Despite the popularity of the Stieg Larsson’s The Girl… trilogy, I have not been inclined to either read the books or see the movie. On the other hand, I was intrigued enough to check out the Larsson’s biography by Barry Forshaw, when I saw it in the local library. The dust jacket on the book makes mention of the author’s other work as a journalist investigating right wing groups in northern Europe. That comment was made even more intriguing by the observation that an author’s real life can be more exciting than that of any of the characters one might create. Since I have also been following the Anders Breivik trial, I decided to give the biography a read.

It was a good read. The rather  brief overview of Larsson’s life story simply sets the stage for a lengthy discussion of the trilogy and crime fiction in general. I enjoyed the discussion. I am not a fan of crime fiction, but I came away with the idea that I would try to read a little vintage crime fiction. The American author, Dashiell Hammett, was cited several times in this work. I recognized the name. Years ago, I happened upon a biography of Hammett, the creator of Nick Charles and Sam Spade. Hammett is also one of those authors, whose real life is more exciting than that of his characters. Hammett was the veteran of two world wars. In the early 50’s, he spent time in a federal penitentiary for contempt of court, when he refused to cooperate with Smith Act trials. When he died 10 years later, he was buried in Arlington National Cemetery.

Back in the library to return the Larsson biography and to find a Hammett work, I found a single volume collection of Hammett’s five detective novels—complete and unabridged. I made it through the first one, Red Harvest, before I set the book aside and went looking for something else to read. It is still on my desk. I probably will return it without reading any more. The writing style is great. Characters are described in such a way that they are easily and vividly perceived by the reader’s mind’s eye. The physical and socio-political settings for the story are part and parcel of the narrative and come across with unvarnished validity.

According to Forshaw, crime fiction (It appears that “crime fiction” is the British term for what Americans commonly refer to as detective novels.) has as its central theme the corruption of society on all levels with the only corrective force being the intervention of a special individual.  In this literary genre, that would be either (1) the police detective, who stands out from his peers by reason of his moral uprightness, cunning, and skill, or (2) the private investigator, who skillfully operates on the fringes of propriety, but never for personal gain, or (3) the eccentric character (matronly grandmother, computer nerd/hacker, journalist, etc.), who operates outside of societal norms, if not the law. This same premise seems to be the core of superhero fiction as well. The remedy affected by the hero/heroine or superhero/heroine is at best a temporary fix; it is as if every remedy contains the seeds of the next aberration—a rather unsettling view of human “progress.”

 
I am done with crime fiction/detective novels, at least for now. The real stuff is just as exciting. If I am going to be disturbed by social injustice or the capriciousness of the human condition, I may as well set the novels aside and read the real stuff. After I completed and set aside Red Harvest, I found Richard Hammer’s The Vatican Connection in one of the boxes of books that I have accumulated over the past 45 years. It’s the story of a real cop, but, unlike the fictional version, he never gets all the way to the top. There are those that are protected and insulated, so that their activities are never brought into the daylight and they can never be held responsible. There does not appear to even be the satisfaction of a temporary fix, some assurance that crime doesn’t pay, or that honesty might really be the best policy.