The Lone Wolf #9: Miami Marauder

The Lone Wolf #9: Miami Marauder, by Mike Barry

December, 1974  Berkley Medallion

Barry “Mike Barry” Malzberg is so far into the headspace of his characters by this point in the Lone Wolf saga that a high-speed chase with cops can feature lunatic “hero” Burt Wulff ruminating about the rotten core of American society, ultimately acknowledging to himself that it’s “heavy thinking for a speeding chase.” 

We pick up shortly after the events of the previous volume, and things are as surreal as ever – no more evident than when Tamara, Wulff’s girl who was introduced in #2: Bay Prowler, is abducted from the home of her parents by goons under the employ of recurring series villain Calabrese; a sequence where Tamara is more baffled than terrified, insisting that she split up with Wulff and has nothing to do with him anymore.

Calabrese meanwhile takes up his own brunt of the inner musings that make up the majority of the narrative of Miami Marauder, and speaking of which, note how once again the titular “marauder,” presumably Wulff himself, sounds more like the name of a serial killer than a mob-buster. This has been such a recurring staple of the series that I figure it’s more of Malzberg’s in-jokery. 

Which is not to say The Lone Wolf is similar to The Destroyer; there is no parody here whatsoever, and despite characters marveling over the surreality of things, events are still real enough that they don’t mock them. Tamara herself takes up a lot of the narrative; Malzberg trades off between the musings of her, Wulff, Calabrese, and Wulff’s partner Williams throughout the novel, to the extent that Miami Marauder is even more in the headspace of its characters than the previous books. 

And yet while this sort of thing bugs me in other action series novels, in the case of The Lone Wolf I think it only adds to the surreal nature of the series. Or maybe it’s just the quality of Malzberg’s writing. As ever he finds a way to insert bitter griping about a host of random topics, from the poor quality of certain cars (a recurring series element) to how women are both encouraged to and shamed for showing off their bodies. 

We even get a peek into the life of truckers; Wulff when we meet him has hitched a ride with a truck driver, Wulff carrying his “bag of shit” with him, ie the heroin shipment he acquired previously, and which Calabrese wants. The surreal texture is present even here, with Wulff and the trucker randomly coming across a guy who has crashed, and Wulff immediately deduces the guy overdosed. Then there’s an equally weird part where the trucker indulges in his casual hookup with a truckstop waitress while Wulff waits at the bar, but Malzberg adds this weird, never-explained layer that the waitress doesn’t seem happy about the arrangement. 

Meanwhile we get a lot of scenes of Williams playing poker and kidding about with his own pair of abductors; he’s being held in a house on the outskirts of Miami, and soon Tamara will be brought there, kept in a separate room with her own minders. Calabrese is there as well, nothing like the powerful figure he was when first introduced; he spends the novel bickering with his bodyguard, obsessing over Wulff, and trying to rape Tamara – but not being able to do the deed, given his impotence. I’d say at this point Malzberg has well rammed home the point that Wulff has completely obliterated Calabrese’s masculinity. 

There really isn’t much in the way of action. Indeed, Malzberg really spins his wheels until the final quarter. There’s a preposterously-trivial part where Wulff, sneaking into the Fountanbleu hotel in Miami (where Calabrese is staying), comes upon an older married couple, and the wife is drunk, and Wulff helps the husband drag the wife to their room, and there follows a long discussion about a previous Republican convention the husband went to. And it goes on and on, having nothing to do with anything, and Wulff finally realizes he shouldn’t be there and leaves. 

We get just as much stuff from Tamara, who at this point is so like Wulff that she keeps reminding herself that she’s “already dead;” she died when she was a speed junkie, and was about to OD before Wulff came upon her in the previous volume. We’re also reminded that her real name is Susan Jenkins, “Tamara” being the name she gave herself when she ran away from home and became a junkie; this furthers the conceit that Tamara is dead, as she now wants to be Susan again – though Malzberg only refers to her as “Tamara” throughout. 

Wulff for his part is learning “the pleasures of criminality;” after leaving the trucker and getting in touch with Calabrese, who boasts that he has Williams and Tamara and will trade for one of them in Miami, Wulff steals a car, thinking to himself how easy it is to be a criminal. But then we have another arbitrary musing on the railways that run through the country, and how the trains were once such big business; I found this personally relevant, despite it having nothing to do with the tale at hand, given that I’d recently gone to the Frisco Train Museum as a chaperone on my son’s school trip. 

Malzberg works an action scene into the train part, though it too is surreal; Wulff has a couple drinks in the bar, realizes the car is empty, and then further realizes he’s been cornered by a pair of hoods. Despite being unarmed, Wulff manages to (possibly) kill both and flee; Malzberg has it at this point that Wulff is so wanted that criminals come out of the woodwork to collect the bounty on his head, thus there’s no need for the author to have to explain the how and why of it. It’s just another pair of goons who saw Wulff and decided to make a play for that bounty. 

Malzberg saves the fireworks for the extended climax, which sees Wulff swimming up to a beach along the Miami coast – a few hundred yards from a resort hotel, we’re told – and evading the fifty or so men Calabrese has waiting for him. Then Calabrese shows up in a ‘copter, Tamara up there with him, and he makes the girl go down to the sand on a rope as everyone watches – and meanwhile Wulff figures this is the perfect time to take possession of the Browning Automatic Rifle that has been set up on the beach. 

Oh and also at this time Williams is on the way, having broken free – another surreal and darkly humorous bit, where his abductors-slash-friends say how disappointed they are in Williams that he broke their trust(!), and then Williams himself steals a car…leading to a long exchange with the young couple in it. Just wild and weird stuff, but darkly humorous throughout. 

But it all climaxes with this big action scene on the beach, Wulff blowing people away with the BAR and Calabrese arguing with his bodyguard as he makes his escape on the helicopter. But again we are so into Wulff’s thoughts that the action is again more so relayed via thoughts and feelings, to the extent that there’s hardly any gore. 

