[7/10]
Brain's in my stomach,
Heart's in my mouth,
Want to go north -
My feet point south.
I got the psychosomatic blues.
Doctor, doctor, doctor,
Analyse my brain.
Organize me, doctor.
Doctor ease my pain -
I got the psychosomatic blues.
A world-weary private detective sits down in a rundown bar with a whisky and a smoke in front of him, listening to a sultry, sexy singer play the blues on the piano. She may be involved in a crime he is currently investigating: the disappearance of a wealthy oil tycoon. The detective is not short of suspects and leads. Big Money attracts all sort of predators, like the smell of fresh kill in the savannah. Lew Archer's nominal employer is the tycoon's wife, although her motives may not be as altruistic as she wants to make them. The pilot of the magnate's private plane, his volatile young daughter Miranda, his recent spiritual guru Claude, his own personal astrologer - a former actress with connections to the criminal underworld, his lawyer that was once a friend of Archer in the State Attorney Office, even his striking farmhands: they all are potential suspects, and MacDonald weaves a complex and convincing plot that implicates all of them at one point or another in the inquiry. The cast is completed with some stock characters from the early noir novels : the brutish bodyguard that has been kicked in the head once too much, the smooth criminal with an English accent and the impeccable clothes, the hooker with the good heart, the arrogant local sheriff, and so on.
This familiarity with the characters and with the plot made me think for a while that the first Lew Archer novel is too much of a fanfic for the novels of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett (the name of the protagonist is actually inspired by The Maltese Falcon), but it turns out that I knew most of the plot from the movie version with Paul Newman and Lauren Bacall. I should give more credit in this case to the author for using the style established by those famous forerunners, and pushing it forward into a more solid and well constructed story, with better attempts to establish the criminal motivations and to study their psychology. From what I read, the next books in the Archer series develop into a more personal and accomplished style. I look forward to reading them.
Coming back to the debut Archer novel, the first thing I like is the sense of place and time : the fictional town of Santa Teresa in the California Hills in the aftermath of World War Two. A place of opulent mansions perched precariously on the sides of dry canyons, overlooking the ocean. MacDonald is not a bad hand at finding unusual similes, again reminding me of Chandler:
The light-blue haze in the lower canyon was like a thin smoke from slowly burning money. Even the sea looked precious through it, a solid wedge held in the canyon's mouth, bright blue and polished like a stone. Private property: color guaranteed fast; will not shrink egos. I had never seen the Pacific look so small.
Archer himself is a tough guy, a former policeman and war veteran, serving in the Intelligence Corps, doing now mostly divorce work ("I'm a jackal, you now!"). He's got the quick tongue and the fast repartee skills that seems to be a prerequisite for the job of gumshoe, but I would say he is not much of a guy for humour. Smart, solid, serious, cynical, yet also introspective and full of empathy for the situation of his suspects. He is also of the school of investigation where in the absence of a useful lead, he just goes in and tries to stir up the nest of vipers with a stick or with a right hook, an activity that sees him knocked on the head on multiple occasions. "I slid like a disappearing tail light down the dark mountainside of the world" he remarks as he looses consciousness for the third or fourth time. My favourite passage, and probably the most revealing one about his character, is a scene where he looks at himself in the mirror as he is trying to pump an alcoholic woman full of booze in order to extract information from her:
I tried smiling to encourage myself. I was a good Joe after all. Consorter with roughnecks, tarts, hard cases and easy marks; private eyes at the keyhole of illicit bedrooms; informer to jealousy, rat behind the walls, hired gun to anybody with fifty dollars a day; but a good Joe after all. The wrinkles formed at the corner of my eyes, the wings of my nose; the lips drew back from the teeth, but there was no smile. All I got was a lean famished look like a coyote sneer. The face had seen to many bars, too many rundown hotels and crummy love nests, too many courtrooms and prisons, post-mortems and police line-ups, too many nerve ends showing like tortured worms. If I found the face on a stranger, I wouldn't trust it.
Another thing I liked about Lew Archer is that he doesn't try to hog the limelight, he gives the other actors enough screen time to shine and develop. As a result of this, I feel there is a lot more to discover about his background and his preferences, as it should be with a long sequence of his novels to follow.
I am not going to discuss the ending, it was satisfactory, if not exactly surprising. But I am interested in the significance of the title. It appears in a conversation between Lew Archer and Miranda, the young daughter of the tycoon. On the surface, the discussion is about driving too fast, but I believe the underlying tone is being dissatisfied with yourself and with the direction your life is going. It's about chasing a dream. For some people, it is the illusion that money will solve all their problems and offer them happiness. By our own inner nature, we are probably destined never to reach the target, as soon as we get what we want, we probably yearn for something else, for something more.
- I've done a hundred and five on this road in the Caddie.
- And what's your reason?
- I do it when I'm bored. I pretend to myself I'm going to meet something - something utterly new. Something naked and bright, a moving target in the road.