adversity, the ideals of freedom and liberty, and the dirty war that was fought to stop the dominoes from falling. Trust greed, passion, loyalty, bullets, but never politics, and make sure there's always ONE TO COUNT CADENCE.
February 28, 2018
This is the only Crumley book I've read. I was in the army in the late 60's and spent my time at a communications site on Okinawa. I can see some similarities with my own experience but Crumley appears to exaggerate everything pretty excessively. My MOS in a communications center required 31 weeks of specialized training. We had fairly intelligent people (had to be to make it through the course) and also quite a few who had a certain problem with authority and the army way of doing things. Are main entertainment was drinking and screwing, similar to the characters in the book. While there was some incidents of fighting and violence in the bars and whorehouses that surrounded the base there was nothing anywhere near the level depicted in the book. Maybe we had become more civilized serving on Okinawa 6 years after the events that took place in the Philippines in Crumley's book. I found the events of the book shifting to greatly between educated repartee between the soldiers and the intense violence. There was far too much lengthy introspection hat often seemed labored and repetitive, especially the "I am a warrior" stuff. The Vietnam scenes at the end almost seemed tacked on and never quite coalesced with the rest of the book. While Crumley did serve in the Philippines I don't believe he actually went to Vietnam and saw combat and while that is not a requirement to write about it, it makes you wonder where the ideas for those events came from.
February 5, 2024
I did not serve, so I will refrain from reviewing this book… which is a deep dive into the madness/“nobility” of soldiering, military (dis)organization and authority, killing, rest & recovery (drinking & whoring) of ‘62-‘63 US in Philippines and then Vietnam incursions…this book is all of that, and I think more.
For a closer look, my highlights are visible in Goodreads. And just remember war is hell, and the interims often not much better… the past times of our species.
For a closer look, my highlights are visible in Goodreads. And just remember war is hell, and the interims often not much better… the past times of our species.
March 1, 2021
Crumley is a very good writer. But this is not a very good book. I suspect that's so primarily because it began as an academic project.
It would be a much better book if it simply lost about 100 pages of redundant, pretentious bullshit out of the middle... which I guess is there to impress some people evaluating it for advanced degree worthiness.
It would be a much better book if it simply lost about 100 pages of redundant, pretentious bullshit out of the middle... which I guess is there to impress some people evaluating it for advanced degree worthiness.
August 18, 2025
Vietnam war book. Follows a wounded soldier recovering from a battle that took the lives of his comrades. Army is covering it up. Book about recovery and trauma. The three way relationship that develops is interesting to watch, the sex is not very gratifying and brutal.
Read
January 6, 2021A comical and tragic portrait of the men who fought and died in the Vietnam War. Supreme writing.
December 21, 2022
Slow to start, put picks up a bit by the end.
February 2, 2024
Brilliant debut.
August 30, 2025
James Crumley's best book - excellent!
August 17, 2007
This is an alright novel that became a chore to read about halfway through. It's about soldiers in the earliest days of the Vietnam conflict, but mostly takes place on a base in the Phillippines. It was James Crumley's first and came out in the early 70s (I think). I got my copy in a Goodwill in Georgia. It didn't have a cover or anything. The basic story reads like a blueprint for many recent war movies, especially Tigerland (an early-ish role for Hollywood bad-boy Colin Ferrell). There's a grizzled Seargent returning to the shit after leaving the Army and getting divorced (which he blames on the Civil Rights movement--it took his wife's attention away from him); there's a too-wild-to-live-in-this-man's-army private losing his mind amid a sea of booze, Fillipino whores and generalized angst; there's a tight-ass Lt. who doesn't "get it." You get the picture. It's told from the narrator's hospital bed, and weaves between the past and present. There are two problems here for me: 1)ok drinking is "awesome" but does there have to be a drink at the end of every scene? 2) for a war book, there's surprisingly little war. The characters mainly get hammered, dodge their boring work and carouse. Toward the end of the book there's a brief scene of the war, but the whole outfit is killed or wounded and sent out of action after about 20 pages. Blargh. Where's Bruckheimer when you need him?
September 25, 2016
Most of this takes place on an Air Force base in the Philippines before the outbreak of the Vietnam War. There we follow Sgt Krummel, Joe Morning and the others as they combat boredom through a lot of boozing, fucking, fighting and discussing topics big and small. We learn about their backgrounds and what led them in to military service and their differing views on America (the discussions between Krummel and Morning are particularly interesting).
