The Green Rust by Edgar Wallace

Too cute for its own good
In the period between the two World Wars, Edgar Wallace was one of the most popular and prolific writers in England, though American audiences probably remember him best as the co-creator of King Kong. Upon reading his 1919 novel The Green Rust, it’s easy to understand why Wallace was so popular in his day, yet today’s readers are unlikely to find this book as satisfying as their counterparts of almost a century ago.

The novel opens with the murder of a millionaire, the ramifications of which will be felt throughout the book. So far so good. In chapter two, we meet the heroine of the tale, Oliva Cresswell. She lives in a London apartment building, sandwiched between two mysterious floormates, one an American drunkard, Mr. Beale, the other an unconvincingly Dutch physician, Dr. Van Heerden. It becomes obvious very quickly that Van Heerden is more Deutsch than Dutch. Given that this book was written shortly after the end of World War I, who do you think the bad guy will be, the “Yank” or the “Hun”? The book is anything but subtle with its German stereotypes and anti-Kaiser rhetoric.

The story revolves around a terrorist plot—which is admirably prescient of Wallace—but the book is oddly devoid of terror. The best thing that can be said about The Green Rust is that it is clever, but its very cleverness undermines any possible suspense. It’s like a collection of all the cheesy, dated flirting that goes on in between the important scenes of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. The three principles and the ensemble cast of supporting characters are intertwined in a web as tangled as The Count of Monte Cristo. They are always being brought together by incredible coincidences and showing up on each other’s doorsteps at just the right moment. All these fortuitous encounters are necessary to move the plot forward, but believability is at a minimum. The heroes don’t demonstrate a great deal of competence at crimefighting, and the villains are frequent bunglers. At the beginning of the novel, it seems that Ms. Cresswell sees her two neighbors as potential suitors, even though they are both obviously stalking her. A silly plot device that involves forcing a woman to get married hardly seems possible. An evil mastermind is wanted for various crimes, yet he still returns to his own apartment almost every night. At least two-thirds of the book goes by before anyone explains what the Green Rust is, though the reader has already figured it out long before. The hero uncovers a plot for world domination that will kill millions and likely start World War 1.5, yet he keeps it to himself rather than inform his friends in law enforcement, simply so he can maintain his air of mystery.

I have no doubt this book was immensely entertaining to the 1920s audience for which it was written. Given the residual animosity toward Germany from the recent Great War, British audiences would have eaten this stuff up. To the 21st century reader, however, the book is predictable and cliché-ridden. Nevertheless, it’s obvious that Wallace is not a bad writer. To his credit, his prose is effortless, his dialogue is snappy, and it does take some skill to weave so many far-fetched plot threads into some semblance of coherence. Wallace wrote almost 200 novels and almost 1,000 short stories. I’m sure there’s a good book in there somewhere, but this isn’t it.
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Setting the Standard: Comics by Alex Toth 1952–1954. Edited by Greg Sadowski

What a great artist can do with mediocre material
Setting the Standard is a collection of graphic short stories illustrated by Alex Toth, a master of comic art who chronologically and stylistically bridged the gap between the classic newspaper strips of the World War II era and the Silver Age of comic books. From 1952 to 1954 Toth worked for Standard Comics, where he drew stories for magazines like Intimate Love, Fantastic Worlds, New Romances, and Out of the Shadows. This book collects Toth’s complete body of work for Standard during that two-year period. The stories range in length from one to ten pages. Altogether there’s about 400 pages of comics, all reproduced to faithfully represent the original full-color printings, complete with garish colors, muddy blacks, and blatant dot patterns. A few examples of Toth’s original black and white layouts are also photographically reproduced.

Editor Greg Sadowski has done a fine job compiling this volume. In addition to the graphic content, there’s also an extensive interview with Toth from Graphic Story Magazine, a brief biography, and a section with notes about each story. In the interview Toth comes across as an extreme perfectionist totally devoted to his craft, and a bit of a prima donna. He acknowledges the influence of a few old masters like Noel Sickles, but he brutally critiques many more, including Milton Caniff and Alex Raymond.

