In defense of Crime

At the start of this year, with the spectre of recession hovering over my shoulder, I decided to give up buying books for a while. Not for long and certainly not forever, but just until I had worked my way through the large number of books sitting on my bookshelves. So far so good. I thought that I would just chip away at the stuff that I had bought and never read and when every single sentence had been completed, I would look at what remained.

It didn't work.

I find myself still surrounded by books which I have bought on-line and in second hand bookshops and borrowed from my father (who is generous to a fault with loaning out his books and never looks to get anything back in a hurry).

When I looked over my bookshelves back in those dark January evenings, I noticed that the majority of the books I owned were crime novels. So, I decided to read all of them before moving on to something else (although I may have acquired more books in the interim, thus negating any benefits of my self imposed discipline).

While I can't say that I enjoyed everything, there have been far more jewels than clunkers.

I write this on the back of an interview I read recently with a Booker prize winning author where the author seemed to me to treat crime writing (which he does under a pseudonym) in a condescending way as almost a lesser endeavor or as grunt work. I think that this is a tremendously short sighted view.

I am no way going to suggest that all crime writing is wonderful. There is terrible writing in the crime section of Waterstones, just as there is Literary fiction or in Classics or in the theatre or on television. Surely there are examples which can transcend any limitations of the genre either through the craft of the writing or by saying something interesting about the world. These should be cherished in whatever form they come.

The late Donald Westlake was a wonderful stylist with the written word. His novel "The Hunter" is wonderful example of economy in writing. No words are wasted. Everything is pushing towards a goal, just like the main character himself, the imcomparable Parker. Writing under his Richard Stark pseudonym, Westlake never lets us into Parker's head. We never know what he's thinking, just how reacts. His characters are defined by their actions, not their intentions.

Before reading the Ian Rankin novels, The Hanging Garden and Dead Souls, I had happened to watch a TV adaptation of the former one evening. I liked it. I thought that it was pretty dark, but ultimately an enjoyable waste of a couple of hours. When I cracked the spine on The Hanging Garden I found myself with a proposition 10 times bleaker than anything on television. Rebus is not a good man. He's barely a good policeman, but for all that he is an interesting character. In Rebus's world, there is precious little justice- the innocent are victimised, the guilty get away with their crimes and victories are few and rarely satisfying. There is however the possibility of redemption and the smallest sliver of hope.

You know the way that some people will always argue that a particular book is far better than the movie and that the film-maker ruined the book. I usually take the the approach of seeing the movie first and reading the book later. That way you can enjoy the movie on it's own merits and judge the book later. In the case of LA Confidential, I didn't actually get around to reading the book until 12 years later. However it is an amazing novel. James Ellroy's punchy, full-blooded prose style is unusual to say the least, but it works. It is based in that period in American History after the World War but before Kennedy came to power. It's a time capsule, with Ellroy's fictional characters mingling with the real people from that time. It's a bold thing to do and it's a terrific book. Vast chunks of the novel are missing from the movie, but it is an adaptation of the novel and not a re-enactment and all the better for that.

This is only the briefest sample of what I have been reading. I would also add to that the works of Raymond Chandler, Ross MacDonald and Carl Hiassen (who a friend of mine switched me on to).

Are crime novels worthy of our time? I know that I enjoy them and they sit very comfortably on my bookshelves with the novels of Charles Dickens, Ernest Hemingway and Thomas Hardy, as well as more comtemporary novelists like Michael Chabon (who wrote the part crime novel/part alternative history The Yiddish Policeman's Union) and Jonathan Lethem (who wrote the book Motherless Brooklyn- written from the perspective of a Tourettes syndrome sufferer). I don't know that I am qualified to say whether should be classed as literature. However I think that it is interesting to note that both Dickens and Shakespeare were noted as purveyors of low entertainments in their day.

My Favourite Fictional people- Day 3

Columbo.



Best. Detective. Ever.

My Favourite Fictional people- Day 2

I love Satan.

It's true. I love Satan.

Let me say it one more time for those of you who didn't hear. I love Satan!

Before my wife brings in the local rector for exorcism, I think that I should I clarify this somewhat. I love Satan, the character from Andy Hamilton's brilliant Hell based sitcom Old Harry's Game.

If you haven't heard of it, Old Harry's Game can be found in the nooks and crannies of the 6:30 comedy slot on BBC Radio 4 (although it is also available on CD if you're interested).

Satan...well what can you say about the devil? Well firstly, he feels that the uprising against God has been greatly misrepresented. It was more of a middle management delegation who went to the Almighty looking for a more executive role.

