The Lizard, by Domenic Stansberry

 

9781948596053

Molotov Editions, 2025

255 pp

paperback 

I may not have been present here for a while, but that doesn't mean that I haven't been reading. On the contrary, sitting on one end of desk there is a stackus giganticus of books I've finished in the last few weeks waiting for me to share my thoughts about them.  On the top is this one, The Lizard by Domenic Stansberry, whose writing talents have earned him the North America Hammett Prize for Literary Excellence in Crime Fiction (2017),  a nomination for the Edgar in 1999 which was followed by a win in 2005 for The Confession, which was evidently the target of some controversy.  It seems, according to the author's website, that a "dissenting judge ... broke with tradition to condemn the selection of this 'amoral' novel for Best Paperback Original."   Stansberry has also been nominated for the Shamus Award as well as the Barry Award, so bottom line: his work is no stranger to the crime fiction-writing/reading world.  

The Lizard is no ordinary crime story, nor is it anywhere close to average or run of the mill, which is so refreshing for modern crime novels.  The narrator of this story goes by S. E. Reynolds, which is not his real name but rather one he uses when "working as a ghost."  He'd started his career as a reporter, first covering crime, but after a series of setbacks ended up "ghosting a weekly column for a state representative."  This job, evidently, was something he could do well, moving on to work for "celebrities, politicians, war heroes, people with stories to tell, ambitions, visions to share."  He had hoped to score the job of ghostwriting a memoir for a particular gubernatorial candidate, but, as he notes, the candidate had "suddenly demurred."  Now his literary agent offers him a project "that he thought he might be good for," one where he'd be on familiar ground.   It seems that an old friend and fellow investigative journalist, Max Seeghurs, is working on a book about the Sundial House in Santa Fe, a sort of shady resort once frequented by the rich, as well as the occasional politician, founded by a philanthropist with a vision whose death was the end of Sundial's popularity among the beautiful people.    Max's book is "in trouble," and the agent is worried about seeing the project through.  Getting a copy of the manuscript is not in the cards; Max wants to meet in person.  Reynolds has his own reasons for getting together with Max, so off to New York he goes, but things go horribly bad, leading Reynolds into more than one dangerous situation and to the place where the book opens --  having been involved in some "shootings,"  wandering about in the desert "in cave country," feeling "feverish and on the brink of hallucination" and eventually landing in a coastal town where he not only feels that he can't go home, but also paranoid that he's being watched.  

The story chases those events that have pinned him down in the midst of a conspiracy as he tries to get to the truth behind what is happening to and all around him, while at the same time it has Reynolds engaging in his own measure of self examination, focusing in on past relationships and the ramifications of decisions he's made.  As the back cover blurb notes, Reynolds finds himself "trapped," and there  may be no escape.   

The Lizard is not a book for those who are looking for formulaic crime with all the standard elements,  nor is it a book for readers looking for a quick, light read that will make you smile and move right on to the next book.  No way.   Stansberry writes with depth and intensity, and his prose in some places moves into the realm of the hallucinatory and the metaphorical, with the effect of leaving the reader looking beyond this world deep into another more broken one.  It is dark, bleak and has a strong noir vibe, in which we follow a man straight into his own personal sort of hell, and I loved every second of it.  

My thanks to the author both for the ask and for my copy of this book.  I won't forget this story for a long, long time. 

The Syndicate, by Clarence Cooper, Jr.

9781948596046
Molotov Editions, 2018
originally published 1960
140 pp

paperback: my many, many thanks to  Dominic Stansberry at Molotov Editions for my copy of this book.


"It was no use trying to get around the facts: something was wrong with me. And whatever it was was scary as hell..."


June 15th, three days from now, the small press Molotov editions will be releasing The Syndicate, by Clarence Cooper.  It's highly likely that regular readers of crime fiction have never heard of Clarence Cooper, who wrote this book in 1960 under the pseudonym of Robert Chestnut.  He had written another book prior to this one, which, as the back cover blurb reveals, "was a literary sensation."  The Syndicate, however, was seen as "too raw,"  a negative that would have been "possibly damaging" to Cooper's writing career, hence the name change.