Toth’s art often resembles the cinematography of a film noir thriller. His layouts are a symphony of blacks punctuated by judicious silhouettes. His style lends itself well to crime stories, but there’s only a couple examples of that genre included here. There are several war stories, all set in the Korean War. Toth proves himself extremely adept at rendering airplanes, tanks, guns, and the like, but the writing offers little excitement. Mostly there are a lot of combat clichés and anti-Asian racial slurs. The few science fiction stories are also conceptually pedestrian, but Toth does a visionary job drawing the necessary lizard men and flying saucers. The best stuff in the book are the horror stories. Toth’s art really shines in this genre, and the writing is generally pretty good. These stories aren’t as gratuitously gory as the more famous EC Comics of the mid-1950s, but Toth doesn’t shy away from the dark and spooky imagery.

More than half of the book—perhaps as much as two-thirds—consists of romance comics. For the most part these are serious love stories aimed at an adult female audience. It’s unbelievable how many variations the Standard writers could come up with on the familiar scenario of boy-meets-girl. Though some of the best writing in the book occurs in these tales of the heart, the sheer quantity that’s contained in the book is mind-numbing. The effect is similar to a soap opera marathon. Nevertheless, Toth manages to enliven even these predictable love stories with innovative and inspired graphic solutions.

Toth was a real genius at visual storytelling, and in this chronologically arranged body of work one can witness his talents developing and improving over the course of the book. The writing of the stories, on the other hand, is nothing to get excited about. In most cases, the author’s name isn’t even mentioned in the accompanying notes, though the inker’s always is. Clearly Toth’s art is the main attraction here, and today’s comic art enthusiasts can surely find much to appreciate in his historic body of work. Beyond their importance in comic art history, however, can these stories really be enjoyed on their own merits? That all depends on how nostalgic you are for ‘50s romance.
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A Zola Dictionary: The Characters of the Rougon-Macquart Novels of Emile Zola by J. G. Patterson

A valuable reference for Zola aficionados

Emile Zola

Emile Zola’s Rougon-Macquart cycle is one of the greatest literary achievements of all time. According to J. G. Patterson, author of A Zola Dictionary, “It occupied nearly twenty-five years in writing, consists of twenty volumes containing over twelve hundred characters, and a number of words estimated . . . at two million five hundred thousand.” Small wonder then, that some readers might feel the need to seek out a guide to help them get their bearings amid this epic series of novels.

The bulk of A Zola Dictionary consists of an alphabetical listing of characters explaining who each individual is and what roles they play in each novel. Even the most insignificant members of the supporting cast—horses, dogs, and cows included—are given brief listings, while the main characters get detailed mini-biographies that often span the plots of more than one novel. Patterson pays particular attention to each family member’s place in Zola’s overall evolutionary vision of the series and the specific personality traits handed down from generation to generation. He also provides helpful context for how the plots relate to the actual events of French history. At the back of the book there is also an alphabetical list of places where the novels are set, but this section is tiny in comparison to the much deeper study of the myriad characters.

In addition to the book’s encyclopedic content, the introduction provides a brief biography of Zola, along with an overview of his works and the critical reception they received. Because A Zola Dictionary was published in 1912, Patterson’s take on Zola’s writing is a bit antiquated and prudish. While he praises Zola for his development of Naturalism, he nevertheless heralds the author’s most Romantic works, like The Sin of Father Mouret and The Dream, as his best, while the far more Naturalistic novel The Earth, one of Zola’s true masterpieces, he regards as offensive. While 21st century readers probably won’t see eye-to-eye with Patterson’s critical views, the introduction is valuable nonetheless as a biographical overview. Patterson also includes a Rougon-Macquart genealogical tree, in which brief descriptions of the family members are arranged in generational order. In addition, Patterson provides short synopses of all twenty novels. These are not arranged in order of publication, but rather in the order in which Zola revisits them in the final novel, Doctor Pascal, which corresponds more closely to the order of the family tree.

If you’re new to Zola, it’s probably best if you stay away from this dictionary, because it will spoil the endings of all the novels for you. The best audience for this book are avid readers of Zola with some degree of familiarity with at least his major novels. For such readers this work will not only serve as a helpful field guide for keeping everyone straight but also as an awesome tribute to the genius of Zola and the impressive scale and depth of his monumental undertaking.