Satan finds himself in Hell providing full service damnation for all eternity or as God says in the series "I judge, you punish. Why rewrite a hit?" He isn't really needed on Earth to tempt humans anymore. Global sin is now at unprecedented levels even without him, thus causing massive overcrowding and an increased workload for the demons.

That doesn't mean that Satan doesn't get to sow some diabolical mischief from time to time. From adding extra teeth into Cherie Blair's smile while she's sleeping to taking the guise of Bill Clinton's zipper (52 times- he had to give it up because of the friction burns).

From a work perspective, there is punishing the damned- like the most vile and venal creature to ever walk the Earth, a man who Judas Iscariot calls "Gov"- Thomas Quentin Crimp (the chief executive of a privatised water board). Queen Victoria is punished by having her billeted with Harpo Marx and Yves Saint Laurent is punished by making him wear a donkey jacket.

The early series revolve around Satan's ongoing philosophical arguments with the Professor (an essentially good person who just happened to be an atheist), but later series went on to give us Satan's (and Andy Hamilton's) jibes at the world of the media, religion and politics when he went on a campaign of moral rearmament to do something about the massive overcrowding in Hell.

It's a great series and well deserving of your time.

My Favourite Fictional People- Day 1

Today is the the first day in a series of themed blogs. I had intended to call it a theme week, but I think that I prefer to keep going with this one until I start to get bored with the idea.

So, what's the dealio, as people who haved lived a middle class lifestyle, had quite a good education and never ever been shot by their homies are wont to say? The plan is to talk about my favourite fictional characters whether from the world of film, TV, literature, comics, radio or any other medium.

I hope not to gush too much, but if I start to get too enthused it may just be because I have consumed a packet of Skittles washed down with Lucozade. Please rest assured that when they drag me off the ceiling (and make me put my clothes back on), I will have raised my overall risk of tooth decay (brush twice daily kids...It's important).

Day 1- Spider-Man

A while back while visiting with my father, my nephew approached me with his large shoe box full of Superhero action figures. He is 9 years old now and wanted to show them to me as I have developed something of a habit of buying him comics for Christmas and Birthdays. We went through the box carefully and played with each of the action figures, fitting any acoutrements which came with them and dutifully pressing any buttons (useful side note- Dogs can eat toy missiles if fired in their general vicinity. If this happens, offer to buy another action figure, don't try to reason with the dog for the safe return...and it's not worth it to wait for it's return any other way).

Then a serious look came over his face. To be honest, I was concerned. If there was something really wrong, I wasn't sure what to do. If he was being bullied at school, could I teach him how to drop a guy with an elbow to the throat? Or to set fire to his bully in the school yard. Would that be the act of a responsible uncle? Such matters are still before the courts and therefore I am precluded from commenting.

He looked at me with his big serious eyes and asked- "Uncle Simon, who's the best superhero?"

My mind was paradoxically relieved and panicked at the same time. I am by nature slightly obsessive compulsive and when asked a question like this I like to weigh up all of the options. Even with two little eyes looking at me, I wasn't sure that this was something that I could answer. Or at least it wasn't something that I could answer without the use of flow charts, several graphs and a highlighter pen.

I tried to explain the various skills of different superheroes- Batman is a skilled detective. Superman is a talented investigative journalist and is a selfless hero helping throughout the world. The Thing is strong and brave. Wolverine has awesome hair.

As my rationalising went into it's second minute, two little eyes started to glaze over. And then a second question came- "Who's your favourite superhero?"

"Spider-Man," I said.

"So, Spider-Man is the best superhero then," he said packing all of his action figures away.

Spider-Man is not only my favourite superhero, but also probably my favourite character in fiction. There is a very powerful story around his origin. The lonely kid, bullied at school finding power and with it arrogance only for that to be his undoing when he fails to stop the man who killed his surrogate father. Basically this guy becomes a superhero out of guilt. He's a little like Sisyphus forever rolling his rock, trying to make up for a mistake which he never can make up.

I started reading Spider-Man in the reprints in the old Spider-Man and Zoids comics back in the 80's. It was a year filled with the return of the Hobgoblin (a villain who was made all the more intriguing by the fact that we didn't know who he really was) and his kidnapping Mary Jane and Harry Osborn, and the Sinister Syndicate. A contract was put out on the life of Spider-Man and a millionaire assassin (and successful entrepreneur in the non-killing people for money world) called Puma came to collect. There was drama, suspense, excitement and above all a great deal of fighting. Young boys like that sort of thing. I probably would have read Pride and Prejudice at that age if someone had told me that Mr Darcy did Kung Fu and killed people with a samurai sword.

