Title:
Miami Blues / Author: Charles Willeford / Publisher: Orion (The
Murder Room) / Release Date: 14 August 2015 / Rating: 5/5
If
you've ever doubted that the crime novel could be an art form, then
you should take a look at the works of Charles Willeford,
particularly his series of titles, dating from the '80s, concerning
Detective Hoke Moseley, a beleaguered figure forever distracted by
worries about his false teeth and crippling alimony payments as he
struggles to deal with the seamy side of life in Miami.
In
Miami Blues, Moseley is obliged to clear up the mess caused by the
arrival in town of Freddy Frenger, “a blithe psychopath from
California” who steals wallets and identities and breaks people's
bones with the muscles he's built up in prison. While Freddy enjoys
the high life and does as he pleased, Moseley has to put up with any
number of small daily indignities, such as the fact that he lives in
a tiny room in the deceptively named Eldorado Hotel, a crumbling
flea-pit populated by decrepit old ladies and dodgy Cubans. For all
that he's a lawbreaking misfit, Freddy is arguably more in tune with
the Miami way of doing things that Moseley is.
There
are no criminal masterminds in the Hoke Moseley novels, no
personifications of outright evil. Even as he's leaving bodies
scattered all around Miami, Frank thinks wistfully about turning over
a new leaf and finding prosperity through more orthodox routes. On
the other hand, there's very little in the way of outright good
either. Miami is a city distinctly lacking in grace and mercy,
whatever walk of life you're in. The police share this hardness of
outlook, as typified by Moseley's competent but occasionally sinister
partner Henderson: “Hoke knew that when Henderson smiled, something
horrible about human nature had been reconfirmed for his partner.”
In a world where might and ruthlessness are admired, Moseley himself
is despised to some degree for his softness and tender-heartedness.
It's
an unremittingly bleak view of humanity and the American way,
captured in prose that recalls Nathaniel West in its wry tone and
economy with words. For all its darkness, the novel is touched with
affection for these flawed human beings, and a commitment to seeing
things lucidly, as they are, as when Moseley looks across from the
rooftop of the Eldorado Hotel at the sprawl of Miami: “At this
distance it was a white smile. There was even a gum-coloured sunset
above the skyline.”