The only magnum opus that really compares to Zola’s Rougon-Macquart cycle is Honoré de Balzac’s Comédie Humaine. Fans of the latter author will enjoy Repertory of the Comédie Humaine by Anatole Cerfberr and Jules François Christophe, a reference work very similar in style and structure to A Zola Dictionary. My guess is that Patterson patterned his encyclopedic volume after this earlier book.
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Jack London: The Unpublished and Uncollected Articles and Essays. Edited by Daniel J. Wichlan

A tasty serving of leftovers
Jack London: The Unpublished and Uncollected Articles and Essays collects 26 pieces of short nonfiction that have never before appeared between the covers of a book. In his introduction to this 2007 collection, editor Daniel J. Wichlan claims that these are likely the final pieces of Jack London’s complete works to be uncovered. Most of these writings were penned for various magazines and newspapers, and are journalistic in tone. A couple essays were written as contest entries, and at least one began as a public speech. In the past I’ve been less than impressed with London’s essays. His two collections The Human Drift and Revolution are both chock full of mediocrity. Since the writings in Wichlan’s collection had never been reprinted before, I assumed they would prove worthy of their obscurity. Thankfully, I was wrong. I was very pleasantly surprised by how good many of these pieces are. The articles are arranged chronologically in order of original publication, which allows one to see the development of London’s thought and writing from clumsy and vague to mature and eloquent. They’re not all winners, but even the more poorly written pieces are valuable for the insights they provide into the author’s personal philosophy.

Wichlan deserves to be commended for digging up these buried treasures. In the brief introductions he writes for each essay, however, he’s shamefully guilty of hero worship. He sees every bit of London’s writing in the best light, and to hear him tell it you’d think London never wrote a racist word in his life. London, like many authors of his time, did have some racist inclinations, though scholars argue over how far they went. While a few of his books make him out to be a white supremacist (The Mutiny of the Elsinore comes to mind), this is not one of them. In the most controversial piece, “The Salt of the Earth,” London outlines his idea of how the process of evolution is still at work in the social, political, and economic forces of the present day. While London has often sung the praises of his Anglo-Saxon race, in this essay he clarifies that white people who speak English are merely winning the game right now (in 1902), and won’t be on top forever. London’s obsession with evolution forces him to see the various peoples of the world as little more than giant colonies of bacteria fighting over sustenance in a giant petri dish. In another article he looks at womankind through the same unflattering Darwinian lens. Rather than racist or sexist, London’s opinions come across as brutally blunt, deliberately provocative, and generally misanthropic. Yet at the same he was a firm believer in the power of the human spirit and preached multicultural brotherhood in pieces like “The Language of the Tribe.”

Several political essays are included, in which London takes an unapologetically Socialist stance on various issues. In general these aren’t as good as the essays that make up his book War of the Classes, but they still help to clarify his personal political views. Overall he comes across not as a textbook Socialist but rather simply an anti-Capitalist. Beyond race and politics, a range of lighter topics are covered as well, from Klondike sled dogs to a night out at a burlesque show to the filming of the 1913 movie of The Sea-Wolf.

If you’re a casual fan of The Call of the Wild, don’t read this book. The audience for this collection is London scholars and aficionados of his work. For anyone who falls under either of these categories, this book is a must-read. Perhaps more than any other nonfiction collection in the London canon, this book broadens our understanding of the role London played as a public intellectual of his time.

Essays and articles in this collection

The Principles of the Republican Party 

Telic Action and Collective Stupidity 

What Socialism Is 

Direct Legislation Through the Initiative and Referendum 

What Are We to Say? 

The Economics of the Klondike 

Husky—The Wolf Dog of the North 

Washoe Indians Resolve to Be White Men 

Girl Who Crossed Swords with a Burglar 

Finds Presumed Descendants of Sir John Franklin’s Party 

The Salt of the Earth 

The Stampede to Thunder Mountain 

What Shall Be Done with this Boy? 

