Ron Goulart (1933–2022)

I was turned onto Goulart by my friend John Sheehan - who gave me a collection of Goulart's books. As such, I'll forever associate Goulart w/ John - & I can appreciate how their 2 peculiarities coincide. John also exposed me to 2 inventions of his own: balloon fishing & slow-bowling - but that's a story for elsewhere.

I'll probably never read anything by Goulart that I'll be able to bring myself to give more than a 3 star rating too. "Liked it" sums my response. Goulart's too much of a show more gimmick writer - nothing that I've read by him tries to accomplish anything beyond short books w/ recurring themes & style. NONETHELESS, I've enjoyed them all! A few obvious pseudo-critical clichés come to mind: "guilty pleasure", "book to read at the beach while on vacation", "escape fiction"..

&.. yet.. somehow I think he deserves more credit than that. His gimmick, in most, or all, of the 28 books I've read by him, is dysfunctional technology &/or technology imbued w/ human failings - elevators w/ limited artificial intelligence that have opinions about the people who ride in them, robots as racist as their inventors, shoe dispensers that don't pop out matching shoes.. that sort of thing. AND there's more to it than that. His books are satires, somewhat outspoken about sex, race, revolution..

Take "Wildsmith": an android secretly built by a publishing company to crank out best-sellers - & very successful at that. BUT, in order for the android to have the appropriate personality it's had quirks built into it - like apparent alcoholic behavior. Since the public isn't supposed to know that Wildsmith's an android, all the aberrant behavior has to be kept in check enuf by his PR man to keep this a secret - wch means preventing Wildsmith from unscrewing his hands in public & such-like.

This being not only a satire of the publishing industry but also of the political atmosphere of the time there's an apparent parody of Al Capp & his "Li'l Abner" cartoon - in this case as Joe Chuck, creator of "Tiny Boob the Hillbilly Midget". In Goulart's rendering, Chuck is a nasty stereotyping creep whose comic is banned in Mexico b/c Chuck expresses such sentiments as:

""These amusing greaseballs come from a distant planet and they landed right in Tiny Boob's hillbilly home town of Hogwallow. They resemble wax basketballs and have amusing little legs and wear sombreros. They've come to our poor, plundered portion of this planet because they've heard you can get a handout quicker here than anyplace else in the universe. If there's one prick things these greaseballs hate, it is working for a living.""

NOW, that's somewhat the way I remember Capp as being - so imagine my surprise when I skimmed thru his Wikipedia bio & found naught but praise for the guy. It's even claimed there that John Steinbeck (who I have deep respect for) "called Capp "the best writer in the world" in 1953, and even earnestly recommended him for the Nobel Prize in literature"! AND Marshall McLuhan (who I'm beginning to think was a bit of an idiot) was reputed to be a fan. Contrast that to the footage of Capp's hostility to John Lennon & Yoko Ono as presented in Paul McGrath's movie "John & Yoko's Year of Peace".

At any rate, Goulart's satire seems just as pungent & pointed as, eg, Terry Southern's "Candy" - but "Candy" was made into a movie w/ prominent stars & I don't know of any Goulart movies (wch doesn't mean that they don't exist - eg, he's somehow connected w/ "Battlestar Galactica"). In fact, "Wildsmith" is somewhat reminiscent of Woody Allen's "Broadway Danny Rose" - but 13 yrs earlier - & w/ the Sci-Fi touches lacking in Allen's story. Funny, I often feel the same way about Allen's movies as I do about Goulart's books - they're clever but gimmicky - & they usually don't go far enuf.

STILL, I recommend Goulart - it only takes a few hrs to read one of these so it's easy enuf to whiz thru one - & if you don't get anything out of it there's no great waste of time. Besides, he seems worthy of recognition as a precursor to Jonathan Lethem, eg, & as a prominent figure in the shaping of the fusion of detective & science fiction. For me, the dysfunctional technology is enuf of a hoot to make it worthwhile - given that tech-heads often act like technology is some sort of perfect savior - rather than just another product of imperfect humans.

