Post by Charlynn on Oct 27, 2012 17:58:16 GMT -5
Drive by James Sallis
Take a crime novel, strip it of almost everything that could be considered excess or unnecessary, and what's left is Sallis' Drive. Ebbing and flowing through time, each chapter is a scene. Sometimes, they're grisly; sometimes, they're nothing but a mere memory, but each moment is essential to the story. There are no passages of poetic prose to describe a setting and very few emotions to speak of. Everything is cold. Bleak. It's like living - no, existing in the dark, only for there to be brief, fleeting moments when the curtains are pulled back or, more accurately, a lamp is switched on, temporarily illuminating a precise moment before everything goes dark once again. And there's nothing beautiful in this book either. Drive is unapologetic about its ugliness, and perhaps this is why it is so fascinating. It's not unheard of for a book to feature a sympathetic antihero - either a vigilante seeking justice on someone else's behalf or a bad guy who has good intentions but just can't seem to find his way out of the bottom, but that's not Driver; that's not Drive. This novel is populated with characters who do varying degrees of bad things either because they want to, because they can, or because what else are they supposed to do. To the average person, it makes no sense - these decisions the book's characters make, but that doesn't mean that the story itself is incomprehensible. Rather, it's glaringly competent in its honesty, and, true to form, sometimes the truth can be shocking.
By day, Driver is a stunt driver; at night, he's a getaway driver. That's it, though. He doesn't do anything else on the jobs he takes; just drives. And this works for him. Job after job - whether professional or not-so-professional, he does what needs to be done, and he does so better than anyone else. But then something goes wrong, and it becomes personal for Driver. When things get personal for him, they also get messy, and, when things get messy, he starts to do more than just drive - at first because of necessity, and then because he chooses to do so. Through everything, though, he never loses sight of what he does best.
Likewise, what Sallis does best is create a mood for his novel with very few words. Despite Driver's skills and success, he lives a very simple, basic life that's essentially all about survival. This Sallis depicts through his emphasis upon the overabundance of food in Drive, upon his descriptions of the cars. Just like with his writing style, he doesn't include much beyond the necessities in Driver's life. These two things Sallis also uses to emphasize Driver's ability to adapt, to be a chameleon, taking on the habits of those around him - he eats what they eat; he drinks what they drink - and taking their vehicles as his own. Driver says what everyone wants him to say... which is very little throughout the book, making the silences themselves all the more powerful and important. Staccato and hopeless in nature, Drive's, Driver's, progression... if one can even call it that... is precisely what one would expect from a novel which recalls 1940's noir, but this doesn't make it any less fascinating or haunting, meaning that Sallis' work is one that will stay with readers for far longer than the actual reading experience lasted.
The only complaint against the novel is what also makes it so riveting: it's starkness. For those who relish rich descriptions, this book is enjoyable as a departure, but it could never serve as a benchmark for those readers' taste or preference.
Four out of Five Stars
Take a crime novel, strip it of almost everything that could be considered excess or unnecessary, and what's left is Sallis' Drive. Ebbing and flowing through time, each chapter is a scene. Sometimes, they're grisly; sometimes, they're nothing but a mere memory, but each moment is essential to the story. There are no passages of poetic prose to describe a setting and very few emotions to speak of. Everything is cold. Bleak. It's like living - no, existing in the dark, only for there to be brief, fleeting moments when the curtains are pulled back or, more accurately, a lamp is switched on, temporarily illuminating a precise moment before everything goes dark once again. And there's nothing beautiful in this book either. Drive is unapologetic about its ugliness, and perhaps this is why it is so fascinating. It's not unheard of for a book to feature a sympathetic antihero - either a vigilante seeking justice on someone else's behalf or a bad guy who has good intentions but just can't seem to find his way out of the bottom, but that's not Driver; that's not Drive. This novel is populated with characters who do varying degrees of bad things either because they want to, because they can, or because what else are they supposed to do. To the average person, it makes no sense - these decisions the book's characters make, but that doesn't mean that the story itself is incomprehensible. Rather, it's glaringly competent in its honesty, and, true to form, sometimes the truth can be shocking.
By day, Driver is a stunt driver; at night, he's a getaway driver. That's it, though. He doesn't do anything else on the jobs he takes; just drives. And this works for him. Job after job - whether professional or not-so-professional, he does what needs to be done, and he does so better than anyone else. But then something goes wrong, and it becomes personal for Driver. When things get personal for him, they also get messy, and, when things get messy, he starts to do more than just drive - at first because of necessity, and then because he chooses to do so. Through everything, though, he never loses sight of what he does best.
Likewise, what Sallis does best is create a mood for his novel with very few words. Despite Driver's skills and success, he lives a very simple, basic life that's essentially all about survival. This Sallis depicts through his emphasis upon the overabundance of food in Drive, upon his descriptions of the cars. Just like with his writing style, he doesn't include much beyond the necessities in Driver's life. These two things Sallis also uses to emphasize Driver's ability to adapt, to be a chameleon, taking on the habits of those around him - he eats what they eat; he drinks what they drink - and taking their vehicles as his own. Driver says what everyone wants him to say... which is very little throughout the book, making the silences themselves all the more powerful and important. Staccato and hopeless in nature, Drive's, Driver's, progression... if one can even call it that... is precisely what one would expect from a novel which recalls 1940's noir, but this doesn't make it any less fascinating or haunting, meaning that Sallis' work is one that will stay with readers for far longer than the actual reading experience lasted.
The only complaint against the novel is what also makes it so riveting: it's starkness. For those who relish rich descriptions, this book is enjoyable as a departure, but it could never serve as a benchmark for those readers' taste or preference.
Four out of Five Stars