James Ellroy - LA Noir : Loyd Hopkins Trilogy

I bought the Lloyd Hopkins trilogy, and of the three novels, the first one appealed to me the most. Not because I particularly enjoy novels about serial killers, but simply because I think it is better than the other two. It does take a little while to get going, though. Considering that this is straight-ahead Ellroy, from before he began his stylistic transformations with the L.A. Quartet, that didn't bother me too much. Serial-killer novels have become something of a cliché these days, but Ellroy delivers a decent crime story here. The 1988 film adaptation, Cop, is also worth watching. It's rather strange that Ellroy once said that Blood on the Moon was the only novel he regretted publishing.

The second novel, Because the Night, is less interesting. It revolves around a deranged psychiatrist named Havilland, who uses his patients to act out his darkest impulses. The novel employs a structure in which one chapter follows Hopkins and the next follows Havilland. This creates a certain frustration, since we already know that Havilland is a criminal, while Hopkins remains unaware of it.

The third novel, Suicide Hill, gets off to a solid start, telling the story of three bank robbers, one of whom is the central character. There is plenty of action throughout the book: policemen getting killed, escapes and plenty of violence. But perhaps because of its length — something I would also criticize in the previous two novels — the story eventually becomes exhausting and starts to resemble certain parts of the L.A. Quartet.

All in all, it's a solid trilogy. All three novels use an omniscient narrative perspective, which makes it interesting to follow Ellroy's development through his earlier work.

Bruno Fischer - The Lady Kills

 

I had high expectations for The Lady Kills, especially considering that Bruno Fischer was one of the authors who wrote for Gold Medal during the 1950s. Unfortunately, the novel turned out to be a rather clichéd story, and not particularly well written.

A newspaper reporter meets Betty, the daughter of his employer, and immediately falls in love with her. Soon afterwards, a murder takes place: Betty shoots the drunken father of a poor family with a rifle. The reporter and Betty quickly become lovers, but he eventually discovers that she is also involved with the assistant of the local crime boss. One night, she calls the reporter to her house, where he discovers that she has killed the man with a knife in what appears to be self-defence. He helps her dispose of the body by putting it in a car and dumping it in the woods.

Despite discovering her infidelity, the reporter remains attached to Betty, at least until she becomes involved with the local crime boss himself. He eventually quits his job and leaves town. Two months later, however, the newspaper's owner, who is suffering from cancer, calls him back and offers him the position of editor. He accepts, but Betty wants him to leave the newspaper so that she can take over. When he refuses, some criminals beat him up.

Eventually, the reporter marries Nelly, the young woman from the poor family who had previously worked as Betty's cleaner. Another murder follows, this time that of the local crime boss. Betty is initially suspected, but the real killer turns out to be Nelly's brother, who had also been having an affair with Betty and shot the man out of jealousy. The police arrive, and the story comes to an end.

What really undermines the novel is its happy ending. The reporter and Nelly ride off together into the sunset, a conclusion that feels completely out of place in a noir novel. The writing itself is also disappointing, sometimes bordering on soft porn, with several scenes described in rather explicit detail. Overall, The Lady Kills is a missed opportunity: it has the ingredients for a decent pulp noir story, but the clichéd plot, awkward writing and sentimental ending make it a disappointing read.

Jim Thompson - A Swell-Looking Babe

Of all the Jim Thompson novels I've read so far, A Swell-Looking Babe is the one I've enjoyed the most.

Written from an omniscient point of view, the novel takes us into the world of a young man named Dusty, who seems to be wasting his life working the night shift as a bellboy in a hotel. He has a boss who despises him and a senile father he has to support, while still hoping to finish his studies and become a doctor.

Everything begins to change when he meets Marcia Hillis, a woman renting an apartment at the hotel. She appears to be flirting with him, but Dusty remains cautious because relationships between hotel employees and guests are strictly forbidden.