I note that Goulart has a series (?) of books w/ Groucho Marx as a "Master Detective" that I've never seen. That seems like perfect grist for Goulart's mill. show less

review of
Ron Goulart's Crackpot
by tENTATIVELY, a cONVENIENCE - March 7, 2017


This is the 42nd bk I've read by Goulart. It was published in 1977. John Waters's Crackpot was published in 1986. That just goes to show ya that there's more than one way to crack a pot. The cover of this one calls Goulart "The Mack Sennet of Science Fiction". Since the 21st century seems to be becoming the era-in-wch-no-one-remembers-anything-anymore I'll tell you who "Mack Sennet" is given that you probably show more don't even know the name of the last person you had sex with.

For one thing, "Mack Sennet" is probably Mack Sennett. The cover of this bk left off the last "t". The assumption is that this was a simple mistake. But what if it ISN'T A MISTAKE?! What if the person who designed the cover encrypted a plea for help?! What if Little Billy Book Cover Designer was actually chained to his desk trying to get a message-in-a-bottle out to the public to come & save him? Maybe the message tells us to remove the last "t" from "Goulart" to produce "Goular", suspiciously similar to "Ghoulish"?

Anyway, Mack Sennett founded Keystone Studios & was famous for slapstick comedies like those done by The Keystone Cops. Poor Little Billy was probably trying to tell us that the Keystone Cops have bungled his rescue. Most of Goulart's novels are set on planets other than Earth but this one's a home-o. That makes it somewhat unusual. Another little (Oh, Little Billy, forgive us!) thing that makes it unusual is that Goular(t) uses a formal literary device that has page one, the beginning of the 1st chapter, begin thusly:

"These things all happened at approximately the same time on June 13, 2015."

& page 145, the beginning of the last chapter, begins thusly:

"These things happened at approximately the same time on June 29, 2015."

That might not seem like much, & maybe it's not, but I noticed it so it struck me as worth mentioning. Full circle n'at. Note that the bk's set 38 yrs in the future from its date of publication - wch happens to be 2 yrs in the past of this review. I love that sort of thing, don't you? Reading bks that're set in the future wch happens to be your present or past? That way the reader can see how much of a prophet the writer succeeded at being.

In this case, Goulart's remnants of the USA have started a war w/ Mexico by annexing some of it - not such a far-fetched scenario. Mexico is simultaneously in the midst of a Civil War. It's not quite the same as having the Great Kleptocrat proposing wasting $11,000,000,000.00 of the taxpayer's money on building a wall to separate the USA from Mexico but it's close enuf in absurdity to be worth bringing up. The Great Kleptocrat & his Plunderbund aren't funny at all but Goular(t) certainly is:

"Two more of the large-size paramedic andies pushed through the door before he reached it. "We request, Dr. David F. Westchester, that you surrender yourself to us under the provisions of the Goofy Doctor Act."

""Who's goofy? Simply because I cut off a few wrong parts from a few spoilsport patients, does that make me a loony?"

""You're not authorized to cut off any parts," the android up on the ramp pointed out. "You're a rectal smear man pure and simple."

""Oh, sure," said Dr. Westchester. "That's a great job for a man with my training. I graduated from the Bible Truth Medical & Faithhealing College of Topeka, Kansas, Heartland Empire, at the head of my class. Now I must spend my days looking into people's poopoos. It's an ignoble and—"" - p 11

Shades of Dr. Benway. Wch, by the way, is the name of the last person you picked up on Tinder. Goular(t)'s future, our past, is full of intrusive dysfunctional technology every-wch-way-you-turn:

""You've just stepped," informed the next gutter-speaker, "into the footsteps of Rance Keane, noted gunfighter, who is by apt coincidence, now appearing—"

""This isn't Rance Keane's square. It says Butch the Wonder Dog."" - p 15

I'm reminded of the reminder messages I kept getting on my iJones about a non-existent event that's 'already happened'. Goular(t)'s future, our past, is a mess.. just like our present.. but different:

"A fragile blond man at the sofa end, after coughing, said, "We'll return to this stimulating debate on the moral validity of our position in this conflict with Mexico when 'Aspects of War' returns in three minutes."

