Milton K. Ozaki’s The Scented Flesh

Milton K. Ozaki’s The Scented Flesh was published in 1951.

Milton K. Ozaki (1913-1989) was an American writer born in Wisconsin. His father was Japanese. He wrote a couple of dozen crime novels between 1946 and 1960.

The Scented Flesh opens in classic hardboiled style. Private eye Carl Good wakes up next to a beautiful blonde. This dame has real class, and a look around her apartment indicates she has real money as well. That puzzles Carl. If she has class why would she have gone to bed with him? Dames like her don’t sleep with two-bit private eyes. There’s a used flash bulb on the floor, which worries Carl a little. Another thing that bothers Carl is that the blonde is dead. He doesn’t like the implications of that. He certainly didn’t kill her but it looks like someone is trying to make it look that way.

It would help if he could remember how he ended up in the dame’s apartment but the previous night is a complete blank. Carl is no drunk. He figures someone slipped him a mickey.

Eventually he remembers that he’d been in a dive called The Shamrock. Maybe one of the girls there remembers seeing him. Flo remembers him. She thought he was a pretty nice guy.

Another thing that Carl figures out is that he’s making somebody nervous. Nervous enough to try to blow him up with a hand grenade. There are whispers of a shake-up in the world of organised crime but Carl can’t see how that could connect with a routine missing persons case. Which is all that this started out to be. An old guy from Iowa hired him to find a girl, Sylvia Shepherd. Maybe she’s his daughter. Carl doesn’t care. He was offered two hundred bucks to find her so he took the case.

Now everyone is telling him that the smart thing to do is to drop the case. Carl thinks that would be the smart thing to do as well. He has no personal stake in this and it sounds like some very dangerous people are mixed up in it, the kinds of people a smart private eye steers well clear of. But Carl is stubborn.

The sleaze level gradually increases. It’s a crooked town. But Carl has been around long enough to take that for granted. He’s a big boy.

There are a lot of women in this case. Lots of naked women. Some dead, some alive. Some of them are strippers. Some seem respectable. Carl thinks the strippers are more trustworthy than the respectable dames. Maybe he’s right.

Maybe he should talk to the organised crime boss? A crazy idea but it might give him a clue. And it’s not like Carl has any crusading ideas about clearing up crime and corruption. He just wants to solve the case and collect his two hundred bucks and go back to his normal routine. A routine that doesn’t involve waking up in bed with dead blondes.

It’s a fairly routine plot but it’s serviceable enough. Carl gets himself deeper and deeper into something he still doesn’t understand and that offers plenty of potential for action and narrow escapes from danger.

There’s plenty of hardboiled atmosphere but this is definitely not noir fiction.

The Scented Flesh is a fairly average but very competent hardboiled PI thriller. As long as you don’t approach it with unrealistically high expectations it’s enjoyable. Recommended.

Armchair Fiction have paired this title with Owen Dudley’s rather good Run If You Can in a two-novel edition.

John Norman’s Nomads of Gor

Nomads of Gor, published in 1969, is the fourth book in John Norman’s Gor series.

This series has aroused lots of controversy due to the fact that it depicts a society in which female slavery is practised. In fact there’s nothing controversial in the first three books. They’re imaginative and intelligent science fiction/fantasy novels with some fine world-building. This fourth book does start to get into more controversial territory. It’s worth reading in order to find out what the fuss was all about.

The premise of the series is that there is, within our solar system, a hitherto undiscovered planet. It is the Counter-Earth and is known as Gor. It is inhabited by humans, but the animal life is decidedly non-terrestrial. Gor is ruled by the mysterious priest-kings. Gor is technologically primitive, roughly equal to mediæval Europe. There is no electricity. There are no cars or locomotives. There are no firearms. As you find out as you make your way through the series the actual situation is much more complicated. Things are not as they seem to be.

Tarl Cabot is an ordinary American, from Earth. He has been transported to Gor by means that seem magical but are not. He has a destiny on Gor.

I’m not going to spoil things by revealing anything about the true situation. And I’m going to avoid spoilers for the earlier books.

It cannot be emphasised too strongly that the Gor books have to be read in publication order. If you don’t read them this way you’ll be very confused. At least in the early books there are ongoing story arcs.

While the Gor novels can be enjoyed as exciting sword-and-planet style adventures (there’s plenty of action) John Norman is a philosopher and he used the Gor novels to explore various philosophical, political, social and cultural speculations. And speculations about sexual mores. He created a complex fictional alternative world with beliefs and values that may seem strange but of course the beliefs and values of every human society at various stages of those societies’ histories always seem strange to those brought up in other societies and at other times.

