A Fistful Of Dollars - Frank Chandler

A FISTFUL OF DOLLARS - FRANK CHANDLER

'Get three coffins ready.' And with that we are formally introduced to the Man With No Name. Everyone makes mistakes, however, even a gunslinger who has death as a constant companion because it ends up as actually being four coffins that are required after him shooting down a gang of gunmen in a blur of movement before twirling his two pistols around his index fingers and then sliding them back into their holsters with a slow, gentle movement that's almost like a caress... 

It's impossible to read Frank Chandler's A Fistful Of Dollars without picturing Clint Eastwood as the stranger who rides into town leaving a trail of bodies behind when he departs. And so it should be because Clint Eastwood owns the Man With No Name character even though there have been many subsequent imitations. It's the character that made Clint Eastwood into the iconic actor that he is today, and the character that has become the template for the silent killer/studied cool/avenging angel trope in movies ever since.

Based on the screenplay of the film, Chandler's book stays close to the script and doesn't deviate from the crux of the original at all, but again - that's how it should be. You don't read a book like this for it to go off at tangents. Flesh it out a bit, for sure, but don't go changing it for the sake of being clever. Don't go trying to fix something that's working fine already, or trying to improve something that doesn't need improving. Just present in a different medium what is there already and everyone will be happy.

It's this policy that Chandler abides by and his book is all the better for it. The film of A Fistful Of Dollars is still better than the book but then the book isn't trying to be better. It's an accompaniment. It's a movie tie-in. It's a joy to read. It's a pleasure. A small pleasure maybe, in the scheme of things, but a pleasure all the same.

John Serpico

The Spear - James Herbert

 THE SPEAR - JAMES HERBERT

From the cover, you wouldn't really know what The Spear by James Herbert is about. 'Instrument of terror, symbol of evil...' says the tagline, but again that doesn't really give much away. Even the main protagonist when asked 'Have you ever heard of the Heilige Lance?' has to say 'no' before the person asking the question waves the subject away with a dismissive 'it's an ancient spearhead that a certain arms dealer seemed to have an interest in'.

In fact, for the first half of the book, arms trading and the subterfuge around the whole industry is what it seems to be about, taking in Israel, Mossad, global terrorism, and a private detective agency. It's not until the protagonist - private detective Steadman - and the arms dealer finally get to properly meet that the story takes a sudden turn to the esoteric with the arms dealer asking 'Have you heard of the Thule Gesellschaft, Mr Steadman?'

The Thule Gesellschaft - in English the 'Thule Society' - the German occult group founded shortly after World War I that sponsored the German Workers' Party, that was later reorganized by Hitler into the National Socialist Workers' Party - probably more commonly known as the Nazi Party.

So, rather than arms dealing, the core of the story is about the establishment of the Fourth Reich. This time round, however, taking control of the Western World through stealth. Spreading fear, confusion and mistrust on a universal scale through worldwide terrorist attacks and the gradual breaking-down of the world's economic structure. Boiling everything down to one simple but major conflict: Right against Left.

'It would be the only choice for the people of Britain.' Steadman is informed 'No in-betweens, no fence-sitting. The public would be forced to choose. Civil war would be balanced in favour of the Right, for the majority would be the wealthy, those whose sympathy lay towards nationalistic pride; and the middle classes who had suffered so much between the elite of the country and the working classes, would choose to join them rather than be ruled by the economy-wrecking socialists. The choice would be made very easy for them. New leaders would emerge and their ideals would be uncompromising, just as Hitler's had been in the 1930s.'

And those ideals if not broken why try fixing them as in the eyes of the Far Right there's nothing so perfect and normal than racial purity and racial segregation, along with the dissolution if not extermination of marxists, communists, trade unionists, anarchists, gypsies, homosexuals, the physically and mentally disabled, and anyone else deemed to be 'untermensch' - or in other words, 'subhuman'.

This being a James Herbert book, the supernatural is not too far away and is represented by the Heilige Lance, otherwise known as the Spear of Longinus the Centurion. The Spear of Destiny. The spear that was believed to be the weapon that pierced the side of Christ as he died on the cross. And just for good measure there's also the resurrection of Heinrich Himmler - the Reichsfuhrer himself - the head of Hitler's notorious SS and the architect of the Holocaust.

Whilst The Spear isn't Herbert's best book (and it certainly isn't as good as The Rats) it's still a well-written story told by a master storyteller, with Herbert obviously having done a lot of research into the subject of Himmler and his interest in the occult. And like it or not, the occult side of Nazi Germany is an interesting subject if only for the fact that its place in World War II is always downplayed to the point of hardly ever being mentioned at all.

