The Getaway Car Page 23
Fucking busybody.
Well, Nieman-Marcus did not laugh it off, so I have now signed 1,046 big thick labels that won’t fool anybody, that have to be inserted into the existing books down there in Dallas by a lot of illegal immigrant slave labor that never before in their lives have been asked to line up two pieces of paper and make sure they’re both right side up.
Kee-rist on a crutch,
Don
TO DAVID RAMUS
This is Westlake’s response to the the first part of the manuscript of what would become Ramus’s first novel, On Ice.—Ed.
September 29, 1998
Dear David,
I finally got to read the ms. I had to go to New York Sunday, coming back Monday, and I read it on the trains, which is where I seem to do most of my reading.
Your primary question is whether or not your hero is believable with the background you gave him, and the answer is yes. I had no trouble accepting that. Who he used to be as an art maven doesn’t show.
However. You could improve the portrayal a bit, I think, and you have to beef up one part of his motivation. Before I get to it, let me tell you briefly about my first editor, Lee Wright at Random House, who is still the best editor I ever had. She told me once that she would never say something was wrong in a novel unless she could make a suggestion for an alternate way, not to say “do it this way” but to say “there’s more than one way, here’s a second, maybe here’s a third.” So I’m following her dictum, making suggestions for illustration only.
I think you can improve the reader’s grasp of Ben Hemmings by having other people say what they think of him. Not a lot, maybe two or three times in the book. But for instance, when Grace, on the boat, tells him he doesn’t look like an ex-con, he could ask her what do I look like, and she could say something along the lines of “You look like a carnival roughneck, but a nice one, who’d let a poor kid sneak in.” But earlier than that, possibly with Grantham, who could tell him how he’d look to a jury.
The other thing is, toward the latter part of what I read, his motivation seemed to be to get the five mil, and if that happens, you lose the reader’s sympathy. The motivation is to get out from under. If he gets out with a lot of money, that’s nice, but the point is to get out. He could tell us, but not Black, for instance, that if he fails to get the money but still gets out from under, that’s okay, too, though he knows that might make Black unhappy.
Next point. If you tell us something twice, it’s a plot plant. When Black mentions that FBI men never work alone but Partone is working alone, that’s the second time I’ve been told that, and now I know Partone is a rogue, not doing the government’s work but his own.
Now a minor point. We all do clinkers from time to time, and yours is on page 22, eighth line from the bottom. I think what you want to say is “I could count on my fingers the number of times she cried.”
Now I also think you need to do a little tweaking of story procedure, how you unfold it for us. Page 52 was way too late to introduce a flashback and then let the flashback wander. You say you’re going to tell us about the first time Ben met Dana, and then you tell us a bunch of other stuff for eight pages. I am very impatient during all this. I don’t mind leaving prison to go to court, but if I’m leaving court, by this point in the story I want to get back to prison. My suggestion here is, make the flashback a separate chapter, make it Chapter 4, then juke the other even-numbered chapters forward until it’s realigned. (It wouldn’t be quite that easy, of course, it would take some reconstructive surgery, but I do believe it would help.)
I wanted to tell you that the business about the prison phone is just terrific. Terrific.
Now a tiny moment when you nodded. On page 99 Ben looks at the watch he wasn’t wearing on 97 when McGee searched him.
Finally, I have one absolute objection. We do not overhear plot points. No no no. He just happens to be standing here when somebody standing over there says the stuff he needed to know. No. But if Ben wanted to know what was going on, and felt it was important, he could put himself at risk to deliberately eavesdrop. Almost get caught.
Anyway, it’s a lovely devious book, and I’m looking forward to reading the rest of it and seeing it in print. And don’t worry about Ben; I’d hire him to build me a barn any day.
Don
In his grateful reply, Ramus wrote, “I had to hold the ms in one hand because I was busy slapping my forehead with the other. I was also muttering, ‘Of course . . . Of course. . . ’ ”—Ed.
TO PAM VESEY
Pam Vesey was the copyeditor for M. Evans and Company working on Brothers Keepers.—Ed.
February 24, 1975
Dear Pam,
I don’t intend to get into a thing here like Brian with his commas, but I do want to rise to say a word or two for the semicolon. It does exist as a tool of punctuation in written English prose, and is just as respectable as any other piece of punctuation you can think of; goes to church on Sundays and all the rest of it.
In fact, my Random House Dictionary goes so far as to define it. “The punctuation mark used to indicate a major division in a sentence where a more distinct separation is felt between clauses or items on a list than is indicated by a comma, as between the two clauses of a compound sentence.”
I point out in that definition the phrase “is felt,” and I suggest that the individual doing the feeling is presumed to be the writer. I point out the phrase “more distinct separation,” and I suggest that the purpose of the semicolon is at least in part rhythmic.
