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Lawrence Block at his best
Book Review
By Derryll White
Block, Lawrence (1986). When the Sacred Ginmill Closes.
“And so we’ll drink the final glass
Each to his joy and sorrow
Here’s to the heart that is wise enough
To know when it’s better off broken.”
This is, I think, Lawrence Block at his best. New York City 1975, coming apart with ugly politics, crime and far-reaching neglect. Throw in Matt Scudder, Block’s best anti-hero, moving from bar to bar and drink to drink, day to day. Block reaches deep, as he always does, deeper than I am afraid most readers go, quoting Thomas Wolfe. All cities are sad in the darkness before morning, but Lawrence Block paints a dark hole all its own with New York City. “If I’d been drunk when I was born I’d be ignorant of sorrow,”
Matt Scudder embodies the sorrow of everyman, way before #metoo and the societal changes we now all face. He finds his friends in bars distant from the flow, as I now do as well – in coffee shops. The reader learns the advantage of stepping away – from regular work and pay, from the opposite sex, from the crushing expectations of a society that doesn’t really need to be engaged with. Matt is his own man, and quietly reflective in that state.
I am glad that I am old enough to understand the despair of the time in which this novel was written. Lawrence Block always towers strong and clear enough for me to break my heart again, both in the glass of life and in the novel. There is something to be learned here. Thank you Mr. Block.
“And so we’ll drink the final toast
Each to his joy and sorrow
And hope the numbing drink will last
Till opening tomorrow.”
-Dave Van Ronk
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Excerpts from the book:
CHANGE – Shortly thereafter I put in my papers and left the police department.
I can’t say that one event caused the other I can only say that the one led to the other. I had been the unwitting instrument of a child’s death, and after that some thing was different for me. The life I had been living without complaint no longer seemed to suit me. I suppose it had ceased to suit me before then. I suppose the child’s death precipitated a life change that was long overdue. But I can’t say that for certain, either. Just that one thing led to another.
MARRIAGE – Kaplan sat on a corner of his desk, crossed his legs at the ankle. “That’ll do for motive,” he said. “What they don’t bother to notice is a couple of things. One, he loved his wife, and how many husbands cheat? What is it they say? Ninety percent admit they cheat and ten percent lie about it?”
COPS – “The life you lead and the things you see, I’ll tell you, a cop goes and eats his gun, I never figure it requires an explanation. You know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean.”
“I know what you mean.”
LAST CALL – “Is that what I am? I don’t know what the hell I am anymore.”
‘Oh, bull shit. You’re a guy, a human being. Just another poor son of a bitch who doesn’t want to be alone when the sacred ginmill closes.”
1975 NEW YORK – The booze was working in him now, showing up a little in his driving. He ran a couple of lights and took a corner a little wildly, but we didn’t hit anything or anybody. Nor did we get flagged down by a traffic cop. You just about had to run down a nun to get cited for a moving violation that year in the city of New York.
– Derryll White once wrote books but now chooses to read and write about them. When not reading he writes history for the web at www.basininstitute.org.
