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244 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1994
I lost myself amidst gigantic shelves holding hundreds of books, ranging from children’s stories to thick volumes on medicine, and a gamut of novels and short stories in between. I was never a fan of literature that talks about literature. I always liked noir novels about detectives and hoods that have clear beginnings and endings. Guys like Raymond Chandler and Chester Himes can change my life for a few hours, freeing me to see the world through the eyes of Philip Marlowe or Grave Digger Jones. Just then I stumbled across one of Himes’s books, The Heat’s On.The author does lose this voice and finds his own, but the story, setting, pacing, etc. are noir all over. There was no reason to think of this novel in any realistic sense. I see some reviewers take exception to the way women are treated as characters, or some of the perhaps less believable incidents. I don't think noir is supposed to be believable. It is, almost by its very definition, contrivance.