Guilty Pleasure...dammit, pleasure.

I think I got tired about Edwards S. Aarons Sam Durrell series about the time I hit college. I was by then a strident liberal and his Cold Warrioisms had palled for me.

What I didn't realize until several years later were how enjoyable his stand-alones were, even those written back in the Thirties for the how-low-can-you-go Phoenix House press.

Fortunately, I have about six or seven Aarons oldies left to read. I pick one up when nothing else is working for me. My favorites are those set during the war and right after the war. Especially those set in New York City where he spends some time making the city itself a charcater.

The one I'm reading now is Nightmare, a particularly tight and taut hardboiled number with a way too familiar theme--the drunken protagonist who can't remember anything surrounding the murder the cops he think he's guilty of.

While Aarons doesn't yet do one damned thing by way of freshening up the premise he does keep you reading and reading fast with his very beleivable people, his somewhat familiar but still heart and groin stirring femme fatale, and his various atmospherics. He does noir atmospherics exceptionally well.

I woldn't recommend him to anybody under fifty five. These one offs are so specific to the big war and its effects that as history and sociology (their chief values) they probably wouldn't be of much interest.

But for geezers...enjoy!