You don’t have to approve of the Gorean society that Norman describes. He is clearly trying to be provocative and to challenge our assumptions. I like that in a writer.

In Nomads of Gor Tarl Cabot finds himself among the People of the Wagons, fierce nomadic tribesmen from the southern part of Gor. Their society is similar to mainstream Gorean society in some ways, and very different in others. There are four main nomad tribes. Relations between these tribes are often uneasy. If the omens are favourable an overall leader can be appointed, but the omens never are favourable.

Tarl is carrying out a mission on behalf of the priest-kings. His first step has to be to persuade these nomads not to kill him out of hand. He does that. They take a liking to him.

What he didn’t expect to find among the nomads was an American girl named Elizabeth Cardwell, a girl from 1960s New York City. Her presence just doesn’t make sense.

Tarl and Kamchak, one of the subordinate nomad leaders. His tribe is laying siege to the city of Turia. Tarl thinks the solution to his quest may be in Turia.

There’s another woman who plays a key role in this story. Aphris is Turian. Kamchak is determined to own her. The emotional and sexual dynamics involving Tarl, Kamchak, Aphris and Elizabeth are complex but crucial. The relationship between Tarl and Elizabeth is central to the story.

Tarl has conflicted views about Gorean sexual mores. He accepts that Gorean society is based on different values. He isn’t sure that he can fully accept those values, but he can see that they make a kind of sense. A major theme of Nomads of Gor is Tarl’s struggle with his conflicted views. Does he want Elizabeth as his slave? He doesn’t think so, but maybe he does. Does she want to be his slave? She doesn’t think so, but maybe she does. Norman is challenging us to think about social organisation and sexual mores and the extent to which they are built on a proper understanding of human motivations and the extent to which they are built on our own social prejudices. The reader will either enjoy being challenged in this way, or will be shocked and offended. But Norman does have serious intentions.

Nomads of Gor is a fine entry in the Gor saga and I highly recommend it but read the first three books first.

I’ve reviewed those first three Gor novels here - Tarnsman of Gor, Outlaw of Gor and Priest-Kings of Gor.

Alain Robbe-Grillet’s The Voyeur

The Voyeur, published in 1955, was Alain Robbe-Grillet’s third novel.

Robbe-Grillet was a leading light in the Nouveau Roman ( 'new novel') movement which emerged in France in the 1950s. Whether this can be considered a modernist or a postmodernist movement depends on how you define postmodernism, and nobody has ever been able to define postmodernism satisfactorily.

The Nouveau Roman writers were uninterested in conventional narratives. The Voyeur has a narrative, but it’s almost accidental. It’s as if the protagonist, Matthias, collects bits and pieces of evidence drawn from his observations and memories and it is possible from these elements to construct a narrative but there is no way to be sure that is is the correct one. In fact there is no way to be sure that there is any story at all. The story told by these items of evidence might be illusory, merely a result of the innate human desire to see events as forming patterns. Sometimes the patterns are real. Sometimes they’re just random observations.

Matthias is a watch salesman. He arrives on a small island, hoping for a successful sales trip. He was born on this island and has various memories connected with it, although we have to consider the possibility that he has never been there before.

Memories are triggered but Matthias knows that memories can be misleading or false. He meets an old school friend but he has no actual recollection of having ever set eyes on this fellow before.

While Matthias is on the island a terrible event occurs. It may be a shocking crime. A young girl is found dead. It may have been murder but for various reasons the evidence pointing to murder has to be regarded by the reader as very ambiguous. It is entirely possible that the girl fell from the cliff accidentally.

Matthias tries to reconstruct the events, and his own actions, from his memories of that fateful day. These memories may be mixed up with memories from his past, of things that may have happened to him years earlier. It is possible that those things really happened to him, but it is also possible that they never happened. Some of his memories seem to be constructed from stories he has heard about other people. Matthias seems to have difficulty separating other people’s experiences from his own. We might well suspect that Matthias is the sort of guy who reads detective stories and true crime stories. The newspaper cutting he carries around with him might be about a crime he committed, or it might simply be a story of a crime committed by someone else.

You could argue that in this novel Matthias may be playing the role of the detective, or the role of the perpetrator of a crime. If there was a crime.

Matthias’s memories are disturbing but at the same time he regards them with detachment. There are perhaps some existentialist elements to this novel. Matthias is an observer (hence the title). Is he a participant as well, or just an observer?

