I mentioned in the crime fiction thread that it's my goal to read these in order, as I've read a lot of the later ones, but none of the earlier ones. I also know that these books have a ton of fans, and since Block is one of the modern giants of crime fiction, his books are definitely worth checking out.
Spoilers follow:
I'm about midway through the first novel in the series, The Sins of the Fathers. If I had to choose one word to sum up Block's writing, it would be "crisp." He understands pace and economy of language, knowing how to make each word count. For example, when Scudder tries to get details on an investigation from an unwilling subject, Block writes:
"Something I learned long ago. It is not necessary to know what a person is afraid of. It is enough to know the person is afraid."
One of the recurring themes of the Scudder novels is "not much happens." The cases, especially in this first one, where ex-cop Matthew Scudder is asked to look into the death of a murdered girl, are fairly standard. I think one of the reasons this remains one of the great unadapted properties* (exempting the "8 Million Ways to Die", which I haven't seen) is that large chunks of them are pretty uncinematic. My impression is that this changes as the books go on -- Dance at the Slaughterhouse and Everybody Dies, as well as the most recent book/series finale "All The Flowers are Dying" have some pretty epic setpieces -- but not in this one.
Still, The Sins of the Fathers is mostly Scudder talking to people and walking around New York. This allows Block's gift for dialogue (which is really the hallmark of the Scudder novels, and the guy's writing as a whole) to come to the forefront. Block understands how real people talk like Leonard, but he also allows characters to vocalize their thoughts in surprising ways.
Because Scudder ages in real time as the books have gone on, New York City changes around him as well, and you get that even in the first book. It's interesting to look back at something written in 1976 and see where the changes were occuring. I just finished a chapter where Scudder visits a series of gay bars and has a conversation with a bartender about the rise of the leather scene and how it's "dangerous." While I thought the scene was somewhat stereotypical, I could also see how Block knew that this was bad news, even back then. (I'm thinking of the opening to Randy Shilts' "And The Band Played On", where you have doctors/gay rights activists remarking on how quickly diseases could be spread through some of the more extreme bathhouses and clubs.)
I haven't really talked a lot about Scudder as a character, and I think that's because I'm so familiar with him, despite starting at the beginning. I've argued that as Raymond Chandler is to L.A. and McGee is to Florida, Scudder is to New York -- perhaps its most definitive detective of the post-war era. I hope to expand on this as I go through the books, but the biggest surprise for me so far is just how comfortable with the casual corruption of the police force Scudder is. He understands that the game is played through bribery and greasing hands (or as he calls it "doing favors"), and he's far enough removed from the Serpico era that it seems accepted as the way things are.
Scudder's not adverse to breaking the law himself to take care of business -- he breaks into a dead girl's apartment, for one. And there are moments, too, beyond all the drinking (prominent here, which leaves me wondering if Block always planned to have him go into AA), where you see that Scudder is not necessarily a nice guy all the time. There's a threatening of a witness that shocked me a little bit.
So this was long, and rambling, but I hope it provokes discussion. I've just come to the introduction of Elaine (which put a big smile on my face, because I thought she was a character introduced later, and I loved that she's a part of Matt's life from the book), so I'll be back with more thoughts when I finish.
*For the record: Dennis Quaid as Old Scudder, Bebe Newirth as Old Elaine.
Spoilers follow:
I'm about midway through the first novel in the series, The Sins of the Fathers. If I had to choose one word to sum up Block's writing, it would be "crisp." He understands pace and economy of language, knowing how to make each word count. For example, when Scudder tries to get details on an investigation from an unwilling subject, Block writes:
"Something I learned long ago. It is not necessary to know what a person is afraid of. It is enough to know the person is afraid."
One of the recurring themes of the Scudder novels is "not much happens." The cases, especially in this first one, where ex-cop Matthew Scudder is asked to look into the death of a murdered girl, are fairly standard. I think one of the reasons this remains one of the great unadapted properties* (exempting the "8 Million Ways to Die", which I haven't seen) is that large chunks of them are pretty uncinematic. My impression is that this changes as the books go on -- Dance at the Slaughterhouse and Everybody Dies, as well as the most recent book/series finale "All The Flowers are Dying" have some pretty epic setpieces -- but not in this one.
Still, The Sins of the Fathers is mostly Scudder talking to people and walking around New York. This allows Block's gift for dialogue (which is really the hallmark of the Scudder novels, and the guy's writing as a whole) to come to the forefront. Block understands how real people talk like Leonard, but he also allows characters to vocalize their thoughts in surprising ways.
Because Scudder ages in real time as the books have gone on, New York City changes around him as well, and you get that even in the first book. It's interesting to look back at something written in 1976 and see where the changes were occuring. I just finished a chapter where Scudder visits a series of gay bars and has a conversation with a bartender about the rise of the leather scene and how it's "dangerous." While I thought the scene was somewhat stereotypical, I could also see how Block knew that this was bad news, even back then. (I'm thinking of the opening to Randy Shilts' "And The Band Played On", where you have doctors/gay rights activists remarking on how quickly diseases could be spread through some of the more extreme bathhouses and clubs.)
I haven't really talked a lot about Scudder as a character, and I think that's because I'm so familiar with him, despite starting at the beginning. I've argued that as Raymond Chandler is to L.A. and McGee is to Florida, Scudder is to New York -- perhaps its most definitive detective of the post-war era. I hope to expand on this as I go through the books, but the biggest surprise for me so far is just how comfortable with the casual corruption of the police force Scudder is. He understands that the game is played through bribery and greasing hands (or as he calls it "doing favors"), and he's far enough removed from the Serpico era that it seems accepted as the way things are.
Scudder's not adverse to breaking the law himself to take care of business -- he breaks into a dead girl's apartment, for one. And there are moments, too, beyond all the drinking (prominent here, which leaves me wondering if Block always planned to have him go into AA), where you see that Scudder is not necessarily a nice guy all the time. There's a threatening of a witness that shocked me a little bit.
So this was long, and rambling, but I hope it provokes discussion. I've just come to the introduction of Elaine (which put a big smile on my face, because I thought she was a character introduced later, and I loved that she's a part of Matt's life from the book), so I'll be back with more thoughts when I finish.
*For the record: Dennis Quaid as Old Scudder, Bebe Newirth as Old Elaine.