Then a gangster named Tug and his associates enter the picture. Together with Dusty, they come up with a plan to rob the hotel. Needless to say, things don't go quite as planned.

The novel also features Kosmeyer, the lawyer who appears in several of Thompson's books.

The plot itself is perhaps less important than the novel's dense atmosphere, which constantly evokes old film noir movies: the endless night, the sense of doom and an almost Lynchian atmosphere of unease and strangeness. It's this oppressive atmosphere, more than anything else, that makes A Swell-Looking Babe such a memorable read for me.

Vintage Crime/Black Lizard edition is nicely packed with a gorgeous photograph on front cover.

Ed McBain - Like Love

Ed McBain wrote roughly one novel a year, which might lead some readers to dismiss him as a hack writer. Yet what sets him apart from the average crime novelist is his distinctive style, carefully constructed plots, and convincing portrayal of police work.

At the beginning of each novel, McBain includes a disclaimer stating that the place, characters, and events are fictional, while the police procedures are real. This brief statement reflects one of the the defining characteristics of the 87th Precinct series: its attention to the everyday workings of a police station and the routines of detectives investigating a case.

In Like Love, a young man and a woman apparently die by suicide after inhaling gas. However, the detectives are not convinced that the case is as straightforward as it first appears. Steve Carella, Cotton Hawes, Meyer Meyer, and Bert Kling begin questioning the woman's husband, her mother, the young man's brother, and other people connected to the victims.

As the investigation unfolds, McBain demonstrates his ability to turn a seemingly ordinary case into an engaging police procedural, built around interviews, evidence, and the gradual reconstruction of events. There is nothing particularly revolutionary about the premise, but the strength of the novel lies in its execution.

Like Love is classic McBain at the height of his powers: economical, well constructed, and grounded in the convincing routines of police work. Another solid entry in the 87th Precinct series.

Scarface - Armitage Trail

Many people who adore Brian De Palma’s Scarface (1983) may not know that it is a remake of the 1932 film of the same name, which was itself based on Armitage Trail’s novel Scarface. Having now read the book, I can understand why it has largely fallen into obscurity.

As a gangster novel, Scarface fails to deliver what one might expect from the genre. There is very little tension; everything feels like a flatline. Tony Camonte slowly but steadily climbs to the top, eliminating his rivals and expanding his territory, but the narrative rarely generates much suspense along the way.

Things take a personal turn when Tony discovers his sister making out with his closest henchman. In a fit of cold-blooded violence, he kills the man, an act that eventually lands him in court. Fortunately for Tony, his lawyers get him off the hook, and he is soon back on the streets.

His downfall begins when his girlfriend betrays him and sends him on a false lead. Expecting to confront his enemies, Tony instead walks into a police ambush. The ensuing shootout wipes out his henchmen, too. Climbing out of the wrecked car, Tony finds himself facing his own brother, a police officer. Unable to pull the trigger on his brother, Tony allows him to kill him, bringing his reign of glory to an end.

Scarface is worth reading once, if only to see the literary source behind one of the most famous gangster films ever made. Unfortunately, Trail lacks the narrative skill needed to build suspense and give the story real dramatic momentum. The result is a historically interesting but rather flat and naive gangster novel — one that, for me, does not invite a second reading.

Little is known of the author itself, who died at a young age.

Jorge Luis Borges – Dreams, Labyrinths and Knives

Borges’s fiction feels like a journey through a dream world where reality and imagination constantly overlap. His stories are filled with labyrinths, infinite libraries, imaginary books and mysterious worlds that seem to contain endless possibilities. Time becomes circular, identities blur, and the boundary between dreams and reality disappears.

Yet Borges was also fascinated by a very different world: the rough streets of Buenos Aires, where men settle their differences in knife fights. These stories draw on Argentine history, gaucho traditions and the mythology of the compadrito, turning violence and duels into tales of fate, courage and inevitable death.