The unsettling thing about The Spear, however, is that there are elements of it that still echo to this day, particularly around the subject of Fascism and how those who knowingly or even unwitingly advocate for its rule along with the methods utilised to bring it about. 

As the saying goes: Fascism doesn't start with concentration camps - that's where it ends.

John Serpico

Words Are My Matter - Ursula K Le Guin

 WORDS ARE MY MATTER - URSULA K LE GUIN

So impressed was I with Ursula K Le Guin after reading her The Word For World Is Forest that I thought I should investigate further. So, following the advice given by friend and top man Lawrence Burton from his hacienda in Texas, rather than reading another of Le Guin's novels, I picked up a collection of her essays entitled Words Are My Matter - Writings On Life And Books from of all places the Arnolfini arts centre in Bristol, where on entering the building a copy was there on prominent display as if waiting for me to arrive. It was serendipity, obviously, particularly as I've always had issues with the Arnolfini staff for being ignorant about aspects of art and culture that they disguise through snobbery. But that's a whole other story.

Words Are My Matter is a collection of essays, talks, book introductions and book reviews all from the pen of Ursula K Le Guin, all on the subject of literature and its meaning and purpose in our lives. From the start she writes 'The imagination is the single most useful tool mankind possesses, it beats the opposable thumb', and then goes on to explain exactly why. It's a no-brainer, really, but Le Guin takes it further by saying 'Imagination is not a means of making money. It has no place in the vocabulary of profit-making.' Before then adding 'In the market place, the word 'creativity' has come to mean the generation of ideas to make larger profits. This reduction has gone on so long that the word 'creative' can hardly be degraded further. I don't use it any more, yielding it to the capitalists and academics to abuse as they like. But they can't have 'imagination'.'

These words were written in 2002 and they tell us that Le Guin was very much ahead of the curve, particularly in regard to creativity. Nowadays, there's no end of people who call themselves 'creatives', 'content providers', and 'digital creators' - and frankly, it's embarrassing. The terms are meaningless because essentially it's just people on social media grifting. Let them go ahead. Let them 'create', let them entertain, let them grift but don't let them tell you it's 'imagination' because it's not, for as Le Guin explains: 'The imagination is an essential tool of the mind, a fundamental way of thinking, an indispensable means of becoming and remaining human'. 

The imagination is not for grifting.

In regard to Le Guin's book introductions, one of them is for Solaris by Stanislaw Lem, a book that just happens to be a favourite of mine and the film of it by Andrei Tarkovsky one that is easily in my Top Five. Her insights into Lem's book are both interesting and enlightening, particularly on the period it first appeared in an English translation in 1970. I didn't know, for example, that when Lem was made an honorary member of the Science Fiction Writers of America in 1973, many members of the association disapproved due to him being a citizen of a Communist nation. Never mind that Lem was actually a Pole, not a Russian. His honorary membership was withdrawn and in objection to this, Le Guin refused the Nebula Award voted for her by the members of the SFWA. It going instead to Isaac Asimov who, Le Guin tells us, was a vociferous Cold War Warrior.

Other introductions take in among others works by Philip K Dick, Huxley, Paternak, the Strugatsky brothers and HG Wells, all of which offers insights galore that could only come from a fellow writer.

And then there's the slew of book reviews, many of them being of works by authors I've not heard of before but by this time because you know where Le Guin is coming from, you trust her judgements. For example, when she says of one book that it's 'a classic, and should be cherished as such', you know she's not just saying it as a favour to the author and to promote sales. She's saying it because she means it.

'I like book reviewing,' Le Guin tells us. 'It's an interesting and demanding form. And one can say a good deal in a review that has to do with wider matters, literary and otherwise.'

I agree with this totally. It's the reason I'm writing these very lines. These very words. It's ended up as the very reason for this Art Of Exmouth blog. And in the same way that Le Guin sees imagination, a good book review is not for profit-making. It's not for providing content, and it's not a way of being 'a creative'. And it's certainly not for grifting.

John Serpico

The Hellfire Club - Daniel P Mannix

THE HELLFIRE CLUB - DANIEL P MANNIX

'The rise and fall of a shocking secret society whose sole interests were perversion and politics.' So says the blurb on the front cover and it's almost as if this book had been written especially for me. The Hell-Fire Club? Where do I join? But then I remember the Oscar Wilde quote with him saying 'I don't want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member,' and I'm stuck.

