BWW Review: IT'S ALL ONE CASE Makes the Case for a Great Novelist
It's All One Case: The Illustrated Ross Macdonald Archives is the latest effort in the recent renaissance of the reputation of the mid-century detective writer who was born Kenneth Millar. It's an important, perhaps even central, addition.
Millar started out in the late forties as perhaps the best of the era's legion of Raymond Chandler/Dashiell Hammett imitators. After marching swiftly to the top of that mountain, he, unlike everyone else who trod the same path, kept right on moving. By the time he finished, in the 1970s, he was being respectfully reviewed in high-toned literary magazines and discussed as an important American writer. More than that, he had transformed the possibilities of both hard-boiled detective fiction (for which he got much credit, some of it now forgotten) and the kind of modernist-suburban writing being done by the likes of John Updike and Raymond Carver (for which he got little or no credit, though he remains the prime poet of white suburban America's mysterious Post-War unease).
As this lovely coffee-table book of interviews-acutely conducted by the late critic and Millar confidante Paul Nelson in the mid-seventies-shows, no one was more surprised by the attention, or grateful to receive it, than the author himself.
But, as I noted in an earlier review of Library of America's recent collection of Macdonald's early novels, his high place was well earned. Hammett and Chandler have never stopped having imitators. Macdonald, the only one who made it to the level of a peer, has himself remained inimitable, not least because the seeds of civilizational collapse which could be observed sprouting in the undergrowth of his best novels have become the ugly, overgrown weeds of our current "culture."
That too, would not have surprised him.
As a coffee table book-a collection of personal and professional photos, letters, book covers, memorabilia-It's All One Case is exemplary. The compiler, Kevin Avery, has done a fine job of supplementing the tone of the text with the right imagery. One does not forget that Macdonald was, before all else, a dedicated craftsman, highly aware of his moment both inside the publishing world of his time and in the world at large. The design accentuates the mood without detracting from the book's prime purpose, which is to get inside the mind of a first-rate working writer.
Within two severe, if understandable, limits, one imposed on Nelson by Millar/Macdonald, another by an accident of timing, those interviews are as good as any interrogation of an artist as you are likely to encounter.
The first limit was that the subject of the life and death of Millar's daughter, Linda, who had died in 1970, was not to be discussed. Since Macdonald was a profoundly introspective writer, nearly obsessed by personal psychology, and his daughter led an extremely unhappy and self-destructive life-the result, perhaps of being the daughter of not one, but two, highly successful and self-absorbed professional novelists (Millar's wife, Margaret, was an award winning crime novelist worthy of her own renaissance)-this natural reticence leaves a blank space that can never be covered by Millar's past and future biographers as well as it might have been if he had been more forthcoming with the interviewer who got closest to him.
The other unfortunate circumstance is that Millar was beginning to suffer from an early onset of the Alzheimer's that would take his life in 1983. Nothing could be done about that, but Avery's notes do an excellent job of keeping the reader apprised of when and where the disease may have had an effect on Millar's memory.
Beyond those quibbles, It's All One Case is everything a fan of the writer, the period, or the detective form, could hope for.