| Vintage Pulp | Dec 6 2023 |
Hey, check it out—I can see the ironic conclusions of our character arcs from here. We better both have a drink.
We got hold of one of the more unusual Robert McGinnis paperback covers in the form of Daniel Banko's 1972 Fawcett Gold Medal mystery Not Dead Yet. McGinnis had range, but it's still a surprise when a cover of his doesn't feature a femme fatale. This one is even more unusual due to its rooftop setting featuring a man who's wielding grappling hooks and a second who's simply drinking. Does the unusual art relate to the story? Yes, it's a moment directly from the narrative.
Banko weaves a find-the-real-killer tale in which a man named Matthew Kitterman catches his wife in bed cheating and is accused of murdering the lover. He didn't do it—he only remembers snapping a Polaroid of the tableau and bolting. He sort of flips out and next awakens in the bed of an older woman with whom he finds aid and comfort. Hunted by police and shunned by his lawyer, he finally decides he must—let's say it all together—find the real killer! In detailed and low velocity fashion he finally gets around to doing that, leading to a scene where he tries, with assistance, to break into his own house, but pauses for liquid fortification.
The book, unfortunately, did not thrill us. It reads more like a longish character piece than a crime novel. Banko can write fine, but his focus isn't particularly upon the murder nor its solution so much as portraying a man whose life has been upended and who reacts in unpredictable ways. The tale never recovered to become a gripping thriller. At least not for us. Even Norman Mailer's front cover approval didn't sway our opinion. But hey—we got the McGinnis art, and that was worth the price.
| Vintage Pulp | Apr 23 2017 |
The whole town knew—but was what they knew right?
It's amazing how many mid-century authors were compared to Erskine Caldwell, but such was his influence that any pass at southern smalltown loving, feuding, and corruption prompted reviewers to cite him as the king of the genre. Francis Irby Gwaltney's The Whole Town Knew, originally published as The Yeller-Headed Summer, was compared by many to Caldwell. It deals with the rape and murder of a woman, subsequent efforts to find her killer or killers, efforts to keep the details of her free-spirited ways out of court, local newspaper drama, a not-too-bright lawman in way over his head, and more.
This lawman is the center of the book, and his problems mount tremendously—starting with the fact that he's supposed to leave influential members of the community alone and stick to policing poor and powerless folk. Art imitates life, right? The town of Walnut Creek was close kin to the burgs from Caldwell's oeuvre, as were the antics of the townspeople, but the book was well reviewed, leading to Irby—actually a protégée of Norman Mailer, whose mentorship was instrumental—becoming very famous for a time. We love the cover art on this 1955 Popular Library edition. It was painted by Ray Johnson, who always does great work, as you can see here and here.