Peter Parker has been through a lot since then. Amongst other things he's been buried, cloned, married to a supermodel, had that marriage erased through a deal with the devil (don't' ask), his aunt died (in a beautiful JM DeMattheis story), was resurrected, was kidnapped, was shot and almost died, became a best selling photojournalist, became a paparazzo, went to jail, got out of jail, went to jail again, took on four other superhero identities, became a teacher, fought his future counterpart and discovered that he's part of a weird totemistic legacy thing (I didn't quite understand it, so don't ask me to explain).

Why do I still read after all these years? I guess that it's because I care about the guy.

I gave up reading once. During the nineties, there was a push to move to a hipper Spider-Man, thus leading to the now much derided Clone saga. The story being that there was a clone of Peter Parker dating back to a story from the seventies, but in the spirit of dramatic story reversals, the clone was the real Spider-Man and the Spider-Man we had been following for many years was in fact a clone. Except he wasn't. It was an experiment on the part of Marvel comics, but not a successful one. As far as I recall, readers hemorrhaged from the title and Peter Parker was returned to his rightful mantle of Power and Responsibility. I drifted back a couple of years later.

There is a lot of great stuff out there to read. A good gateway into Spider-Man would be the Amazing Spider-Man comics done by J. Michael Straczynski and John Romita Jr (my favourite comic artist). Paul Jenkins and Mark Buckingham also did good work on Peter Parker: Spider-Man (issues 25 and the story about Peter and his Uncle Ben's love of baseball in issue 33 are particular standouts). The original Stan Lee/Steve Ditko stories are still great, great value in huge black and white volumes.

Real Men do it with Power tools

"We need shelves in the Bedroom."

Six little words. Six words that started it all.

I don't mean to sound disparaging about my beautiful wife. She was of course correct. We did undoubtedly need shelves to accommodate the several billion books strewn across the floor of our bedroom. To be more specific, we needed shelves to accommodate the several billion books piled high on my bedside table which was in grave danger of toppling over and crushing my wife and I while we slept.

In the spirit of the Recession (and I suppose also the Little Red Hen), I decided it would be best and more economical if I did it all myself.

"No," I said. "I decry the use of such things as self assembly furniture kits or going to Ikea... That will be too easy. I will buy wood and build these myself."

You know the old science fiction question, where you ask if you had the chance to kill Hitler in his crib knowing what he would do later, would you do it? I now find myself asking if at the moment I decided to build the shelves from scratch would have been the opportune moment to clock myself over the head with something large and heavy. Yes, science fiction teaches us that this would cause a time paradox and possibly endanger the integrity of the whole space-time continuum, but I believe this could be considered a special case.

I want you to understand that I'm not a weak-kneed wimp. Quite to the contrary, I know my way around a Black and Decker. I know the optimum angle to hold a saw at and how to do so and not come out minus a finger. I know the right Rawl plugs to use in a cavity wall. I know how to lay a path. In theory.


Since I first met my wife, her father has subtly and very gently spent time teaching little DIY skills as he worked on projects around his house. A very kind and generous man, he has always been very giving with his time and advice, and is never chiding or discouraging. His attitude is that there is usually a way to repair any mistakes you make.

So it was with this Bravado that I approached B & Q, filling up my car with brackets, screws, rails and furniture board.

My first job was to attach the rails to the wall. So I measured, I checked the levels, drilled the holes, knocked in the Rawl plugs and screwed it all in.


It was crooked.


Not just a little, not so much that no body would notice. It was so crooked that it made Bank chief executives look straight.


I removed the screws and started again, all the time muttering to myself with such force and vehemence that as I recall nearby sailors began blushing with embarrassment.

Apparently there is an old saying- "Measure twice- cut once." Why I had never heard this expression before my wife mentioned it as I was pushing Polyfilla into tiny holes in the wall I don't know.

As the shelves were intended to frame the bed, I started on the other side. These went in without a problem. I decided to double check the distances for the brackets and realised that the rails on one side of the bed are half an inch narrower than the other (my wife doesn't know this and I would rather that you didn't tell her).

I could go through the catalogue of errors in full and lurid detail, but that would be too painful. However, these were the highlights.

• I sawed all the shelves. The edges were all at a 45 degree angle.
• I varnished the wood using a paint brush which had previously been used to paint some radiators blue. Hence my otherwise natural pine shelves contain a nice lurid vein of blue.
• I left the varnished shelves outside to dry in the sun. A bird crapped on them (I cleaned it).
• I screwed in the brackets...in all of the wrong places.
• I tried to set in the largest shelf (some 7 feet in length) and dropped it on my head repeatedly.
• I enlisted my wife's is setting the largest shelf. I dropped it on her head repeatedly.

