“There was a pause, while I fought against this other lesser kind of death that was creeping over me–this death called strangeness, this snapping of all the customary little threads of cause and effect that are our moorings at other times. Slowly they all drew back from me step by step, until I was left there alone, cut off.”
This passage could’ve been written by just about any writer living today through this lockdown. I know my customary little threads are snapping, though—as much as I’d like to take credit—these aren’t my words. They were written by William Irish, better known as Cornell Woolrich, from his short story All At Once, No Alice first published in pulp magazine Argosy in 1940.
I found Woolrich in my early youth, rummaging through old paperbacks in bookstores off the beaten path. My favorite Woolrich novel is still his 1948 release Rendezvous in Black, an unrelentingly bleak tale about a very average young man’s descent into the deep, dark recesses of “vengeance is mine” after a careless group of revelers unwittingly kills the love of his life. Great noir derives from a small, broken dream and usually ends with those involved getting not what they want but what they deserve. And here—inside Woolrich’s inescapable gem—the dislodged young man gets what he wants by doling out what he believes the others deserve. And with the circuit complete, he also gets what he deserves. About as perfect a noir as could be.
***
For me, written noir began with the line, “They threw me off the hay truck at noon.” It’s the opening line of James M. Cain’s The Postman Always Rings Twice, which was penned during the Great Depression when there were droves of opportunistic ne’er-do-well’s drifting aimlessly. The reader learns from the onset that the “me” is an opportunistic ne’er-do-well named Frank who’s left on unfamiliar ground. But from the moment Frank gets thrown off the truck, we’re in the world of the pitfalls of noir. Of course, Poe unlatched the door and Hammett put his foot through and then Himes bore the brunt of being inside that world. But that world, as it was—from this world of quarantine—now seems so far away. Imagine jumping into a vehicle that stops to pick you up. Which direction would you head at this critical point in time?
***
Over the past decade, as co-director and editor at indie publisher Three Rooms Press, I have released 150 new noir stories (give or take a few reprints) as part of eight different noir anthologies. I edited the first three New York noir collections in the Have a NYC series, published collections of music-based noir and conspiracy noir, and most recently edited our latest collection, The Faking of the President: Nineteen Stories of White House Noir, a compendium aimed at exposing the corruptible nature of absolute power.
Now, this tally is by no means braggadocio. Akashic Books has published close to a hundred volumes of geographically-based noir and Mysterious Press has been compiling anthologies with the very best of the classics in the genre for over forty years.
Still, Three Rooms Press has a seat at the table—or at least at the midtown bar where I found myself sitting stool-side to Akashic publisher Johnny Temple a few years back. We had a good long talk about the future of noir. Diversity was key, we agreed. Now just the thought of sitting in a bar next to anyone excites me to no end. Next up: Barstool Noir, where two characters meet by chance to discuss the inadequacies of life—and therein lies the rub.
The best noir is steeped in isolation. And right now, so are we. Which direction should we head?
During the 2016 edition of the annual world mystery convention, Bouchercon, I remember joining the second line heading up Canal Street in New Orleans. Marching right there between me and this lively tuba player was Mysterious Books’ founder Otto Penzler, whom I greatly admired. I leaned in spouting how much his inexhaustible body of work meant to me over the years. He leaned back smiling broadly, and shouted, “Sorry—I can’t hear you!”
Perhaps Three Rooms could partner with Johnny and Otto to compile a new volume: Anthology Noir. I know one thing we would all agree upon. The most fulfilling reward you get from publishing noir anthologies is the opportunity to work with so many talented writers at once.
Over the past decade, the legendary author Lawrence Block was kind enough to let me reprint three of his iconic noir stories in our Have a NYC series. Subsequently, he graciously donned the editor’s cap to compile Dark City Lights, a collection of 23 New York noir stories. And—as if proving how tightly knit this community is—the final, unfinished Cornell Woolrich novel, Into the Night, was completed by Block in 1987 for Mysterious Press.
From the ranks of Dark City Lights rose contributor Jim Fusilli to pitch his anthology concept: Crime Plus Music: Twenty Stories of Music-themed Noir. With his work as both a noir author and Wall Street Journal pop and rock music critic, he was able to assemble a compelling band of writers from—and fans of—the world of pop music.
Also from the tightly-knit department—at that very same Bouchercon in 2016—pulp guru and all-around good guy Gary Phillips (whose work appeared in Crime Plus Music), sprang on me the idea for an anthology where the writers riff on the different alt-right conspiracy theories being bandied around about by then-president Barack Obama. Inspired, I decided that we needed a Ludlum-esque kicker for the title like “Protocol” or “Identity.” We came up with “Inheritance”—The Obama Inheritance. And—there at Bouchercon—Conspiracy Noir was born. Two years later, at Bouchercon 2018 in St. Petersburg, Florida, The Obama Inheritance won the Anthony Award for Best Anthology. A feel-good noir story born and bred at Bouchercon.
This year, another new type of noir was born as a companion piece to The Obama Inheritance. The Faking of the President: Nineteen Stories of White House Noir features noir stories about power and corruption of past presidents, had they acted with the same impunity as the current one. Crafted by a diverse group of award-winning writers including Phillips, Alison Gaylin, S. J. Rozan, S. A. Cosby, Sarah M. Chen, and more, White House Noir is being pitched as a literary coup d’état. Of course, like all noir stories before them, White House Noir still leaves us here in quarantine where reality seems to hold the upper hand.
***
Noir was born out of two constants undermining everyone’s universe: loneliness and fear. Woolrich searched the night for them. Goodis moved next door. Thompson drank them under the table. That was then. And while these two elements still co-exist, the breed of noir writers, for much of the past, has lit the path through darkness. Only now, with pandemic changing everything about the world and social interaction, the path we seek remains dark.
Still—there will be a future. And perhaps this is the most compelling aspect of the noir genre these days. There will be a future, even, as Woolrich perceives it: “left there alone, cut off.” Conceive the new abnormal.
It’s noir or never.
