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Title: Robert Leslie Bellems Dan Turner Hollywood Detective by John Wooley ISBN: 0-87972-232-0 Publisher: Popular Press Pub. Date: September, 1983 Format: Paperback List Price(USD): $11.95

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Average Customer Rating: 4 (1 review)

Rating: 4
Summary: Like othing-nay else your peepers have ever glimmed.
Comment: One cannot review a collection by Robert Leslie Bellem; one has to review the whole of his work.
Bellem is many things: inventive, energetic, fun, exhausting. Some might say bad. But like Hong Kong Cinema and whatever kind of rock music you listened to to rebel against your elders, Bellem's Dan Turner saucy, hard-boiled pulp stories transcend such petty, bourgeois categorizations at good or bad. They are entertainment at its purest, most raw and visceral.

Perhaps he was a hack. After all, he cranked out a million words a year by some accounts. He possessed none of the depth of Chandler, Hammett, Ross Mac, not even of Spillane or Gardiner. Then again he is more compulsively readable than Stockbridge or Daly or any of the others except Chandler. His voice was unique, creating a genre parody only a few years after the genre itself had been created. 40's slang has been called the most vibrant language since The Bard's time. And Bellem used his share of it. Although there is none of Chandler's artistry and care with language and simile (Bellem uses the language like a blunt, inexact science, formulated like an equation to get a rise from readers) it is a wonder to behold, all the same. Some say he was spoofing; others merely that he was lousy. But I tend to think he knew what he was doing. It takes talent to write as he did, and so what if he doesn't delve into the human psyche?

What exactly are his stories like? Well, Dan Turner investigates crimes involving drugs, murder, blackmail and adultery among the elite Babylonians of Hollywood. Only he's not a detective or a PI, he's a skulk or an orb for hire. And he doesn't do leg work because he doesn't have legs; he has sticks or pins. And he torches gaspers, sticking them in his pan or his mush. Women are wrens or pigeons, seldom wear a whole lot and every dame in Turner's universe has all the equipment wink-wink, nudge, nudge. He doesn't call people on the phone, he rings and yodels. Roscoes belch ka-chow and people are bumped by lead pills in acts of killery. He finds one or two per story dead as six buckets of fish bait. Turner would not say, "The heck you say!" He would say, "The heck you utter!" Bellem is not above bludgeoning readers with alliteraton. And, come on, the guy actually uses pig latin! How can you not like stuff like this?

Critics might say that once you've read one Dan Turner plot, you've read them all, or that once you've read six stories, you've read every turn of phrase in Bellem's arsenal. There is an element of truth to that, in the same way there is an element of truth to say Speed was similar to Die Hard. But I watch them each and every time they're on TV and don't grow weary. And I will continue to seek out Bellem fiction.

Bellem wrote primarily for the "spicy" pulps, much frowned-on in the 30's and eventually done away with. At his most prurient Bellem feels fairly scummy. On average he is less so that Spillane. Only one in this collection feels like it was meant solely for the lonely, sweaty under-the-counter market. Although Dan Turner demonstrates his way with the ladies and shows he knows how sometime-heroes make use of ellipses...

Okay, I'm back. And no, I didn't. But I trust you get the idea. Anyway, a faint sense of yuckiness keeps me from bestowing this book a fifth star.

But I heartily recommend it, if you can find it, and any other Bellem stories you can dish out your hard-earned geetus for, get your mitts on and glim.