Reading & Chandler in LA

Over the weekend I got to see Jim Ruland read from his collection Big Lonesome. A year or so ago this would not be such a big deal, but now that Jim has shuffled off to San Diego and I’ve departed for Pittsburgh, us both being in the same place at the same time is rare. When I found out he was reading at Vroman’s, I couldn’t miss it. He’s a great, funny reader, and this time he even played a sea shanty on a recorder. Really.

Later on chatting I said I was reading a book by Raymond Chandler. “I hate that guy!” Jim shouted. I was confused. He berated me for liking Pynchon AND Chandler, saying it’s like liking James Joyce and DH Lawrence – you’re in one camp or the other. I was still confused. OH, it turned out, he thought I said Raymond Carver. “Raymond Carver!” I shouted back. “No way, I hate that guy!” High fives all around.

(Before you slap me around, throw me out of graduate school and malign me to professors and their wives who I like very much, let me say that I hate the precious place Raymond Carver’s work has in the minds of many who revere him. Personally he was probably pretty cool.)

So, back to Raymond Chandler, who passed muster. I had just re-read The Little Sister so I could attend the No One Reads in LA book club Thursday night. They focus on LA-based authors/stories, and talk about the true-life connections to the books on their list. I missed Fante (fine with me) and thought Chandler was just the ticket. But mob bosses and ambitious Hollywood starlets notwithstanding, I fear I won’t make it to the Barclay Hotel at 4th and Main at 7pm Thursday. Hope to hear about its success.

About the author

I like sitting in Jack Webb's booth.