Rising Tide of Revolution 

Things Alive 

Denied Admittance to the U.S. Because He Loves Liberty 

First Impressions 

Saved—and Lost! The Sobraon Boys 

Running a Newspaper 

The Yankee Myth 

Jack London Sees Movies Made of His “Sea Wolf” 

Jack London Goes to a Burlesque Show 

In Extravagance of Adornment the Modern Woman is Still a Savage 

The Message of Motion Pictures 

The Language of the Tribe 

Pressure of Population and Preparedness 

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The Time Machine by H. G. Wells

Accept no adaptations
The science fiction creations of H. G. Wells have become such an indelible part of popular culture that his stories may seem quite familiar even to those who haven’t read them. Whether they realize it or not, everyone’s probably seen at least one movie based either directly or indirectly on his 1895 novel The Time Machine, and pretty much every piece of time travel fiction written since this book’s publication bears the mark of its influence. Nevertheless, no matter what you think you may know about Wells from the various adaptations of this work, you are doing yourself a disservice if you haven’t read the original source material.

The Time Machine opens with a group of English gentlemen gathering for food, drink, cigars, and intellectual discourse at the home of their friend. The narrator, one of the guests at this dinner, never names his host, but only refers to him as the Time Traveller. The Time Traveller explains to his guests that he is working on a mode of transportation through the fourth dimension. He even demonstrates a miniature prototype of his time machine, which allegedly vanishes into the future. His guests are incredulous, but depart having been amused by this baffling parlor trick. When his colleagues return the following week, they find the Time Traveller in a terrible state—dirty, dishevelled, bloodied, and haggard. When questioned by his friends, he reveals that he has just returned from a perilous voyage to the year AD 802,701. As his audience listens in a mixture of shock and disbelief, he relates the story of his epic journey into mankind’s distant future.

Although written over a century ago, this book shows little signs of age. There’s nothing antiquated about the prose that would hinder the 21st century reader from enjoying this wonderful novel. The story is still remarkably fresh, engaging, and thought-provoking. The opening dinner party starts out lighthearted enough, but once Wells moves into the scientific subject matter, it soon becomes apparent that this is going to be more than just an entertaining adventure. Some deep thinking will be required. As Wells’ conception of Earth’s future begins to take shape, each layer of his visionary world is built upon a sound philosophical or scientific foundation. To delve too deeply into Wells’ thought in this review would be to spoil too much of the story. Suffice it to say that since the story concerns mankind’s descendants, Darwinian evolution obviously plays a large part. Wells depicts the state of affairs in the 800th millennium as the result of the natural, social, political, and economic forces he saw at work in his own time. Though the reader may not agree with the author that this is the way the future of humanity is going to pan out, one can’t help but admire how ingeniously and thoroughly Wells has thought out every last detail. Despite what you might have seen in the movies, there’s not a trace of campiness in this book, and no special effects could do justice to Wells’ visionary imagination. Beyond the thrill ride the plot provides, there is a stunning depth and breadth to Wells’ thought that clearly elevates this work above typical genre fiction to the level of literature.

I was so pleasantly surprised by The Time Machine, I’m now eager to read many of Wells’ other works. My guess is The War of the Worlds, The Invisible Man, and The Island of Doctor Moreau are all worlds better than their inadequate adaptations and, like this novel, contain hidden treasures just waiting to be discovered.
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Frank Norris: An Overview

The King of American Naturalism

Frank Norris. Photo by Arnold Genthe

Today, March 5th, is the birthday of Frank Norris (1870-1902), one of the greatest American novelists at the turn of the last century. His brilliant career was sadly cut short by a fatal case of appendicitis at the age of 32, but in his all-too-brief tenure as a man of letters, Norris was able to produce seven quality novels and a numerous and wide assortment of short stories, essays, and journalistic nonfiction.

Norris was born in Chicago, studied art in Paris, and attended Harvard University, but he lived most of his adult life in San Francisco, and almost all of his fiction is set in California. In his formative years as a writer, he worked as a war correspondent in South Africa and Cuba, published short stories in periodicals like The Overland Monthly and Everybody’s Magazine, and served as editor and staff writer for The San Francisco Wave. His earliest works exhibit the influence of Sir Walter Scott, Robert Louis Stevenson, Bret Harte, and William Dean Howells, but by the time he got around to writing novels he had already developed a mature style based largely on the literary Naturalism of French writer Emile Zola. 

