Double Indemnity

Double Indemnity

By James M. Cain

Vintage, 1989

ISBN: 9780679723226

As a writer, James M. Cain divides opinion.

For Raymond Chandler, who adapted Double Indemnity for the screen under the aegis of Billy Wilder, Cain was ‘a writer of the faux naïf type’ and not to be taken at all seriously.  By contrast, James Lee Burke wrote that ‘Cain saw meaning and dimension in the commonplace… I don’t think anyone could find a better writer to learn from.’  If I had to choose sides, I’d be in Burke’s camp.

The storyline in Double Indemnity (1936) may sound familiar: a wife conspires with another man to kill her husband for the insurance money and freedom, a diabolical distortion of the American dream.  It’ll be familiar because it’s basically the same set-up Cain used in his first novel, The Postman Always Rings Twice (1934).  Both novels were heavily influenced by the so-called ‘Tyger Woman’ case of the late ‘20s, a notorious case wherein Ruth Snyder and her lover Judd Gray were found to have murdered her husband, all for profit.

What is different about Double Indemnity though is that Huff, as an insurance agent,  is in a position of some authority and power.  He’s corruptible and he is corrupted.  Yet while he falls – and sordid though his dreams are – he can still feel guilt, contrition, the shadow of damnation.  A concern to avoid bad publicity leads the insurance company to give Huff a head start; they don’t want one of their employees implicated in a murder.  Justice is not so much blind as mummified and unwilling to act.

There is a real weakness to the novel in that it’s ostensibly Huff’s confession (it is written in the first person, naturally) yet he dies in the end.  The confession or statement is supposed to be addressed to Keyes, a claims investigator who’s one of Huff’s colleagues, but he’s actually introduced as a character in the novel early on.  Keyes is not the ‘You’ in Huff’s statement, as he really should be for Cain’s conceit to work.  Instead, the general reader is the ‘You’.  Clearly, the conceit is too contrived; it will not hold.

However, Cain’s spare, pared-down prose has an often elemental power, giving his novel the force of a parable.  And sometimes, as in the two paragraphs that close chapter 7, his prose soars and becomes almost poetic.  Almost.

Edward the Second

Edward the Second

By Christopher Marlowe

Edited by Mathew R. Martin

Broadview Editions, 2010

ISBN: 9781551119106

This excellent edition of Marlowe’s incendiary play is based on the quarto published in 1594, a year or so after the playwright’s death.

Besides the text of the play itself, extensively annotated by Mathew R. Martin, there are a number of appendices, focusing on such topics as the office of king, the law relating to sodomy, friendship (or ‘amity’, a pretty word) between men, and Marlowe’s historical sources.

What’s extraordinary about the play is that it is quite clearly – explicitly and unapologetically – about what we’d now call a gay relationship between two men, Edward and his favourite or minion (a recurring word throughout), Gaveston.  In the very first scene, for example, Gaveston is excited to return to the capital:

The sight of London to my exiled eyes

Is as Elysium to a new come soul.  1:10-11

Why?  Only because:

…it harbours him I hold so dear,

 The king, upon whose bosom let me die…  1:14-15

To die means, of course, to come: he can’t wait to get it on.  And there’s a robust defence of the legitimacy of love between men somewhat later in the play (Scene 4, lines 390-400), which is not exactly what you would expect to see in a play first performed in sixteenth century England.  But Marlowe, famously, was of the opinion ‘that all they that love not tobacco and boys were fools.’

Edward’s boyfriend is despised by the barons, since Gaveston is not only queer and a rival and a beguiling influence on the king; he is also of low birth and therefore base.  And in time their rancour escalates into an all-out civil war.  There’s a lot of violent action, dastardly intrigue and sinister incident; and there’s a malice, a diabolical glee almost, to much of Marlowe’s language too.  It’s like a gangster film, only when guys are whacked – whether a baron or one of the king’s men – they’re beheaded too.  It’s The Sopranos, medieval style (Edward the Second ruled from 1307-1327).

The editor writes that Edward the Second influenced Shakespeare’s history plays (and in particular Richard the Second) and there is clearly a kinship to Macbeth too.  Not least in the character of Lightborn (compare with Seyton in the Scottish play) and the bathetic manner in which the deaths of Edward and Lady Macduff are treated: the grandeur of those about to die, the pettiness of their respective murderers.  The body count’s comparable as well.

I saw Edward the Second at the Royal Exchange in September (here’s that review) and this fine edition of the play, ably edited and prepared by Mathew R. Martin, confirms me in my conviction of its greatness.

The publisher’s description of Edward the Second can be read here.

Amedei Milk Chocolate filled with Croccantino

Amedei Milk Chocolate filled with Croccantino

Cocoa about 32%

45g

Amedei have the reputation of making the finest chocolate in the world, ‘from bean to bar’, as they say.