Whether exploring an infinite library or a deadly encounter in a Buenos Aires alley, Borges transforms seemingly simple ideas into strange, haunting and unforgettable stories.

Craig Rice - The Corpse Steps Out

Another John J. Malone mystery, The Corpse Steps Out revolves around a missing body and a group of radio personalities who investigate the murder of a radio station employee, each approaching the case in their own way. More murders follow, adding to the mystery, while Rice’s characteristic humor remains present throughout.

However, the novel’s tone feels somewhat monotonous, and the story lacks the liveliness and comic energy of The Big Midget Murders. Although there are amusing moments, the narrative never quite reaches the same level of entertainment.

Still, The Corpse Steps Out is a solid mystery and a pleasant choice for a couple of evenings of reading, even if it is not among the strongest entries in the John J. Malone series.

Cover artwork is nicely done and book have that antiquarian feeling.

Leonardo Cassuto - Hard-Boiled Sentimentality

The premise of Leonardo Cassuto’s Hard-Boiled Sentimentalism is intriguing, exploring the sentimental dimension of a genre usually associated with cynicism, violence, and emotional detachment. However, the book gradually becomes monotonous as it moves through numerous examples, from Raymond Chandler to Travis McGee. For readers already familiar with hard-boiled fiction, much of the material may feel repetitive, and the initial interest of the subject begins to wear off. The idea is worthwhile, but the discussion could have benefited from a more concise approach.

Harry Stephen Keeler - The Sharkskin Book

The Sharkskin Book is a typical Harry Stephen Keeler novel. The story opens with an attempt to extort a confession from a man accused of murdering a certain Pedelton, using torture to force him to admit his guilt. However, the narrative soon jumps to another subject, revolving around a mysterious book called The Way Out, a collection of Chinese wisdom. As expected, Keeler eventually delivers one of his characteristic twists: the accused man clears himself of the murder and ends up marrying the judge’s daughter.

Although the novel is not among Keeler’s strongest works, the Ramble House edition is beautifully produced. It is hand made by Fender Tucker and features a lovely illustration by Gavin O’Keefe. For Keeler collectors, the appeal of this edition extends beyond the novel itself.

Edward Bunker - No Beast So Fierce

Many years ago I watched Straight Time (1978), starring Dustin Hoffman, but until recently I had no idea that the film was based on Edward Bunker’s novel No Beast So Fierce.

The novel is quite different from the film. For example, the relationship between Max and the woman who interviews him for a job develops into a romance in the film, while nothing similar happens in the novel. The film also feels much more concentrated, while the novel spends considerably more time on Max’s life and his criminal milieu.

One of the few moments that immediately reminded me of the film is when Max, overwhelmed by anger, attacks his parole officer. This becomes an important turning point, as Max returns to his old criminal life.

I found the novel somewhat too long. At around 300 pages, I think the story could easily have been shortened by about 100 pages. Bunker is clearly interested in the everyday life of a former convict and the criminal world around him, but for me this sometimes makes the novel feel more episodic than a conventional crime novel.

Having seen Straight Time first, I was probably expecting something closer to the film’s more concentrated dramatic structure. No Beast So Fierce is a much more expansive portrait of a man who cannot escape his criminal past.

Harry Stephen Keeler - Sing Sing Nights

Harry Stephen Keeler's Sing Sing Nights is one of his most unusual books. The premise is highly implausible, yet it perfectly reflects Keeler's boundless imagination. Three men have been sentenced to death for murder, but only one of them is actually innocent. In an effort to prove his innocence, the prisoners decide to tell three stories to the night guard. It is an unlikely narrative framework, but once the reader accepts it, the novel unfolds as three almost self-contained novellas.

The first story is by far the strongest. It revolves around the theft of an expensive necklace belonging to a wealthy young woman during a masquerade ball. This is the closest the book comes to a conventional detective story, and its mystery is both entertaining and well-paced.

