Gerald Kersh (1911–1968)

These are striking stories. Set in the toxic meanders of the 20th century, they feature a striking array of unpleasant people, well, men. Sometimes there is a woman for the man to complain of, but not usually. At least the blows are quick and don't leave all that much of an impression.

Come spend some time with the doomed. Kersh's tale of Harry Fabian, a pimp and small-time operator with big time dreams, and his cast of supporting players is vintage noir in most respects, except that the author's voice tends to drown out the characters, which casts the book in a whole different light. It isn't that Kersh doesn't have a lot to say and that what he says isn't interesting, it just makes for a book that is closer in spirit to The Grapes of Wrath than to The Big Sleep. The show more failure is that this cast of characters doesn't really deserve the Grapes of Wrath treatment - there isn't a real sympathetic soul among them.

Nevertheless, they will remain with you for a while - Ali, the mad Turk wrestler who is the center of the book's most exciting sequence; Helen, the shy virgin who, once bitten, sinks deeper and deeper into the world of the night and puts money before love; and of course, Harry Fabian, the small man whose mouth can never speak the truth that still flashes through his devious brain on occasion. Kersh makes it impossible to pity Fabian--he has no redeeming qualities whatsoever, and the only thing he believes in is himself--until perhaps even that isn't possible any more.

The book would have been more powerful if it had remained centered on Fabian and Kersh had saved his own thoughts for a book of philosophy. To see how well it might have turned out, read The Friends of Eddie Coyle by George V. Higgins. show less

The main character in this book is, more than anything else, Soho - London's seedy, sinister underbelly. It is, literally, the dark side of the city - most of the scenes take place betwen dusk and dawn. Kersh clearly knows the world he describes very well - some of the best passages in the book are those about the people who flow through the bars and back alleys.

The story focuses on Harry Fabian, a petty thug who lives off his prostitute girlfriend's earnings. From the outstanding opening show more sequence, it's clear that Harry is a bullshitter and a blusterer, who fools no-one except the hopelessly naive, and those who want to be fooled by the promise of easy money (including himself). Kersh is almost more critical of these last (who are drawn into Harry's circle from laziness, lack of self-control, and greed) as he is of those who deliberately set out to extract money from others.

I really enjoyed this book. The prose is sharp and stylish - especially the dialogue (which can be brilliantly telling), and the descriptions of people. The story is gripping and often menacing, although I felt that it pulled its punches at the end. Highly recommended. show less

This book might have been reissued as a London classic, with a laudatory preface from Michael Moorcock, but it doesn't quite hit the mark. It comes close, with many terrific qualities. So the location (Fowler's End), a godforsaken outpost at the very edge of London's sprawl, is superbly described. It is filled with a cast of oddballs and misfits, themselves cast adrift from the centre of society. The Jewish vernacular used by book's chief antogonist is equally good. And there are various show more comic set-pieces that keep the reader interested. But as a whole the plot is weak and towards the end the book meanders without much purpose. Mainly I kept reading because of the strangeness of the historical time being described: London in the 1930s, written about in the 1950s. Such a sad, impoverished place, such a contrast to the versions of sadness and impoverishment we live with in the capital today. show less