My own rhythms tend to be long ones, and I grant you that as a result I tend to over-use the semicolon, but some of them are right, and in most instances (in this book and others) the copyeditor’s alternative is less correct. Breaking the offending sentence into two sentences is grammatically correct but often rhythmically wrong. Replacing the semicolon with a colon is correct only if a list or a new sentence follows the punctuation, in which case (a) I would probably have used a colon myself, and (b) a double space should follow, as it follows a period. Replacing the colon with a dash is never right, since dashes, except in speech—in which they indicate a break in the flow—must always appear in pairs. The function of the dash in ordinary prose is identical to—but less formal than—the function of the parenthesis.
Why does everybody hate the poor semicolon? It’s nice; it’s useful; it’s even rather pretty.
Second topic. I have added a page to the very end of the book. It didn’t seem right to end on a downer, so I brought Brother Benedict home and showed him happy. (The new material contains a semicolon; it has orders to call me if anybody gives it any trouble.)
Yours in Strunk,
Don
TO GARY SALT
What follows are selections from Don’s correspondence with his West Coast agent, Gary Salt.—Ed.
July 22, 1994
Dear Gary,
Personally, I’ve always found Sherlock Holmes a self-important, humorless drug addict, a Henry Higgins without redeeming features, and I also believe he was wrong half the time.
Don
March 10, 1995
Dear Gary,
So it’s Dawn Powell’s fifteen minutes, is it? Well deserved. My favorite quote from her, re her writing method: “I give my characters their heads. They provide their own nooses.” We know people who knew her, and I believe Abby met her a few times. So I was delighted when I saw Locusts being considered.
Alas, no. There’s no good movie in there, though some callow youth might find a bad one; Winona Ryder and Brad Pitt dressing up in their parents’ clothes again. The problem is, her books were never plot driven, and they weren’t even character driven. They were attitude driven, and nothing staledates faster than attitude (except politics, of course). A mournful pass.
Don
TO HENRY MORRISON
Henry Morrison had been Westlake’s agent, but at this point Westlake was unrepresented.—Ed.
March 28, 2005
Dear
Henry,
Here I go again, breaking a cardinal rule in the freelance writer’s sacred oath: putting a little something on paper for free. Well, at least it’s a first draft.
Our lunch was not only very pleasant, but also very useful. I’ve always enjoyed your skill at changing the subject, and I particularly liked it this time. To rid ourselves quickly of the topic I brought in with me, Richard Dannay agreed I should stay with Tuttle-Mori and let the comic book lie in limbo, at least for now. So I e-mailed here and there in Japan and did nothing about the comic, but will say “not now” if he resurfaces.
Now to the sequel. I had to think longer and harder on that. What is my five-year plan? Is Warner Books a part of it? Are you a part of it? What, at this point, do I want?
You may be right—in fact I’m sure you’re right—that opportunities have been missed in forwarding my career, particularly after The Ax but also at other nexi—can that be right?—here and there. Do I now try to recapture a moment and take a different fork in the road? Is that possible? Is it worth it?
I am not rich, but I am comfortable, and see no reason for that to change, so economics can’t drive me the way it did when I was elbow deep in growing children. Whatever my position may be in the writing world is pretty well fixed, I believe; the reputation and the glory are unlikely to alter much, unless I write a glowing biography of Osama Bin Laden. So, much more than earlier in my life, it’s a dealer’s choice.
One reason why The Ax didn’t change things, and Kahawa didn’t change things, and Humans didn’t change things, is that I am not consistent. Can you imagine Wodehouse writing any of those three? Can you imagine Jonathan Franzen writing the Dortmunder novels? No publisher can count on me, because I can’t help myself; I follow what interests me. And that—new scents to follow—has slowed a bit of late.
I’m still earning in the screen world. I’ve done one thing this year and have been asked to do a screenplay to a Heinrich Boll novel which I’ll do if the deal is right. I want, on the other side, to finish the Stark novel that’s been giving me trouble, then do whatever occurs to me to complete the Westlake contract with Warner, then not commit myself at all. Do whatever comes next, make the best deal I can for it, and go on. When the time comes, I’ll fire a warning shot across your bow and we’ll see if you’re interested. Until then, I appreciate the time and the advice. Thank you.
Don
TO JON L. BREEN
Jon L. Breen is editor of Murder Off the Rack: Critical Studies of Ten Paperback Masters, to which Westlake contributed the essay on Peter Rabe.—Ed.
December 10, 1986
Dear Mr. Breen,
A lot of work for no money. As my agent, Knox Burger assures me, this is the kind of offer I seem unable to resist. “Okay,” as Joseph Cotten said in The Third Man, “I’ll be your dumb decoy duck.” He was a writer, too.
However, I am a mere grazer on the lower slopes of the lit biz, so you’ll have to explain a couple of things to me, such as:
What is MLA format?
What is a Sherlockian-type speculation? “I think this is Turkish tobacco.” Like that, you mean?
I’ve started rereading Rabe, and by golly he was good, and if I can find out why his career ended so shortly after it began I’ll include that in the piece. Critically, of course, not descriptively.
By the way, I mentioned to Coe and Stark that your wife Rita doesn’t like their books. Coe cried, but Stark left the house and I haven’t seen him since. Maybe you ought to mention this to Rita.
