Customer Reviews

The Wounded and the Slain

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David Goodis's noir novels have been described as "suicide notes." "The Wounded and the Slain" is no exception. If you like your plots bleak and your anti-heroes in extremis, with lots of heavy psychological and philosophical musing, Goodis is the noir writer for you.

Action is not the main point here. The detective-story plot, involving murder and blackmail, doesn't really get going until about halfway through the book. Goodis's main purpose is to present us with a character study of a white-collar alcoholic, his repressed wife, and the misery that plays out between them in an exotic locale.

James and Cora Bevan are a couple on the rocks. James began their marriage with a healthy libido, but Cora found sex revolting and painful. Cora tried at first to meet James's needs, but it was always a strain and they gradually gave up on intimacy with eachother. To make things worse, they don't have kids because Cora had two miscarriages. In despair, before he became impotent, James turned to a prostitute, with tragic results.

Now they are attempting a geographic cure, in Jamaica. Wallowing in guilt, James seems poised to drink himself to death, while Cora finds herself attracted to another man. Cora knows, however, that even if she responded to the new guy's overtures, sooner or later he would want intimacy with her. She would be unable to meet his sexual needs any more than she can meet James's. As for James, he seems to have learned nothing from the tragic results of his slumming with the prostitute. Or maybe feels compelled to repeat that disaster. Because soon, he makes a night-time journey to a nightmarish sailors' bar in the slums of Jamaica, where the real horror begins...

The strengths of this book, for me, were the portrait of the seedy side of Jamaica and the character studies of the people James meets there. The low-life bar, the street full of shacks with no numbers on them, a hell house swelling with ganja smoke, a muddy hole covered in planks full of leaking water and rats, all form a dark and disturbing contrast to the ordered and civilized world of the tourist hotel where James and Cora begin the novel.

The Jamaicans are presented sympathetically and with depth. I was particularly impressed with Inspector Archinroy, the implacable, multi-racial policeman in charge of investigating the murder that becomes central to the latter half of the book.

Over the course of the novel, James and Cora are completely transformed by their trip to the dark side of Jamaica. For many mystery novelists, even of the noir variety, this would call for a redemptive ending. But Goodis avoids tying things up neatly for us. By the end we are left teetering, still wondering where the next blow will fall.

The Hard Case Crime edition of this classic fifties novel is reasonably priced and the cover art by Glen Orbik is a pleasure.

James and Cora Bevan have a miserable marriage. They blame themselves for the problems in it (sexual and otherwise), but invariably look for outside solutions to their despair (he the bottle, she another man) forgoing communication entirely. After nine years of this, they've almost completely given up on happiness, but have decided to take a vacation in Jamaica in hopes of one last chance.

The first chapter of The Wounded and the Slain, author David Goodis (who is probably best known for Dark Passage and Shoot the Piano Player, films based on his novels) shows the Bevans wallowing in their self-pity, but also shows the love they still feel for each other. It's a difficult chapter to read, and I nearly drowned in the monotonous sustained self-loathing (especially from James's point of view) pouring from the page. Luckily, by the middle of the second chapter, things got more interesting.

Not happier, mind you, just more interesting.

The Wounded and the Slain is not a pleasant read. It is easy to understand why it has been out of print since its first publication over fifty years ago: I can see potential publisher after potential publisher say, "Who would want to buy this?" because if you are unfamiliar with the depths of human misery, David Goodis will take you on a guided tour. It takes a publisher with a distinctive vision to look past its dismal sales potential and see its literary and historical merits.

The last book that got me this depressed was Chris Ware's graphic novel, Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth, but Ware's medium allows for the use of images to get his point across, where Goodis does it all with words. (Ware's title is misleading, as well, whereas Goodis slaps his intentions right on the title page.)

Goodis's skill at uncommon description is unparalleled. You need only step back from the page for a moment to realize that he is not just telling you about people -- he is putting you inside them! The pivotal bar fight in chapter three of The Wounded and the Slain is the best example of this talent: as each blow landed, I knew what each individual was thinking and feeling at that instant, and Goodis deftly switches among the array of characters. At the end, I felt as if I had been in the middle of the fracas, that every punch had not only been thrown by me, but also had landed on me. It was exhausting, but it was also a revelation: no author had ever gotten me so completely involved ever before.

