Born as Harold Rubin in New York City, he later claimed to be a Jewish orphan who had been raised in a Catholic boys home. In reality he was the son of well-educated Russian and Polish immigrants. He was reared by his pharmacist father and stepmother in Brooklyn.
His first book, Never Love a Stranger (1948), caused controversy with its graphic sexuality. Publisher Pat Knopf reportedly bought Never Love a Stranger because "it was the first time he had ever read a book where on one page you'd have tears and on the next page you'd have a hard-on".
His 1952 novel, A Stone for Danny Fisher, was adapted into a 1958 motion picture King Creole, which starred Elvis Presley.
He would become arguably the world's bestselling author, publishing over 20 books which were translated into 32 languages and sold over 750 million copies. Among his best-known books is The Carpetbaggers, loosely based on the life of Howard Hughes, taking the reader from New York to California, from the prosperity of the aeronautical industry to the glamour of Hollywood.
The Storyteller is one of Robbins' later works and is a novel length journey through a young man's life that takes him from Brooklyn to Hollywood and to the French Riviera. It is told in a bawdy manner with all kinds of sexual affairs from meeting prostitutes to Hollywood casting couches, endless affairs, producer's wives, orgies with European nobility, and more.
It starts with a few coming of age episodes that has a young man escape the draft by putting in work for the Mafia, managing a hotel full of call girls. His young innocence doesn't last too long, particularly after he becomes a screenwriter and finds joe sleazy a t is behind the silver screen.
The story is about the emptiness of lives spent chasing each new dollar, each new thrill, each opportunity. And, despite all the risqué scenes and debauchery, threatened are points where the story feels a bit flat and pointless.
Impressive . Great plot and an unbelievable ending. Very entertaining.
Can't be anything but a five stars. It's a Harold Robbins book; one of the greatest writers. Recommend it to anyone that loves a hard to put down book. Loved the plot, the characters and the unbelievable ending.
A great book, really inspiring. Love the way, how the author takes the reader from dark valleys to extravagant parties. I really admire, the starting and the ending and all the events that connect the start and the end. It really gives us the lesson on how we need to maneuver through as a young adult.
Racy. That's the word. A lot of earthy language, a lot of titillation, a lot of characters, too - but most of them you look at askance. The story is a story by the storyteller, of his origins, his making, his success. You can’t help wonder who the old man who book-ends the piece might be.
Joe, our protagonist, comes from a Jewish family of meat traders in downtown New York, and is destined to be a writer - a writer of the same literary standards as he who wrote this book and sold millions, with Hollywood options. He lives with his brother and 'sister' Motty, a second cousin brought up by the family. Theirs is a straightforward story of extended families taking in relatives as their own, a picture not uncommon in the times, those largely being the '40s. Normal. And then the War comes, and things start happening fast.
Robbins writes with a facility and pace that slides you along with ease in his small world of realistic characters whose potty mouths betray their own subculture morality: green is the means, get it how you can; sex the adjunct need, get it how you can; topped up by the leisurely use of drugs, largely for resale. There's nothing too offensive about these characters - there are good and bad and mostly those who just get by how they can - but there's no one to really root for, except perhaps Motty, who soon absorbs the prevailing mores of those around her.
I enjoyed the first part of the book, following Joe as he leaves home and makes his way in New York: it has a familiarty not uncommon with my youth, albeit mine was enacted in slightly less corrupting surroundings: bum jobs, a sense of remove, ambition as pet project, keep going, keep moving. But once we switch to the years immediately after the War (which doesn't impinge on this domestic turf), once we move to L.A., then morals become looser as Joe and Motty learn the ropes, the business, the conventions, and the dialogue becomes cluttered with the lingua franca of Hollywood film studios and their brand of shark.
But it is the dialogue which makes the book as readable as it is, it's through dialogue that Robbins largely develops his characters, and all that fills between is merely setting. We all know not to expect anything too literary from a Robbins novel, but we also know that for a brief burst of action, we get a slice of a life that feels somehow genuine from a tranche of the population we would never otherwise have come across since most of us have never quite lived that kind of life, but perhaps a local variation of it, if not so littered with casual sex and drugs. Of course, the moral of the endgame is always visible on the horizon as Joe leaps from New York to Italy to the south of France and finds his easy-going equanimity with his new lifestyle troubling his deeper needs, which is to become an established writer of fiction, if not of subjects more profound than his scriptwriting bread and butter, and of finding someone to help him with the fruition of his calling.