The second tale is somewhat weaker but still intriguing. A newspaper reporter is assigned to interview a Chinese princess who is travelling through the United States. Like many of Keeler's works, it relies on exotic settings and unlikely coincidences, elements that fascinated the author throughout his career.

The third story is, in my opinion, the weakest. A man is horribly injured in an accident at a circus. At the same time, a monkey involved in the same accident suffers irreversible brain damage. An eccentric group of doctors performs a bizarre operation, transplanting the healthy human brain into the monkey's body. Unable to accept life as an intelligent ape and realizing that he has no future in the outside world, the protagonist agrees to work for the circus. Eventually, another extraordinary operation takes place: the scientist transplants his brain once again, this time into the healthy body of a dead nobleman who had stolen his fiancée. When the protagonist awakens, he discovers that he has regained a human body—and, with it, his lost love.

This final story abandons detective fiction almost entirely in favor of grotesque science fiction. While imaginative, it stretches credibility far beyond the limits established by the earlier stories and is the least satisfying of the three.

The framing narrative involving the three condemned prisoners is also somewhat disappointing. Keeler never fully resolves it in a convincing way, leaving the ending feeling abrupt and rather unclear. This is characteristic of his fiction in general: his greatest strength lies in his inexhaustible imagination and unpredictable plotting, while psychological depth, realistic characterization, and tightly constructed endings are often secondary.

Sing Sing Nights is therefore an uneven but fascinating novel. It showcases both Keeler's greatest virtues and his most obvious flaws. Readers looking for a conventional detective novel may be frustrated, but those willing to follow Keeler's eccentric imagination will find a work unlike almost anything else in Golden Age crime fiction.

June Thomson - To Make A Killing

I came across To Make a Killing while exploring H. R. F. Keating's list of the 100 best crime novels. Although June Thomson is best known for her Inspector Finch series, this novel seems to have slipped into relative obscurity today.

The story is a traditional English mystery set in the art world. An elderly, infirm painter and his devoted wife become the center of attention when an art gallery owner discovers his work and proposes an exhibition. Before long, however, murder shatters the quiet atmosphere and Inspector Finch is called in to investigate.

The build-up to the first murder requires a bit of patience, but once the investigation begins the novel settles into a satisfying rhythm. Rather than relying on sensational twists or a series of increasingly dramatic murders, Thomson develops the case through careful police work, with Finch following one clue after another until the full picture gradually emerges.

The artistic setting gives the novel an identity of its own, distinguishing it from many country-house mysteries. Inspector Finch may not possess the flamboyance of Lord Peter Wimsey or Hercule Poirot, but his methodical approach makes him an engaging detective in his own right.

The characters are convincing and believable, and what begins as a murder mystery gradually reveals itself to be a humane story about obsession, tragic love, and loss. That emotional depth elevates the novel beyond a conventional detective story.

To Make a Killing may not be widely discussed today, but it is a well-crafted traditional detective novel and it is easy to see why H. R. F. Keating included it among his hundred favourite crime novels.

J. G. Ballard – Prophet of the 21st Century

J. G. Ballard was a writer who, throughout his career, produced a large number of novels, but also many short stories that perhaps best represent his unique literary world. It is a world of abandoned landscapes, surreal environments and a civilization confronting the consequences of its own development.

In Ballard’s fiction, catastrophe is often not merely an external event. It becomes a mirror of the human psyche. His post-apocalyptic and dystopian landscapes are not only places of destruction, but spaces where humanity discovers its hidden fears, obsessions and inner emptiness.

In stories such as “The Terminal Beach,” “The Drowned Giant” and “The Subliminal Man,” Ballard creates an atmosphere that is both cold and fascinating. His worlds appear as visions of the future, yet at the same time they reflect the problems of the present.

One of the central themes of Ballard’s work is entropy – the idea of the gradual decay of order into chaos. His landscapes often appear as places where civilization has reached its final stage: abandoned beaches, deserts, concrete structures and remnants of a technological world that no longer serve their original purpose.

