Wild to Possess / A Taste for Sin

by Bruce Grossman on November 16, 2006 · 3 comments

wild to possess reviewWhen I review books from Stark House Press, I get the feeling I should be wearing a solid color sweater with a megaphone and the letters “SH” on it, screaming “Give me a N-O-I-R! What’s that spell? Stark House, Stark House, rah rah rah!” This company can do no wrong and – trust me on this one, folks – Gil Brewer’s WILD TO POSSESS / A TASTE FOR SIN two-fer is definitely the best of the bunch. A bold statement, I know, but with Brewer’s writing, you think things are going to start tying up, only to have him throw a big surprise your way.

From 1959, WILD TO POSSESS is the story of Lew Brookbank, a man who drinks gin like Gatorade. After being left by his wfie, he’s trying to start a new life for himself as a sign maker. Then one day, Lew finds his ex-wife and her lover both shot dead in the head, with Lew thinking to himself that he’s going to be pegged as the prime suspect.

So while he works at his new job drunk in the middle of the night, placing roadside signs up to advertise a restaurant, he overhears a couple planning some sort of crime. He can tell that the couple is having an affair. Later on, after some snooping and spying, Lew discovers they plan on faking a kidnapping of Ralph Hagan’s wife – shades of FARGO. After Ralph hides his wife in a cabin, Lew takes her for his own, figuring what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.

But let’s not forget the appearance of the brother of his ex-wife’s lover, who has his own idea of how his brother was killed and wants Lew to answer for it. If this does not get you hooked, you’re better off reading some romance novel. With just 20 pages left, Brewer throws in a big surprise you won’t see coming.

I need to point out something for the drinkers out there: The main character in 1961’s A TASTE FOR SIN, Jim Phalen, drinks a ton of absinthe, which is awful unless you like the taste of black licorice. I’ve tried two different types, disliking both, so when I read that Phalen drinks a bottle of the stuff like some would with beer, it just made me queasy.

Onto the story at hand: Phalen works at a liquor store and supplements his income by ripping off said store selling hooch to a bigshot at a discount and pocketing the extra cash. This will be a problem for Phalen throughout out the book, as there’s a nosy cop who seems to think Phalen knows more then he lets on. But that’s nothing compared to Phalen’s other situation, being in love with a married girl called Felice.

Her husband runs the bank and she’s got a plan to rip it off of one million dollars and get rid of her husband, using Phalen for both the job and her selfish needs. Thinking this will be his ticket out of the craphole, he goes along for the ride. Again, Brewer throws a few flies in the ointment you don’t expect for the Bonnie and Clyde of the Bukowski set. Brewer sucks you into the story, and even when you feel like it’s about to end, brings it to a full conclusion, even if a little far-fetched.

For the extras this time out, we are given three essays about Brewer, the first from Stark House impresario Gregory Shepard, who explains that Brewer was struck from the James Cain mold and delved even deeper. Then we get a tribute from Verlaine Brewer, wife of the late author, who explains how Gil could write a book in two to three days flat, and when he was in need of cash, he could crank out a top-notch book like no else. She also discusses his downfall through alcoholism, which ultimately claimed his life. It’s an extremely informative and touching essay.

To close it out, Bill Pronzini goes through Brewer’s body of work and takes a much-needed potshot at the awfulness that is MURDER, SHE WROTE. So let me scream through the megaphone again, inviting everyone to jump on the Stark House bandwagon: Firecracker, firecracker, sis-boom-bah! Stark House, Stark House, rah rah rah! –Bruce Grossman

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About Bruce Grossman

Bruce writes the "Bullets, Broads, Blackmail and Bombs" weekly column. He lives in Massachusetts.

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