Georgia read and liked Montambo's review of My Dark Places:

"Things I'm unlikely to do:

-Eat a chicken wing.
-Talk to my dad about my sex life.
-Read true crime.

Goodreads, however, has caused me to do a great many things that I'd have thought unlikely prior to my booknerd socia...more Things I'm unlikely to do:

-Eat a chicken wing.
-Talk to my dad about my sex life.
-Read true crime.

Goodreads, however, has caused me to do a great many things that I'd have thought unlikely prior to my booknerd social network addiction, such as:

-Date people I met online.
-"Hang out" with people with a proclivity towards potty humor.
-Read true crime.

I can't believe I read this book! But all you people were talking about Ellroy. "Ellroy, Ellroy, Ellroy!" I'd never even heard of him until a couple months ago when you all started getting jazzed about Blood's a Rover coming out and I kept reading your reviews and while the books still seemed out of sync with my reading tastes, I was totally intrigued by the author. And then I read David's review of this book and DFJ's review of this book and brian said it was "DEMENTED" and "A-FUCKING-MAZING" and Ellroy was the "GREATEST GUY EVER." Dang. So, there you go, goodreaders. You've taken over my reading life as well as my actual life.

This book was split into several sections and the first two were by far my favorites. The first section was about the initial investigation of Ellroy's mother's brutal murder. I was totally drawn in to the style. He let actions speak for everything. There was no explanation, digression or commentary. It was: This happened. This happened. This happened. He made choices on what to tell and in what order and gave so much impact by letting the actions say it all. I was leery going in about the staccato style that aggravates some, but I really liked it. It felt perfect for this story. And concise words he used, like somnambulate or duplicitous (one of his favorites,) stood out more and even said more when they weren't surrounded by loads of unnecesaries. "He was somnambulate." Bare words, bare prose. I dug it.

And the second section! OH MAN. The second section, "The Kid in the Picture" earns 6 stars from me. You've got to read this book so that you can at least leave the first section documenting the brutality and ambiguity of his secretive and gorgeous mother's demise so that you can turn the page and see 10 year old Ellroy posing for a newspaper photo in his landlord's woodshop, minutes after police told him that his mom had been murdered! No social workers whisking him off to his next of kin! No grief counseling. They asked him to go stand in the woodshop and hold some tools and to look natural. Holy hell. You got to see this kid's face. Also amazing about this section, we discover that to young Ellroy, only mentioned in 3rd person in section one, felt like the brutal killing of his mother was a freedom, freeing him to live a "new and beautiful life," freed him to live with his father of the giant cock and the giant grudge against the mother and giant dreams (and, alas, un-giant follow-through.) How fucked up is that? Is there any surprise that he immersed himself in crime fiction, then true crime, obsessing and fantasizing and investigating and peeping and panty-sniffing?

Poor bastard. I have to stop myself from relating so many details to you. I'm itching to describe his ARMY-ditching. I'm resisting commenting about his murder-victim-rescue-sex fantasies. But I have to stop because I have to tell you about when I met him! It was crazy! Surreal. I've met so many authors. I've hosted them in my library; I've served them sandwiches. I've been to so many author readings and panels and I've never experienced anything like this man.

My friend Marie and I were volunteering at author check-in at Wordstock in Portland and there was a table full of badges that we were to give to the authors when they signed in and a V.I.P. room we were to lead them to. I laid dibs on Ellroy. I was kind of afraid that he was going to be a jerk to me (like Richard Dawkins was to Marie,) but I needn't have worried because I'm a female. He seemed ecstatic to meet me, really. He signed my book, "She lives!!" He gave me advice about boyfriends and protecting myself, a fatherly hand on my shoulder, a grave look in his eye. He posed for a photo with me. He told me about his new memoir coming out next year. It sounds amazing--more Ellroy and his demented sexuality and less description of the mutilated women who shaped his sexuality, thanks. That last section, detailing so many brutal crimes, was what docked a star from my final evaluation. I'm not a crime reader, you know.

Then I walked him to the VIP room and one of his people introduced herself to me and started talking to him and Ellroy said, "That's boring; I want to talk to Sarah. Sarah, is that your real eye color? Truly beautiful! I've only met ten people in my life with that color of true green. You have really beautiful eyes." Holy cow! I don't remember how I responded. And we arrived at the VIP room and I told him I'd be seeing him speak at Livewire that evening. "Oh yeah!" he said, "I'm doing Livewire, tonight! I'm going to be really fucking funny!" And then, put his hand on my shoulder and looked into my green eyes and gave me some last minute advice about protecting myself against "fucking bullshit coward cocksuckers." I swear on snails that James Ellroy said this stuff to me. I walked away feeling like he was the nicest guy I "knew!" Demon Dog, whatever. More like a Paternal Pooch. I wanted him to be my uncle.

Then I saw his Wordstock reading. Even if you hate crime writing and hate this review and hate Ellroy, you should still try to catch him if he comes to your town. It was insane! Such an arrogant self-promoter! And he's nailing you with the crass and the vulgar and his seeming coldness and you're cringing and laughing and then on a dime his rant becomes a poetic and bare crying out against misgynistic violence and a yearning for seeing his mother in the afterlife and an unapologetic description of his faith. All in one sentence! And you're not cringing and laughing, anymore, you're just holding your breath and trying not to cry.

Then came the Q&A and shit hit the fan (gross.) The first guy he called on was one of Portland's ubiquitous smug lefty hipsters who masked a dig at Ellroy's right-wing politics as a question and Ellroy wasn't having it! I'm paraphrasing, but his answer was something like this:

Ellroy--"I FIND YOUR TONE AND YOUR "QUESTION" ARROGANT AND INSULTING!"

Lefty hipster--"No, I didn't mean..."

Ellroy--"NO, YOU LISTEN TO ME!! I'M HERE TO DISCUSS MY MASTERPIECES, NOT HERE TO DEFEND MY POLITICS TO YOU OR ANYBODY, SO TAKE YOUR "QUESTION" AND SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!"

silence

Ellroy--"Next question?"

All of us--laughter.

And people did, gingerly, ask more questions. One guy eventually asked him why he reacted so angrily to the first question, and I'm paraphrasing, again:

It wasn't a question, it was an insult, OKAY?

I'm a Christian, OKAY? I believe in redemption and salvation, OKAY? My political views are faith-based, ALL RIGHT?!

I'm a minority in the field of the arts as far as my political and religious points of view. OKAY?"

Marie leaned over to me and said, "I want to see how he responds to a woman who says something offensive," and not two seconds later a woman stands and says:

"I'm a psychic and I also talk to God, everyday. The Black Dahlia hates your guts!"

Ellroy remained calm and said sweetly and calmly, "Well, she shouldn't hate me because I dig her and I honor her memory every chance I get." Oh, Uncle James! You're such a softy for the ladies.


Our family portrait:
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