Matthias obsesses about time (it’s probably no coincidence that he makes his living selling wristwatches). Everything he does have to fit a timetable. He has only six hours on the island before he has to catch the steamer back to the mainland. He has to sell 89 wristwatches in that time. He needs to know how long each sale will take. If sales are slow early on he has to recalculate his timetable.

He has to know exactly how long it will take him to get back to the pier. That timetable has to be constantly revised as well.

Matthias is obsessed by numbers. He needs to know exactly how many wristwatches he needs to sell, and the wristwatches come in different styles with different prices. He does the calculations in his head again and again.

Matthias is constantly trying to piece together the story of his day on the island. Possibly not the story, but a story. A narrative. Memories and observations can be pieced together in different ways to make stories that are not necessarily the same story or the real story. He is doing what a novelist does - piecing together various plot elements in order to construct a narrative but the plot elements do not necessarily have to be put together in just one way. They can make different narratives. A novelist’s narrative does not have to be true. A novelist deals with stories but perhaps not with truth or reality. Perhaps there is no true narrative. A novelist’s narrative does however have to make sense on its own terms and it has to suit the novelist’s purpose.

Matthias is trying to construct a narrative that will suit his purpose. He is having a lot of difficulty doing this. He has to make a lot of revisions. A lot of recalculations.

It all sounds very dry and intellectual and very arty but in fact it’s very entertaining. There was always a playfulness about Robbe-Grillet’s work. And he hoped the reader (or the viewer in the case of his film) would enjoy the games as well. The Voyeur is highly recommended.

I’ve also reviewed Robbe-Grillet’s delightfully playful 1965 novel La Maison de rendez-vous. He was also a brilliant film director. I’ve reviewed many of his movies - the hypnotic L’immortelle (1963), his superb exercise in surrealism La Belle Captive (1983), the wildly strange and erotic Successive Slidings of Pleasure (1974) and the enticingly puzzling Playing with Fire (1975).

Happily the English translation of The Voyeur is easy to find.

Victor Canning's The Golden Salamander

Victor Canning (1911-1986) was a very popular English thriller writer who had a 50-year career. His thriller The Golden Salamander was published in 1949.

David Redfern is one of those Englishmen left somewhat adrift after wartime military service although in David’s case it was the death of his wife Julie after his return from the war that hit him harder. He blames himself (wrongly) for her death.

Now he’s in a little town named Kabarta, in Algeria, doing a job for an English university at which he was once a fellow. The job is to take charge of a huge shipment of Etruscan antiquities and arrange their shipping to England. What are Etruscan antiquities doing in Algeria? They were sent there for safekeeping during the war. They belonged to a wealthy Frenchman. He has now bequeathed them to David’s university. The man, a rich guy named Serafis, in whose house they are being stored is anxious to see them gone.

Etruscan civilisation is one of David’s subjects so he’s the ideal man for this job.

On his way to Kabarta he encounters a mudslide and has to abandon his rented car and finish his journey on foot. He comes across a lorry that has been stranded. He is curious enough to look inside one of the crates that has fallen from the lorry. It contains guns. He realises he has stumbled across a gun-running operation. He isn’t interested. It’s not his business. The war left him with a total lack of interest in causes and patriotic duty.

He meets a likeable American named Joe. Joe is an artist. He knows there’s something missing in his painting. He came to Kabarta in the hopes of finding it. There’s also a young Frenchman named Max. His paintings have what Joe’s lack but Max is looking for something else that’s missing in his life.

This is true of many of the characters in this book. They’re looking for something. David is certainly looking for something. Maybe he had it once. Maybe he never had it. But he needs to find it.

He meets a girl. Her name is Anna. He had no intention of falling in love again but it seems like it’s going to happen anyway. Maybe he loves her the way he was never able to love Julie. That could be one of things he’s looking for. But he’s looking for something else as well. Perhaps it’s a sense of purpose. Or perhaps it’s a moral strength. He has stumbled upon something illegal and wicked but he does nothing. That will have consequences. In this novel actions have consequences. David will learn this and it’s a hard lesson.

Despite his determination not to get involved in doing anything about the gun-running he does become involved. The problem is that he doesn’t understand the situation. He thinks he’s a world-weary cynic but there’s a touch of naïvete to him. He’s basically a good man and he doesn’t understand evil or corruption. David is a complex and interesting character. He is very much a flawed hero.

Among the Etruscan antiquities he discovers something not listed in the catalogue. It is a golden Etruscan salamander. Something about it haunts David. It’s as if it’s a symbol but he has to figure out what it symbolises for him.

It all builds to a very tense and exciting extended action finale. It’s a kind of hunt, with David as the hunted.