The Hellfire Club by Daniel P Mannix, first published in 1961, is the story of an elite club of men founded in the 18th Century by Sir Francis Dashwood whose main emphasis was on sex, drugs and the ridiculing of religion. A club that attracted the supposed brightest and the best minds of England that would secretly direct the fate of the nation, operating behind the scenes of government.

Members of the club included the Earl of Sandwich (who did indeed invent the sandwich), the Earl of Bute (who later became Prime Minister), Thomas Potter (the son of the Archbishop of Canterbury), William Hogarth (the English artist), Laurence Sterne (the novelist), John Wilkes (the British libertine), and Frederick, Prince of Wales.

The book is composed of large swathes of conjecture though based on a lot of facts that can easily be cross-checked. Amusingly, there doesn't actually seem to be any proof that any of these people were members though that doesn't stop Mannix from having a lot of fun with what is known.

When George III became king, his first act was to make Bute his prime minister, Sandwich the First Lord of the Admiralty, and Dashwood the Chancellor of the Exchequer. "I'll be the worst chancellor England ever had," Bute is reported to have told his friends, to which one of them disagreed: "But you have considerable experience with figures, My Lord. You have often helped chalk up how often each of us have had a go at the nuns."

Ah, the nuns. These were 'special' nuns, of course, who attended the parties and black masses held by the Hell-Fire Club where they would 'service' the attendees. Demonstrating, for example, new positions not found even in the Kama Sutra. Parties where sex and drink of only the most involved and esoteric kind would be served. Parties held under the maxim 'Do what thou wilt' and guided by the words 'Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven'.

I know what you're thinking. It sounds like just a typical night down your local pub except there you've got Guinness on tap and a pool table to mess about on and then back to whoever's house is available that night until the sun comes up. And you wouldn't be far wrong, actually. Debauchery isn't the sole reserve of the ruling class. They might well have more money and be more lavish but when it comes to imagination, inventiveness and indulgence of extremes, they do not hold a monopoly. In fact, this is one of the reasons why the upper class and even the middle class so dislike the poor and the working class. Because the working class naturally know how to enjoy themselves, whilst the middle and upper class can only buy enjoyment. They cannot invent and make it themselves.

The thing of note about this book is that it shows the workings of such elite clubs as the Hell-Fire Club, Eton's Bullingdon Club and the goings-on at Epstein's island is nothing new. Secret societies, elite clubs, nepotism and the old school tie have been with us for centuries. So too has the machinations and the corruption of power and the way it's clung to and wielded for the benefit of the few and the exploitation of the many. And that is where the difference in debauchery lies. Not in the quality of it or in its highs and lows but in the level of the power games that go with it.

John Serpico

Hombre - Elmore Leonard

 HOMBRE - ELMORE LEONARD

The book on which the film starring Paul Newman is based of course, and I'm a sucker for this kind of stuff where a film is based on a book and vice versa. It's the interplay between the two mediums and the 'compare and contrast' that comes into play. It's only natural to match one medium against another and to let the best man win and though both have their own very unique strengths, nine times out of ten 'Het boek is beter' as the Dutch say. Which brings us to Elmore Leonard and I didn't realise just how many films have been made from his books - 23 in total - including 3:10 To Yuma, Valdez Is Coming, Jackie Brown, and this one, obviously - Hombre.

First published in 1961, Hombre by Elmore Leonard is concise, succinct and to the point. It's an example of storytelling in a very precise way. Lean, mean and clean in its structure though set in a hot, dirty and unforgiving landscape. One of the major themes running through it is the subject of racism, specifically in regard to the treatment of Native Americans, accentuated by the main character having spent half his life living with the Apache.

Without going into too much detail, the story involves a stagecoach holding a mixed-bag of passengers being held up by outlaws and them being left to die with no water in a barren, Monument Valley-type environment. A turn of events then leads to the passengers being chased-down by the outlaws across this same hostile landscape. The only one of them who has any survival skills and of any use with a gun is, of course, the one raised by indians so it's him they come to depend on for their survival even when only a day earlier they didn't want him in the stagecoach with them.

The vast amount of the story is centred on the play-offs and stand-offs between the characters, with the indian-raised character - the 'Hombre' of the book's title - being the pivot around whom everything circles. It's a familiar trope, admittedly, but what grips the attention is the masterly way the story is told and the suspense maintained.

