My Dark Places: An L.A. Crime Memoir (Anglais) Relié – novembre 1996
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Description du produit
I didn't want to go back. I didn't want to leave my father. I wanted to blow off El Monte forever.
It was hot--maybe ten degrees more than L.A. The driver took Tyler north to Bryant and cut east. He turned on Maple and stopped the cab.
I saw police cars and official-type sedans parked at the curb. I saw uniformed men and men in suits standing in my front yard.
I knew she was dead. This is not a revised memory or a retrospective hunch. I knew it in the moment--at age ten--on Sunday, June 22nd, 1958.
I walked into the yard. Somebody said, "There's the boy." I saw Mr. and Mrs. Krycki standing by their back door.
A man took me aside and kneeled down to my level. He said, "Son, your mother's been killed."
I knew he meant "murdered." I probably trembled or shuddered or weaved a little bit.
The man asked me where my father was. I told him he was back at the bus station. A half-dozen men crowded around me. They leaned on their knees and checked me out up-close.
They saw one lucky kid.
A cop split for the bus station. A man with a camera walked me back to Mr. Krycki's toolshed.
He put an awl in my hand and posed me at a workbench. I held on to a small block of wood and pretended to saw at it. I faced the camera-- and did not blink or smile or cry or betray my internal equilibrium.
The photographer stood in a doorway. The cops stood behind him. I had a rapt audience.
The photographer shot some film and urged me to improvise. I hunched over the wood and sawed at it with a half-smile/ half-grimace. The cops laughed. I laughed. Flashbulbs popped.
From the Hardcover edition. --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.
Revue de presse
"A gripping and quite awesome form of literature" (Express)
"A tour de force of confessional writing" (TLS)
"Ellroy proves that he is more than just a crime writer, he is one of the best and most important writers in America today" (VOX) --Ce texte fait référence à une édition épuisée ou non disponible de ce titre.
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Commentaires client les plus utiles sur Amazon.com
Similarly, in his trademark staccato style he offers keen insights into sexually ravenous and murderous men, the cultural allure of victimhood, and the foibles of the criminal justice system. Yet such passages are tucked randomly among prose that, in stark contrast, exhibits a remarkable lack of insight into both his own psyche and the minds of others. The book is far too long, marred by interminable recitations of drivel. He is too hooked on his own greatness to put himself into the shoes of the average reader and realize that overloading us with random factoids destroys the drama of his long search for answers in his mother's death. As other reviewers have noted, a tough editor would have helped immensely.
One thing that surprised me---but maybe it is because I was raised in the 60s---did no one speculate that the "Swarthy man" might really be a woman? When I read the description of "his" freakishly narrow jaw, "woman in drag" was my first thought. I ran it by my husband--that was his first thought, too. A woman could have committed the crime(s). A woman could not strangle a conscious woman the way a man could, but she could beat her over the back of the head and then strangle her when she was unconscious. And the covering of the lower torso with a coat struck me as a feminine thing to do, like the killer trying to conceal her own vulnerable parts.. Hollywood in the 1950s had plenty of gays and probably had plenty of cross dressers, too, and women are not typically squeamish about hanging around butch lesbians the way that men can be squeamish about hanging out with feme gays.
There's a moving self portrait that's 100 pages shorter buried in this memoir. And the endless simple declarative sentences (zero variety, a dreary "just the facts" parade) become grating. What willpower Ellroy has to sustain such an extreme noir style! For me it became tiresome, a schtick that gives equal weight to the harrowing and the mundane.