But despite bringing his readers face to face with such a tragic cadre of silent sufferers, Goodis thankfully cannot resist adding a final note of hope. Allowing for the possibility of redemption, showing us that these characters do indeed have other sides to them, keeps The Wounded and the Slain from being just a succession of scenes in a morose milieu, and makes the characters relatable, giving the book real emotional power.

James and Cora Bevan are married, yet living separate lives. They take a trip to Jamaica to work on their marriage, but as usual James drinks too much and spends little time with his wife. He ventures into town, and his involvement in a bar fight leads to blackmail, extortion, and the wrong man ending up on death row.

The Wounded and the Slain is less about crime than many of the other books in the Hard Case Crime series. Though there is plenty of crime and violence, it is more the story of a relationship gone sour and one man's effort to find his humanity again.

David Goodis has a reputation as one of the bleakest of Noir writers, and it is quite evident in "The Wounded and the Slain", an expertly crafted psychological foray into the fractured psyche of an emotionally and sexually scarred man who may be beyond redemption.

With workman-like prose, Goodis does a fantastic job of creating a detailed atmosphere, both physically (the potrayal of a 1950's Jamaican resort and the seedy side of town on the outskirts is vividly portrayed) and psychologically (we get to inside the minds of these characters, especially Bevan and Cora). The suspense, although not plot or action driven, never lets up, and I found myself fascinated by this pessimistic, emotional journey into the dark side if noir.

A great entry into the Hard Case series, with yet another stunning cover by Glen Orbik.

David Goodis is not a household name on the order of Dashiell Hammett or James M. Cain, and it's hard to understand why. Goodis was as equally well known in mid-20th century pulp fiction as his contemporaries, not only for his violent, colorful prose but also for his willingness to take on subject matter not ordinarily dealt with even in the pulps. THE WOUNDED AND THE SLAIN, first published in 1955 and resurrected by Hard Case Crime, is an excellent example of Goodis's work and his unabashed look at topics considered sensitive for the times.

THE WOUNDED AND THE SLAIN concerns James and Cora Bevan, two good people who find their marriage failing despite their best efforts. Cora is psychologically damaged --- the reader learns the how and why of it late in the tale --- and James, patient to a fault, drowns his frustrations in alcohol. They travel to Kingston, Jamaica, in an attempt to make things right, but the trip only serves to accentuate their difficulties. James goes on an alcoholic bender, while Cora becomes attracted to another man who makes his intentions toward her quite clear. James continues his drinking binge in the Kingston slums, soon finding himself in a terrible difficulty that results in tragedy for a number of people.

The situation only gets worse when James tries to make things right and becomes the victim of a vicious blackmailer. It is, interestingly enough, Cora who must make the right decisions, ones that ultimately result in her indirectly confronting her own demons. She attempts to come to the aid of her husband, but that may be too little and too late.

Goodis's work would be good, even worthy, on these elements alone, but it is made all the more worthwhile by his subtle explorations of racial and economic issues that remain pertinent to this day. To some extent, THE WOUNDED AND THE SLAIN could be Goodis's own story, insofar as the author had his own demons that he faced throughout his life with varying degrees of success. The reprinting of this dark, enigmatic novel by Hard Case hopefully will revive interest in this fine writer, who in recent decades has become undeservedly obscure.

--- Reviewed by Joe Hartlaub

Since 2004, HARD CASE CRIME has done a fantastic job of both continuing on the pulp fiction tradition, as well as digging up old gems. David Goodis's THE WOUNDED AND THE SLAIN is no exception to the company's stellar work, as deserves a spot on the shelf of any noir fan.

THE WOUNDED AND THE SLAIN is the tale of James Bevan, a down-and-out drunk and his frigid wife Cora. After an affair goes awry, Bevan has a breakdown, and the only cure is a getaway in Jamaica. Together, both are thrown down equal paths of destruction: James's in the form of Jamaica's seedy underbelly and Cora in the form of a brutish lug who wants to do more than talk.

Goodis's expert style, often swifting from third to fist person in the same paragraph, accentuates the trouble state of the characters, the plot moves like a rocket, and the characters are well drawn and unique, even if the psychology behind their actions are somewhat dated.

