In a Lonely Place (Book) (2017)

In a Lonely Place, by Dorothy B. Hughes

New York, NY: New York Review Books, 2017

Originally published in 1947

Afterword by Megan Abbott

List of main characters:

Dix Steele

Brub Nicolai

Sylvia Nicolai

Laurel Gray

This novel by Dorothy B. Hughes is a powerful story, one I plan to read again. The entire novel is told from the point of view of one character, Dix Steele, which helps explain why the list of main characters is so short. Almost everything that readers learn is told from Dix’s perspective. The point of view is thus rather claustrophobic, which is perfect for noir. It makes the story a bit uncomfortable for the reader because Dix Steele also happens to an unreliable narrator and a serial killer.

The opening paragraph places the novel firmly in the post–World War II era:

It was a good standing there on the promontory overlooking the evening sea, the fog lifting itself like gauzy veils to touch his face. There was something in it akin to flying; the sense of being lifted high above crawling earth, of being a part of the wildness of air. Something, too, of being closed within an unknown and strange world of mist and cloud and wind. He’d like flying at night; he’d missed it after the war had crashed to a finish and dribbled to an end. It wasn’t the same flying a little private crate. He’d tried it; it was like returning to the stone ax after precision tools. He had found nothing yet to take the place of flying wild. (page 5)

It also reveals Dix Steele’s love of risk taking, of flying at night specifically during the war.

On the next page, readers learn even more about Dix Steele and the dark nature of the story they are starting:

He didn’t follow her at once. Actually, he didn’t intend to follow her. It was entirely without volition that he found himself moving down the slant, winding walk. He didn’t walk hard, as she did, nor did he walk fast. Yet she heard him coming behind her. He knew she heard him for her heel struck an extra beat, as if she had half stumbled, and her steps went faster. He didn’t walk faster, he continued to saunter but he lengthened his stride, smiling slightly. She was afraid.

He could have caught up to her with ease but he didn’t It was too soon Better to hold back until he had passed the humped midsection of the walk, then to close in She’d give a little scream, perhaps only a gasp, when he came up beside her. And he would say softly, “Hello.” Only “Hello,” but she would be more afraid. (pages 6–7)

From the beginning, Dix Steele appears to be a man practiced in the art of stalking, and from the beginning, readers see the postwar world through his eyes. This perspective is uncomfortable for several reasons. Readers are never given a break from Dix’s thoughts and desires. He reveals a lot about himself and what he wants, but he doesn’t reveal a lot about any of his actions from the past. It is only when he interacts with others that readers get a sense of the novel’s world apart from Dix. In that space, readers are given hints about past events, but not all the facts.

(This blog post about the novel In a Lonely place contains spoilers.)

It also becomes clear that Dix Steele cannot be trusted. Even from the limited point of view of the narrative, readers know that Dix is not entirely forthcoming with people he professes to care about. He is hesitant about renewing his wartime friendship with Brub Nicolai. He would rather remain anonymous than allow Brub and his wife Sylvia to be able to keep tabs on him. He lies convincingly about his friend Mel Terriss, so convincingly that I was taken aback when I realized what had happened to Mel.

And then there is Laurel Gray, the woman Dix professes to love but whom he disparages anytime he thinks that she has left him for another man or for a better opportunity. Laurel disappears from the story about two-thirds of the way through. After my first reading of the novel, I assumed, from what Dix tells the reader, that she had moved. But one of the reasons that I want to read the novel again is because maybe Dix has killed her, too. Dix waits for her to return to her apartment in the complex where they both live, but instead he is confronted by Sylvia Nicolai:

“Where’s Laurel?” He demanded again, still softly but more sharply, “Where’s Laurel? What have you done with her?”

                Sylvia was caught there, backed against the step. She wanted to move away from him but she couldn’t; she was trapped. She found her voice. “Laurel’s all right,” she said gently.

                “Where is she?” He caught her shoulders. His hands tightened over them. He held her eyes. “Where is she?”

