--- JIM DOHERTY <
jimdohertyjr@yahoo.com> wrote:
>
> Speaking for myself, very often his novels
don't
> altogether work. The many unlikely occurences
and
> coincidences, the linchpin of so much of
Woolrich's
> work, become too apparent at book-length.
As I was reading Fright last night, I -- once again --
realized those very things that you mention above. And I'm
not arguing with you. Yet, I find Woolrich's overall
environment is similar to how I perceive the environments in
Marquez or Cortazar. Some Latin writers can just make magical
realism work and get away with just about anything. (And,
yes, Cortazar is only sometimes a practitioner.) Woolrich
doesn't have the technique of Marquez but the intent is the
same to me. It's hard to explain since I tend to be
hypercritical and for me, Woolrich allows me to toss all of
that out of the window and just bang down the bumpy road with
him. If for nothing else I read Woolrich for fun. A dark and
twisted lark through a damaged soul. There are other writers
I love but some seem like work reading them from time to
time. Except Woolrich. I think of him drunk as a skunk, money
in the bank, empty bottles strewn around an empty hotel room
tapping away on an ancient typewriter and I just smile. He
didn't go to conferences, never wrote a book titled "How To
Break Into The Macabre Market and Make Millions," rarely
spoke to the press and never did any blatant self-promotion.
Maybe that's why he'll never be as popular as a lot of lesser
writers who follow the pack and the formula. He wrote and he
drank and he really didn't give a shit about much else and
somehow I find that and his work valuable.
I just wanted to get this in on the last day of Woolrich
month.
William
Essays and Ramblings
<http://www.williamahearn.com>
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