SPOILER ALERT: The biggest outcome of this firefight, and I’m noting here for myself when I finish The Lone Wolf and go back to my reviews to try to make sense out of it all, is that Tamara is gunned down early in the exchange. Curiously, Malzberg never tells us who kills her, and there’s no final scene between her and Wulff; indeed, the two are never even together in Miami Marauder. Tamara is dropped down a rope from the helicopter – after calling out Calabrese as an impotent loser in front of his men, and being slapped around for it – and then she’s on the beach, and then she’s waving toward Wulff, like trying to tell him something, and then she’s gunned down. END SPOILERS. 

It seems that this is an accident, though, as it’s the final nail in the coffin of Calabrese’s relationship with his bodyguard – that Calabrese “let this happen” – but even here Malzberg goes for a dark comedy…and I forgot to mention the strange and arbitrary parts where the bodyguard keeps puking in the helicopter. But after this crazy action Miami Marauder drifts to an anticlimactic close; Wulff and Williams talk in the airport bar, where Wulff somehow manages to guilt-trip Williams for giving up the fight, even though Wulff keeps telling him to go, and then Wulff flushes the heroin down the toilet – in other words, he flushes the shit. 

MORE SPOILERS: This one has the most bizarre ending ever; Calabrese takes a passenger flight back to Chicago, for once without his men (the majority of them wiped out on the beach by Wulff), and he wakes up from a dream where he’s giving it to Tamara good and proper. Then he orders a drink after arguing with the stewardess, then the plane suddenly “drops in the air,” then the pilot comes on to say drinks are on the house, and due to this Calabrese “knows it’s bad”…and after that we cut to Williams, back in New York and finding out he has a baby son…oh, and then a few days later he realizes that the “plane that went down” is probably the one that Calabrese was on(!). In other words, the huge, ever-building confrontation between Wulff and Calabrese is brushed away in the most brazen deus ex machina possible, and Calabarese (apparently) dies in an airplane crash. END SPOILERS 

That’s it for Miami Marauder, and the last we see of Wulff, he’s on his way to Chicago to mete out some payback…unaware that fate (might have) already handled it for him. Overall this was a good one – I’ve enjoyed every volume – but it must be said that Malzberg’s fast writing is slightly getting the better of him, and too much of this one comes off like stalling and arbitrary internal pondering.

Black Angel: Satanic Slaughter

Great news, everyone: a new volume of Black Angel has just been published by Tocsin Press! It’s titled Satanic Slaughter, and here’s the cover: 

The Black Angel is back – and this time she’s plunging headfirst into a nightmare of Satanic cults, kidnapped starlets, and a conspiracy so twisted it reaches from the sleaziest back alleys to the mansions of the rich and powerful. 

What starts as a simple rescue job explodes into a blood-soaked battle against black magic, brainwashing, and a secret empire built on sin. In a world where every shadow hides a knife and every smile masks corruption, the Black Angel is the only one who can fight back – and she’s bringing hell with her! 

Brace yourself for a shock-loaded descent into ritual murder, mind control, and unholy desire as the Black Angel takes on the ultimate evil! 

Savage violence! Forbidden rites! And a heroine who’s as beautiful as she is deadly! 

This isn’t just a mission – it’s a one-way trip into Satan’s playground…where survival means killing before you’re sacrificed! 

Head on over to Amazon, where you can preview the first several pages (on desktop only) and order a copy! 

And while you’re at it, check out the Black Angel page on Amazon and pick up the other volumes you might’ve missed! 

Maneaters

Maneaters, edited by Robert Deis and Wyatt Doyle

No month stated, 2021  New Texture

A big thanks to Bob Deis for sending me this copy of Maneaters some years back, and apologies it took me so long to get to it! Compiling a selection of shark-centric tales from the men’s adventure magazines of the 1950s through the 1970s, Maneaters comes highly recommended, and as usual Wyatt Doyle’s presentation of the art is both eye-catching and, more importantly, respectful of its sources. 

 

Unfortunately the same can’t be said about a particular modern interpolation that Maneaters has been saddled with, but more on that anon; I want to focus on the good stuff first. I wasn’t sure what to think about an entire book featuring shark stories, as other than Shark Fighter it’s a genre I’ve never cared much about; indeed, to this day I still haven’t seen (or read) Jaws, but I did see Jaws 3-D in the theater when it came out, when I was 9 years old, and for some unfathomable reason I had Jaws 4 on VHS several years ago…I think I bought it at a resale store for a quarter, and I watched it repeatedly; I came to the conclusion that it was so terrible that it actually achieved a sort of greatness. That said, I have the tie-in novels (by Hank Searls) of Jaws 2 and Jaws 4, and I keep meaning to read them… 

Well anyway, there are a lot of stories in Maneaters, ranging from ones that are only a page or two that ones that run a handful of pages. There are no “Booklength Extra” tales here; as any vintage men’s mag reader will know, the “Diamond Line” in particular would often publish epic-length stories, especially in the 1960s, and I wonder if any such shark stories exist. But I guess Bob wouldn’t want to devote much space to those, as they’d fill up practically the entire book; at least this way there’s more variety. 

Or at least, as much variety as several shark stories can provide. Because really, they all share the same setup: virile yank “skin divers” take on sharks all over the globe. What I found most interesting about the stores here was that the ones from the ‘70s were actually the best; usually the men’s mag stories from the ’50s and ‘60s are superior, before the mags descended into total sleaze and porn, with editors who were more concerned with telling good stories than in just showing bare breasts. Now personally, I like both (as my kid once angrily declared when he was around 3 or so after I kept pressing him on who he thought made the better French fry: Chic Fil A or McDonalds). But what’s interesting here is that these ‘70s tales are just as good as the earlier ones…no doubt because Jaws was such a big hit, and the anonymous authors were trying to compete with Peter Benchley’s big seller. 

Oh and one minor point of contention: Bob refers to these stories as “MAMs,” ie “Men’s Adventure Magazines.” I personally do not like this term; it is much too estrogenic for the virile men’s mags of mid 20th century. But then maybe Bob is just “taking the piss” as the British say, or at least they said in the few British sitcoms I’ve watched. 

For once I won’t focus on every story, because as mentioned some of them are very short, more so punch lines than actual yarns, like for example the story about the shark that “delivered the mail” to a particular ship. Indeed, the earliest stories are pretty short, indicating that shark tales were relegated to the back pages, and doubtless few and far between in the ‘50s. 