I begin my brief but no doubt delight-strewn dalliance with their products by sampling a bar close to the English experience, good old milk chocolate paired with croccantino.   There are a mere four cubes of chocolate here, at a price that could buy you two large bars from Cadbury’s or the like.  It is precious and pricey and so had better be good…

Perhaps because of the price I expected something showy or spectacular.  This was, instead, familiar but smooth and satisfying nonetheless.  Clearly of high quality and the ingredients, the high cocoa quotient especially, tells you that too.

‘What is croccantino?’ you may well ask.

Why, it’s a filling made from cocoa butter, cane sugar and minute yet still crunchy (so I’m guessing, roasted) flakes of almond and hazelnut.  Overall, the effect is delightful – and, yes, it does melt in your mouth.

I enjoyed most of this excellent chocolate bar while watching the musicals Meet Me in St. Louis and White Christmas.  It was the icing on the cake.

Amedei chocolate is avalable in the UK through King’s Fine Food and further details of this particular product can be found here.

The Steampunk Bible

The Steampunk Bible: An Illustrated Guide to the World of Imaginary Airships, Corsets and Goggles, Mad Scientists, and Strange Literature

By Jeff VanderMeer and S. J. Chambers

Abrams, May 2011

ISBN: 9780810989580

This richly illustrated book provides a comprehensive guide to all things Steampunk.

It covers pretty much everything: literature, comics, fashion and cosplay (dressing up), crafts, music, art and even lifestyle.  The term itself (clearly derived from Cyberpunk) was coined in the late ‘80s by the writer K.W. Jeter, whose novels Morlock Night and Infernal Devices were key in defining the genre.  As a literary genre, you could describe it as science-fiction that is set in the (or an imagined/alternative) Victorian Age, perhaps the Edwardian Age.  Curiously, then, it has the characteristic of being both retro and futuristic.  And you could see Steampunk literature as building on the work of such writers as Jules Verne, H.G. Wells and, to a lesser extent, Poe and Conan Doyle.

Somehow the Steampunk aesthetic, whether it be a fondness for clockwork devices or an interest in dressing up in cravats and corsets, has extended to other areas of culture too - and the authors cover these also.  They even compare Steampunk to Surrealism at one point, which strikes me as absurd: Surrealism was much more radical, an hard-edged beast.  That Rimbaud/Marx conflation and all it implied.

A lot of the book reads like features journalism.  There are clichés – talk of ‘the major players’ and that other one, ‘the movers and shakers’ at one point - and it’s not overly critical, to put it mildly.  When reading one of a number of what seemed to be promotional pieces (e.g. the list of ten Steampunk bands that I really must check out), Robert Silverberg’s wise counsel came to mind: 80% of everything is crap.  There were, however, two contributions that I found to be especially thought-provioking.  Bruce Sterling, co-author with William Gibson of the seminal Steampunk (as we should now call it) novel The Difference Engine, made the cogent point that a focus on the past speaks of an unease with the present.  Our current way of life is unsustainable – economically, environmentally and in other ways too – according to Sterling.  And Catherynne M. Valente’s paean to punk and the quotidian grittiness of Victorian life was pretty fantastic too.  Here’s a sampler from her piece:

Get punk or go home – and think, for just a precious second, about what punk means, the rage and iconoclasm and desperation, the nihilism and unsentimental ecstasy of punk rock.  I’ve heard the punk suffix mocked soundly by everyone I know – but we should be so lucky as to live up to it.  (61)

If you’re intrigued by Steampunk, I would definitely recommend this book: it’s well designed and the illustrations are gorgeous to look at.  Where the book falls down, as indicated, is in its sometimes fan-boy style, its concern not to offend.  More attitude and opinion (as exhibited by Valente) would have been welcome.  Oh, and to mention John Ruskin in relation to arts and crafts but to omit all consideration of William Morris is not only ignorant, it’s virtually a criminal act.  That’s just not on.

 The Steampunk Bible has a website and the publisher’s description of the book can be read here.

Some Steampunk Splendors

Here, in no particular order, are some seven or eight Steampunk Splendors:

• The Great Elephant of the Machines de l’île
• Miss Emily Ladybird’s Jewellery
• Datamancer’s Steampunk Laptop
• Miss Rosie Bitts, Burlesque Artiste
• Ramona Szczerba’s collages
• Vladimir Gvozdev’s Vengeance Weapons
• John Coulthart’s book covers and illustrations
• Keith Thompson’s artwork

I find Ramona Szczerba’s work in particular to be absolutely marvellous, and ridiculously cheap to purchase.

 

Glorious Nemesis

Glorious Nemesis

By Ladislav Klima

Translated from the Czech by Marek Tomin

Artwork by Pavel Rut

Twisted Spoon Press, November 2011

ISBN: 9788086264394

Quite an unusual work of fiction, this is nonetheless a curiously compelling read.

Ladislav Klima (1878-1928) himself led a strange existence, and in his purely philosophical works he apparently espoused a form of solipsism.  He also held that human beings could, through a process which he called deoessence, attain a realisation of their own innate divinity.  On my admittedly limited understanding of Klima’s thought, deoessence as a spiritual undertaking is akin to Jung’s process of individuation and surely has the same attendant perils.