In Ballard’s fiction, entropy is not only a physical process but also a psychological condition. His characters often inhabit worlds where external decay is mirrored by the internal collapse of their identity and their perception of reality. For Ballard, catastrophe is not always a sudden event, but rather a slow state of deterioration in which humanity is forced to confront its own isolation.

In “The Terminal Beach,” the abandoned nuclear testing ground becomes a symbol of a world after the end – a place where only traces of human ambition and destruction remain. In “The Drowned Giant,” even an extraordinary miracle gradually loses its significance and becomes an ordinary object, showing how everything, under the influence of time, moves from the extraordinary into oblivion.

The Forgotten Pleasure of the Smell of Books

One of the pleasures of collecting old books has nothing to do with the words printed on their pages. Long before reading the first sentence, there is another experience that cannot be reproduced by an e-book or even by many modern paperbacks: the smell of the book itself.

Anyone who collects vintage crime paperbacks knows this feeling. Open a well-preserved Pocket Books, Pan or Penguin edition from the 1940s or 1950s and you are greeted by a distinctive aroma produced by aging paper, ink and glue. It is difficult to describe precisely, but it immediately evokes second-hand bookshops, private libraries and decades of reading history.

Smell has a unique ability to awaken memory. A familiar scent can instantly bring back places, people or moments that seemed long forgotten. Old books work in much the same way. Their distinctive aroma often reminds us of the first time we discovered a favourite author, afternoons spent browsing bookshops, or the excitement of finding a long-sought edition.

Of course, the value of a book lies in its contents rather than its smell. Yet the physical object is also part of the reading experience. The worn covers, yellowed pages and characteristic scent remind us that these books have survived generations of readers. They have travelled through time before reaching our shelves.

For collectors of vintage crime fiction, this is part of the charm. Reading an old paperback by writers such as James M. Cain, Lionel White or Patricia Highsmith in its original or early edition is a different experience from reading a modern reprint. The story may be identical, but the object itself carries a history that enhances the pleasure of reading.

British Crime Cinema -ed. Steve Chibnall & Robert Murphy

I expected British Crime Cinema to be a broad survey of British crime films, covering detective stories, police procedurals, psychological thrillers, film noir and gangster films alike. Instead, the book is much more narrowly focused on the British gangster tradition, an area of the genre with which I am less familiar. Apart from films such as Get Carter and Villain, many of the titles discussed were completely new to me.

Despite this initial disappointment, the collection contains several excellent essays. Particularly interesting is the chapter on the controversy surrounding the 1948 adaptation of No Orchids for Miss Blandish, which explores why the film was condemned as both "un-British" and excessively shocking, while also placing the novel within a wider cultural and mythological context. The essay on Get Carter is another highlight, offering fresh insights into one of the defining British crime films.

Although the volume did not match my expectations, it introduced me to a number of films I now want to explore. Readers looking for a comprehensive history of British crime cinema should be aware of its strong emphasis on gangster films, but those interested in that particular tradition will find much to enjoy.

Jim Thompson - The Nothing Man

Convincingly wrapped in the conventions of a crime novel, Nothing Man is one of Jim Thompson's most unsettling and personal works. Robert Polito, in his excellent biography Savage Art, argues that this is perhaps Thompson's most autobiographical novel, drawing heavily on his own experiences as a newspaper reporter.

The protagonist, Clinton Brown, returns from the war physically and psychologically scarred and finds employment as a reporter for a daily newspaper. His closest acquaintance is the police detective Stuckey, while alcohol becomes his constant companion. When Brown's ex-wife unexpectedly reappears, a chain of increasingly disturbing events begins to unfold.

Thompson tells the story in his trademark deadpan style, combining shocking violence with dark, almost absurd humor. The novel's greatest strength, however, lies not in its crimes but in its portrayal of an unreliable narrator whose fractured perception of reality constantly leaves the reader questioning what is true and what exists only inside Brown's disturbed mind.

