Don Winslow, crime novelist

I first read Don Winslow with the mm edition of THE DEATH AND LIFE OF BOBBY Z back in 1998. His publisher had packaged it with a fluorescent orange cover, the image being a yellow licence plate with a pot leaf between the Bobby and the Z. A quaote from Carl Hiassen, comparisons to Elmore Leonard, and the NYTBR's blurb of “Fast and funny” prompted me to include this in the comedic mystery vein. Good marketing, really, as GET SHORTY and STRIPTEASE had done well and this was intended for a similar audience. This was Winslow's seventh book, and his breakout novel.

It is a fun read. It has snappy dialogue, is indeed fast and funny, and feels like it was intended to be easily transformed into a film (which it was). While I recognized all these qualities at the time, I nevertheless did not particularly like the book. I realize why: I just never bought the underlying concept. Winslow presents Tim Kearney, a three-time loser on the Hell's Angels death list in a California prison, who is offered a deal by a federal agency to replace Bobby Z, a big-time drug dealer. Why? Because he looks like Bobby Z, enough like him to fool just about everyone.

I just couldn't find this believeable. So in spite of all its qualities, I never gave this book too much credit, and I was wary of trying another Winslow book. In retrospect I think the novel is well-written and deserves all the praise it received. It is still on my bookshelf, in fact, so that says something. I refused to read his next book, CAILFORNIA LIFE AND FIRE despite its good reviews and the urging of a friend whose opinion I trust.

Then came POWER OF THE DOG, a sprawling fictional history of the California/Mexico drug wars in the 1980s and 90s. It follows the intrigue inside the FBI and the cartels, portraying all the corruption and ultimate failure of the USA's War on Drugs. An ambitious work, very engaging and intricate. Lauded as Winslow's “comeback” book, and masterpiece which took six years to write. I liked it very much.

THE WINTER OF FRANKIE MACHINE. 60ish SoCal mobster who has a very regimented and comfortable lifestyle, 3 or 4 part-time jobs (mob-connected, natch), is well-respected in the community and is just enjoying life. Until he gets sucked far deeper into mob life than he has been for many a year, and the old hit man part of Frankie has to resurface. This is a wonderful novel; fast, tight, great dialogue and characters, excellent denouement. I loved this to pieces. Much more down-to-earth and personal than Winslow's previous novel, THE WINTER OF FRANKIE MACHINE is virtually perfect. I thought this was Winslow's crowning achievement.

That is, until I read THE DAWN PATROL. I wondered why Winslow would write a WWII-era novel about bombers, but this is about a group that goes surfing at dawn. Oh, I get it. The main character is Boone Daniels, a PI who lives very much a free-spirited hippy/surfer lifestyle, beholden to no schedule other than the one dictated by the tide. He and his Dawn Patrol gang get involved in a case involving a missing stripper, and complications ensue. Well, THIS book is Winslow's masterpiece. Everything he had in his previous books is here, in improved form: SoCal life, the drug trade and its effect on SoCal living, surfing, being a little bit different in this modern world, the effects of the past on this modern world, friendship, great dialogue and intrigue, it's all there better than ever before. A tour-de-force extraordinaire.

I am pissed off that his North American publisher is not coming out with the sequel, THE GENTLEMEN'S HOUR in 2010 but has instead opted for SAVAGES, a stand-alone novel that was optioned by Oliver Stone even before publication. While SAVAGES is a fine read, using language creatively and mining similar territory as Winslow's previous novels but with a younger set of characters (early 20s as opposed to early 30s or older). It's fine but didn't quite turn my crank as much as (I hope) THE GENTLEMEN'S HOUR will. Might just have to order the British edition of that one!

Olfactory memories

Funny how smells can be linked to specific memories. Yesterday my wife and I bought some tomatoes, a whole box of 'em actually. The box is in the kitchen. Today I caught a whiff of something as I was getting a glass of milk, and later realized that it was the tomatoes that I was smelling.

Fine, my lousy sense of smell finally registered something, big deal. But as the day progressed, each time I passed by the tomatoes and inhaled their fragrance something in the back of my mind was trying to work its way to my consciousness. At some point I asked myself, "Where do I know this smell from?" And lo and behold, it came to me: Grandpa and Grandma Playfair.

Grandma was diabetic, quite a serious one, insulin everyday. I used to go eat lunch at their house every Wednesday and she always made me Kraft Dinner. Always too soupy, and the milk was always too warm because she insisted that it had to sit on the table for 20 minutes before drinking otherwise it was dangerous. Anyway, Grandma and Grandpa always ate the same thing: lettuce and tomato on brown bread. They always seemed to have many tomatoes on the counter, and their kitchen smelled of them (the rest of the house smelled of mothballs, but I digress...). And that tomato smell has lain dormant in my brain for the last 32 years until today. I've obviously smelled tomatoes in the intervening years but never did I make that link back to when I first smelled them.

What other olfactory surprises lie hidden in my head? Time will tell...