Yet for all my highbrow admonitions and occasional raised eyebrows, The Storyteller is also a brief burst of dazzling light that you can turn to without having to give anything at all, something to make those interminably endless waits in NHS waiting-rooms 10 minutes of popcorn, or something to fall asleep to without having to worry about where you got up to. In one ear, out the other. And sometimes that's all you need.
I enjoyed the first third of the book, as novel and gripping as any King piece that dips into that vast warren which is New York (like parts of his Dark Tower series does); but then the facile wheels and deals of L.A., Rome and the south of France took over, and I wanted it to end. It took me over 3 months to read it, but I could pick it up after weeks without needing any recap, it lay like a thin film on a superficial layer of short-term memory, with a feel to it, a flavour, just exactly reminiscent of The Betsy [1971] and The Carpetbaggers [1961] I'd read in my late teens. Maybe I'll revisit those two most famous of this paradigm of pulp fiction?
Just wanted to give the famous Harold Robbins another chance in case he messed up The Betsy. What if he was indeed a good writer and I just chose a poor book? Boy I was so so wrong. He just doesnt know how to write. His stories dont have a plot. And this one is ironically named ' The Storyteller' when there's absolutely no story!
I find his writing unintelligent and confusing except for the dirty explicit sex scenes where he becomes clear and precise. It seems like he wants to enjoy writing those scenes. But inorder to do that he needs a story which he hates writing, but somehow manages to fill the pages with shit until his interesting segments come up. Here he dedicates himself wholeheartedly, coming up with the most repulsive unrealistic ideas for sex. His portrayal of female characters as submissive and 100% willing to cooperate with his disgusting ideas of sex is downright misleading and misogynistic. I dont think he ever 'loved' a woman or tried to understand one. I cant emotionally connect with the thoughts and actions of any of his characters. They dont feel human. :(
So I stand by my opinion: if you have read one Harold Robbins, you have read them all.
Too much sex, too much BJs, too much jerking off. A cheap sex story writer finds his way to Hollywood as a scriptwriter for the sensuous B movies right after WWII. There he experiences all sorts of sex, gets new cunts everyday. 'Let's fuck' is the most obvious and probably the only way to celebrate any occasion. And dope too. Sex and dope; that's nearly all about Hollywood. I am not sure whether Harold Robbins tried to portray the screwed up lives of Hollywood or just tried to increase his sales ( considering the fact that he alone sold 750 million books) but either way it's a very cheap piece of writing. There are 38 chapters in total excluding the prologue and epilogue and there is not a single chapter where none of the characters is not jerking off/ giving someone a 'quickie'/ spreading the labia with two fingers or in the least getting a hard on. I finally raised my hands up my head and surrendered when the protagonist peed inside the cunt of a black girl. It's probably my 'oriental' view but I'm truly, utterly disgusted. God, why did I even read the book?
This was a very neat, very well-written story with all the usual Robbins elements. Even though it probably wasn't as compelling as his other works, it was a fairly good read and its ideas plausible. Solid work!
Classic Robbins. I revisited this book when I found it on my bookshelf recently. My Mom and Dad had several of his books around the house when I was growing up, along with books by Leon Uris from about the same time frame. If you liked The Betsy or The Carpetbaggers, and you haven't read The Storyteller yet, break it out and read it. It's got all the smut his other books do, but it also has a decent story line that pulls you along through a bygone era, and makes you want to pick it up at lunch, before and after dinner, and right away when you get up in the morning.
I am always a little fascinated by the forgotten bestseller. My copy of this book proudly proclaims tens of millions of copies in print, and Robbins was churning out hits for several decades, but I would challenge you to point to a shred of cultural impact at this point. If this book is any indication of the quality of the rest of his oeuvre, though, perhaps that's a fitting fate.
This is trash.
I don't even intend that to be cruel. I assume that he knew he was writing "trash" at the time, and the people who made it a bestseller also knew they were reading "trash." It just so happens that this is not only "trash" but is also plain old, regular trash without the quotation marks.
There's plenty of exploitation art that is much more competently put together. This book is crime without grit, excess without shine, sex without eroticism. It's practically plotted in stream of consciousness the way story threads are set up and discarded without payoff.