But is the book better than the movie? Well, one of the major flaws in the film when watching it nowadays is seeing Paul Newman dressed as an Apache, which unavoidably doesn't really sit right. There's also the feeling when watching the film that it's an ensemble piece but usurped by Newman. So yes, the book - as ever - is better. Or again, as the Dutch say: 'Het boek is beter'.

John Serpico

Dead Kennedys - The Unauthorized Version - Marian Kester

 DEAD KENNEDYS - THE UNAUTHORIZED VERSION - MARIAN KESTER

Another one of those scrapbook-type books but this time on the Dead Kennedys. Vocalist Jello Biafra has recently suffered from a stroke though by all reports he's slowly but thankfully recovering, so now is probably as good a time as any to revisit this: Dead Kennedys - The Unauthorized Version, written by Marian Kester.

Jello is 68 years-old now and the last time I saw him was around the year 2000 when he appeared at the London Anarchist Bookfair, down at the Conway Hall. The night before, he'd stayed at a friend's house in Bristol who told me he'd found Jello to be a bit strange, though that was okay by me because after all - it's Jello Biafra!

I was manning a stall at the bookfair and the place was heaving. I knew that Jello was there but I thought he'd maybe just come along to pick up a few books or at best to do a talk in one of the meeting rooms? What I didn't expect was for him to get up on the stage and deliver a long speech-type rant to the assembled hordes. And neither did anyone else. Unannounced and (as far as I knew) uninvited, there he was: some guy with a funny American accent up on the stage telling the largest, genuinely anarchist crowd he'd probably ever encountered in his life just what was wrong with the world and what we all needed to be doing about it. I looked around and it was obvious that most people there didn't have a clue who he was and were thinking 'Who the fuck is this?' It was pretty embarrassing.

Maybe it was a cultural misunderstanding thing? Maybe Jello felt he was at just another concert? Maybe he genuinely felt that he knew best and needed to enlighten us? But did he not think it strange that of all the people there, that he was the only one important enough to mount the stage and explain everything to us as if we were one of his audiences? To put it gently, there was a slight lack of self-awareness on Jello's part that day, it seemed to me.

Relaying this anecdote is not to diminish the brilliance and even the importance of the Dead Kennedys as a band, but it's just to show we all have our flaws - though most us us don't usually choose to flaunt them in a self-important fashion from a stage in front of our peers in a weird-sounding Walt Disney-character-type voice.

Musically, the Dead Kennedys were really good. Politically they were... interesting. You think of the Dead Kennedys and you think of East Bay Ray's distinctive guitar-playing. You think of the Dead Kennedys and you think of Jello Biafra's politics as amplified by his vibrato vocals. The music carried the politics, the politics supported the music, and combined a force of exuberant energy was created.

Printed in 1983, Dead Kennedys - The Unauthorized Version is, unfortunately, a bit of a cash-in. A vanity project, even. It's a muddle and a bit of a mess due to appearing not to know quite what its purpose is. A lot of the photos are lacklustre and the reproductions of Winston Smith's artwork are uninspiring. The interesting thing about it, however, is that it's almost a meditation on the Dead Kennedys. An attempt to try and understand what the Dead Kennedys are about and what they might represent. The writer, however, is on a hiding to nothing.  

Tucked away in the text of the book there's a line that acts as a clue as to why trying to pin down the Dead Kennedys is a fruitless task and to my mind it says a lot about them as a band: 'Perhaps being political in the US means choosing which conspiracy to believe in?'

For a band whose name rests on one of the biggest conspiracy theories in the world, led by a singer whose whole trip was to raise conspiracy theories as semi-alternatives to the New World Order and then shoot them all down; well, to try and come up with a viable explanation of what the band meant is like trying to nail-down jelly. Or jello. 

For all that, I'll say again, the Dead Kennedys were a brilliant band whose impact has been significant. Moreover, their song Police Truck is sublime: 'The Left newspapers might whine a bit, but the guys at the station they don't give a shit. Dispatch calls, "Are you doing something wicked?" No siree, Jack, we're just giving tickets. Let's ride, how we ride. let's ride, low ride.'

And not to mention, the lyrics to Holiday In Cambodia still stand as almost perfect punk lyrics, up there with the best of them: 'Play ethnicky jazz to parade your snazz on your five grand stereo... You're a star-belly sneech, you suck like a leech, you want everyone to act like you. Kiss ass while you bitch so you can get rich, but your boss gets richer off you...................      Pol Pot!!! 