Brown's descent into violence is presented with Thompson's characteristic deadpan irony. After killing his ex-wife during a drunken confrontation, he begins to repeat the same disturbing pattern with other women in his life, leaving behind poems as a bizarre signature. A journalist who loves him becomes another victim, as does an editor who offers to publish his poetry under humiliating conditions. These episodes are not merely crime set pieces; they reveal the mind of a deeply unreliable narrator who transforms his own brutality into a distorted personal mythology.

There are also moments of bleak comedy, such as Brown's disastrous dinner with his editor that ends with severe food poisoning and a stay in hospital, reminding us that Thompson could mix horror and humor with remarkable ease.

Part psychological noir, part existential nightmare, Nothing Man is less concerned with solving crimes than with exploring guilt, alienation, and self-deception. It stands among the strongest novels Thompson wrote and deserves to be mentioned alongside The Killer Inside Me and Pop. 1280 as one of his finest achievements.

James Hadley Chase - No Orchids For Miss Blandish

Although James Hadley Chase can be described as a hack writer, his thrillers are always entertaining and highly readable, even if they are not particularly literary. He occupies an important place in the history of crime fiction thanks to his violent debut novel, No Orchids for Miss Blandish.

Set in an American world of Prohibition-era gangsters, the novel follows the kidnapping of the wealthy Miss Blandish by the ruthless Grissom gang. The story develops effectively, although I think Chase could have benefited from trimming some of the narrative.

What elevates the novel above many conventional crime thrillers is the disturbing relationship between the victim and her psychotic captor, Slim Grissom. Chase explores the lasting psychological trauma suffered by Miss Blandish, creating a far darker and more unsettling novel than its pulp reputation might suggest.

The novel was influential enough to inspire George Orwell's famous essay Raffles and Miss Blandish, in which he examined the changing nature of popular crime fiction. It was also adapted into the underrated 1971 gangster film The Grissom Gang, which is well worth seeking out.

Bruin Crimeworks did a fine, evocative cover artwork for this edition.

Charles Willeford - The Burnt Orange Heresy

Charles Willeford’s The Burnt Orange Heresy revolves around James Figueras, an art historian and critic who becomes obsessed with the greatest painter in the world, Jacques Debierue, an eccentric artist who lives in isolation. Through Debierue’s lawyer, Figueras discovers that the painter has moved to Florida under a false name, and he is offered the opportunity to interview him — but only on the condition that he steals one of Debierue’s paintings.

From that moment, things begin to unravel. Debierue is a strange and mysterious figure, a quiet man who reveals very little about himself during the interview. After dinner, the painter decides that he wants to watch a movie at a drive-in theater, so Figueras drives him and his girlfriend there. While Debierue watches the film, Figueras breaks into the house searching for the painting. Unable to find it, he starts a fire and decides to create a fake painting that will be presented as a work by Debierue.

However, his girlfriend discovers what he has done, and in a moment of panic and desperation, Figueras violently attacks her and kills her. Despite achieving success and recognition as an art critic, he eventually goes to the police and confesses the crime.

An unusual novel about the world of art and the price people are willing to pay for success, The Burnt Orange Heresy is a dark satire of ambition, deception, and the desire for fame. The novel reminded me of two other works about the art world: George Sims’s The Last Best Friend, which has a more convincing setting because Sims himself was an art dealer, and Thomas Bernhard’s Old Masters, a darkly humorous satire of art and the cultural establishment.

Although Willeford’s novel is not a realistic portrait of the art world in the same way as Sims’s work, its strange atmosphere and cynical view of ambition make it a fascinating and unusual crime novel.

Italian Crime Fiction - ed. Guliana Pieri

This collection of essays on Italian crime fiction is a welcome breath of fresh air after so much Anglo-American detective fiction. When the publishing house Mondadori began introducing English and American detective novels through its famous Giallo series, many Italian intellectuals looked down on the genre as little more than popular entertainment. Italian writers soon began producing their own crime novels, although most of the early works were largely imitations of their foreign counterparts.

