Review by Mike Dennis

“She was a human magnet to me and she knew it, understood it, from the instant we crossed gazes.”

That sentence could be inserted into just about any Gil Brewer novel you care to name. It just happened to be in The Brat, but a variation on that sentence appears in nearly all of them.

Brewer’s books revolve around everyday guys who become ensnared by the deadly wiles of smokin’ hot babes. When all the dust settles, the typical Brewer protagonist usually regrets the day he laid eyes on the girl, but hey, she was hot, right? What choice did he have?

Of course, the guys always had a choice, and they usually chose wrong. That’s the human condition, and that’s really what noir fiction is all about, a genre at which Brewer excelled.

You never feel like you’re reading a write-by-the-numbers book when you read one of Brewer’s novels. Even though the story lines are startlingly similar, they’re all executed with a fresh approach. The plots all seem original and Brewer’s writing forces you to turn the page.

The Brat, which is from 1957, deals with Lee Sullivan, ordinary Joe, who walks straight into a frameup job for robbery and murder. It’s a tight frame and it’s been cleverly set up by Evis, the girl referenced in the above quote, who sets his heart pounding every time he thinks about her. He eludes capture and pursues the girl, who has fled to her family’s shack deep in the Everglades, where she was raised. But does he want revenge or does he want her?

Reading this novel, you can feel the steam rising from the marshes and you’re glad you’re not there. You can feel the sweat dripping off the characters as they chase each other through the great, lonely swamp. You can feel the overheated passion that consumes Sullivan every step of the way, and you’re not even sure if he knows why he’s doing all this. This is noir, baby!

A vintage Gil Brewer effort, The Brat is highly recommended, and it reminds us of just how masterfully he told a story.

Review by Mike Dennis

A fortune in illicit cash, a sinister gambling joint operator, a gorgeous redhead, and enough double-crossing to last a lifetime…those are the building blocks of The Squeeze, a fast-moving novel by Gil Brewer.

Written in 1955, The Squeeze is centered around Joe Maule, a Chicago transplant to the southwest Gulf Coast of Florida, the site of many Brewer tales. Joe is in debt to the tune of $12,000, a fortune at the time.  He owes it to Victor Jarnigan, owner of a nearby illegal casino.  Jarnigan, who has cheated Joe out of the money, has concocted a plan to allow him to clear his debt.  All Joe has to do is get cozy with Caroline Shreves, local femme fatale.

Caroline lives with her sister and her husband, who has apparently squirreled away $300,000 in cash.  She’s eye-popping, and likes to hang around local cocktail lounges on weeknights. Joe’s instructions are to develop a relationship with her, then get into the house and try to grab the money.

Well, Joe gets tight with Caroline, all right, according to the plan, but he falls in too deep.  As with most Brewer protagonists, he’s blinded by his lust for this alluring woman who knows all the moves.  She appears to fall for him, too, and before you can say “Judas kiss”, the two of them are plotting to grab the money for themselves and split town.

This is the kind of well-written book that made pulp work back in the day.  It immediately draws you in, continuing its hold over you with a steadily building story line and no-frills plotting.  It’s pure noir:  Joe is screwed from the first page, but he’s the only one who doesn’t know it.

Brewer’s formula of lonely-guy-meets-beautiful-dish works again, thanks to clever variations in his theme.  He pushes all the right buttons in this little gem, which unfortunately has been left in the dust of the last half-century.

Of course, the answer is nothing. There’s not a single thing you can do about it, unless you’re Stephen King or somebody. Don’t believe your friends when they tell you you can’t judge a book by its cover. That made for a good Bo Diddley song, but you might remind them that forcing a person to make snap judgments with very little else to go on is precisely the purpose of covers.

However, if you’re fortunate enough to have a hip editor, as Megan Abbott did for her debut 2005 novel, Die A Little, then a lot of the stress melts away and you get a cover like this.

This outstanding cover, designed and photographed by Richie Fahey, is, as I said in a review of this novel, almost worth the price of the book by itself. The use of hand-coloring over a black & white photo, with all the tones just right, make this a book which will grab the attention of even the most casual browser.

Fahey also painted, but did not design, the cover of Andrew Vachss’ The Getaway Man (2003), arguably Vachss’ best novel.

These two covers, along with the ones that follow, are among my favorites. Here’s Cruel Poetry, a great 2007 Florida noir novel by Vicki Hendricks. I just love all the elements of this one.

John Ridley’s terrific noir novel, Love Is A Racket (1998), sported an attention-getting cover. I love the little heart in the gun barrel, as well as the scary font.

No need to introduce Hard Case Crime. We all know the great work they do. Here are a couple of their stunning efforts.

Black Lizard/Vintage Crime put out some pretty damned good covers back during the late 80s and early 90s. Jim Thompson’s classic nightmare novel from 1952, The Killer Inside Me, leaps to the front of my mind whenever I think about them.

I don’t know who they got to pose for this photograph, but one look into his eyes and I can promise you I never want to meet up with him.

Another Jim Thompson book, 1953′s Recoil, has a particularly creepy cover. I think it’s the glasses the guy is wearing.  

The cover to Charles Willeford’s Pick-Up (1967) is a great example of how a photograph can start off looking romantic and then end up looking dangerous.

David Goodis’ Black Friday (1954) is minimalist cover design at its most effective.

Last, and certainly not least, is Dorothy B Hughes underrated 1946 novel, Ride The Pink Horse.

By the way, these are all great novels. If you haven’t read them, I urge you to do so. You won’t be sorry.

Anybody out there got any fave covers they’d like to share? These are just a few of mine, but my list is long.

I’m a crime fiction writer, living in Las Vegas, who’s been toiling in the vineyards for years until L&L Dreamspell Publishing picked up one of my novels, The Take.  It’s a fast-paced little noir effort that will be out sometime in 2010.   Thanks go to Morgan St James for her energetic efforts in helping me with the preliminary editing.  You can read an excerpt of it here on this site. 

I’ve always admired the best of the crime novelists.  I’m talking about hardboiled fiction guys like Jim Thompson, Charles Willeford, David Goodis, Gil Brewer, and Raymond Chandler, among others, who between them, managed to kick the door open a crack or two, all the while operating under the stigma of  “pulp” writer.  They made it ”respectable” to write crime fiction, elitist public opinion notwithstanding.  Later, you had Lawrence Block, Donald Westlake, Elmore Leonard, James Ellroy, and so many others who shoved the door all the way open so guys like me could just walk right through it.  Speaking only for myself, I owe these men a serious debt of gratitude.