Had two job interviews today. Went well. Just found out that I got one that should be a pretty interesting freelance gig. Looking up things. Things looking up.
Cantara Christopher wrote the first real review of North of Sunset as a comment on the Grumpy Old Bookman post. It deserves its own link.
Here are the best parts:
North of Sunset is an engrossing novel--and it is a novel, not a souped-up film treatment with literary pretentions…Every character he does portray is true, deep and vivid, particularly the women (astonishing for a writer Henry's age)--crucial to a book that uses a diversity of character portraits to build suspense. His style is invisible, yet precise and satisfying to the senses and intellect. There is a plot, probably the most over-used one in screendom, the serial killer with the quirky MO--although, in Henry's hands, this plot is dealt with free of sensationalism. Instead, it reveals the zeitgeist of Los Angeles with the understanding, even compassion, of a native son. It is the least cynical book about Hollywood I've ever read…
I get the feeling that Henry's attempting to stretch beyond Raymond Chandler, that he's going for Flaubert. I think in North of Sunset he succeeds. And he does it in only 270 pages, and one hell of a last line.
Turns out I wrote a non-cynical book for high-brows. Damn!
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