Naturalism was a literary movement that sprang out of the scientific developments of the 19th century, most notably Darwin’s theory of evolution. While Romantic literature often depicted a hero as master of his own destiny, the protagonist of the Naturalist novel is often the victim and product of exterior natural forces. His character and behavior are molded by heredity, environment, and social conditions. Naturalist writers use detailed descriptive prose to create a vividly realistic setting, then populate this world with characters that are ostensibly guinea pigs in an experiment, acting out the scientific and philosophical concepts the author wishes to explore. Naturalism, as exemplified by the works of Zola and Norris, occupies a sort of middle ground between Romanticism and Realism. While a Naturalist novel often depicts people and places that are remarkably true-to-life, the plot often features extraordinary events happening to ordinary people. Naturalist writers were frequently chastised by critics for being too brutally realistic and focusing on the grittier, uglier, baser sides of humanity’s existence. Thus when critics bestowed upon Norris the nickname of “the American Zola,” it was probably meant to be just as much an insult as a compliment.

So far no one has put together an e-book file of Norris’s complete works. All of his novels are in the public domain and can be downloaded for free from Amazon and Project Gutenberg. The short stories, essays, and such are harder to find, but most are available either at Google Books or Open Library. Another good source is the Frank Norris page at the web site of The William Dean Howells Society. I’ve read and reviewed everything available ever written by Norris—enough to say that I’ve tackled his “complete works,” though in truth there’s probably a handful of uncollected short stories out there that I’ve missed. Below is a list of books by or about Norris that have been featured at Old Books by Dead Guys. Click on the title of any book to read its complete review.

Novels

Vandover and the Brute (written 1894, published 1914)
Written while Norris was in college, this novel chronicles a young man’s gradual descent into a life of vice. Intended as a gritty portrayal of the effects of alcohol, sex, and gambling, today’s audience may find it a bit tame. Nevertheless, it’s an auspicious debut effort. (3.5 stars)

Moran of the Lady Letty (1898)
A wealthy young gentleman of San Francisco is shanghaied into service aboard a shark-fishing vessel and meets up with a lady pirate. Although the subject matter has the absurdity of pulp fiction, Norris treats the tale with vivid realism. (4 stars)

McTeague (1899)
Many critics consider this to be Norris’s greatest work (though for me, that would be The Octopus). The title character is a simple-minded dentist with a practice in a lower-middle-class neighborhood in San Francisco. This novel is a startling examination of the poisonous effects of greed on the human psyche. (4.5 stars)

Blix (1899)
A light-hearted romance about two young people falling in love in San Francisco. Despite the fluffy subject matter, Norris approaches the story from his trademark Naturalist perspective. It’s not profound or earth-shattering, but good for what it is. (4 stars)

A Man’s Woman (1900)
This is Norris’s worst novel, but still not terrible. It details the troubled romance between two strong-willed and career-driven individuals: a polar explorer and a nurse. The first two chapters are absolutely excellent, and well worth reading on their own. (2.5 stars)

The Octopus (1901)
Wheat farmers in California are driven to desperate measures when a railroad attempts to steal their land. This is Norris’s greatest work—a masterpiece of American literature that should be read by all. (5 stars)

The Pit (1903)
A sequel of sorts to The Octopus, Norris’s final novel focuses on the world of wheat trading in the Chicago Board of Trade. When one trader tries to corner the market in wheat, the lives of an ensemble cast of characters are altered irrevocably. (4 stars)

Poetry

Yvernelle (1892)
Norris’s first published book was not a novel, but this tale of medieval chivalry, heavily influenced by Sir Walter Scott, which is written entirely in verse. It’s like nothing else he ever wrote. (2 stars)

Short Stories, Essays, and Journalism (most collections published posthumously)

Writings for The Overland Monthly (1892-1894)
Not a book, but a category. The eight stories Norris published in this San Francisco literary magazine are all available online for free. This includes “Lauth,” perhaps his best short story ever, and the “Outward and Visible Signs” series. (4 stars)

A Deal in Wheat and Other Stories of the New and Old West (1903)
This is probably Norris’s best-known collection of short stories, but it’s basically just an assortment of mediocre adventure tales, similar to those of Jack London but not as good. “Two Hearts that Beat as One” and “The Passing of Cock-Eye Blacklock” are pretty good. (3 stars)

