"You're bright and you're capable, James. And you've done very damn little with those qualities. You seem satisfied to stay where you are and be what you are. You're not hungry. There isn't anything you want badly enough to go after it. The best way to control men is through their hunger, whether it's for money, fame, importance, power, liquor, women, gambling, or what have you. You're a bored man, James."
"D**n it, Jimmy, I got a word for you. You're morose. You got the sour uglies most of the time. Look out there are that great big broad sunshiny world, crammed full of people having a time. It's a big world full of beaches and girls and sport cars. Full of bowling alleys and golf courses and cold beer. The things you get so broody about, why, they don't matter a damn to those folks. They want ball games, Westerns, the next drink, the next steak, the next roll in the hay. They can get a little jumpy about being blowed up with atom bombs, but aside from that one thing, you can hardly attract their attention. We'll just be another part of the entertainment business, Jimmy, after we really get rolling. You give those people a few laughs and a little excitement, and they'll love you forever."
It drives me nuts when people judge John D. MacDonald by his Travis McGee novels, those shiny little blasts of lazy entertainment, aspirational-lifestyle cigarettes that gave MacDonald that comfortable living after his better word, his standalones, slogged along, largely ignored by critics and not noticed enough by the buying public. Judging MacDonald by the shallow contrivances he was forced to write in order to make a decent living is like judging Bruce Springsteen strictly by his charting singles. The McGees began shortly after A FLASH OF GREEN, a truly great and ambitious American novel of big themes and beautiful writing, didn't find a place in the world worthy of its ambition and achievement.
The story: Grassy Bay is a beautiful wildlife sanctuary on Florida's Gulf Coast. But it's also the last stretch of undeveloped beachfront in Palm County, and when well-connected local business and government leaders decide to band together to buy and develop it, they don't want any static from the organized opposition that stopped outside developers a few years before. Caught between those two forces is local-boy newspaperman Jimmy Wing, whose complacency is challenged when the widow he secretly pines for, Kat Hubble, asks him to help the Save the Bay cause however he can — even as Elmo Bliss, the silent partner steering the Palmland development scheme, asks Jimmy to do opposition research for pay, digging up dirt that can be used to keep the environmentalists quiet. Jimmy plays both sides as well as he can, bouncing from bungalows to beach clubs to backrooms with shambling aplomb, but inevitably his fence-straddling isn't artful enough to pass inspection with the dozens keeping an eye on him, and then he has to do the thing he's least interested in doing, which is stand apart and take a principled stand.
I could write pages about the brilliance of A FLASH OF GREEN, but I'll boil it down to bullet points:
1. If the hallmark of a great novel is its quotability, then A FLASH OF GREEN is one of the great books of all time. I highlighted 117 passages that gave me such pleasure, for their evocative expression as well as their human insight, that I know I'll reread them constantly and catch myself applying them in my real life to the people I know: the repressed, the avaricious, the complacent, the neurotic, the self-deceiving, the duplicitous, the shallow, the soft. John D. MacDonald knows every kind of person there is, and he knows how to use words as scalpels to cut through the soft tissue and get to the essential organs.
2. A FLASH OF GREEN, published nearly 60 years ago, is that rare novel that has complete relevance today. Who doesn't live in a community that hasn't, at some point, been put in the sniper-scope sights of gentrification? Who hasn't seen a historical building torn down for a parking lot or a condominium complex, or seen natural beauty clipped, boxed, shaved or filled to make way for some wealthy developer's personal growth obsession? The answer: damn near nobody. A FLASH OF GREEN should be part of the great canon of American literature, taught in college, as much for its clear eye on the continuing world as the piercing clarity with which that eye translates what it sees into words of shattering truth and beauty.
3. A FLASH OF GREEN proves that mystery and suspense can be cranked up to heights of excruciating pleasure without the formula pleasures of the crime genre. Like murders, or the boy who gets the girl, or the takedown of the evil genius. It is the rare novel that provides genre pleasures without feeding into genre-reader expectations. It is concerned with things so big that mere form cannot contain them, and that is nothing but a good thing in the hands of somebody with a steady whip hand. And John D. MacDonald has that kind of maestro control over tone, theme, character, plot and pace.
4. If you read A FLASH OF GREEN — and any of a dozen of MacDonald standalones just as good — you'll see the Travis McGee novels as the comparatively pallid, push-button, plastic pleasures they are. It's a good thing to know an artist is capable of doing work that connects with the prurient interests of a wide cross-section of the public. And it's a better thing to know that the artist's heart is somewhere else.
"People down here seem to despise natural beauty. It seems to make them terribly uneasy. They don't really feel secure until they can see asphalt in every direction, and they don't trust a tree unless they've grown it themselves."