“The Shark Who Hated Women” is the first really good one; it’s by S.P. Free (a relative of I.P. Freely, perhaps?) and from the August 1960 Peril. This one’s narrated by a guy who worked as a marine biologist and then one day said to hell with it all, bought a boat, and sailed off to an island, which alone is a story in itself, of the sort collected in the vintage men’s mag anthology Yankee King Of The Islands. But the shark’s the focus, here; our narrator informs us of a “black shark” that has a mysterious fondness for women, and our stubborn narrator doesn’t believe it…leading to a horrific sequence where not only does this guy’s native bride suffer, but he too is wounded woefully in the climactic fight with the shark. 

“The Giant Shark That Guarded Rommel’s Treasure,” by Peter Fall and from the January 1961 Fury, is interesting in that the shark actually gets in the way of the otherwise good story. This third-person tale relates how a WWII frogman, a few years after the war, is hired by a scar-faced Austrian to recover gold from the bottom of the ocean, gold that was dropped there by Rommell when he was retreating from the Allies. Of course, the Austrian will turn out to be an old Nazi, but author Fall skips all that as he focuses on a great white shark that attacks the protagonist as he’s retrieving the gold. 

“E Mao Ariki” is by Robert Edmond Alter and from the July 1968 Argosy. Alter was a crime author of the day and as expected his yarn is of a different caliber than the men’s mag average, with a lot of word-painting and characterization. That said, Argosy was unlike the average men’s mag in that it was up front that many of its stories were fiction, and not fiction gussied up as nonfiction. (Back in 2000 I met a girl named Gussie at a wedding in Tampa, Florida, a beautiful blonde-haired girl who for some inexplicable reason seemed to be interested in me, and to this day I think of her when I write the word “gussied;” isn’t that strange and sad?) This third-person narrative focuses on a scuba diver who’s been hired by a wanna be director who wants to get footage of a massive shark (the titular E Mao Ariki) that reportedly attacks the natives during a weird “get pearls from the ocean” test of manhood. The modern reader will easily detect that Alter implies the director is gay, but that aside, this is a good story, with the protagonist becoming a hero despite himself as he goes after the huge shark with his spear gun. Yet at the same time the yarn is inferior to many of the others here because Alter is too focused on word-painting and introspection, thus his narrative misses the weird fire typically found in men’s mag stories. 

“A Man-Eating Shark Pack Against Scuba Divers,” by Walther Sturm and from the January 1975 Action For Men, is my favorite story in Maneaters. As mentioned above, these later stores are superior to the earlier ones, as post-Jaws the authors were more focused on exploiting the sharks. This one’s cool because a shark is randomly attacking people along the New Jersey coast and the president of a scuba club puts all the various “scuba teams” together into a sort of shark attack squad, and they wage war on the sharks along the coast. Then a marine biologist comes along to get in the way, but really he just wants the killer shark alive to study its brain. I liked this one, particularly the off-hand revelation that the protagonist was a plumber by day; even the heroes of men’s mag stories were blue collar, same as the readers. 

“The Headhunting Shark That Destroyed A Texas Family,” by Bob Trotter and from the January 1976 For Men Only, was my second favorite story. It’s another fast-moving third-person narrative that could easily have been expanded into novel length, featuring a trio of Texas brothers who take on the same shark: the surfer, the ‘Nam vet, and finally the “cattle rassler.” Trotter writes the yarn with a style uncommon for the men’s mags, focusing on the unusual Texan diction in his narrative. But otherwise it’s a cool story, however the character I thought would be the main hero, the ‘Nam vet, is dispensed with quickly – even though he has the most typical men’s mag story setup, jumping into the drink with nothing more than a knife and the will for vengeance. 

“The Madman Who Ruled A Killer-Shark Pack” by Brett Harper and from the January 1976 Man’s World is the last story here, and another good one. It’s also the only one in Maneaters that follows the traditional men’s mag setup: an opening incident (usually depicted by the splash page art), then a flashback to how the opening incident came to pass, and then a harried resolution. In this case the third-person yarn opens with a guy and a girl (“one lovely breast” exposed due to her torn shirt) being towed by a boat through shark-filled waters, the girl’s insane husband laughing madly at the prow. The backstory doesn’t really meet the craziness, but then they rarely do: the girl’s husband is a nutjob marine biologist obsessed with sharks, and insists on catching sight of some great whites. Unfortunately his wife likes to come on to the various men the biologist employs; she sleeps with one of the men, who later “accidentally” falls off the boat and is eaten by sharks. Then our hero is merely suspected of having an affair with the girl, and next thing you know they’re both bound and being dragged in the water…a harried climax in which some other guy saves them and the nutjob villain receives the exact fate you expected he would. 

Now, the one thing I don’t like about Maneaters is that each story is given a “Biting Back” postscript in which modern marine biologists, scuba divers, and other assorted pearl-clutchers have been invited to point out all the errors in the stories. The concept alone is baffling; men’s mag stories are fiction, and should be treated as such. But what’s worse is the insufferable condescending tone of many of these postscripts; I kid you not, one of them literally begins with the comment, “The racism and sexism aside…” One can almost imagine the snowflake crying softly in his soy latte. But after each story the vintage fun is buzzkilled by modern virtue-signallers who tell us what the men’s mag authors got wrong about sharks in their stories. Well, who cares? Even worse, many of them try to mock or poke fun at the stories. I mean, if I wanted smarmy attempts at comedy from an unfunny pearl-clutcher, I’d watch Jimmy Kimmel. 

Fortunately, you can do what I did, and just skip the “Biting Back” stuff entirely. I do want to note that one or two of them are written by Bob Deis himself, and these as expected are worlds better than the others, showing a true appreciation for the genre and being respectful to the authors. 

But honestly, that’s my only criticism. Overall Maneaters is another excellent publication in the Men’s Adventure Library, and I highly recommend it. With summer coming up it’s the perfect beach read, though like James Reasoner said, you might want to read it far away from the water. 

Deceit And Deadly Lies (Kevin MacInnes #1)

Deceit And Deadly Lies, by Franklin Bandy

No month stated, 1978  Charter Books

I picked up this fat paperback original many years ago, excited to read it, and typically it took me all this time to get to it. Running over 400 pages, Deceit And Deadly Lies won the Edgar Award and was the first of two novels featuring protagonist Kevin MacInnes, a former Army Intelligence officer who now makes his living as “The Lie King,” going around the world with a lie detector and working for high pay. 

