Charles Willeford's Portrait of the Artist as a Used Car Salesman
by Doug Levin
Nov 11, 2010 in Books,
Guest Posts
When I hit certain moments in works by Charles Willeford (1919–1988), I feel
like the top of my head is going to rip right off. This is my brain teetering
on the strange mental precipice that is the hallmark of Willeford’s odd and
destabilizing fiction.
And usually at these heady Willefordian moments, I laugh (nervously?
maniacally?) as well. I’m not prone to laughter, but Charles Willeford makes me
laugh.
What is the source of Willeford’s idiosyncratic impact on readers—an
impact that has won him devoted fans, brought his works back into print, and
made him an important part of the 20th-century American crime fiction canon?
In 1989, Richard Gehr. writing in the Village Voice Literary
Supplement, dubbed Willeford the “Pope of Psychopulp” (making Patricia
Highsmith the “Popette”?), meaning in part: (1) that Willeford has a religious
following; and (2) that a special subgenre name—“Psychopulp”—is needed to
contain his works.
I’m not altogether crazy about the term “Psychopulp” as a description of
Willeford’s content, but the word does aptly describe the effect of his
works: my psyche—my psychology—is pulped as Willeford’s fiction unhinges
certain bourgeois American attitudes and beliefs.
I would go so far as to argue that Charles Willeford, in his best works,
puts art, aesthetic sensibility, critical acumen, morality, and American
ideology on a dramatic collision course. Yeah, pretty sophisticated stuff for a
guy whose first novels were published by third-string soft-porn paperback
houses in the 1950s.
for the rest go here:
http://www.mulhollandbooks.com/2010/11/11/charles-willeford’s
-portrait-of-the-artist-as-a-used-car-salesman/
http://www.mulhollandbooks.com/2010/11/11/charles-willeford’s
-portrait-of-the-artist-as-a-used-car-salesman/
2 comments:
Last time I talked to Willeford he said he wished he was healthy enough to enjoy his success. Soon after that, he died. A shame.
RJR
Nice piece by Mr. L. And I like the title, a reference to Willeford's first novel, High Priest of California, featuring a sleazy used car salesman.
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