I was away last week when the news of Elmore Leonard’s death broke. Desperately sad news it was, too. I’ve been fan of Elmore Leonard’s for about two decades now (he’s the only writer who gets an entire shelf to himself in my room), and it felt like I’d lost a favourite uncle, the guy you don’t see that often but who turns up maybe once a year with all these terrific stories about the people he’s met and the places he’s seen. It’s still a little hard to believe that he’s gone, to be honest. I was supposed to interview him last year, before the Cleveland Bouchercon, but personal circumstance got in the way and I didn’t get to make the trip. Some things just aren’t mean to happen, I suppose.
Anyway, I’d just like to add my voice to all those acclaiming Elmore Leonard as one of the greats. The first book of his I read was FREAKY DEAKY, and I’ve read pretty much all of his crime novels since. I’m partial to GET SHORTY, OUT OF SIGHT, THE BIG BOUNCE, THE SWITCH and 52 PICK-UP, although for some reason PRONTO is the one I love the best.
What I love about Elmore Leonard’s books is that they sound so natural, the way language and character and story all come together in such a seamless way. If it takes a hell of a lot of hard work to make something look effortless, Elmore Leonard was the hardest working writer in the game.
My favourite example is the opening to STICK, which goes like this:
Stick said he wasn’t going if they had to pick up anything. Rainy said no, there wasn’t any product in the deal; all they had to do was drop a bag. Stick said, “And the guy’s giving you five grand?”
Off with me yesterday to Belfast to interview James Ellroy, who’s on the circuit promoting BLOOD’S A ROVER, and a marvellous day it was too. Mr James Ellroy was charm personified, an elegant, erudite and self-effacing interviewee who also understands the worth of a mutually beneficial stand-out quote or ten. I liked him a lot, which was nice, because it’s not always a good thing to meet your heroes, and I think Ellroy is one of the best writers on the planet. Hence the irrepressibly smug demeanour of yours truly above, although Mr James Ellroy doesn’t seem to be enjoying the occasion anywhere as much, despite his protests of ‘Man, I’m digging it,’ to the contrary. Oh, and I probably shouldn’t have worn my favourite shirt, the one with the hole in the elbow … Anyway, I bumped into Gerard Brennan of CSNI going into the Waterfront gig where Ellroy was appearing, and he seems a pretty nice bloke too. He’s less evil-looking in person than he is in his blog pic, which was a relief. He had some bad news during the week, by the way, so pop over to CSNI and cheer him up. Afterwards I met Andrew Pepper. I’d met Andrew earlier in the year, at the Bristol CrimeFest, and a nicer guy to while away a couple of coffees you won’t meet in a country mile. He has a new novel coming out next February, the fourth in the Pyke series, called THE DETECTIVE BRANCH. I’ll keep you posted … In between, Stuart Neville interviewed James Ellroy, and did a very fine job (kudos to Dave Torrans of No Alibis, who not only arranged the gig, but provided yours truly with a couple of free tickets). Ellroy did a reading dedicated to (I paraphrase) ‘all you perverts, peepers, panty-sniffers and pimps’ in the audience. I’m pretty sure he uses the same dedication every time he does a reading, and that his performance is similar wherever he goes, because there’s an compelling sense of theatre to what Ellroy does in a live context. He does perform, and he just about stops short of howling at the moon in the process. It’s all very polished and effective and damn near electrifying. Having said all that, it’s worth bearing in mind that the most important part of the performance are the words themselves. What Saturday night taught me is (1) it’s no harm for a writer to get in touch with ancient tradition of bardic poetry when performing a reading; and (2) it’s no harm for a writer to make sure his words are worth hearing out loud if he’s going to stand up on a stage and start reciting them. Off with us then (I was with an old college mate, Big Joe Lindsay, who works for BBC NI, and whom every second person in Belfast seems to know) for a Pimms or two, fetching up in the wee hours in a beautifully ramshackle club run by David Holmes, whom one or two of you might remember as the man on soundtrack duties for Steven Soderbergh’s movie Out of Sight. Given that that soundtrack is one of my all-time faves, it was nice that Big Joe (naturally) knew David Holmes, and made the intros. Big Joe plays some tunes on BBC NI himself, by the way, which is well worth checking out ... The evening ended shortly after I started waving my mobile phone around and showing pictures of the Princess Lilyput, which is always a sign that I’ve had one Pimms too many. Sunday morning I got up and read my review of James Ellroy’s BLOOD’S A ROVER, which I loved (the novel, not the review). I wrote the review two days after finishing the novel, though, and at this stage (three weeks on) I think it’s an even better novel than I gave it credit for – more subtle than I appreciated at the time, I think, and a more elegant, enduring work than either of the ‘Underworld USA’ books that preceded it. Anyway, for what it’s worth, here’s my two cents … Finally, here’s David Holmes’ ‘Rip Rip’ from the Out of Sight soundtrack. “Tighten up yo panties, boy …” Roll it there, Collette …
Elmore Leonard’s ability to manipulate conventional morality is best illustrated in Out of Sight: despite the fact that he has never used a gun or even threatened violence, Jack Foley is a legendary bank robber. He is also, as the novel opens, serving time in a maximum-security prison in Florida. He breaks out, only to run into US Marshal Karen Sisco just beyond the wire. Foley takes Karen hostage to make good his escape, until she manages to elude his clutches. The fix is in, however, and the cat-and-mouse game of pursuit is infused with a potent sexual tension. Charmed by the con’s irreverent attitude, the reader wants Foley to escape, even if convention dictates that Karen must recapture him. A more powerful dynamic than either is the desire to see Foley and Karen get it together, if only to see how they might manage to bridge the vast chasm between them. Leonard’s usual quota of quirky minor characters aid and abet the pair as the story meanders north to Detroit and the inevitable denouement. As always with Leonard, however, it is not what happens that matters as much as the how and why. The precision of his streamlined plots is such that Leonard creates the time and space to render his characters believable, sympathetic and quietly heroic. When the end comes, it leaves the reader feeling the same way as all of the Leonard’s novels do, vaguely dissatisfied that it has ended at all. Out of Sight (1998) was not the first time Leonard’s novels had received the big screen treatment. Mr Majestyk, Get Shorty and Rum Punch, re-titled Jackie Brown, had all been critical and commercial movie successes. However, Steven Soderbergh seemed an unlikely candidate to translate a best-selling novel to the big screen. His previous credits included sex, lies and videotape, Kafka and King of the Hill, all of which were projects that were critically lauded but failed to impress the public at large. Further, Soderbergh’s casting of his leads was somewhat idiosyncratic. George Clooney was best known either as a handsome but limited TV actor or the humourless ham from the Batman and Robin farrago. Jennifer Lopez, as Karen, was an MTV babe making her movie debut. Given that Out of Sight depended on the chemistry between its two charismatic characters, both represented risky choices. Not content with that, Soderbergh also decided to chop up the storyline, mutilating Leonard’s story with an elliptical narrative that depended heavily on unheralded flashbacks constantly interrupting the flow. The result was a tour de force. Out of Sight was smart enough not to have to proclaim its own greatness (e.g., the multiple ending in Tarantino’s Jackie Brown), sassy without degenerating into vulgarity, and sexy without resorting to crude exploitation, the dynamic between Clooney and Lopez a triumph of implausible casting. What Soderbergh read between the lines of Leonard’s novel was that Out of Sight had all the classic elements of both a crime caper and a screwball comedy. A seamless blend of They Live By Night and Pillow Talk, Out of Sight simultaneously raised the bar for romantic comedy even as it redefined the crime caper movie.- Michael McGowan
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