I believe it was the 1980 Mystery Fancier review for the second MacInnes novel, The Blackstock Affair, that made me aware of this book several years ago; it’s hosted at Mystery*File.  (The reviewer mentions an earlier review for this first MacInnes novel, but I don’t think that one has ever been uploaded.) Anyway what got my interest was the note that author Franklin Bandy (real name Eugene Franklin) included “all the sex and violence modern readers want,” which of course set my sleaze instincts a-tingling. 

Well, folks, maybe that’s true for The Blackstock Affair. As for this first book, Deceit And Deadly Lies, both the sex and the violence are nil. Indeed, I ultimately found the novel a chore to read, wondering why a few hundred pages hadn’t been cut from it. More than anything else I got the impression that Bandy was another contemporary author influenced by Lawrence Sanders; there is the same clinical prose style, the same meshing of the crime genre with the trappings of the standard “airport fiction” of the day, and of course there’s the bloated page length. The big difference is that Sanders’s novels are, judging from the ones I’ve read, entertaining and fast-moving. (And also I’ve come to rank The Tomorrow File as my favorite novel ever.) 

What makes it most egregious is that the potential is there. MacInnes, in his 40s and wealthy, goes about the world with his mistress, a stacked blonde named Vanessa. There is not a single sex scene between the two, and Vanessa is not exploited at all; the most we get is that she’s beautiful. This is acceptable, but where the problem arises is that Bandy spends the narrative having MacInnes wonder if Vanessa is in love with him. There are entire chapters where he will sit around and ponder whether Vanessa truly loves him; he even secretly records their conversations and plays the tapes back on his Psychological Stress Evaluator (PSE), trying to gauge whether or not Vanessa is lying to him. Lame!! 

Bandy works a host of “crime novel stuff” around this main story – MacInnes figuring out if his mistress loves him, because he loves her – and none of it is compelling enough to save the book. One big demerit is that a lot of it takes place in Mexico, with MacInnes talking to a lot of Spanish people with easily-confused names who speak in the polite, formal diction that Spanish people use in novels of this type. The main “crime” plot has to do with MacInnes stumbling on to a plot to assassinate a major political figure, but the setup for this plot – a taxi driver overhearing two guys discuss the plan in a Bowery bar – is so ludicrous that the believability factor is ruined. 

Well anyway, MacInnes is incredibly wealthy; he rents out his services to all and sundry, and his prices are high. Probably the highlight of the book is the first sequence, where we see MacInnes at work; a group of businessmen have hired him to find out the rock-bottom price they can pay for some land they want for development, land that is owned by a man who claims he wants ten million dollars. Here we see that MacInnes doesn’t parse truth from lies, per se, but uses his machine to detect stress levels, allowing his instincts to figure out whether the person is lying or not. In this way it is made clear that the PSE is more so an instrument, and how well it performs relies on the skill of the user. 

It doesn’t sound like the setup for an action-packed novel, and Deceit And Deadly Lies certainly is not. MacInnes carries around a .45 and we are reminded of his Army background, but the action scenes are usually over and done with quickly, and more time is spent on introspection and pondering. Folks I kid you not, there’s a part in the final quarter of the novel where MacInnes is bored and he’s suffering from inexplicable impotence, and it goes on and on and on. I mean if you’re writing a 400+ page crime thriller, never have a part where your protagonist is bored…it’s like even the character himself is letting you know your novel is too long. 

After dealing with the land-buying job – and later on MacInnes reads in the paper that the dude selling it has killed himself, and MacInnes brushes off any sense of responsibility – we get to the main crime plot, the assassination. An Assistant DA in New York calls MacInnes and brings a taxi driver over to his hotel, and there the guy tells a ludicrous story about hearing two men discuss killing someone “big” in a bar. MacInnes judges the cab driver to be telling the truth, and ultimately this will take us into a storyline involving a “Hitler” of a third-party candidate who is the target of assassins. 

But this is not the only lie detecting work MacInnes does. There’s also an overlong sequence where he goes to Mexico to find out whether a man in prison killed the son of an influential crime boss, or if it was an accident, or whatever. Bandy works in the assassination plot with MacInnes also tracking down one of the men the cab driver saw in the bar, an Australian who serves as the novel’s main villain, even though most of his appearances feature him slipping into wherever MacInnes is staying, trading banter with him, and then slipping off. Truly the novel is nothing but 400 pages of stalling. 

Action is infrequent but at least handled well, like a part where one of the Mexican gangs adbucts MacInnes and takes him out to the countryside, where they’ve dug him a fresh grave. Working with the CIA on this caper, MacInnes has been given a bunch of spy tech out of a Eurospy flick, like for example a pen that fires projectiles. What’s interesting is that the action scenes are over and done with quickly, and Bandy will spend more time on MacInnes brooding over whether his mistress Vanessa really cares about him. 

Even more ridiculous, MacInnes finds out that Vanessa is a best-selling author, and indeed has been publishing books the entire time she’s been with MacInnes, but “The Lie King” was oblivious to all this, just thinking of her as his deluxe mistress. I mean WTF?? And then there are all these parts where he sits around wondering if Vanessa is writing about him in her books, and then he goes out and buys one of them, reading it to see if there are any parts that seem to be about himself(!). 

This is the sort of thing I mean when I say Deceit And Deadly Lies is such a misfire. It’s stuff like this that takes the center stage, and MacInnes’ lie detector work is not interesting enough to salvage the novel. I mean for that part, Bandy even repeats himself with the setups; there are two different jobs MacInnes is hired for that concern a murdered child. And there are a lot of sequences of him just talking to cops, feds, CIA agents, or district attorneys. 

The climax plays out in Madison Square Garden, where MacInnes has discovered the assassination attempt on the third-party candidate will occur. MacInnes at least is personally involved in the finale, blowing away one of the main villains, but a curious note is that MacInnes himself is shot in the chest at the end of the book, and the novel ends with Vanessa appearing there, crying over him (yes, friends, she does truly love him!!), and telling him to keep breathing. Bandy ends the novel by informing us that MacInnes does exactly that, but it could in fact be taken the other way: that MacInnes does not keep breathing. 