                “She—” Her voice failed. And then swiftly she moved. She twisted, catching him off guard, breaking through. Leaving the coat in his hands.

                He turned. She hadn’t run away. She hadn’t sense enough to run away. She was standing there, only a slight distance from him, there by the blue pool. Her breath was coming in little gusts. She spoke clearly, “She isn’t coming back, Dix. She’s safe. She’s going to stay safe.” (page 195)

What does Sylvia mean when she tells Dix that Laurel isn’t coming back, that she’s safe, that she is going to stay safe? Is she still alive? Has she been spirited away and given a police detail? Should readers interpret Sylvia’s words to mean that Laurel cannot be hurt anymore because she is already dead and therefore free of Dix forever? Has Dix killed Laurel? Is Dix such an unreliable narrator that he is the only one who believes Laurel could come back? Sylvia’s words can be interpreted either way, especially in a noir universe as noir as Dix’s universe, as noir as the story in In a Lonely Place.

Hughes tells a gripping story from a very narrow point of view. Because of that, readers believe that they know exactly what Dix is thinking, and for the most part they do. But Hughes still has some surprises in store. For example, I read the last line of the book before I reached the end of the story, and I really wish now that I hadn’t. I know: I’ve been told reading ahead is a bad habit, and most people are surprised when I tell them that I do it occasionally. It’s an exercise in story construction for me: I like to read the last line or paragraph of a novel and then see how the narrative leads readers to those final words. But in In a Lonely Place, the last sentence could be a huge surprise for some readers, so I’m suggesting that, if you read ahead like I do, this book by Hughes might be one to break the habit or to put it on hold. The story is absorbing either way, which is a testament to its fine construction and to Hughes’s literary talent.

The film version of In a Lonely Place stars Humphrey Bogart and Gloria Grahame. I have seen it a couple of times, and I recall that it is very different from the novel. Of course, I’ll have to see it again.

Ride the Pink Horse (1947)

October 8, 1947, release date

Directed by Robert Montgomery

Screenplay by Ben Hecht, Charles Lederer

Based on the novel Ride the Pink Horse by Dorothy B. Hughes

Music by Frank Skinner

Edited by Ralph Dawson

Cinematography by Russell Metty

Robert Montgomery as Lucky Gagin

Wanda Hendrix as Pila

Andrea King as Marjorie Lundeen

Thomas Gomez as Pancho

Fred Clark as Frank Hugo

Art Smith as Bill Retz

Richard Gaines as Jonathan

Rita Conde as Carla

Iris Flores as Maria

Tito Renaldo as the bellboy

Grandon Rhodes as Mr. Edison, hotel desk clerk

Martin Garralaga as the bartender

Edward Earle as Locke

Harold Goodwin as Red

Maria Cortez as woman working in the elevator

Milton P. Morrell as the Greyhound bus driver

Distributed by Universal Pictures

Produced by Universal Pictures

I had not heard of Ride the Pink Horse until just a few weeks ago, but I found the title intriguing. One of the things I enjoy about investigating noir is learning about many lesser-known films. Another is learning about all the novels and short stories that provide the basis for so many of these films. Dorothy B. Hughes’s novel of the same name was adapted for the screen by Ben Hecht and Charles Lederer, and now I have another work of noir literature to look forward to reading. I understand the novel is quite different from the film: much darker, more pessimistic, more noir.

(This blog post about Ride the Pink Horse contains spoilers.)

Ride the Pink Horse is a postwar film about many things, including disillusionment for the main character Lucky Gagin about the U.S. role in World War II and in the postwar world. Gagin, a war veteran, is searching for the killer of his friend Shorty. His quest brings him to San Pablo, New Mexico, during the fiesta commemorating the god Zozobra. The god’s name is Spanish for “anxiety,” and fiesta-goers hope to vanquish the god and their own anxieties by celebrating life and burning an effigy.

