Nostalgia for the Unexperienced

 A curious thing happens when I watch a film or read a book made or set in the 1940s. I get nostalgic. This is curious because I was born the following decade so the nostalgia is for a time I never knew – not first hand. Yet all of us have experienced it second or third hand whether we are conscious of it or not. Even if you’re a GenZ who has never watched Out of the Past or read Raymond Chandler, the tropes from them and their ilk have been recycled time and again in subsequent popular culture. The myths of modern American culture are largely tied to the 1940s and are better for it. Our values and self-images still have roots in the decade. How many of us still identify with Rick in Casablanca: cynical and egoistic on the outside but sentimental under the surface and ready to do the right thing when push comes to shove? Also, the era’s music (which played in my house when I grew up) is pretty good.
 
The flaws of the actual denizens of the 1940s were not subtle or minor – at their worst they were truly awful – but most folks were well-meaning at the core. The generation that experienced the 1940s as adults is almost gone, but those of us who knew it intimately as our parents (or less intimately as grandparents) miss the sheer competence and common sense it brought to the table – a competence born of necessity from Depression and war. Even though we didn’t know our parents in their youths, we are familiar enough with their older selves to know when the “feel” is wrong about fictional characters set in the ‘40s in modern books and movies. We also appreciate it when the feel is right.

 
James Kestrel (a pseudonym btw) gets it right in large ways and small in his noir detective/historical novel Five Decembers, which is better than one might expect from the pulp-ish cover. Just before Thanksgiving in 1941, a Honolulu detective Joe McGrady is assigned to investigate a double homicide. The victims turn out to be Admiral Kimmel’s nephew and a young woman from the Japanese consulate. As a reader one doesn’t need to be very much of a historian to see the implications of a relationship between those two, and even McGrady (without the benefit of hindsight) has a hint of it due to the diplomatic situation. Kimmel overrides jurisdictional and budget issues, giving McGrady (to his chief’s annoyance) a blank check to pursue the investigation. McGrady follows his best suspect (possibly German) across the Pacific by Pan Am Clipper to Manila and then to Hong Kong. The timing is inauspicious. The Japanese attack Pearl Harbor and take Hong Kong. McGrady is shipped to Japan with other Western prisoners where more intrigue follows involving relatives of the murdered consulate girl. The case doesn’t end with the war. (I normally wouldn’t mention that, but the title of the book tips it off anyway.) Kestrel, who has resided in Taiwan and Oahu, did solid historical research for his book and visited sites he mentions on the ground. There is romance along with the action, and it is both seedy and innocent in that peculiar 1940s way. If you like noir-ish detective fiction, I can’t recommend this book enough.

The next novel I picked up (by no coincidence) was Razzmatazz by Christopher Moore. This is a sequel to his novel Noir, which was published a few years ago. It is possible to read Razzmatazz as a standalone but I wouldn’t recommend it; there are far too many callbacks to the first book. In Noir, set in 1947 San Francisco, the protagonists aren’t special. Sammy is a bartender and Stilton (“the Cheese”) is a waitress. When they by happenstance become embroiled in murder, corrupt police, renegade federal agents, and a secret organization of one-percenters, the two must punch seriously above their weights to survive. To throw a characteristically Moore-ish absurdity into the mix, behind all the commotion is a mysterious event that took place in Roswell, New Mexico.
 
In Razzmatazz we are back with Sammy, Stilton, and side characters from Noir. The plot this time centers on murders in two of the city’s lesbian drag king bars (based on two real establishments of the time), the recovery of a dragon statue to settle a debt with a Tong gangster, and flashbacks to pre-1906 China and Chinatown. Moore again captures the ‘40s patter, taking it over the top just enough to be enjoyable without falling into outright parody. Moore warns us up front of the book’s era-appropriate un-PC dialogue. Again there are absurdist elements. The opening line to Chapter 9 (“There was a lot more tap-dancing involved in the shoot-out than I would have expected”) is the tamest example. “Scooter” (from the Roswell incident) makes a reappearance along with elements that really would be a spoiler to mention.
 
It’s a fun read, but read Noir first. Really.
 
So now I’ll somewhat reluctantly leave the ‘40s behind for a while (to the extent any of us ever can) but not before slipping some ‘40s tunes in the stereo cd disc tray – maybe some Ella Mae Morse who was always five-by-five in a better sense than in her song.

 

Ella Mae Morse – Mr. Five by Five (1942)