But the dangling cliffhanger is moot, as MacInnes returned two years later in another papberback original, also published by Charter Books. I have that one too, and here’s hoping it’s better than Deceit And Deadly Lies.

The Specialist #11: American Vengeance

The Specialist #11: American Vengeance, by John Cutter

November, 1985  Signet Books

Boy, I forgot all about The Specialist, didn’t I? The first volume was one of the first reviews I posted on this blog, back in the summer of 2010; I bought the entire series from a single seller back then, and at the time I had no idea it would take me sixteen years to read all eleven books. 

It’s been over six years since I read the previous volume, and unfortunately American Vengeance serves as a direct sequel. I’d pretty much forgotten the entire story, but John Shirley (aka “John Cutter”) does a good job of catching up readers who missed the previous book – or, like me, who just plain forgot it. Long story short, Jack “The Specialist” Sullivan is all fired up to take down Hassan the Red, an Iranian terrorist who was responsible for every Iranian attack on American citizens. 

Yes, this was a timely read. But in a way it was a refreshing reminder of how once upon a time America understood that the terrorist-supporting regime of Iran was evil, something our leadership has forgotten in the ensuing decades...with such notable “progress” as sending Iran billions of dollars and even helpfully putting them on the path to attaining nuclear arms. Gee, what could go wrong? 

Indeed, author Shirley dedicates American Vengeance to “the resistance fighting for freedom in Iran.” One wonders if he still supports the Iranian resistance, or if TDS has rotted away his brain (as it has for so, so many others). Some years ago I attempted to read Shirley’s Eclipse trilogy from the ‘80s – I dutifully picked up the original paperback printings many years ago – and as I was reading it I happened to come across a recent interview with Shirley (I think this was around 2019 or so). Eclipse is about characters in a cyberpunk future fighting a fascist government, and folks if you think Shirley in the 2019 interview compared his fictional future fascist government to the Trump administration, you win a no-prize. He even did the old leftist trick of comparing populism with fascism, when the two are altogether different (but then people today conveniently forget that the Nazis themselves were socialists…“Socialist” was even in their damn name!!). 

Does the Iranian resistance get any love today? We get stories and stories about the people suffering in Ukraine, even the friggin’ king of England proclaiming we must defend Ukraine to the US Congress(?!!), and yet not a peep about the countless thousands who have been butchered in Iran. It’s curious, isn’t it. Back in the late ‘90s I dated a girl from Iran, and for several years her dad had been a prisoner of the regime, kept in a cell and beaten. Somehow he’d managed to get free and immigrated to the US with the rest of his family. What was most curious was how blasé they were about it: “That’s my dad. He was a prisoner in Iran for a couple years. Hey, you wanna watch The Nanny?” But anyway even then, as a non-political idiot in my 20s, I wondered why the US still hadn’t taken that goddamn tyrannical regime down. 

Anyway I digress. It just makes me sad when smart people say stupid things, and Shirley’s TDS comments were enough to make me drop reading the Eclipse books. (Plus I found the first volume ponderous and lacking any of the spark Shirley brought to the men’s adventure novels he was writing at the time, so there’s that.) But this political digression has a point: there was a time when the despotic government of Iran was seen for what it was. It’s unfortunate it has taken so many years – and so many presidents – to finally address the situation. And I’m curious if the people who felt so strongly about stopping Iran back in the ‘80s have become so brainwashed by their own leftist bullshit that they no longer feel that way today. I mean, it’s not like the Iranian regime has become a kinder and gentler government, is it? How many protesters did they butcher last year alone? Then again, we live in a country where losers can stand beside a Starbucks with a “No Kings” sign for a couple hours and declare themselves heroes of democracy, so clearly we’ve lost all sense of what heroic struggle actually means. 

So since nothing was being done then, Shirley has his hero Jack Sullivan taking on the brunt of “American vengeance,” squaring things away with an almost mythical Iranian terrorist leader called Hassan the Red. Sullivan’s been chasing the bastard since the previous volume, and as American Vengeance opens he’s busting into the hotel room of a pair of Hassan’s followers, a scene artist Mel Crair depicts on the cover. 

Hassan’s army is called the Warriors of Islam, and a lot of them are in France; the majority of the novel plays out in Paris. It seems to be not too long after the previous volume – merc Merlin is still in the hospital, we’re told – yet it’s long enough that a little time seems to have passed. Sullivan’s colleagues this time are a group of Israeli Mossad agents (yet more timely material! One wonders if you’d encounter heroic characters from Israel in today’s woke publishing landscape…). 

I wonder if Shirley knew this would be the final volume. There isn’t much indication he did, other than a random part where Sullivan calls Bonnie, his hotstuff girlfriend back in the States…and tells her he loves her. This is usually a bad sign for things, either for the series overall or just for that particular character. Also, we are informed the two have “unofficially adopted” the little orphan girl Sullivan saved a few volumes ago. One wonders if, had there been another volume of The Specialist, either of these characters would have encountered a rough time. 

Humorously, just a few pages after telling Bonnie he loves her, Sullivan is having somewhat-explicit sex with a beautiful Israeli secret agent named Sabra. While reserved when compared to the overdone sex scenes of earlier volumes, it still has such humorous lines as, “Sullivan slowly lowered her onto his prong.” Which of course made me think of the metal band. 

The problem with American Vengeance is that it lacks the pulpy fun of earlier volumes; this one is a standard “terrorist of the week” yarn, similar to innumerable other Gold Eagle publications of the day. In fact I wonder if Shirley wasn’t given orders from the publisher to cut back on the weird stuff and do what Gold Eagle was doing. 

Thus, a lot of the book is repetitive; Sullivan will track down Hassan in Paris and just miss him, lending everything the unintentional (or not) vibe of a Looney Tunes cartoon. It happens over and over in American Vengeance, with the wily terrorist bastard setting bombs in the places he was staying, resulting in several innocent bystanders getting killed. And each scene caps off with Sullivan becoming even angrier and more determined to kill Hassan. 

