> I'm still stuck in the '40s. Madman on a Drum is an
obscure
> book by N. R. De Mexico, published as a paperback
original
> by Cavalcade in 1944. Anthony Boucher gave it a rave
review
> in his column (reprinted in The Boucher Chronicles
II), and
> now Ramble House (publisher of the aforementioned
Boucher
> book) has reprinted Madman. It's the best Woolrich
pastiche
> you're likely to find outside George Hopley and
William
> Irish. Larry Graham suddenly finds himself in a
nightmare
> world where his apartment is no longer his, his job
is gone,
> his girlfriend has been murdered. From there on,
things
> just get worse. Everything happens in about 24
hours, so
> the pace is furious. Now and then de Mexico tries to
drag
> in the reader by narrating passages in second
person. It
> even sort of works. As far as I know, nobody knows
whether
> de Mexico (also the author of the highly
collectible
> Marijuana Girl) isa real name or a pen name. If it's
a pen
> name, two people (including Larry Shaw) have been
suggested
> as possibilities.
Spoilers here:
I just read MADMAN ON A DRUM because of this recounting. (I
read the
"Suspense" reprint retitled STRANGE PURSUIT.) I have to say,
I can't see why it got any praise, anywhere. It was rather
tediously padded, with unconvincing forays into
stream-of-consciousness, and the second-person stuff was a
little irritating. (I wouldn't call it "now and then,"
either--it crops up about five times per page.) There is a
fair amount of stuff that seems naive, even perhaps for the
time, such as the leading character's reaction to people
smoking "reefers," etc. But the thing that just killed this
book for me was the overwhelming and constant use of
coincidence and contrivance. A girl is abducted by people who
run BOTH a drug den and a recording studio for public-address
sound trucks, and she manages to sneak a message onto the
tail end of a political-address recording in hopes that the
person the message is for will hear it somewhere on the
street and come rescue her, even though no pertinent
information is given in her message? And it works? The
abductee tosses a card with a picture of a lantern on it and
a nickel stuck to the card with gum out a window in hopes
that someone will find it in the alley below and mail it to
our hero who will then come and rescue her from where she's
hidden above a club called The Lantern? And it works? The
hero can't find a working phone booth in Manhattan? Every
single cop the guy turns to for help turns out to be in on
the political-corruption/drug-smuggling ring? Every
shopowner, diner cook, and doorman the guy gets information
from turns out minutes later to have no recollection of their
previous conversation (because, it turns out, they've ALL
been paid off)? Hiding in a cabinet in the recording studio
while the bad guys converse, our hero manages to make not one
but two phonograph recordings of their conversation BY
MANIPULATING THE RECORDING EQUIPMENT WIRING, BLINDLY AND FROM
BEHIND THE CONSOLE, by reaching his hands out and GUESSING
which wires controlled the microphones, turntables, and
stylus-arms? And it works?
Even without the references to virtually every black
character as a monkey or chimpanzee, I would have had a hard
time enjoying this thing. There were a couple of good turns
of phrase, but the hero seemed incredibly stupid, the bad
guys both obtuse and inhumanly crafty, and every situation
contrived for the sake of effect, believability be
damned.
I've read some amazing books because of recommendations here.
I'm thankful this is the only time in several years I've been
disappointed. Had to happen, I suppose.
Jim Beaver
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