The Golden Salamander is a fine suspense thriller with a bit more substance and psychological depth than you generally expect in this genre. Canning is a writer deserving of rediscovery. Highly recommended.

I’ve also reviewed the movie adaptation of this novel, The Golden Salamander (1950), as well as Canning’s excellent 1948 thriller Panther’s Moon.

Karl Tanzler von Cosel's The Secret of Elena’s Tomb

The Secret of Elena’s Tomb was published in Fantastic Adventures in September 1947. It claims to be both a true story and an autobiographical story. And, weirdly enough, it is.

Karl Tanzler von Cosel (1877-1952) was a German-born radiologist who actually did preserve a woman’s corpse and attempt to bring it back to life. This really is his autobiographical account of those events. To say that he was eccentric would be an understatement. He was clearly quite mad, although probably well-intentioned.

The Secret of Elena’s Tomb is partly a true story. A great deal of it is certainly true. He unquestionably believed that all of it was true.

Von Cosel lived for a time in Australia, was interned during the First World and later moved to the United States. In his youth he believed he was visited by the spirit of a long-dead ancestress. While living in Australia he believed he was given a glimpse of his future bride. In Florida he met a young Cuban woman named Elena. She was dying of tuberculosis. He tried to save her life with various treatments, some scientific and some very much in the realm of pseudoscience. He had a kind of mystical belief in the power of electricity.

He also built an aircraft. He intended that he and Elena would fly away in it to some remote South Pacific isle.

Elena died but he refused to believe that her death was final. He stole her body from its tomb and kept it with him for seven years, making various attempts to preserve the body and revivify it. Eventually he was arrested. He was certified as mentally competent to stand trial but no really serious charges could be brought against him and his obviously sincere belief that he had acted for the best counted in his favour and all charges against him were dropped after he had spent a very brief period behind bars. The case became a media sensation at the time. All of this really happened.

All of this is recounted in von Cosel’s story. I’m not giving away spoilers since his story opens with his release from prison so we know how the story is going to end. And the interest in his story is not in the events themselves but in his motivations and in his interpretations of the events.

All of this is pretty much true. But von Cosel truly believed that Elena was not really dead and that she talked with him and sang to him after her death. He also recounts various dreams. It’s clear that he believed that dreams were more than just dreams, that they were in some sense true. Perhaps more true than waking life.

Many years after his own death in 1952 sensational accusations of necrophilia were levelled against him but the evidence is dubious. In his own account it appears that he believed that he and Elena had some kind of real married life after her death but his inability to distinguish between reality, dreams, wishful thinking and his odd mix of pseudoscientific, esoteric and mystical beliefs makes it impossible to know exactly what form this strange imaginary married life took.

It’s obviously a very creepy and disturbing first-person account of madness and obsession but it’s also a weirdly moving love story. For Karl Tanzler von Cosel love really was something that never dies. It’s worth reading just for its historical curiosity value and for its strangeness.

Armchair Fiction have paired this book with Leroy Yerxa’s novella Witch of Blackfen Moor in one of their two-novel paperback editions.

Owen Dudley’s Run If You Can

Owen Dudley’s Run If You Can was published in 1960. The tagline will certainly get your attention - So Lovely, So Nude, So Evil.

Dudley Dean McGaughey (1909-1986) wrote a huge number of pulp novels in various genres including both westerns and crime fiction under many different pseudonyms including Owen Dudley.

Ed Dunlap is in the construction business in partnership with his old army buddy Jake Armistead. Now Jake is dead. He was hit by a truck in the little town of Palm Oasis. That means Ed will have to return to Palm Oasis. It’s not a pleasant thought. He hasn’t been back there since he and his ex-wife Clissta were tried for the murder of his uncle. They were acquitted but as Ed soon finds out out he isn’t popular in Palm Oasis.

That’s partly his stepbrother Quince’s doing. Ed and Quince have always hated each other. Ed has hated Quince even more since he caught him in bed with Clissta.

Now Ed is going to have to deal with both Clissta and Quince again. Ed has a very strong suspicion that Jake was murdered. There’s also the matter of the forty-one thousand dollars that has disappeared.

It doesn’t take Ed long to figure out that Palm Oasis is a very bad place for him to be. Especially with crooked sheriff Bert Crackling out to get him. He doesn’t have much choice. If he can’t recover that money his construction business is finished.

Ed has an ally, of sorts. Her name is Pat. She’s seventeen. Ed assumes Jake was sleeping with her but Pat has a different story, a very different story.

From this point on the well-constructed plot comes up with some nice twists.