The climax takes place in Iran, where Hassan has managed to get a nuclear bomb. Again working with Mossad, Sullivan is able to slip into Hassan’s base and prevent nuclear Armageddon, and the bomb actually goes off, but humorously Shirley quickly retcons everything that “it wasn’t a big bomb” and thus the damage is only relegated to Hassan’s patch of Iran – in other words, the poetic justice of the terrorist blowing up his own country. But again, American Vengeance was written in the days before Muslim terrorists strapped bombs to their own children, so the finale doesn’t have the impact today that it likely did then. 

The last we see of Jack Sullivan, he’s on an airplane, looking down at the nuclear blast, affirming to himself that America has been avenged. And this is the last we’ll ever see of him, as no future volumes of The Specialist were forthcoming. The book does not promote itself as the final volume, so I’ll wager that low sells quietly killed the series; the question is whether Shirley wrote any further volumes that went unpublished. 

Overall The Specialist was mostly entertaining, particularly the middle of the run, when Shirley had fun with various crazy things like Sullivan achieving “Hulk power” or fighting Satanic subway mutants. But as the series progressed it appears that he was asked to write more “standard” fare, and the series suffered as a result, coming off like too many of its contemporaries.

Richard Blade #38: Les Aeriens De K’Tar (The Aerials Of K'Tar)

Richard Blade #38: Les Ariens De K’Tar, by Jeffrey Lord

1983  Plon Books

Recently I did a post on the French series of Richard Blade, and shortly afterwards I received an email from an anonymous reader of the blog. This wonderful person sent me the entire French series fan-translated into English, for which I am truly grateful. Boy, I had no idea how many of them there are – 168 whopping volumes, running from 1983 to 2012! 

So as we all know, Richard Blade ended in 1983, at least in the United States. A collective gasp of “Mon Dieu! must have echoed across France, and it was quickly determined that Richard Blade’s adventures would continue, in France alone. The books all carry a “copyright Lyle Kenyon Engel” note on the title page, but I’d love to know how aware Engel was of the actual books. My guess is he sold the rights but had no visibility into the storylines or plots. At any rate Engel died in 1986, while the French Richard Blade was just getting started. 

The last English volume was #37; appropriately, this first French volume is #38. I love how the French editors just continued the series instead of starting a whole new series specifically for their own market. According to the ISFDB, this first French novel was written by an author named Richard D. Nolane, who seems to have written a great many volumes of the series. 

The translation I have is titled The Aerials Of K’Tar. I should note that there is absolutely no information provided on who did these translations; the books are epub files with the entire contents translated into English, with no information on who did the translating. 

For the most part, the translation is good, though there are occasional mistakes – most notably gender transitions (how very modern!), which usually occur midway through a sentence. I wonder if this is some sort of intentional dark humor from the translator, as the gender switch will usually occur during a sex scene(!)…ie, Richard Blade will be conjugating with some Dimension X babe, and we’ll suddenly get a line like, “Blade kissed him,” when it should be “kissed her,” and this happens so frequently – and always in the sex scenes – that I think the anonymous translator was having a little devious fun. 

Writing wise, Nolane hews closer to second Richard Blade author Roland Green than he does to original series author Manning Lee Stokes. There is a prosaic style to Nolane’s narrative and there’s not a hint of the brutal spark Stokes brought to his original books. But the big difference is that, unlike Green, Nolane injects a lot of explicit sex in the tale…which of course is slightly undermined by the gender mistakes in the translation! And also Blade is not the wussified loser he was in the Green books. 

It’s hard to gauge an author’s work when you are reading a translation, but overall Nolane’s style is very humdrum, with Richard Blade coming off even more like a cipher than he did in the English series. There’s no attempt at giving him any internal drive and his motivation is nonexistent. Characters are minimally described as are situations and characters. This lends the book more of a fairy tale vibe than the original US series had, but again it could be due to the translation. 

Regardless, the editors strived to make this seem like a legit continnuation of the original Richard Blade, which technically it was, of course, but still I thought it was interesting that early in the book some of the most recent volumes of the series are mentioned. We learn, at least from this first volume, that the French editors are not going to rock the boat, storywise, and everything is the same as in the English series: Richard Blade is a British secret agent and the only person who can travel to Dimension X. He reports to J and the architect of the DX program is Lord Leighton. 

Only one minor change is made: in his very brief appearance, Leighton explains that an upgrade has been made to the machine that sends Blade to DX, and now he can arrive with at least some clothes on: a coat of chain mail, and we’re told the armor is from “Englor’s alloys,” which per a note Blade discovered in the Green-written #24: The Dragons Of Englor. Also, Blade can take along a sword, or “saber” as it is most frequently referred to in the translation. 

Posthaste – there is zero in the way of introducing Blade in his “regular life” in London – Blade is sent to a strange planet that seems to be an endless desert. The first part of The Aerials Of K’Tar is slow-going desert survival fiction, with Blade trying to find water and then fighting a massive lobster-like monster called a “ther.” The fight goes on and on and here is where I realized Nolane’s prose style might be a bit tedious. 

Things pick up with the appearance of an aerial ship that sweeps over the desert, and Blade is able to wave to it for help. The people on the ship are Viking types, with chainmail, long beards, and battle axes. But there is a tall “Amazonian” woman in charge of them: Nagra, with her black hair tied in a bun and claiming to be the daughter of the “tyrant” who rules her particular air city; Blade soon deduces that this planet, K’Tar, is comprised of aerial city-states that are similar to the city-states of Ancient Greece. 

Like practically every other Richard Blade novel, our hero will be caught between warring and scheming kingoms, and will find a way to either unite them or have one of them defeat the others. But Blade’s personal impetus is even more remote than usual; he literally floats around on various aerial boats as he’s shuffled from one incident to another. 

The plot, then, is as uninvolving as a typical Roland Green installment, with one glaring exception: unlike Green, Richard D. Nolane is sure to include a few explicit sex scenes. He also dutifully follows the pulp mandate of exploiting his female characters: 

Not sure if “cum like hell” was in the original French! But otherwise in the second sgreengrab you can see a glaring example of the gender switch I mentioned: “Nagra’s tongue had begun a stunning ballet while his hands continued to caress [Blade’s] body like a bow.” So obviously “his hands” should be “her hands,” and this gender switchup happens so frequently, and particularly during the sex scenes, that it has to be a weird joke courtesy the anonymous translator, but truth be told it’s a surefire way to take us sleazehounds right out of a down-and-dirty sequence! 