"A naked girl, decorated with cosmetic polka dots and gold bangles, replaced the debaters on the screen. "How'd you like to spend a night with a hot ticket like me?" she inquired in a husky voice, "I bet I'm every man's idea of a terrific lay. Yet not so long ago I was merely another frustrated house-frau. Then I heard about the International Home Hooker School of—"" - p 28

What do you think she wd've sd before she was so-rudely-cut-off? 'the International Home Hooker School of Pancakes'?

Our hero, Rafe Santana, is a Mexican-American news-caster who's getting what seems to be a promotion by being sent to Mexico to cover(-up) the war. He gets some instructions:

"["']Minimize, while not totally ignoring, the Mexican claims that our motives in annexing are based on a desire for commercial gains and new territory to exploit. Emphasize, rather, the fact we are bringing a stability to the Mexican people, giving them a security which they haven't ever had under the fluctuating regimes of Mexico City.'" Less let the memo drop to the vibrabed, gazed up at the mirrored ceiling and then selected another piece of fax-paper. "This came in two days ago from the Secretary. Hum . . . '. . . nothing basically wrong with having a MexAm anchor on the War Desk. Indeed it may, subtly of course, serve to emphasize that the Mexican people do accept and comprehend what we are doing for them.' Isn't that nice?"

"Rafe's hands had tightened into fists. He cleared his throat. "I want this job," he said. "So read me everything Secretary McRaine has to say."" - p 33

The next passage was fun to read given that for the 1st time in my life my local water company had 100,000 or so of its customers boiling our water for 36 hrs or so b/c of water in a particular reservoir not passing inspection:

"The houseboat restaurant bobbed gently on the black water. The proprietor leaned close to Rafe to say, "I wouldn't order the seafood plate."

"Rafe said, "Not going to order anything until my friend arrives."

"The proprietor was a big wide man, dressed in a two-piece off-white evening suit. "They're dumping some kind of leftover chemical weapon stuff in the gulf," he explained in a low voice, glancing at the dozen or so other customers scattered around the softly swaying room. "The fish tastes okay, but for six or eight hours after you eat it you have an uncontrollable urge to tell the truth. I confide this in you, because in your business—"" - p 37

If only chemical weapons were that benign.

1st we had Ern Malley in poetry, now there's Fulmer Anderson. That strikes as an excellent pen-name for someone writing about the Adventures of Melania's Rump:

""You've probably never heard of me. My name is Fulmer Anderson."

""I haven't."

""My trouble, besides a publisher who's snarfing me, is I keep creating immortal characters. You do that and readers won't know you, they'll only know your immortal characters. I wager you can't tell me who wrote Sherlock Holmes, Tarzan or Fu Manchu."

""Conan Doyle, Edgar Rice Burroughs and Sax Rohmer. What immortal characters have you created?"

""Well, someone with a literary background such as you obviously have possibly doesn't read series books," said Fulmer Anderson. "I write the Masochist series and the Sadist series, and my latest series is about Mr. & Mrs. Lust."" - p 38

Obviously, Goular(t)'s prophetic abilities fell a bit short on this one. No 21st century newscaster wd be able to remember the names of those authors. Goular(t)'s dysfunctional future has just about everything automated, even the priests - so who does the child molesting? After all, the sports coaches are probably automated too.

"A robot priest, one of the old-style black cylinder types, was flat on his back beside the font. Apparently he'd slipped on the slick flooring and been unable to upright himself. He was sprawled there, wheels spinning futilely, muttering, "Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa."

""Let me help you, padre." Rafe stooped, got a hand under one of the robot priest's several arms.

""Bless you, my son," spoke the robot when he was back on his wheels. He made a lopsided sign of the cross with one of his arms. "Have you come to see the magnificent Church of St. Isaac? It is one of the finest completely mechanized churches of God in the entire Western world."" - p 46

There are apparently at least 6 saints named Isaac so Goular(t) might be making a joke here.. or a clue about the whereabouts of Little Billy. What I think of is an ex-roommate of mine who sd mea culpa all the time. It used to really get my goat.

In Goular(t)'s future, our past, androids even officiate at funerals. Do they go to work in an Uber taxi? Or do they just 'live' in the funeral home?

