“Dogtown” by Mercedes Lambert

I first heard about Mercedes Lambert from an article in Los Angeles Magazine last year. Her friends were trying to get one of her novels, written a decade or so ago, published posthumously. “Dogtown” is the first in the series of Whitney Logan mysteries. It’s gritty and rather sad, and takes place in L.A., mostly East Hollywood. Written in the late ’80s/early ’90s when Hollywood was grotesque, filled with prostitutes, drugs, dirty nightclubs, etc., the filth comes off the pages in waves and you feel the neon and sleaze crawling around in your brain as you read.

The author, like the lead character, went to UCLA law school and clearly lived in L.A. for several years, as all the locations and streets are real. I could picture every intersection, highway and strip mall, and though the descriptions are sparse and stark, if you live in the city, you can see everything perfectly, and I admire her for not over-explaining; those who don’t live in L.A. will just have to let their imaginations dictate what the streets look like, and there’s enough in the tone and style to help them along.

Teaming up with Lupe Ramos, a prostitute who loves old movies and has nerves of steel, Whitney attempts to unravel a murder mystery that ties in to heroin trafficking from Mexico and Guatemalan politics. There’s plenty of twists and turns and I’ll admit I got lost a few times; also the ending is abrupt, but it completely fits the style of the story, with no easy or happy conclusions. I wish the author had received more recognition when she was alive; her L.A. noir is terrific, and I’d have loved to see it evolve to include the “new” cleaned up Hollywood. 

This was a perfect book for the bus, because while my route doesn’t take me through East Hollywood, it does take me past UCLA everyday, and many of the same descriptions used in the story apply to the streets and atmosphere.

Never the same peeps

Something odd I realized today:

I’ve never stood in line with or ridden the bus with the same people twice.

There was the day when a neighbor from my building boarded at the same time, but I haven’t seen him on the bus since, coming or going. I’ve sat next to people at many different stops, but never the same people. Now that I’ve got my set schedule, I wonder why nobody else has the same set schedule. There are no familiar faces or ride buddies who share my exact commute.

I was really tempted to ask the girl next to me today what she was reading, but I chickened out. I’d said hello to her earlier and she hadn’t smiled back. It would be awesome if there was a core group of us, reading and riding, and we could swap book reviews or recs.

Books: do not leave home without ‘em

I’ve quickly learned that not having a book on the bus makes the ride interminable (TV Transit actually gets some of its news from TMZ. The other day they reported on Usher’s “mom-ager” issues); last night all I had were the trades, which I got through in about 5 minutes, but with a book, I actually look forward to the reading time that being on the bus allows. In fact, unless it’s the weekend or I only have a few pages to go, I won’t read the book at home because I like the feeling of anticipation and forcing myself to let the books linger in my mind for a bit each day. On the weekend I’m allowed to devour an entire book, but during the week it’s nice to spread it out.

Books also allow me to keep to myself on the bus; add a pair of sunglasses and I’ve got the full “do not engage me” protective shell.

I started “Things Fall Apart” by Chinua Achebe this morning and got through 3 chapters.

Review of “Dogtown” by Mercedes Lambert coming soon. It takes place in L.A. and it’s eerily well-suited to riding around the city.

“Lost City Radio” by Daniel Alarcon

Dang, this book was well-written and depressing. The description of a vague civil war in a vague (never named) South American country feels all the more realistic in its non-specificity, as if encapsulating all civil wars in every country.

There are several lead characters, the first being Norma, who hosts the popular “Lost City Radio” show, in which those who’ve been separated from their loved ones attempt to reconnect after the war has ended. Norma’s beloved husband, Rey, is one of the missing; he disappeared 10 years ago in the jungle and may or may not have been part of the rebel IL group that unsuccessfully tried to overthrow the government.

When 11-year-old Victor leaves his jungle village and locates Norma, they realize they have a connection neither expected. I found the connection obvious and a bit annoying, but it makes sense based on what we know of Rey, which is that he’s an occasionally selfish and dangerous liar. Many different POVs are employed, with lots of head-jumping, and descriptions of events that took place years apart sometimes occur within a single paragraph (sort of like the style used in “Veronica” by Mary Gaitskill). A less skilled writer couldn’t have pulled it off. The ending is sad; nothing neat or tidy about it, which is either brave on the writer’s part or frustrating for the audience; not sure yet. It’s clear the author is a major talent, though.

I read the majority of this book on the bus last week. Traveling during the day (half-day on Thursday) took a long time: 1.5 hours on the way home. It’s much better to stay on the fringe of rush hour, which I’ll definitely do next week. I also read “Japanamerica” by Roland Kelts.

“A Free Life” by Ha Jin

I like to read while I ride the bus to and from work. This week I finished “Picture of Dorian Gray” by Oscar Wilde and started “Joy Luck Club” by Amy Tan. From time to time I’ll post my thoughts on the stories I’m reading. I originally wrote this review of “A Free Life” by Ha Jin on my GoodReads page, and I wanted to include it here because I highly recommend the book:

A Chinese immigrant moves to Boston and becomes disenchanted with his political science studies, so he drops out of university and struggles to take care of his family, doing a series of low-paying, somewhat demoralizing, exhausting jobs. What he really wants to do is write poetry. He can’t seem to forget his ex-girlfriend, even though he’s married to someone else — someone wonderful — and has a child with her. As the years pass, in slow but beautifully-written, simple detail, he learns to cook in NYC and eventually moves down south to Atlanta, where he buys a restaurant and a house. He’s able to pay off his mortgage and live the American Dream with his wife and son, but he doesn’t see it that way; he’s convinced that he is a failure.

This book is for anyone who’s ever tried to be an artist. It redefined the term for me.

Despite consisting of low-key events and day-to-day details (no huge action), I was riveted by this book and cared deeply about the characters. It’s quite sad at times but has an uplifting and satisfying ending.