The story is told from Krummel's hospital bed but it takes quite a long time to figure out how he got there and why he is racked with guilt about Morning. Their detachment isn't shipped off to Vietnam until the tail end of the book, at which point things quickly turn hectic and bodies begin to fall.
The recollections of the actual fighting don't last all that long before we're brought back to the present for Krummel's hospital recovery.
The story is told from Krummel's hospital bed but it takes quite a long time to figure out how he got there and why he is racked with guilt about Morning. Their detachment isn't shipped off to Vietnam until the tail end of the book, at which point things quickly turn hectic and bodies begin to fall.
The recollections of the actual fighting don't last all that long before we're brought back to the present for Krummel's hospital recovery.
January 27, 2014
Four stars for its perceptive and exuberant descriptions of the camaraderie of an Army unit in an absurd and tragic situations. Crumley has written some of my favorite sentences. Also, the treatment of sexual orientation is very ambiguous. But you can see the foibles of every Crumley book here- the hero beating people's faces in nauseating description, the woman as whore or mother, the copious amounts of alcohol worn as a badge of elitism. And plus a sickening cynical view of the civil rights struggle that can't be explained away.
Want to read
November 13, 2016The time: late summer, 1962. The place: Clark Air Force Base, the Philippines. Sergeant Jacob Ì_Ì_ÌÂSlagÌ_Ì_å Krummel, a scholar by intent but a warrior by breeding, assumes command of the 721st Communication Security Detachment, and unsoldierly crew of bored, rebellious, whoring, foul-mouthed, drunken enlistees. Surviving military absurdities, reminiscent of those in Catch-22 only to be shipped clandestinely to Vietnam, KrummelÌ_Ì_åÈs band confront their worst fears while finally losing faith in America and its myths.
April 25, 2011
I've read some of James Crumley's mysteries so I was intrigued to read this novel. It had some of the same tough-guy, violence that his other books have, but his depiction of the absurdities of army life was up there with "Catch-22".
Most of the story took place in the Phillipines in 1962 with a brief, but intense foray into Vietnam itself. The battle scenes were some of the most harrowing I've read and he really seemed to get into the heads of his characters.
Most of the story took place in the Phillipines in 1962 with a brief, but intense foray into Vietnam itself. The battle scenes were some of the most harrowing I've read and he really seemed to get into the heads of his characters.
May 17, 2015
A little bit tiring at times, but a good book about a squad of soldiers in the Vietnam era. At first, they are stationed in the Philipines, then are sent to Vietnam where they fight a battle for one of the many hills in that country.
The narrator of the book spends a lot of time distinguishing between a "solder" and a "warrior".
Normally, I regard sex scenes in war novels as distractions, but this book has one of the best sex scenes I've read.
The narrator of the book spends a lot of time distinguishing between a "solder" and a "warrior".
Normally, I regard sex scenes in war novels as distractions, but this book has one of the best sex scenes I've read.
February 24, 2016
Crumley's first novel wasn't a mystery but a war novel with a little bit of a Catch-22 vibe. It's certainly not his best. The prose is often a little clumsy and the emotional focus doesn't feel quite fully earned with our narrator's destructive obsession with a mentally unstable soldier under his command. Still, there's nothing like Crumley, and my affinity for his maudlin tough-guy pose runs deep.
June 19, 2019
It's difficult to say whether this is a 20th century masterpiece or a self-aggrandizing, gritty memoir. Reminiscent of Catch 22 and and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest sprinkled with touches of philosophy, psychology and sociology, this is not an easy book to read, but it is fascinating and addicting.
October 2, 2012
WOW! I am beginning to think I am a masochist reading these accounts and novels about Vietnam, but the poetry woven in the vulgarity and depiction of a love/hate relationship was overwhelming. If you have never read Crumley before this book is and isn't like anything else he has written.
September 5, 2023
Ah, well. Everything that I know to be true is true, so I must assume all the parts I don't know are true, are also true.
Joe Morning got too tedious after awhile. Like Prof. Crumley was the victim of his own English classes.
We all laughed our asses off reading this book. It was a thing.
Joe Morning got too tedious after awhile. Like Prof. Crumley was the victim of his own English classes.
We all laughed our asses off reading this book. It was a thing.
September 16, 2009
The only thing I enjoyed about this novel was selling it for $110.00 on Ebay after reading it. Original HC 1st ed.
October 11, 2019
Convincing.
August 7, 2013
Doesn't have the same narrative momentum as his PI novels but there are enough bursts of brilliance here to warrant a recommendation. You can see the writer he eventually became. Good stuff.
June 3, 2017
Great
August 7, 2008
Drags a little at times, but what an astounding debut.
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