Damn it, I'm bored. Not just bored but seethingly bored -- you know how it is, when you're so frustrated you want to snap with inactivity. I had plans to go out to a park this morning and now they're on hold and I'm cooling my heels. Bitch, bitch, moan, etc. Good morning, Internet.
Luckily, I've recently discovered a fabulous new resource -- pulp fiction online. For some years now, there's been a fashionable fondness for the lurid dime novels of the '30s, '40s and '50s, but generally you only see reprints of the covers -- cowboys, robots, jungles, Nazis, femme fatales and square-jawed detectives. I hadn't actually read one until I found Blackmask Online. There's a good reason for this. A great deal of the stuff is awful, and what isn't is often soaked in the casual racism, sexism and general lunkheadedness of past days. It wouldn't be good for the market, but you can peruse it at your leisure and separate the wheat from the chaff. So far I've read:
Coin of the Dead by Lemuel Le Bra.
This short story of a Chinese grave-robber is to the work of Pearl S. Buck what Aristocrat vodka is to Ketel One. But it's still the stuff, and I thought it was fun, even though the author is clearly about as Chinese as I am. (And really, "Le Bra"? I don't expect any of these were written under a real name, but come on.)
When Manhattan Sank by George S. Brooks.
Nowadays we know it isn't possible for an island, following an earthquake, to simply break off and fall into the sea, but in this haunting little novella you can still believe it. An affecting little piece and definitely better than The Day After Tomorrow, I'll hazard.
"Death collects the fares when -- SATAN DRIVES THE BUS -- by Wyatt Blassingame"
Okay, I haven't read this one, but how could it not be awesome.