"In the shadowy, sweet-smelling hallway an android was waiting. He had a pink face, blond curly hair and wore a long white robe. "Gentlemen, allow me to convey my deepest sympathies. I am a Model 207XR Nondenominational Reverend. I'll be officiating at the brief but touching ceremony . . . um . . . I find myself with a slight problem." He motioned the nephew aside, led him into an alcove where a fountain was spewing multicolored water. "You're the relative of the deceased?"

""Yes. What—"

""I've officiated at over two thousand cremations since I was installed here at the Wee Forge in the Briars . . . uh . . . but, young fellow, this is the first time I've had to deliver a farewell sermon about anyone who died in a bordello. Frankly, I'm stumped. Perhaps if I tried a few—"" - p 91

See? Technology doesn't solve everything now, does it? Although a main thread running thru this tapestry of electronic wonder is a device called a "Gadget" invented by a man named "Crackpot". The illegal Gadget enables any of its users to remotely control other machines. It comes in very handy:

"you ordered the Low Budget $12,000 Funeral for your late uncle."

""It's sufficient I think, especially since—"

""The point is, sir, you haven't paid so much as a penny, not one cent. The credit number you provided turns out to be spurious, further—"

""Don't worry." From a coat pocket the young man produced a Gadget, much like the one he'd given his late uncle. "You're not going to make a frumus, are you? No, you're going to tell your computer it's all been paid for. The whole thing, including a small wake afterward for those old guys.

""Why, yes. Certainly. Was there some doubt?"" - p 92

Why, I'd give Melania's Rump to have one of those. Maybe I cd save Little Billy.. or, at least, get some truth in advertising:

"Above the eggshell-white halfdome huge throbbing light-signs announced AmericaMecca Market! Bringing the USA to the World! Junk Food! Gimcrack! Shoddy Appliances! Marked-Up & Unsafe Drugs! Hundreds of Other Worthless & Dangerous Items!" - p 94

Goular(t)'s a barrel of laughs going over New Mexxxico's Niagara Falls. show less

review of
Ron Goulart’s Plunder
by tENTATIVELY, a cONVENIENCE - March 20, 2016E.V.

This is the 37th Goulart SF bk I’ve read. I’ve read 1 of his mysteries & I have his bk on the pulps laying around. W/ the possible exception of the pulps bk they’re all extremely easy reading. That’s ok w/ me. I find myself writing ‘entirely too many’ reviews where I feel like I have to be very serious. Goulart’s work is a welcome relief from that. Plunder & Death Cell were both Beagle Books. show more They both feature Jack Summer, the “top reporter for Muckrake” & “Palma, the horniest photographer in the known universe”. (back cover blurb)

As usual, Plunder was as funny as a Mussolini puppet balancing mating penguins on its nose while reciting the Gettysburg Address w/ a mouthful of pistachio ice-cream. Goulart’s ‘futuristic’ touches are always special. Take, e.g., an office that gets redo crated w/ indoor snow:

“”We redecorated and relocated while you were out on Murdstone.”

“”I see.” It was snowing all around. There was an inch of white on the reception room floor and the breath the pretty plump receptionist expelled when she smiled at Summer came out smoky.” - p 4

Of course, when Summer is getting his assignment it’s presented as not-too-challenging but we know better, eh?!:

“”For one thing, there’s a maniacal mass murderer roaming Noventa. As I say, though, that probably doesn’t tie in with the political situation at all.” said Flowers. “Also we’ve heard rumors a bootleg zombie factory may be operating out there. I suggest you journey to Noventa Territory with an open mind.”” - p 9

“Ivy breathed out smoke. “Are you and these cronies of yours prepared to deny in public, Mr. President, that you are not sanctioning the manufacture of illegal zombies in this territory?”

“President Geecher lowered his head for a second, stroking his snout again. “Let me see if I can give you an answer which will satisfy you, Mr. Ivy. Of course I do not sanction the manufacture of any sort of zombies. The making of this type of worker, besides causing unfair competition in some of our labor markets, is something which is completely abhorrent to me.”” - p 19

Now this bk was 1st printed in February, 1972. As w/ so much SF, it’s prophetic. Who we’ve thought, 44 yrs ago, that such a problem might be addressed by a president. &, yet, here we are (or were) in 2016 & Vermin Supreme is running for president openly proposing a zombie labor force (instead of covertly working toward it like the other candidates): https://youtu.be/8x0uL9ufxnQ .

