Penzler, Otto (ed.) - The Best American Noir of the Century / Пенцлер, Отто (ред.) - Лучший американский нуар 20 века [2011, epub, ENG]

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Otto Penzler (ed.) - The Best American Noir of the Century

Название: The Best American Noir of the Century / Лучший американский нуар 20 века
Год выпуска: 2011
Под редакцией: Penzler, Otto & Ellroy, James / Пенцлер, Отто и Эллрой, Джеймс
Издательство: Mariner Books
eISBN: 978-0-547-57744-9
Формат: epub
Качество: eBook
Язык: английский

Нуар (фр. noir — «чёрный» роман) — субжанр американской массовой литературы 1920-х — 1960-х годов, разновидность «крутого» (или «круто сваренного» (англ. hard-boiled fiction)) криминального романа. В основу жанра легли напряжённый сюжет и грубоватая манера повествования в духе Э. Хэмингуэя и Д. Дос Пассоса (черта общая для «крутого» и «чёрного» романов). Однако в отличие от «крутого романа», где главным героем выступал персонаж, расследующий преступление (сыщик, журналист и т. д.), героем романа-нуар является, как правило, жертва, подозреваемый или преступник, то есть лицо, непосредственно вовлечённое в преступление, а не распутывающее историю со стороны. Среди существенных признаков жанра нуар — жёсткий реализм изложения, цинизм, склонность персонажей к саморазрушению, обилие сленга.
Foreword by Otto Penzler
Introduction by James Ellroy
SPURS (1923) by Tod Robbins
PASTORALE (1928) [i]by James M. Cain
YOU'LL ALWAYS REMEMBER ME (1938) by Steve Fisher
GUN CRAZY (1940) by Mackinlay Kantor
NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT (1945) by Day Keene
THE HOMECOMING (1946) by Dorothy B. Hughes
MAN IN THE DARK (1952) by Howard Browne
THE LADY SAYS DIE! (1953) by Mickey Spillane
PROFESSIONAL MAN (1953) by David Goodis
THE HUNGER (1955) by Charles Beaumont
THE GESTURE (1956) by Gil Brewer
THE LAST SPIN (1956) by Evan Hunter
FOREVER AFTER (1960) by Jim Thompson
FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE (1968) by Cornell Woolrich
THE DRIPPING (1972) by David Morrell
SLOWLY, SLOWLY IN THE WIND (1979) by Patricia Highsmith
IRIS (1984) by Stephen Greenleaf
A TICKET OUT (1987) by Brendan Dubois
SINCE I DON'T HAVE YOU (1988) by James Ellroy
TEXAS CITY, 1947 (1991) by James Lee Burke
MEFISTO IN ONYX (1993) by Harlan Ellison
HOT SPRINGS (1996) by James Crumley
THE WEEKENDER (1996) by Jeffery Deaver
FAITHLESS (1997) by Joyce Carol Dates
POACHERS (1998) by Tom Franklin
LIKE A BONE IN THE THROAT (1998) by Lawrence Block
CRACK (1999) by James W. Hall
RUNNING OUT OF DOG (1999) by Dennis Lehane
THE PAPERHANGER (2000) by William Gay
MIDNIGHT EMISSIONS (2001) by F. X. Toole
WHEN THE WOMEN COME OUT TO DANCE (2002) by Elmore Leonard
CONTROLLED BURN (2002) by Scott Wolven
ALL THROUGH THE HOUSE (2003) by Christopher Coake
WHAT SHE OFFERED (2005) by Thomas H. Cook
HER LORD AND MASTER (2005) by Andrew Klavan
STAB (2006) by Chris Adrian
THE HOARDER (2006) by Bradford Morrow
MISSING THE MORNING BUS (2007) by Lorenzo Carcaterra
1988: James Ellroy

DURING THE POSTWAR years I served two masters—running interference and hauling dirty laundry for the two men who defined L.A. at that time better than anyone else. To Howard Hughes I was security boss at his aircraft plant, pimp, and troubleshooter for RKO Pictures—the ex-cop who could kibosh blackmail squeezes, fix drunk drivings, and arrange abortions and dope cures. To Mickey Cohen—rackets overlord and would-be nightclub shtickster—I was a bagman to the LAPD, the former Narco detective who skimmed junk off niggertown dope rousts, allowing his Southside boys to sell it back to the hordes of schwartzes eager to fly White Powder Airlines. Big Howard: always in the news for crashing an airplane someplace inappropriate, stubbing his face on the control panel in some hicktown beanfield, then showing up at Romanoff's bandaged like the Mummy with Ava Gardner on his arm; Mickey C.: also a pussy hound par excellence, pub crawling with an entourage of psychopathic killers, press agents, gag writers, and his bulldog Mickey Cohen Jr.—a flatulent beast with a schlong so large that the Mick's stooges strapped it to a roller skate so it wouldn't drag on the ground.
Howard Hughes. Mickey Cohen. And me—Turner "Buzz" Meeks, Lizard Ridge, Oklahoma, armadillo poacher; strikebreaker goon; cop; fixer; and keeper of the secret key to his masters' psyches: they were both cowards mano a mano; airplanes and lunatic factotums their go-betweens—while I would go anywhere, anyplace—gun or billy club first, courting a front-page death to avenge my second-banana life. And the two of them courted me because I put their lack of balls in perspective: it was irrational, meshugah, bad business—a Forest Lawn crypt years before my time. But I got the last laugh there: I always knew that when faced with the grave I'd pull a smart segue to keep kicking—and I write this memoir as an old, old man—while Howard and Mickey stuff caskets, bullshit biographies their only legacy.
Howard. Mickey. Me.
Sooner or later, my work for the two of them had to produce what the yuppie lawyer kids today call "conflict of interest." Of course, it was over a woman—and, of course, being a suicidal Okie shitkicker, forty-one years old and getting tired, I decided to play both ends against the middle. A thought just hit me: that I'm writing this story because I miss Howard and Mickey, and telling it gives me a chance to be with them again. Keep that in mind—that I loved them—even though they were both world-class shitheels.
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