The opening of the film is mysterious and intriguing: all noir and little dialogue. The opening credits appear over a barren desert landscape and a road that disappears in the distance. Behind the last credit, a bus appears and advances into the foreground. Lucky Gagin is on that bus, which stops at San Pablo. His subsequent actions are methodical. Gagin disembarks and heads warily into the tiny bus station, where he sits on a bench, opens a briefcase, takes out a gun, and puts it in his waistband. Then he takes a check out of the briefcase, places the check in a bus locker, and takes the key. He buys some gum, chews it, puts the wad on the key, and hides the key behind a map on the wall of the bus station.

Gagin’s actions in the opening sequence lay out important plot points and leave questions unanswered. Why is Gagin carrying a gun? What is he doing alone in San Pablo? Why is the check so important that he feels the need to hide it in the bus station? And why leave the key to the bus station locker behind the map? The opening sequence gives viewers many good reasons to continue watching.

Gagin is looking for Frank Hugo because he believes that Hugo killed his friend Shorty. After leaving the bus station, Gagin arrives at La Fonda Hotel and muscles his way past Hugo’s assistant, Jonathan, into Hugo’s hotel room. When Jonathan demands that Gagin leave, Gagin punches him in the stomach and knocks him out.

The snappy dialogue is another feature to love about Ride the Pink Horse, and much of it is spoken by supporting characters. It adds a bit of comic relief to a nightmarish story. For example, when Jonathan regains consciousness in Frank Hugo’s hotel room, Gagin is already talking with Marjorie Lundeen, the femme fatale who knows Hugo and entered the room while Jonathan was still lying unconscious on the floor:

• Jonathan: “The police. Call the police.”

• Marjorie: “I don’t think this gentleman [Gagin] would approve of that.”

• Gagin: “Your boss just telephoned. He said he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”

• Marjorie: “Well, that’s being stood up rather thoroughly.”

Lundeen’s indifference to Jonathan’s suffering is the viewers’ first clue that she is the heartless femme fatale in Ride the Pink Horse. Later in the film, Lundeen sets up Gagin for an ambush outside La Fonda Hotel and proves that she really is the femme fatale. She acts as the lookout inside the hotel’s doors and believes that Gagin will be dead before long. But Bill Retz, a government agent, has been tailing Frank Hugo and—as a byproduct of that work—Lucky Gagin, and he interrupts Lundeen while she’s guarding the doors. The two of them have the following humorous exchange:

• Marjorie: “Oh, I’m sorry. Don’t I know you?”

• Retz: “I don’t know. Do you?”

• Marjorie: “Everyone knows everyone on fiesta night. Are you dancing?”

• Retz: “Not so you’d notice. Where’s Gagin?”

• Marjorie: “He stopped to talk to someone. It’s a good orchestra, isn’t it? Dance?”

• Retz: “Some other time.”

Then Retz brushes past Lundeen to find out what’s really going on outside the hotel ballroom’s doors.

The DVD from the Criterion Collection comes with audio commentary by Alain Silver and James Ursini. I also enjoyed the DVD feature “In Lonely Places” with Imogen Sara Smith. All three made many points about the film, one of which was the film’s respect for Native Americans and Mexican Americans. Ride the Pink Horse includes Spanish dialogue that’s not translated, which is unusual for films of the period. And the story is as much about Pila, a Native American teenager, and Pancho, the Mexican American who owns the carousel with the pink horse, as it is about Gagin. They befriend Gagin and protect him when Frank Hugo’s henchmen hunt him down. They don’t care about money, although Gagin and Frank Hugo do. But Gagin starts to change by the end of the film; he’s becoming more like the friends who helped him. Pila, Pancho, and San Pablo (the town itself, the fiesta, and the inhabitants) are not merely backdrop. These elements and characters are interwoven throughout the story.

And it’s a great story. Gagin, with all his postwar malaise and cynicism, is set down in San Pablo during a fiesta among complete strangers and learns to accept help in spite of himself. San Pablo isn’t a typical noir setting: It’s a dusty Southwestern town, and it wouldn’t be crowded if it weren’t for the fiesta, but the town and the film remind viewers that corruption, cynicism, and violence can be found anywhere.