He's back!
Jean-Patrick Manchette first introduced readers to Eugène Tarpon in his novel No Room at the Morgue where we learn that Tarpon, currently a private eye aka gumshoe aka sleuthhound, was formerly a highly regarded member of the National Gendarmerie who had been expelled for shooting a twenty-year-old during an attack on their Paris police station.
Once again, Tarpon sits in his fifth floor rundown Paris apartment in the hip Porte Saint-Martin district. Only this time, the detective is listening to an old lady who reminds him of his mother telling him about her daughter who disappeared a month ago.
There are simply too many swerves, curves, shocks, surprises, and shootings in Jean-Patrick's superbly constructed tale for me to say anything about the unfolding sequence of events and happenings. Thus, I'll make a quick shift to spotlight a batch of highlights:
Compression – One of the most important thing I can say is, similar to Jean-Patrick's other noir novels, Skeletons, originally published in 1976, has loads of action packed into less than 200 pages. This is decidedly different than doorstops written by the likes of Tana French, Stieg Larsson, and Jo Nesbø. Personally, I find the shorter form much more compelling and appealing. I continually ask myself: Why can't contemporary authors write tight existential crime fiction like Georges Simenon, Pascal Garnier, Frédéric Dard – and Jean-Parick Manchette? For me and many others, less is more.
Voice – No Room at the Morgue is written in tight third-person where we as readers look over the shoulder of Eugène Tarpon. Forever the creative literary artist, Jean-Parick changes things up in Skeletons: Eugène Tarpon as first-person narrator relates his own story. “As far as I was concerned, the profusion of photos wasn't necessary. One of the most recent ones would have sufficed, but the old lady was determined to give me a detailed bio of her daughter, which was harmless I suppose, and she wanted it to be illustrated.” Every single scene contains a turbocharged verve and drive complemented by Tarpon's colorful commentary. Oh, man, you'll want to continue to turn those pages right to the mind-blowing end.
Police - “Listen, tell her you'll take on her case, you'll need a couple of weeks and that your rate is twenty grand a week. We could've really sent you up the creek last year, Tarpon old man, what with that Sergent business, so you owe us something.” So speaks Officer Coccioli on the phone, interrupting the old lady telling her sob story to Tarpon. Now, why would a head cop insist Tarpon take this case? The more we read, the more we realize the police can be a party to a murky crime network, especially when astronomical amounts of cash are on the line. Vintage Jean-Patrick Manchette: if anybody dares to be a lone honest voice in our modern society, they stand a good chance of being tortured or receiving a bullet in the head.
Gorgeous Honey – What's a Manchette novel without a luscious young beauty willing to take risks? Meet Charlotte Malrakis, a gal who performs daredevil stunts in films and has a flair for the martial arts. Although he goes to Charlotte's apartment to recover from a serious injury, Tarpon doesn't want her to get deeply involved. But Charlotte knows the score and tells him as much. “If they're killing everyone who ever heard the name Fanch Tanguy, I'm the next in line, old man.” Keep an eye on dear Charlotte. She adds more than a touch of spice to the unfolding drama.
Violence and More Violence – At one point, Tarpon takes inventory. “We were in a sort of living room. I cleared the mess of the glass-topped coffee table and lined up various interesting objects in front of me: the .45 and its silencer; the Czech automatic (7.62 mm): the MR73; the Python that belonged to the man wearing just his shirt; the Beretta shotgun; the bullets that the man wearing just his shirt had in his pockets (375 Magnum, perfect for the MR73 – with all the guns we'd collected, we'd finally found munitions that were compatible with one; and the shirt guy's wallet.” My, my, with so many guns and all the ammo, you'll have to keep a running tally of dead bodies. Once again, barely room at the morgue.
Life in the Fast Lane – Readers familiar with Jean-Patrick Manchette's fiction know men and women will be surrounded by brand names aplenty. To name just two here: a Peugeot 504 and a Citroën GSs. Also, how could anyone think of making it through the day without smoking cigarettes, drinking coffee, and plying oneself with all varieties of alcohol? It's Paris in the seventies – given a barrage of challenges, the body and mind have developed unquenchable needs.
Kicker – Police corruption, crocked politicians, organized crime, echo of Nazi Germany, what else could be added to this sleazy, scummy mix to make it even more explosive and death-dealing? Since it is post-1960s, the answer might be obvious: hard drugs. Read all about it. Skeletons in the Closet is a classic. Many thanks to New York Review Books for publishing and Alyson Waters for her excellent translation.
Jean-Patrick Manchette, 1942-1995
"Look, Tarpon," said Coccioli, "stop bugging me. You don't know how the game is played. We're among policemen, we're among comrades, there are some things . . . Listen, the police are doing their job; and then small cliques form, because the work isn't always clean, and so these cliques form among people who have the same skeleton in the same closet. You can understand that, can't you, for God's sake?" - Jean-Patrick Manchette, Skeletons in the Closet
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