Life is back to normal now and the shelves look great. I have spent the last couple of days hiding out on the living room sofa. My wife is still suffering from amnesia and doesn't remember how the lump on her head came about. Although she has been suggesting that we might look at converting the attic....

Everything I ever needed to know I learned from Marvel comics...

Lessons learned from a lifetime of reading Marvel comics.

• If Galactus lands on Earth, find another planet to live on. Preferably in another galaxy.
• If relocating to another galaxy is not feasible, stand close to Mister Fantasic. He usually has a good idea.
• Matt Murdock is secretly Daredevil. If you are female, do not agree to meeting him for coffee, go dancing, date, marry or in any other way associate with him. You will die.
• If you are not female, Matt Murdock is a talented lawyer. If you are in need of good, sharp legal advice, he's your man. He rarely loses a case.
• Working for Stark Enterprises is rewarding, but fraught with the difficulties, such as things being blown up by supervillains. Iron Man is usually on the scene, but inevitably some exploding will precede his arrival. Read the insurance waivers in your contract carefully.
• Spider-Man's Aunt May has had several life threatening conditions and has been pronounced dead at least once. This does not appear to have affected her health insurance premiums.
• All Superheroes feel sufficiently confident in their bodies to wear skintight costumes for a large part of the day.
• Although several thousand superheroes come from America, only three come from Ireland. All sound like they auditioned for the movie Darby O'Gill and the Little People. They do, so they do Boyo.
• Male friends of Matt Murdock run an above average risk of being stabbed. By ninjas.
• If a man with a spikey haircut and claws sticking out of his hands arrives in a bar, leave. Don't be rude, finish your drink...but leave.
• The prefix Doctor does not guarantee that the person attended and/or graduated from medical school. Therefore it is not recommended to ask Doctor Doom to look at your bunions or ask Doctor Octopus to perform a pelvic exam.
• The prefix Captain does not guaratee that the holder served in the military (Captain Universe/Captain America).

Marriage is the only adventure open to the cowardly

Voltaire said that....I didn't know what he meant when I first read that quote.

It was in early August of 2006 and I was trying to write a groom's speech for my upcoming wedding. I went through every book of quotations that I could find and several websites until I found what I was looking.

My final speech featured generous contributions from GK Chesterton, Winston Churchill and The Beach Boys. However Voltaire's line stayed with me. I thought that it was a funny line at the time, although probably not appropriate when trying to charm my new bride, my in-laws, her relations and most importantly, when trying to prevent my mother from hitting me with her walking stick.

I have been married for over two years now and I'm starting to understand that quotation now. Marriage isn't easy, it's not always fun and it's not for the faint of heart. When you're married, you have to think of someone else before yourself, which in my own case doesn't always come naturally.

I would like to share another quotation that I came across just this afternoon.

I used to believe that marriage would diminish me, reduce my options. That you had to be someone less to live with someone else when, of course, you have to be someone more- Candice Bergen.

I think that the former Murphy Brown/Shirley Schmidt may be on to something there.

On the face of it, St. Valentine's day might sound like a odd choice of day to ruminate about the qualities of a modern marriage. All I can say is that I have someone in my life who loves me without condition or reservation, who never judges me, is always on my side and helps me up when I fall.

I don't know why...She has to put up with a lot. I'm not the most passionate person in the world and I have enough neuroses to fill up a text book, but she loves me anyway. I hope every day to be worthy of that.

I love her too by the way, without reservation, qualification and without limits.

Happy Valentines day.

What would Jack Bauer do...on his day off?

Dear Diary,

It's me again. It's Saturday and I'm so bored.

I phoned in to CTU when I woke up this morning. There's no crisis. The intelligence on the terrorist cell in Santa Monica turned out be bogus. They're a scout troop apparently. They were working on a craftwork badge, not a dirty bomb. I offered to come in and handle the interrogations, but they don't want me to. Hmph...I could get them to talk.

I don't like being in the office any more. No-one will look me in the eye. It's as if they are trying to pretend that they don't see me. In retrospect, maybe murdering a guy in the conference room and cutting a his off with a hacksaw was wrong and created a lot of extra work for the underpaid contract cleaning staff.

Friday night turned into a mess. My suspicions were aroused when I noticed the guys at the office acting strangely as they edged silently towards the exits. I confronted them about their behaviour. Rather sheepishly they admitted that it was Jose's birthday and that they were going out for beer and pizza. I just hadn't received the e-mail that went to everyone in the office. I apologised to Jose for putting the loaded gun to his kneecap and particularly for punching him in the throat. I tried to pretend that I was kidding and that I knew it was his birthday all along. Jose really is a good sport.