And a couple of weeks after finishing this, I picked up another Robbins novel. I guess we all love a good train wreck.
Una historia del "éxito" masculino en el mundo del cine, de Joe, un hombre que es escritor/guionista.
Como tal la historia carece de clichés como desamor, muertes, persecusiones y corazones rotos. Y retrata más una historia de personas para las cuales el sexo es solo parte del trabajo y el mundo en el que se desenvuelven.
Para un hombre heterosexual puede ser una buena novela vaquera más novela, con un protagonista que se "echa" a todas las que quiere, y tampoco está mal, pero no vería algo más allá como una crítica o un climax o cierre. La novela y los diálogos están tan bien estructurados que la historia fluye fácil y rápido aun sin una profundidad como tal.
Es más una especie de soft porn para pasar el rato.
There's good Harold Robbins junk like Never Love A Stranger and good-but-filthy Harold Robbins junk like Goodbye, Janette, but The Storyteller is just bad Harold Robbins junk. I wonder if this is when he started losing his junky magic. The main character, Joe Crown, is just unbelievable. He shows none of the talent or perceptions or sensitivities or anything that makes it believable that he's supposed to sit down at a typewriter and create work that makes literary agents and movie studios gush. He's just a sneaky guy who worked hard to avoid the draft (WWII) and befriends a drug-dealing, pimp who batters his girls, and no one is redeeemed or ever changes or grows as a character.
Mostly what you would expect, except that is is surprisingly very well written. Great story-telling about a storyteller that almost everyone will find repulsive. (The book, and the character.) But it is of such higher literary quality than similar work today that it made me kind of nostalgic. This book is not politically correct and does not present an equitable worldview. I guess if you're going to write offensive, racist, misogynistic fiction about a deplorable sex-crazed writer who gets hit on by women everywhere he goes, this is your best practices model. Set, surprisingly, mostly in the 1940's when there was apparently far more sex and drug use than I was told about in history class.
For what seemed like a shallow book about sex I picked up for free at a secondhand store in Helsinki, it was entertaining and well-written above those expectations. What can I say? I had fun. The sex scenes were excellent, the characters flat, and there is a strong hint of misogyny tucked in the way every woman our protagonist fucks lays over easily for him (even the semi-sexual assault in the first 4 pages!).
It's a book of its time. I did quite enjoy reading about the U.S. in WWI era, something my contemporary reads don't offer with such crisp reality.
I love Harold Robins books and this one did not disappoint 😊 about a writer Joe crown who starts out writing dirty stories then he starts pimping then travels the world parting and writing. It's kind of about Old Hollywood, he starts writing screenplays, working with actresses etc then decides to go back to writing books. Lots of sex and drugs and 💰🤑🤑💰 MONEY
His books make me want to travel and wish I was rich. Like ALL of Robbins' main characters, he's a womanizer, sex addict and very successful in his career.
Such a good read, it's a page turner. I started reading this book and couldn't put it down until I finished it. Never expected such a great ending either. It's one of those books when you read you just are like, now what? It really got into my heart somehow. It's easy to read and yet I found the story very profound. I'm so glad I came across this book. It evoked so many different emotions in me as well, it's does not happen to me very often.
A fun book to read; honestly nothing was difficult to understand en it flew into your background noise and could take you away from everydays’ for few minuets.
It was my book to read in public transport; somehow now and then I would laugh cause tbh it is a fun read with good amount of erotica and humor.
Diálogos flojos y poco naturales. Personaje totalmente plano. Toda la argumentación se basa en que las cosas le salen bien y en que todas las mujeres quieren acostarse con el protagonista. Escena de polvo rápido en cada página. ¿Argumentación? Ninguna. ¿Final? Tan esperado como absurdo. Quedarte mirando el techo durante 3 días te aportará lo mismo que leerte este libro.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
It had been ages since I read something spicy and simple work. This revived my mood of the junk i read last week.
As always, Harold robbins justifying the work with proper balance of story and spiciness. I loved the starting 2/3rd of the book and but later 1/3rd lacked substance and was just rushing for closure. It could have found better end.
Damn quick read. Has all the rawness that Harold Robbins is known. one line summary: Joe Crown, coming out of nowhere, fucks his way to glory in Hollywood and then becomes a celebrated novelist.