John Serpico

Access All Areas - Barbara Charone

 ACCESS ALL AREAS - BARBARA CHARONE

When working as a music journalist in the Seventies, Barbara Charone was put on The Who's guest list for when they were playing Madison Square Garden but then found herself being denied backstage access by a security guard who presumed the only reason a girl would want to go backstage is because she's a groupie. Back then, rock critics were almost exclusively male so Barbara Charone was nothing less than a trailblazer, leading the way for other female writers to follow.

Hailing from Chicago, Illinois, by the age of 22 Charone had freelanced for among others the NME and Rolling Stone magazine before moving to London in 1974 to be a staff writer for Sounds music newspaper. This was the era of rock and pop exuberance when bands and singers would not so much walk the earth but soar above it. When private jet planes were de rigueur, payola part of the rule book, and cocaine a measure of success.

Access All Areas is the story of Barbara Charone's journey through the peaks and troughs of the music business - though mostly the peaks. The lofty heights where you'd find the likes of the Rolling Stones, Elton John, Rod Stewart, Eric Clapton and Madonna. A place, in fact, that on maps of old would be marked as 'Here be monsters'.

Two years after arriving in London, Charone was failing to heed the advice of Lester Bangs when in the film Almost Famous he says to the Cameron Crowe-inspired journalist about musicians: just remember 'they are not your friends'; with this actually being key to her whole book.

'You'd be surprised how many people who work in the music business make the mistake of believing the artist is your friend,' Charone writes 'That's really where the trouble starts. I saw so many people try to copy the Stones' extracurricular habits and fall by the wayside.'

Ten pages later she's writing 'At this point I must confess that by now I had developed quite a fondness for cocaine.' And then 'I was unprepared when Roger Daltrey burst into tears when discussing his struggles with Pete and I loved him even more for it. It was this kind of personal relationship that really made this era of journalism unique, something never to be repeated.'

By autumn of 1976, however, Charone was becoming restless: 'Punk was just round the corner, and it just wasn't for me. I was enamoured with more mainstream music and didn't really relate to this soon-to-be next big thing. I could feel the sea change fast approaching and began to feel it was time to move on from being a rock critic.'

So after approaching Keith Richards and him giving consent for her to write a book about him, that's what she did. Coinciding, by chance, with Richard's arrest in Canada for possession of heroin. From there she went to work for WEA Records in their press office before finally starting her own PR company called MBC, taking on (or rather, being taken on) over the years by the likes of Madonna, REM, Rufus Wainwright, Primal Scream, and Foo Fighters.

Access All Areas is a rollercoaster ride of namedropping and as Guardian journalist Alexis Petridis rightly points out in a blurb on the back cover, Barbara Charone is nowadays a music industry legend. In her book she comes across as a really likeable person who would make a good friend - though this doesn't mean, of course, that her book is above criticism.

The main problem with it is in the editing and the question of who it's being aimed at and written for. As an example, is it really necessary after mentioning somebody to put in brackets who they are? I mean: Jim Morrison ('lead singer of The Doors'), Keith Moon ('the infamous original Who drummer'), Ian Hunter ('the fab Mott The Hoople frontman'), Kiki Dee ('famous for a duet with Elton John'), etc, etc. Really?

And then she does Marianne Faithful a disservice when talking about Keith Richards by writing 'Back in 1967 he was infamously arrested at Redlands along with Mick Jagger (remember Marianne Faithful and the infamous Mars bar).' This is when Charone would know full well that the Mars bar incident is a myth and a lie, as stressed by Faithful herself. So why refer to it and in doing so dress her in that lie yet again?

There's also the question of Charone being rather too diplomatic for her own good. She calls Stephen Stills 'plain nasty' and Max Clifford 'despicable', and that's fine but when it comes to Sun tabloid newspaper editor Victoria Newton she calls her 'a credit to women everywhere'. Really? Let's not mention phone-hacking, shall we, particularly during Newton's tenure as deputy editor at the News Of The World before its closure in 2011?

And then there's Russell Brand who Charone was doing PR for at the time when he was hosting the NME Awards at the Hammersmith Palais in 2006, when Bob Geldof called Brand a cunt. The incident was used to escalate and enlarge Brand's public profile but behind the clash was the issue of 29 year-old Brand briefly 'dating' Geldof's 16 year-old daughter.

Access All Areas is good but if I was her editor I would have advised her to take the whole thing away and start again, and then to come back with a 'take no prisoners' attitude and with all guns blazing. She might well have lost friends and alienated people in the process but it would have made for a much better book.

John Serpico