Don
THIRTEEN
JOBS NEVER PULLED
Title Ideas
In his files Westlake kept typed lists of title ideas, divided into crime titles and comic crime titles. Over the years, a few were struck through as they were used; fans will notice that Westlake also struck out one title, Dead of Night, that he never used.—Ed.
CRIME TITLES
Nobody Runs Forever
Death of the Party
Long Shot
The Mannequin
Crossfire
Cry of Alarm
Blind Spot
Clay Pigeon
Cloak and Dagger
Lady in the Mirror
Blind Alley
Checkmate
Fair Warning
Fatal Lady
The Final Night
Dark Angel
Hideout
Dead Wire
Crack Shot
Cross Purposes
Danger Sign
The Bolt from the Blue
Riddle Me This
Slaying Song
The Other Side of the Night
Died in the Wool
Delegate at Large
Dead of Night
Never Say Die
Night Hawk
Quick Money
The Night Riders
Walk a Crooked Mile
Ride a Crooked Mile
Ready Money
Trouble Ahead
Sudden Money
Wake Up and Die
Whipsaw
The Wrong Road
Dead Cinch
Gun Money
The Long Pursuit
Seven Men and a Bank
Dark Glitter
After Midnight
All the Past Is Here
Beyond the Night
Borrower of the Night
City of Night
Clash by Night
The Dark Backward
Corkscrew
Deadly Night
Here Lies Yesterday
In No Time
Into the Night
Lonely Again
Night Hawk
Nobody Runs Forever
Old Times
The Other Side of the Night
Out of the Night
Past and Gone
The Road Back
The Story of the Night
Yesterday Is Here
Whirligig
Back to the Wall
Afternoon Women
Cry for the Moon
Fair Dame
Not Yet, But Soon
The Fifth Down
Sudden Laughter
The Maiden All Forlorn
Wit’s End
Man Here Says He Has a Gun
The Lady Tries Her Luck
Harlequinade
The Trumpets of Liliput
The Seamster and the Teamtress
Comeback
All Fools in a Circle
Mouse among the Cats
Hard and Fast
Free and Easy
Escapade
Kaleidoscope
Flying Colors
Road Story
Ill Met by Moonlight
The Road Back
The White Silence
Safety in Numbers
COMIC CRIME TITLES
Kid Stuff
Babes in the Wood
Hammer and Tongs
The Plot Thickens
Smart Alex
The Deuce
Through Thin
Winking Streak
Oops
Off the Hook
Wit’s End
Out of the Jaws of Victory
All of Life is 6 to 5 Against
Don’t Make Me Laugh
The State of the Art
Another Day, Another Dolor
The Scared Stiff
The Farmer in the Well
The Crookbook
Too Many Crooks
League of Rogues
Crook’s Tour
A Crooked Smile
The Babbling Crooks
Crook Your Little Finger
A Crooked Stile
The Shepherd’s Crook
The Crook of the Month Club
Crook Burning
A Lean and Hungry Crook
Crooked Circle
Crook in the Ice
The Crook of Doom
The Crook on the Hearth
Jiminy Croo
ked
A Crook in Time
Thick as Thieves
Question Time
Miscreant’s Way
False Profits
No Score
On the Bend
Worse Than a Crime
The Soft-Boiled Yegg
Idle Hands
Sticky Fingers
Rough Stuff
Publish, and Be Damned
Black and Blue and Read All Over
Read Me
FOURTEEN
DEATH ROW (OR, THE HAPPILY EVER AFTERLIFE
Letter to Ralph L. Woods
Westlake often received letters from writers assembling anthologies or journalists writing articles that asked his opinion on a specific question—like Ray Broekel’s question about chocolate bars found earlier in this book. As they were perfect occasions for joking, he couldn’t resist answering. The letter below, to Ralph L. Woods, was written in response to a question about the afterlife.—Ed.
October 7, 1975
Dear Mr. Woods:
The last time I thought deeply I got the bends. If I ran into Socrates, for instance, I’d be likely only to want to ask him what hemlock tastes like; potentially useful information, if people write books in the afterlife. And if they don’t write books, what’s the point?
Nobody has ever been able to describe for me what the afterlife is beyond the simple continuation of existence. Does personality continue? If so, then Heaven can’t very well be heavenly. Who am I if I’m not working on a book? The afterlife sounds to me to have much the same quality as a prefrontal lobotomy.
Therefore, if I am to assume life after death, and if I am to further assume that the me over there would still be recognizably me, then I would like to meet O. Henry, Mark Twain, Ambrose Bierce and Dashiell Hammett, sit down with a bottle of beer—I won’t be on a diet then—and talk shop for a century or two. After that, I’d like to go off with Robert Benchley and look for girls.
Sincerely yours,
Donald E. Westlake
NOTES
Two: Donald E. Westlake, A.K.A . . .
* From The New York Times, January 29, 2001, © 2001 The New York Times. All rights reserved. Used by permission and protected by the Copyright Laws of the United States. The printing, copying, redistribution, or retransmission of this Content without express written permission is prohibited.