 Clarence Cooper has also been neglected among scholars of African-American crime fiction,  because even in a quick survey of four different reference books I have that pertain to the topic,  Cooper's name turns up in only one.  And even there, in Justin Gifford's  excellent Pimping Fictions: African-American Crime Literature and the Untold Story of Black Pulp Publishing, Cooper is acknowledged only as one of a "number of black crime fiction authors who were contemporaries of Chester Himes," who have "remained off the radar of most literary and cultural scholars" (180).   That is a shame, really, since if The Syndicate is an example of what came out of this author's head, he should be much better known than he is, by readers and especially by scholars in this field.

Definitely not for the faint of heart, The Syndicate is beyond raw, reaching down into the grittiest depths of darkness as it pulls us into the mind of an extremely troubled and damaged man, Andy Sorrell.  He's been called on by his boss to take care of three men who have double crossed "the Syndicate," an organized-crime group out of New York.   Andy will be paid ten grand for his work, once he finds these crooks who had  made off with half a million dollars "rightfully" belonging to the Syndicate after a "bank job" in New Jersey.  He is then supposed to recover the money and return it to his boss.  After making his way to the coastal town of Hollisworth,

"... a solid little city, with the exception that it belongs to the syndicate, lock, stock, and barrel"

complete with crooked cops, Sorrell begins his quest at his contact's club where he literally beats the information out of a stripper,  Tina, who knows the whereabouts of one of the men he's looking for and won't talk.   Afterwards, he has a moment of regret for hurting her, but he has to focus on his targets.

His anger at Tina actually has very little to do with his anger over her not talking, but stems from the death of his pregnant girlfriend, Carolyn.  As Sorrell reveals, it was Tina

 "so closely resembling Carolyn, that's what got me. She had not right to look just like her, or to say those things like Carolyn might have said! No right!"

Sorrell is constantly haunted by Carolyn.  Early on in the story he hears her talking to him, her voice coming from the sea, telling him that he's "horrid and brutal and a murderer."  She also tells him that when he kills, he's killing "more than one person."  As she puts it,

"You're trying to kill that thing within you."

Exactly what "that thing" inside of Sorrell is is fleshed out more as the story goes along, but it's evident early on that Carolyn's death two years earlier has wounded him to the core and it has played havoc with his mind. 

The Syndicate is a twisty, brutally dark novel.   It is one of those stories where it's difficult to know who is telling the truth or who is trustworthy, since betrayals abound.  Although it's laced with violence that is hard to read at times, the plotting, the pacing and the story are all solid -- not a misstep anywhere.  Yet, aside from the plot it's what's happening within that is utterly fascinating.  We find ourselves inside the mind of a brutal killer, who knows that there's something wrong with him, and that whatever it is,

"it was getting closer and closer to me, ever since two years ago and Carolyn."

I think it's this mix of Sorrell's battles with his own inner demons and the external forces that for reasons I won't spill here want to keep him from finishing the job he's been sent to do that makes this book unique in a big way.  It's definitely not just another dime-a-dozen, enforcer-goes-looking-for-who-screwed-the-mob sort of novel -- it's the author's simultaneous attention to what's going on inside of Sorrell that elevates this book to an entirely different level.

I'll be honest here -- The Syndicate is not an easy book to read because of some of things that happen between its covers;  there were times when I had to put the novel down for a while because of incidents of brutality against women that crop up a couple of times.  However, looking at it from the point of view that there is something in Sorrell's psychological makeup that causes these things to happen makes it a bit more easy to deal with on an emotional level.

This lost crime classic that is about to reappear shortly is well worth the attention of any crime fiction reader that enjoys dark, deep, and gritty -- the back cover likens him to Jim Thompson so that pretty much tells you what you need to know regarding what you might be getting into here.

One final note:  there is an excellent article about Clarence Cooper Jr. at The Guardian , where author Tony O'Neill notes that with some of his books coming back into print, "Clarence Cooper Jr., ignored and reviled in his own lifetime, is gradually being recognised as the great American novelist he is."  Let's hope that's the case, and let's also hope that there will be more of his books made available in the near future.  I hadn't even finished this book before I went and bought his The Farm. and my hat is off to Molotov Editions for bringing this novel back into print and rescuing it from its current state of "pulp oblivion."