The book is a must, not only for a Hard Case Crime fan (most of whom have it on the shelf already) but any lover of crime fiction.

David Goodis was one of the great noir writers of his time. The Wounded and the Slain is the last book he wrote. It's a mixed bag for the reader. On the plus side, Goodis is a terrific writer of internal dialogue, and he develops his characters with a depth and insight that few noir writers ever get close to. On the minus side, the plot is too much like a soap opera.

The story involves a married couple, James and Cora Bevan, who go to Jamaica hoping to rekindle their marriage. She is frigid and he has turned to alcohol in a big way to deal with his frustration. During the course of one drunken night, he gets involved in a murder, which has effects on the poor people of Kingston. The question of the book is whether Bevan can straighten himself out and then straighten out the damage he has done.

I really enjoyed his portrayal of Kingston and the people in it. Goodis has put a lot of effort in to get that right and one could argue that the natives are drawn more deeply and compellingly than the protagonist.

That said, this books is an ungainly merging of noir with soap, and the soap element of it will not seem convincing to younger readers not familiar with the 1950's. This is a book for people who really want to read far and wide in noir, or who are big David Goodis fans. Anyone else is advised to look up his other works, such as Dark Passage.

The Wounded and the Slain is a meandering and squalid crime novel that focuses on the depressed lives of its protagonists and staggers around in their beaten-down footsteps. The novel's focus isn't on whether the two can succeed, but rather whether they can change themselves enough to even attempt change.

James and Cora Bevan are unable to connect with one another and are miserable from their attempts to try. Cora has never been able to enjoy intimacy with James. The two were deeply in love, however, and each did their best to live with the other's needs and inadequacies. Love wasn't enough, though, and James soon finds himself stagnant and miserable in what he'd always thought would be a blazing romance, drowning, "The way a moth goes for the blue-white flame, but it turns out to be an icicle that freezes him to nothingness very quickly." (p. 17)

James and Cora, acutely aware of how they're perceived by those around them, have no ability to help themselves. Their lives have been dictated by their roles and their society. He works on wall street, acting and looking exactly as you'd expect. She forces herself to try and connect with him again and again, no matter how much it hurts her. Shaped by those around him, he's a "smoothly polished custom-tailored nothing" (p. 230), she a "meaningless ornament wearing a dress" (p. 245).

The two of them are in Jamaica, taking a physician-recommended vacation that neither wants or believes can help. The city of New York was never their problem; the problem was the way that James, desperate to find something worth living for, first finds solace with a prostitute and then (when decorum and conscience forces him to break that off) loses himself in the accepted, understood stupor of alcohol.

James is not deluded. He knows exactly what he's become, and his self-punishment - an endless cycle of recriminations that drive him to further immoral depths - soon causes him to resolve the seemingly normal people all around him, the healthy and wealthy and well-adjusted tourists that fill the Laurel Rock Hotel:

"And yet, as he gazed down from the opened window, he knew there was something wrong with the picture. What you mean is, he thought, there's something wrong with this party looking at the picture. This party doesn't belong in that setting. That setting is strictly for sober-minded individuals who know how to behave themselves. And this party here, this weak-kneed, weak-brained gin-head - oh, yes, this perfect example of ruination, this absolute failure -" (p. 31)

As a result, James does his best to leave the culture he's known all his life and heads to the worst areas of Kingston that he can find. Barry Street is filled with robbers, killers, and vicious fights, and it's there that James settles and proceeds to do his best to drink himself away while contemplating suicide and the many, many ways that he's failed the trappings of his successful lifestyle.

This is where, almost as an afterthought, the actual crime portion comes into play. Don't get me wrong, The Wounded and the Slain is a crime novel; it's just that the crime, rather than being the motivator or crisis that the characters are put through, is a result of the characters, a symptom rather than a cause of their predicament.

James, almost accidentally forced into the role of murderer, has as little idea of how to play this new part as he did about how to play his old one. In an attempt to give his life agency and motive, he tries to cast himself as a willful slayer, a beast out for blood, but such a guise soon becomes unpalatable and dangerous in the wake of his actions.