Nolane has a lot of exposition in the book, and fortunately we get a handy overview of the exact makeup of this world and the plotting Blade will find himself in the middle of: 

Nolane does provide a little gore in the battle scenes: 

And also some cool imagery, like a brute in a skull mask who turns out to have a deformed head once Blade decapitates him with his sword: 

Oh, and back to the dirty stuff: not sure if it’s a French thing, or once again courtesy the translator, but sexual pleasure is often described in relation to the stomach, which I thought was strange. Like for example, check this out, where the twenty year-old prisoner Jirel, daughter of a slain rebel leader, is forced to give Blade a bj (she ends up being his second of two conquests in the book, btw): 

“Blade…cursed the pleasure which quickly invaded his stomach.” We’re often told something like this in the sex scenes, and I thought this was unusual and wondered if it was some sort of French saying that I was unaware of. Also there is a lot of focus on Nagra’s “thick pubic hair,” which must be a French thing, or at least a ‘70s French pulp thing, as thick bushes were also frequently mentioned in the sleazy French sci-fi novel Yolanda: The Girl From Erosphere. 

The plot follows the usual course, with Blade uniting various factions on land and air against the kingdom of sea pirates, but it’s all told so nonchalantly that, again, I was reminded of the Roland Green books. That said, Nolane pulls some unexpected emotional content out of nowhere in the finale; SPOILER ALERT, but Blade tells Nagra he is from another world, and in the climactic battle Nagra is fatally wounded. Blade grabs hold of her as he is zapped home, the first time he’s brought someone from DX to home dimension. Nagra lives long enough to see this new world, and then we are told Blade refuses any further missions if the project scientists attempt to dissect Nagra (so as to study a DX specimen), and he drops her corpse in the Thames. The end! 

All told, The Aerials Of K’Tar was very fast moving; apparently the original paperback was 200 pages long, but I blew through this thing in no time. As mentioned Nolane wrote a bunch of the ensuing volumes, and I’ll be reading those soon. 

Thanks again to the contributor who sent me these!! 

Cyborg (The Six Million Dollar Man)

Cyborg, by Martin Caidin

March, 1974  Warner Paperback Library

(original hardcover edition 1972)

The beginning of the Six Million Dollar Man saga is a novel made up of many parts, as if Martin Caidin were running a theme around the bionic parts that make up his hero Steve Austin, the titular Cyborg of this novel. The first part of the 318-page book with its tiny print is like something out of Caidin’s Space Race novels, then the book becomes a Michael Crichton-esque sci-fi medical shocker…then it becomes a wild pulp yarn, then it becomes a Cold War thriller, and finally it settles in for an overlong “desert survival” climax that leaves the reader more exhausted than thrilled. 

The main thing, though, is how little Cyborg resembles the family-friendly Six Million Dollar Man. Only the original telefilm, which I reviewed ten years ago, comes closest to resembling this source novel, but having read the book I can see that a lot of it was changed, no doubt for budget reasons. Cyborg would have benefitted from a big screen treatment, but then if it had it might not have made as much of an impact on 1970s pop culture…there might not even have been a Steve Austin doll! And man, I still wish I had mine…the fake skin on his arm was so cool! Not to mention the red rubber Adidas sneakers that would always fall off and you’d have to search for them! 

Actually, I was wrong – Lee Majors’ portrayal of Steve Austin is the closest thing the series ever came to resembling Martin Caidin’s source material. Majors nails the character, which is to say he comes off like the distillation of every astronaut of the Space Race, from Mercury to Apollo: laconic to the point of being terse, so calm under pressure he could be comatose. And we are informed here that Steve Austin was indeed an Apollo astronaut, the youngest one in the program and the last to walk on the moon, in Apollo 17. 

As in his earlier The Cape, Caidin again unwittingly prefigures Tom Wolfe’s The Right Stuff in his detailing of Steve’s current job: test pilot for NASA. And yes, Caidin mainly refers to his character as “Steve,” unlike Michael Jahn, who called him “Austin” in the later Wine, Women, And War. Here Caidin gives us a lot of background detail on NASA and missions once the moon shots had been scrapped. 

I have to say that at this point I can safely state that I’m not a fan of Martin Caidin’s writing. He constantly tells instead of shows; his novels come off like lectures, given the wealth of detail and minutiae. Forward momentum is constantly stalled as Caidin eagerly dives into the weeds, usually with no consideration to what he’s doing to the narrative. It happens constantly throughout, and if this material had been gutted Cyborg would be a much smoother and more entertaining read, because as it was I really found it a chore. 

We all know the story, so I’ll skip all the details. Steve crashes out and is completely destroyed – both legs and his left arm are gone, as is his left eye, and a bunch of other stuff is wrecked. Enter OSO (which became OSI in the series), headed up by Oscar Goldman…much closer here to Darren McGavin’s portrayal in the original telefilm than the easy-going nice guy Richard Anderson would deliver in the ensuing series. Goldman is a figure of the shadow world, clearly duplicitous and not feeling the need to explain himself to others. 

Given his fame and his background – athletic and karate expertise, his service as a combat pilot in ‘Nam, etc – OSO wants to invest in Steve Austin…though, humorously enough given the famous name of the ensuing show, we are never told the exact amount they are willing to pay. Steve’s good buddy-slash doctor, Rudy Wells, helps talk Steve into the offer…and here, as in the telefilm, there’s a lot of grim stuff as Steve isn’t sure if he even wants to live. 

A little over a quarter of the way in, we get into the nitty-gritty of bionics, courtesy endless blocks of exposition. Interesting to note, the majority of the work is done by a character who did not exist in the series: Dr. Killian. Martin Caidin shows absolutely no understanding that he is writing a novel, with Killian and the other characters gabbing about bionic parts and how they work, even down to minor details the average reader wouldn’t care about. I mean Caidin’s grip on dramatic fiction is so loose that there’s a part where someone makes a minor comment about red blood cells, and Steve – confined to a hospital bed without either leg, his left arm, and missing his left eye – asks for more information about red blood cells, like how exactly they work and what they do and whatever. I mean, just put the bionic limbs on him and have him go crush someone, already! 