I'll get IT to check the e-mail server on Monday.

After the first round everyone had to go somewhere else (even though I was buying). I tried to tell a funny story about when I voluntarily became a heroin addict to maintain my cover with Mexican drug dealers. I guess you just had to be there.

Kim never phones any more. She blames me for being kidnapped, trapped in a locked room during a nerve gas attack and the whole cougar thing. Children- you try to bring them up, you try to teach them right from wrong, you try to make sure that they leave town prior to a nuclear attack on the city, but they're never grateful.

Tonight I'm planning to go a speed-dating evening again. It's been hard for me to meet women, since Teri was murdered. By my ex-girlfriend who was a mole in CTU. And Audrey was tortured and left catatonic by the Chinese.

Speed dating is difficult. Dammit. You just don't have the time.

I should try to get to the pet store today. My terrapin died while I faked my own death to prevent my being betrayed by my own government. I miss Louie. He was a good pet, serene undemanding and loyal. I wish I could get a dog. I just can't chance it. I could be called into service at any time, have to work through a crisis which strangely seems to be resolved within 24 hours. Who would walk him? I will put a note in the office suggestion box on Monday that we have a pet creche in the office.

I have a nice meal planned for today. The Plan-a-meal for one book which Chloe gave me is working out really well. I like to cook. When I'm working I don't usually have time to eat. Duck a l'orange with Dauphinoise potatoes and steamed vegetables. It's a little elaborate, but it helps to pass the time.

Dammit...I have so much time.

My Nemesis

Nemesis.


It is defined as an opponent or rival whom a person cannot best or overcome.

My personal nemesis lives in my house. He sleeps under my roof. He eats food that I pay for. He takes up two thirds of my sofa every evening, snuggling up to my wife. He hates my family and acts up around them. He steals food off my plate when I'm eating. He wakes me up during the middle of the night. He consumes every resource I possess but never even says thank you.

He is my dog- Harpo.

Harpo is a German pointer dalmatian cross, which my wife and I rescued last year when he was just a puppy. At the time I thought to my myself that it was ok, I liked dogs. I didn't mind that he was going to need some training and a lot of exercise. That was part of it. And besides, I liked dogs.

8 month later, I discover that I like dogs. I just hate Harpo.

It probably isn't his fault. When I was a kid, we had a dog at home. He was a black labrador and he went everywhere with me. He even slept in my bed. And I didn't mind.

He was docile and friendly. He was a neighbour dog. Kids in the road played with him and he loved playing with them. He was my best friend.

Throughout that time my mother would periodically go ballistic when the dog did something wrong (bark, scratch the door, pee on the floor). She would rant and rave about him.

I had to have him put to sleep when I was 19 when he got really ill. I cried for days. The mere thought of the dog made me weep uncontrolably.

I didn't own a dog between that day and last July when we got Harpo. I'm a little older now. I own my own home. I realise where my mother was coming from. I find that my patience (what lilttle of it remains) is tried on a daily basis.

So yes, I hate him.

Some of the time.

Then there are other times -When he sits beside me when I'm sitting on the stairs making a phone call, licking my ears, or when he snuggles up to my wife when she's ill.

At the moment, he's lying beside me on the sofa, docile as a kitten and we're watching 3:10 to Yuma.

He likes Westerns. He can't be all bad.

Greetings Earthling

Ok. I know that my title is a little bit of a cliche. I hope that you don't hold that against me.

Welcome to my blog. This is the Backwards elephant.

The Backwards elephant is my attempt to dump my thoughts about things I like, things I don't like, things that make me furious, things that I find confusing, things that I find vaguely interesting and people that I admire.

I am Simon by the way. I am 33 years old, happily married (to Lucy), with a dog (a German pointer/Dalmatian cross called Harpo) and a nice little Yellow house in Celbridge (a little town in Ireland not too far from Dublin).

I decided to start the blog last weekend. I read the newspaper and there was really only one story- the recession. It was pretty depressing. According to the papers the apocalyse has already come...While this should have lead me to reassess my financial planning and redouble my efforts at work, it lead me to buy a lot of black leather, to refit my Skoda Fabia estate into an interceptor a la Mad Max 2 and plan how to fight off the marauding biker gangs.

I reckoned that I should try to remind myself about the things that I have, the things that I love and write about them, thus sharing the love (God I hate how new-agey I am sounding right now).

It will probably be only sporadically coherent. I can't always guarantee that I will be wearing trousers when I am posting. However this one of my fervent hopes.

At least in these troubled times I have something to aim for.

Good night and Happy Trails,
Simon