Both James and Cora are dragged, perhaps willingly, into the depths of Kingston. There is a chance that they will find their answers there, but there is also a chance that they will not, and it is clear from the text and conclusion of the novel that Goodis is not a writer concerned with fleeting moments of personal revelation. He gazes, instead, at the agonizing yeas before and after those too-brief epiphanies, the dark times when it's uncertain whether anything has been or can be accomplished, and, during their journey through those dark years and dark places, dirt stains and destroys the fastidious image that the Bevans have created and tried to pretend was their lives. As a Jamaican character says: "And de lesson of it is, when dey leave de fine hotel and come down to play in de mud, dey get muddy." (p. 190)

The best way to describe David Goodis's prose is passionate, albeit not in any typical definition of the word. Goodis writes freely, loosely, allowing ideas to flow into one other with a deadbeat energy that defies the dreariness of the events he depicts. He pays little attention to the supposed rules of writing. His story is, in large, part telling rather than showing, large segments of internal debates often written in either second or first person breaking up the vivid third person scenes of motion. In addition to his more character focused passages, Goodis is adept at flowing descriptive passages that bleed atmosphere and tone:

"If it wasn't opium it was hemp, and they had a way of treating it to make it extra-powerful, lifting the smoker very high above the earth, allowing him to soar up there with all the great ones, all the famous singers and dancers, all the champions and leaders. This special hemp they sold along Morgan's Alley was a very pleasant habit when it was available. When it was not available, the loss of altitude was sudden, a sort of plunging, and so finally they had to take it all the way and jump off a pier. Or sometimes they ignited themselves with matches. Another popular method was wrapping a cloth very tightly around the head to cover the nose and mouth so one couldn't breathe. It was the only thing to do when the hemp was not available to a user." (p. 205-6)

Make no mistake and never doubt it, The Wounded and the Slain is a miserable read. There is nothing romantic or idealized here, just ramshackle poverty and loveless life, senseless violence and misapprehended men. It's not clear if Goodis's protagonists have a chance of redemption at the end, but what's never in doubt is that their lives up to those final pages were a frigid, multicolored hell and that there's a very good chance that that's all that there is.

It's tempting to call this a "book noir", but Goodis' multi-colored detail impresses the travalogue lover in all of us: it's early '50s Kingston...often relying on period stereotypes, but never patronizing. The local "accents" are wonderfully captured in print, as characters' voices echo off aging second-grade wood in back alley liquor haunts. Sometimes we are placed *inside* the character; sometimes we are totally objective observers.
A Hollywood portrayal would have Glenn Ford as Bevan, the once man's man, now confused and beaten by a platonic marraige and June Allyson as Cora, the woman whose womanhood has yet to blossom. In typical 1950s fashion, instead of going to a Marriage Counselor, or joining a Gym, or taking a Course, they pack up and head to the Caribbean. But, initially, to no avail. They just indulge their impulses, separetely. Bevan looks for trouble; Cora is fascinated by a confident, well composed fellow-tourist, physically strong but with an intellectual bent.
Goodis expertly guides us to the climax...not gonna give it away.

Thinking people today would never use the term frigid to describe someone's wife. But in the less enlightened 1950s, the era in which David Goodis wrote, the adjective frigid was routinely applied to women like Cora Bevans, the long suffering spouse of James Bevans.

James is basically a good man who loves his wife, but her inability to enjoy marital relations has driven him to drink... in a big way. In a last ditch effort to save their marriage and to prevent James from drinking himself to death, the two travel to Kingston, Jamaica for a restorative vacation. When another man starts flirting with Cora, James reacts by foolhardedly venturing out into Kingston's most poverty-stricken, depraved slum to somehow redeem himself or die trying.

Author David Goodis does a great job in describing the nightmarish milieu of the otherwordly Kingston neighborhood James finds himself drawn to. Moreover, there is plenty of well written introspection to help the reader understand the mental anguish experienced by both James and Cora.

The Wounded and the Slain is a depressingly dark yet compelling tale that speaks to the hopelessness Goodis saw as being part and parcel of life as we know it. A skillfully crafted novel, recommended to readers not afraid to glimpse into the darker side of what it means to be human.