Boy, does Caidin really take his time here. Let it never be said that he rushes into the story. It goes on and on, with each and every part Steve gets being relentlessly detailed for the reader, usually via bald exposition. But he’s given bionic legs that allow him to run at incredible speeds (we’re just told he brakes all Olympics records), and a left arm that is equally superhuman (changed to his right arm in the TV series). Also, we are told ad naseum that Steve cannot see out of his bionic left eye – I mean this is hammered home repeatedly – but he can take photos with it. 

Caidin displays an unexpected pulpy flair with the augmentations to these bionic limbs, things that did not make it to the show. For one, there’s a compartment in Steve’s left leg with an oxygen tank for underwater missions, and also with a few changes Steve can turn his feet into fins. There are also handy little compartments on his feet for storing things. His left arm can fire poisonous darts from the middle finger – I’m assuming Caidin was showing subtle humor here by having us imagine Steve Austin giving people the finger as he kills them. He also has a steel skull plate and a radio transmitter in his rib. 

The bionics finally added and Steve having proven himself by saving some children from a burning bus, the novel suddenly turns into a pulpy sci-fi thriller as Steve is dropped into the ocean by the South American country of Surinam, to make a daunting underwater swim and take photos of some submarines the damned Russians have stashed somewhere. And for company Steve has a pair of cybernetic dolphins, one of which is an automated decoy and the other that Steve pilots, like his own one-man sub, and all this is presented to us on the level, as if it were of a piece with the grim, incessantly-detailed “medical science” tone of the first half of the book. 

Not that I was complaining, it was just so wild. But even here Caidin’s “tell don’t show” instincts conflict with the pulp, with our author bogging us down with hyper detail on ocean currents and whatnot. That said, when I started reading Cyborg I never expected to read about Steve Austin decked out like an underwater commando and piloting a robot dolphin. There’s even a bit of action as the Russians start dropping bombs – they’re in the middle of a battle, which has been staged as a diversion for Steve – and then frogmen come at him, but the action is more so relayed as chaotic than thrilling. We learn here that the Steve Austin of the novel – much like the Steve Austin of the first television season – is quite willing to kill if he has to. 

Sadly this is the only part of Cyborg that goes full pulp, and only if the entire novel were the same. Truly, it’s like something book packager/producer Lyle Kenyon Engel might have come up with – and I have a suspicion that both his Attar The Merman and John Eagle Expeditor were inspired by Cyborg, from the “dolphin commando” of the former series to the “look at my cool gadgets, dart gun, and my atomic one-man sub, which by the way is actually named The Dolphin!” of the latter. 

Clearly this entire sequence was too costly for a network budget, so it was removed. But for me it was the highlight of Cyborg, like a pleasant reward for us pulp-inclined readers for having made it through the previous slow-going half. True, Caidin’s fussiness prevents the sequence from achieving its full pulp potential, but overall it’s still entertaining, which can’t be said about the sequence that takes us through the final quarter of the novel. 

OSO used the sub photo mission as a warmup; now Steve is sent to the Middle East, where he is to slip into fictional country Asfir, teamed up with the beautiful but hard-bitten Israeli soldier Tamara. Caidin skirts with more pulpish material by introducing Tamara as she’s stripping casually in front of Steve, but nothing ever happens here; Caidin is much more focused on exploiting his own knowledge than he is in exploiting his female characters. 

The idea here is that Tamara, who is fluent in Russian – just like Steve is, somehow courtesy his time in the space race – is to pose as Steve’s wife, and they must be completely at ease with each other. Personally I thought she was trying to give Steve a hint, but as mentioned Steve Austin is very laconic and almost comatose, so nothing happens – indeed, there is only one sex scene in the novel, Steve finally giving in to the romantic wiles of his nurse, Jean Manners, but the sexual tomfoolery occurs completely off page. 

Steve and Tamara are here to steal the new Russian jet fighter, a MiG-27, so just like he unwittingly prefigured The Right Stuff, here Caidin unwittingly prefigures Firefox. It’s a taut Cold War thriller, but the only problem was that I had no idea why Steve Austin was needed for the mission. That is the central problem with the second half of Cyborg; it’s as if the first “bionic surgery” part has nothing to do with the second part, and Steve Austin could have been replaced by any generic Cold Warrior. 

I mean, at least in the underwater South America sequence it was believable that OSO needed a cyborg; Steve’s oxygen tank augmentations allow him to go underwater and sneak around a lot better than an ordinary scuba diver could. But here in the Asfir sequence, the bionics are almost completely forgotten. Only belatedly are they used, when Steve uses his bionic left arm to snap a guy’s collarbone while he’s in the process of torturing a captured Steve. There’s also a part where Steve uses that bionic left hand to smash some skulls, and I’m happy to report the dart finger is used a few times in the book. But still, any of this stuff could’ve been replaced by a standard spy gadget; why exactly a cyborg is needed is something Caidin can never fully explain. And why would OSO risk losing their huge investment on a suicide mission to steal a jet fighter? 

Even worse, the actual climax of the book is an endless trawl in which Steve and Tamara are trapped in the desert, trying to survive the elements and get to freedom. Good grief, friends, but it goes on and on. Again Caidin resorts to his “tell, don’t show” policy, making the turgid pace of the narrative seem even slower. It’s all grim and gritty, complete with Tamara’s instruction that their urine must be saved so they can wipe their lips with it to stave off complete dehydration, etc. 

Here, more than anywhere, it seems evident that Martin Caidin is shoehorning some other novel into Cyborg, as the desert trek has nothing to do with the rest of the book. That said, Caidin somehow uses it as an excuse for Steve Austin to realize he wants to live, even though he already came to that decision a few hundred pages ago. Also, it is stated at the end of the novel that Steve and Tamara have “found each other” – humorously, poor nurse Jean is just forgotten – and I’m curious to see if Tamara appears in Caidin’s follow-up, Operation Nuke, which was published the following year. 

Overall, Cyborg is a slow-going affair that only occasionally brightens up, and also there are flashes where Caidin will demonstrate emotional investment in his characters and they stop being expository automatons and show actual spark. These sequences indicate the novel Cyborg could have been, and I have to say the TV producers did a better job of uncovering the potential of the material than Caidin himself did.