There’s certainly a strong noir flavour here. Ed is a decent guy and while he doesn’t have any typically noir character flaws he does have some serious noir vulnerabilities. He’s getting in deeper and deeper and he doesn’t know exactly what it is that he’s getting into.

The noir flavour is strengthened by the presence of three dangerous females and any or all of them could qualify for the femme fatale label.

There’s also a very squalid atmosphere of corruption. Palm Oasis is a rotten town where money can buy anything and there aren’t too many people in the town who haven’t sold out. Those that haven’t are too dumb or too apathetic or too scared to do anything about it.

Ed isn’t dumb. Maybe it’s not very sensible to pursue this matter but he’s fairly smart and he can work things out. The trouble is that when he does figure things out he finds he doesn’t have too many good options.

There’s a very hardboiled feel which the author handles well. There’s plenty of action and violence. There’s also some definite sleaze. One of the three dangerous dames is jailbait, one is a high-priced whore and one is a nymphomaniac.

All the noir fiction ingredients are here. Whether such a story is truly noir naturally depends on whether the hero can succeed in extricating himself from the appalling nightmare he’s landed himself in. If he cannot then it’s noir. If he can, then it’s merely noir-flavoured. And naturally I have no intention of giving you any hints as to how this one ends.

On the whole I found Run If You Can to be a pleasant surprise, coming from an author I’d never heard of. It’s well-crafted with plenty of suspense and with a nice cast of noirish characters. Highly recommended.

Armchair Fiction have paired this one with Milton K. Ozaki’s The Scented Flesh in a two-novel crime fiction paperback edition.

Willard E. Hawkins' Scratch One Asteroid

Scratch One Asteroid is a science fiction novella by Willard E. Hawkins that was first published in Amazing Stories in November 1952.

Willard E. Hawkins (1887-1970) wrote a smallish quantity of short form science fiction from the 1920s to the 1950s. Scratch One Asteroid seems to have been one of his last published stories.

The background to the story is that Mars and Venus have been colonised. Both planets had their own native inhabitants (in 1952 this still seemed vaguely plausible) but there is no interstellar space flight.

Brent Agar and Pete Monson are convicts on their way to the prison planetoid Ceres. Brent is determined to escape. When he finds out that there is, very unusually, a woman aboard the prison spaceship he thinks his chance has come. Her name is Vesta Clement, she’s a passenger and she’s being dropped off at a private resort planetoid. Brent and Pete hijack Vesta and the space tender and they’re very pleased to have gained their freedom but that freedom turns out to be an illusion.

The private planetoid belongs to Vesta’s fabulously rich uncle Wade Ballentine. He lives there alone apart from a surprisingly large staff of Venusians. Brent and Pete are his prisoners while Vesta is his guest.

Brent is suspicious of the whole setup. Wade Ballentine’s story doesn’t add up. Brent thinks that he and Pete and in danger and that Vesta is in even more danger. Brent is a convict but he’s basically a pretty decent guy. He really doesn’t want any harm to befall Vesta. He feels rather protective towards her.

What Brent needs to do is to figure out what Ballentine is up to. Brent has a hunch that whatever it is it’s highly illegal and that Ballentine isn’t going to want any witnesses left alive.

This is space adventure rather than anything approaching hard science fiction but the author is at least aware that a tiny planetoid would have very little gravity indeed. He comes up with some simple technobabble to deal with this and with the problem of providing an atmosphere for what is little more than a smallish asteroid. He doesn’t try to make the technobabble convincing because it’s not necessary. This is an adventure tale and he wants to get on with it.

There’s neither the time not the necessity for any real characterisation. Pete is good-natured and a bit thick-headed. Brent is resourceful, determined and fundamentally a nice enough guy. Vesta is just your basic rich girl although she’s pleasant and rather pretty.

The idea of asteroids being turned into luxury private estates or exclusive resort hotels in space is a reasonably good one. It is implied that one of the attractions of such private planetoids is that they’re outside normal legal jurisdictions.

Hawkins’ prose is basic but serviceable.

Armchair Fiction have paired this title with The Secret Kingdom by Otis Adelbert Kline and Allen S. Kline in a two-novel paperback edition.

Some of the obscure pulp stories Armchair Fiction have unearthed turn out to be neglected gems. Even the weaker ones, such as this, are interesting in giving us a glimpse of the range of fiction published by the pulps. We can appreciate the gems more fully when we can compare them to the run-of-the-mill stories. This is a lightweight pulp story but it’s harmless and at least moderately entertaining. Worth a look but don’t set your expectations too high.