“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.

The Screamer and the Wail

This morning there was a screamer in Westwood. He roved up and down Westwood Blvd. as the UCLA students queuing outside the AT&T store (does the new iPhone come out today?) chuckled and watched. He went in circles, yelling his head off, possibly about Politics and The Black Experience, and then headed north toward the clock tower thing. Strangers gave each other guilty smiles. I couldn’t make out most of his rant. Luckily he had already passed by when I got to my bus stop. I no longer grab the bus at Wilshire/Veteran, but instead make my walk past a Starbucks, Peet’s and Coffee Bean to Weyburn and wait there. It’s much more pleasant, although it seems like ten Big Blues come by for every Culver 6.

On my second bus, there was a loud, unsettling guy who would take a deep breath and then bark out phrases about things he’d bought and “American baseball.” He was definitely not talking into a hidden blue-tooth; no, he was just flat-out crazy.