This novella, which was published four years after the author’s death, incorporates many of Klima’s metaphysical notions.  In it Sider, a man in the prime of life, is drawn towards Cortona, an Alpine town.  Once there he is in raptures, tripping on the place, falling about in ecstasy, and the boundary between reality and his own state of mind becomes decidedly blurry.  His business affairs lead him to leave Cortona but a return visit is soon on the cards.  It is disenchanting the second time around, though.  But here he meets, or rather he unsuccessfully pursues, two women, Orea and Errata.  They, and Orea in particular, will determine his fate.

The volatile furnace of the work lies in Sider’s frantic emotion, his extreme responses and desperate insights.  It’s one of those stories where romantic love – the attempt to possess a mysterious, ethereal woman – metamorphoses into a kind of spiritual quest.  Yet a quest that looks dysfunctional from the outside and is not dissimilar, perhaps, to a descent into psychosis.  Roberto Assagioli has noted that a psychotic is, in a sense, a failed mystic; someone who has been unable to integrate his transcendental insights into a coherent worldview.  To bring it all back home.  So you could view Klima’s protagonist here.  For Sider, Orea becomes a benevolent enemy, a ‘glorious nemesis’, someone who makes him whole.  Complete.  Which is not to say that he escapes scot-free.

There are many striking passages in Glorious Nemesis and not a few obtuse reflections on the human condition.  If a comparison is needed, I’d say that Klima, in Marek Tomin’s smooth translation, reminds me of Poe most of all.  It should be said also that Pavel Rut’s evocative illustrations enhance the sometimes enigmatic text.  One of Klima’s admirers was the late, great Václav Havel.  And I too would like to add my humble shilling’s worth of admiration to the kitty.

The publisher’s description of the book can be read here.

Meet Me in St. Louis

Meet Me in St. Louis

Directed by Vincente Minnelli

USA, 1944

Cornerhouse, 17 December 2011

Set in old St. Louis, which is to say in the 1900s, this is a charming musical.

Judy Garland singing, ‘Have yourself a merry little Christmas…’  is rather fine, so too the entertaining shenanigans of her little sister.  This is a girl who, as a for instance, buries her dead (sic) dolls in the local cemetery.

Although nothing really spectacular or dramatic happens (and there are none of the elaborate set pieces that are to be found in Vincente Minnelli’s later An American in Paris), it is somehow very moving and sweet.

When a girl asks you to help her turn the lights out in her house that means she likes you.  That’s one thing I learnt and took away from the film, anyway.

 Meet Me in St. Louis is a fine musical and is playing as part of Cornerhouse’s Festive Favourites season all this week, details here.

Dreams of a Life

Dreams of a Life

 Directed by Carol Morley

UK, 2011

Cornerhouse, 18 December 2011

That a woman can die alone in her flat in contemporary Britain and lie undiscovered for three years is shocking.

But that is what happened with Joyce Vincent, a woman whose life is the subject of Carol Morley’s documentary.  The film looks into the circumstances of Joyce Vincent’s death, and how she came to be so very isolated.  There is testimony from people who knew her, once.  Some were lovers, some were her friends.

She was a young woman still, when she died alone.

It is a harrowing and haunting documentary.

White Christmas

White Christmas

Directed by Michael Curtiz

USA, 1954

Cornerhouse, 17 December 2011

All musicals are strange, silly beasts.

Here’s another case in point, a glitzy, glamorous film whose main message is that senior soldiers are undervalued and tardily treated when they return to civilian life.

There are plenty of pluses: Berlin’s songs and Crosby’s singing (Clooney’s too), Kaye’s humour and goofy horseplay, Vera-Ellen’s high-kicking dance moves.  And there are an awful lot of beautiful women, possessing twice as many beautiful legs.  Do the math, it adds up.

The glamour is often overpowering, but the absurdity is never entirely absent either.  Just why is there such a large stage in a small hotel in Vermont?  Indeed, how come there are often more people on stage than sat at the tables watching the show?  It has a fragile, precious plausibility but the set-pieces are spectacular.  There’s absolutely no denying that.

We do under-appreciate and undervalue older people even now, mind.  The film’s right on that score.

White Christmas is playing as part of Cornerhouse’s Festive Favourites season all this week, details here.

Wreckers

Wreckers

 Directed by D.R. Hood

UK, 2011

Cornerhouse, 16 December 2011

This is one of those nasty little English films, an excoriating study of a family and their secrets.

David (Benedict Cumberbatch) returns with a new bride Dawn (played by Claire Foy) to his home village; they aim to do up a house and start a family.  Soon, though, they are joined by David’s younger brother Nick (Shaun Evans) and fractures begin to appear in their relationship.  Nick is a soldier, apparently on leave from service in Iraq.  He’s damaged goods.

The film’s claustrophobic atmosphere put me in mind of Joanna Hogg’s Archipelago, though here the internecine violence is not quite as subtle and restrained.

Now right there you have the difference between your lower middle class and your upper middle class.

It’s a compelling film, though there are some unpleasantnesses in it.