The Responsibilities of the Novelist (1903)

25 essays in which Norris expresses his views on literature and the art of writing. Within these essays he defines his conception of Naturalism. (4 stars)

The Third Circle (1909)
A great collection of short stories from his early days, covering a wide variety of settings and subject matter. Among the best are “A Reversion to Type,” “A Caged Lion,” “The Guest of Honour,” and the title piece. (4.5 stars)

The Surrender of Santiago (1917)
This odd little publication contains just one article Norris wrote about the Spanish-American War. It was republished as a booklet during World War I to inspire patriotic feeling. (3 stars)

The Apprenticeship Writings of Frank Norris, 1896-1898, Volume 1 (1996)
A wide variety of short fiction and nonfiction from his days as a staff writer for the weekly periodical the San Francisco Wave. Mostly nonfiction, including a lot of football reporting. Among the fiction included here, the “Man Proposes” series is the best. (4 stars)

The Apprenticeship Writings of Frank Norris, 1896-1898, Volume 2 (1996)
More from Norris’s days at the San Francisco Wave. There’s more fiction in the second volume. Among the best pieces here are “Miracle Joyeux,” “Perverted Tales,” “Fantaisie Printanière,” and “The Drowned Who Do Not Die.” (4 stars)

Collections

Norris: Novels and Essays (Library of America) (1986)
Includes Vandover and the Brute, McTeague, The Octopus, and 22 well-selected essays. (5 stars)

Biography

Frank Norris: A Life by Joseph R. McElrath and Jesse S. Crisler (2006)
An in-depth biography of Norris and a critical examination of his works. This book will tell you everything you wanted to know about Norris and more. It does give away the endings of his books, so only diehard fans should read it. (4 stars)

Maître Cornélius by Honoré de Balzac

The miser’s mystery

Honoré de Balzac

Maître Cornélius, a novella by Honoré de Balzac, was originally published in 1831. The story takes place in 1479 in the city of Tours. A young nobleman visits the cathedral on All Saints’ Day for purposes of love rather than prayer. There he meets the beautiful young countess he is attempting to woo. Unfortunately, she’s married to an aged and abusive count. Finding such stolen rendezvous insufficient to satiate his lovestruck heart, the young man comes up with a plan to get closer to his loved one by establishing himself as an apprentice in the household adjacent to hers, that of the silversmith Maître Cornélius. The plan is more dangerous than it sounds, because this mysterious metalsmith from Flanders has an evil reputation and is even suspected of practicing black magic. Shunned by the citizens of Tours, his only friend is King Louis XI, who resides in the nearby chateau of Plessis-lez-Tours. Though Maître Cornélius may not be as terrible as rumors suggest, he is indeed a surly misanthrope and an incurable miser. And when he feels his riches are threatened, no one is safe from his relentless pursuit of fatal justice.

Despite all the dark subject matter, Maître Cornélius is a lot of fun. Balzac layers on the spooky atmosphere, irresistibly drawing the reader into the mystery of the title character. Louis XI is another intriguing personage, a dying old man with a gleam in his eye and a sly and spritely soul. Eventually the book turns into a mystery story, and the king, of all people, gets to play detective. Through most of the story the reader really doesn’t know what’s going to happen next, but towards the end things do get a little predictable. While the concluding revelation was probably a shock to the audience of Balzac’s day, the attentive reader of today will likely fail to be surprised. That’s a small mark against this otherwise highly entertaining story, however. The best thing about Maître Cornélius is that it doesn’t take itself too seriously. Like every story involving a miser, there’s a moral about the perils of greed, but here it’s more of an afterthought than a pervasive theme.

In the first few years of his writing career, Balzac’s output was all over the map in terms of subject matter and quality. In his earlier, shorter works he often expends all his energy and ink building exquisite atmosphere and suspense, then raps everything up with a hasty and unsatisfying conclusion. That criticism also applies to this story, somewhat, but overall Maître Cornélius is one of the best of Balzac’s earlier works. Those who enjoy his better-known novels will certainly appreciate this gem of a novella.
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