Memory (written: 1963, published: 2010) by Donald E Westlake.
My secret literary pleasure since my early teens is pulp and hard-boiled mystery fiction. After all, one can’t always read Plato or Dostoyevsky and expect to maintain some sort of sanity.
Hard-boiled mystery stories usually take a few standard structures, mix them with fast hardcore action, an unpredictable cast of characters, and an ending with improbable resolutions. Well, let me tell you that this Westlake posthumously published novel will not follow any of the above.
Personally I don’t think I’ve ever read a pulp novel of this type and I am quite surprised that the author refused to publish such a wonderful, strange novel. When you think about this book, don’t think about mobs, babes, cigarettes, and whiskey. Instead, think about introspection. Think about ontology. Think about the self. Think about identity. Think about love. More importantly, think about the essence of memory as related to the personhood.
As usual, I won’t spoil much about the plot. The premise is quite simple: Paul Cole, an actor and not-so nice person is beaten to a pulp (ha!) by the husband of his lover. As a result of the assault, Cole loses his memory. More than that, his current memory lasts only a few hours and can’t really work as it should. The consequences of the challenge are massive, and threatens the true essence of Mr Cole, his future, and his past. Obviously things are made worse by hostile cops, hostile criminals, and lack of money.
Contrary to most dime novels, this books is not action packed. It’s slow paced, and at times it is repetitive on purpose. The result is what I think is a great book. Its goal is to entertain; like other pulps it’s not meant to teach or to be deep. Regardless, this book will stay with you if nothing else for the striking difference in themes from books written in the same era.
My secret literary pleasure since my early teens is pulp and hard-boiled mystery fiction. After all, one can’t always read Plato or Dostoyevsky and expect to maintain some sort of sanity.
Hard-boiled mystery stories usually take a few standard structures, mix them with fast hardcore action, an unpredictable cast of characters, and an ending with improbable resolutions. Well, let me tell you that this Westlake posthumously published novel will not follow any of the above.
Personally I don’t think I’ve ever read a pulp novel of this type and I am quite surprised that the author refused to publish such a wonderful, strange novel. When you think about this book, don’t think about mobs, babes, cigarettes, and whiskey. Instead, think about introspection. Think about ontology. Think about the self. Think about identity. Think about love. More importantly, think about the essence of memory as related to the personhood.
As usual, I won’t spoil much about the plot. The premise is quite simple: Paul Cole, an actor and not-so nice person is beaten to a pulp (ha!) by the husband of his lover. As a result of the assault, Cole loses his memory. More than that, his current memory lasts only a few hours and can’t really work as it should. The consequences of the challenge are massive, and threatens the true essence of Mr Cole, his future, and his past. Obviously things are made worse by hostile cops, hostile criminals, and lack of money.
Contrary to most dime novels, this books is not action packed. It’s slow paced, and at times it is repetitive on purpose. The result is what I think is a great book. Its goal is to entertain; like other pulps it’s not meant to teach or to be deep. Regardless, this book will stay with you if nothing else for the striking difference in themes from books written in the same era.