Most of Goulart’s humor is jest plain wacky (Have I already proposed that he belongs in the Pantheon of Absurdists w/ Alfred Jarry, Eugene Ionescu, & Edward Albee?) but sometimes he borders on incisive realism (as do his fellow absurdists):

“”Oh, I know,” she said, “You’re wondering where the young and pretty girls are. Usually they’re the ones who meet the tourists and go through all this rigamarole with the flowers. The thing is, there’s a war on.”

“”I’ve heard.”

“”So the young and pretty girls are following the troops, running guns, turning tricks or handing out crullers in the hospitals,” explained the old woman. “I’d take off myself except I have my dog to look after.”” - pp 50-51

Hallucinations are even more fun than dreams when used as a writer’s excuse for flights of fancy:

“”Wait, wait,” he said to himself. “I’m not supposed to have hair. My borrowed wild stallion isn’t supposed to talk. This make of camera is supposed to be hairless. Right?” He parted the red ringlets growing out of his vest pocket and took out his map. The map had a two-inch crop of grey fur growing on its surface. Palma tracked his finger tip through the fur. “I’m only on the edges of Loco Plain. The hallucinations shouldn’t be so strong.”” - pp 99-100

As the ghost of “Blaster” Al Ackerman ( http://idioideo.pleintekst.nl/Blaster.html ) might observe, Goulart’s characters are hebephrenic:

“Something cold and sticky splashed down on Summer.

“”What was that you threw on him?” Mrs. Mother asked.

“The black Firefly said, “Old stale lemonade.” He emptied the last of the bucket’s contents on the groggy Summer, set the bucket down on the floor.

“”I said water, didn’t I?”

“”The local government has asked us all to conserve on water during the hot season.”” - p 116

Firefly isn’t bothered by the impending interrogation & murder of 2 kidnap victims but he IS worried about conserving water.

Schroedinger’s Spoiler: Goulart cd be sd to even wax de Sadean by having the slasher be a prominent public figure - just like the 4 Sadists who choreograph the horror in The 120 Days of Sodom.

&, as usual, Goulart’s labor-saving devices of the future are more dysfunctional than is ideal:

“”Look, it’s nearly eleven PM,” said the band leader. “We wasted most of the night waiting for Alguma not to show. Now let’s get it over with. I don’t trust my androids to play without me all night, you know. Especially with the piano player losing his left hand at our first set tonight.”

“”He can play one-handed for a night.”

“”We got a bunch of cattle rustlers from Chapa Valley due in later and they’re sure to request boogie-woogie tunes. You got to have a left-hand for that.” - p 127

True dat. show less

One of the earliest and most important collections of its kind. Ron Goulart knew the hardboiled detective genre had lasting literary significance and popular appeal, and that the eight stories he selected for this volume represented "more than a nostalgic look at the past" (see his introduction). Raoul Whitfield's "China Man" (starring the unflappable Filipino detective Jo Gar) is a little anemic, but most of the other tales are top-notch. "Don't Give Your Right Name" is possibly the show more funniest, toughest story Norbert Davis ever wrote (and one of five featuring his Max Latin character), and there's plenty of action and gleeful violence as encyclopedia salesman Oliver Quade takes on an entire houseful of crooks in Frank Gruber's "Death on Eagle's Crag." The cream of the crop, however, is John K. Butler's novella "The Saint in Silver." Sure, the premise (ex-millionaire Steve Midnight toiling as an L.A. cabbie and, unofficially, a detective) is goofy, but it belies the author's ability to create deadly serious moments of dramatic tension. Butler's style was reminiscent of Raymond Chandler's, and it's too bad that he never wrote a full-length novel; he certainly had the chops for it.

The Hardboiled Dicks is ideal for those who have read Dashiell Hammett and Chandler and are interested in their more obscure contemporaries. Still, even if this is your very first encounter with detective fiction from the pulps, you're bound to find something you like here. Four and a half stars. show less