Everything changed with Giorgio Scerbanenco and his four Milan novels featuring Dr. Duca Lamberti. Unfortunately, many Italian crime novels have yet to be translated into English. Scerbanenco transformed Milan into the quintessential noir city of Italian crime fiction while confronting the country's shameful Fascist past and its lingering social consequences.

For many years, crime fiction continued to be regarded with suspicion by Italy's literary establishment until several major mainstream writers embraced the genre. These included Umberto Eco with The Name of the Rose, Leonardo Sciascia with The Day of the Owl, Carlo Emilio Gadda with That Awful Mess on Via Merulana, and Antonio Tabucchi with The Missing Head of Damasceno Monteiro.

The 1980s saw the emergence of the so-called Bologna School, represented by writers such as Loriano Macchiavelli and Carlo Lucarelli, whose novels explored corruption and political tensions in Bologna. A separate chapter is devoted to Andrea Camilleri, whose Inspector Montalbano series and evocative Sicilian setting made him one of Italy's most successful crime writers.

Overall, this is an informative and engaging volume that traces the development of Italian crime fiction from the beginning of the twentieth century to the present day. It is highly recommended to anyone interested in exploring one of the richest and most distinctive traditions in European crime fiction.

Lionel White - The Snatchers/Clean Break (The Killing)

I have already written about Lionel White and his crime-caper novels, and this Stark House double-bill edition, featuring an excellent introduction by Rick Ollerman, is a very worthwhile volume. The Snatchers, White’s debut novel, foreshadows the formula he would perfect in his later work. Although the story of the kidnapping of a young child has a few shortcomings, it remains engaging, particularly because of the memorable seaside hideout. The novel was later adapted into the film Night of the Following Day, starring Marlon Brando. The second novel in this volume, Clean Break, is even stronger. Reading it, I was frequently reminded of Kubrick’s adaptation, The Killing, although the novel possesses a somewhat different tone and pace, as well as several significant scenes and plot details that were omitted from the film. All in all, this is a very enjoyable summer read.

Film Noir Reader -ed. Alain Silver & James Ursini

Film noir remains an inexhaustible subject for study and rediscovery, as demonstrated by the first volume of the four-part Film Noir Reader, edited by Alain Silver and James Ursini. The book is divided into three sections and contains a number of engaging essays that reveal the evolution of critical thought on noir from the 1970s through the 1990s. Among my favorites are Paul Schrader’s celebrated “Notes on Film Noir,” Paul Kerr’s “Out of What Past? Notes on the B Film Noir,” Tony Williams’s “Phantom Lady, Cornell Woolrich and the Masochistic Aesthetic,” which discusses one of my favorite writers and his screen adaptations, Alain Silver and James Ursini’s “John Farrow: Anonymous Noir,” devoted in part to The Big Clock and my personal favorite, Night Has a Thousand Eyes, Robert E. Smith’s “Mann in the Dark: The Film Noirs of Anthony Mann,” and the essay on neo-noir, “Kill Me Again: Movement Becomes Genre.” Together these pieces show why film noir continues to inspire fresh interpretations and passionate debate. Something I would criticize is thick font and low quality reproductions of stills.

Nightfall (1956)

Jacques Tourneur, renowned for films such as Cat People and Out of the Past, crafted this small noir gem from David Goodis’s novel of the same name. Although the novel is set in summer, Tourneur transferred the action to a wintry landscape without sacrificing the unmistakable Goodis spirit, which he captures brilliantly through his assured direction. Aldo Ray is excellent as a man ensnared by a chain of unfortunate circumstances, though his ruggedly masculine presence differs somewhat from the protagonists one usually encounters in Goodis’s fiction. The criminals pursuing him are memorable, and Anne Bancroft is equally impressive as his companion, bringing warmth and charm to the role.