On September 7, Frank Sennett, blogger, Booklist reviewer, and pal of mine, linked to an LA CityBeat interview with James Ellroy in which Ellroy says, “I won’t write another crime novel.”

This, of course, is in regard to what he’ll write after his forthcoming novel, the final book in the Underworld U.S.A. trilogy. Never mind that that book doesn’t yet have a title or a publication date–it’s always good to plan ahead.

And this morning, I was reading in Time Out Chicago another of the blizzard of interviews Ellroy did to promote the today’s release of The Black Dahlia, the film version of his book. He told interviewer Ben Kenigsberg (I can’t link to it because I can’t find it on their site), “I’m 58, and I’ve got a lot of books to write in my lifetime.”

It’s hard to imagine what Ellroy’s going to write about if it’s not corrupt white men shooting each other. And in the LA CityBeat article, he admits, “I haven’t figured out yet what they’ll be about.”

Frankly, it will be interesting when a new Ellroy novel of any sort appears in stores. It’s been five years since The Cold Six Thousand (2001), and that was six years after American Tabloid (1995). Of course, there was his notable autobiography, My Dark Places, in 1996, but other than that he’s filled his time with anthologies, collections, short stuff, and, presumably, screenplays.

(If you want to check out all those Booklist Online links, sign up here for a free 30-day trial.)

Bill Ott will be pleased to note that, whenever we do see the next book, Ellroy will be ”pulling back from the style of Cold Six Thousand.” (In his review of that book, Bill wrote that its telegrammatic style “makes reading unbearable.”)

And I will also be eager to see if, and how, the “demon dog” reinvents himself. Though I was once a huge fan of his, as I probably made clear in my review of Destination: Morgue!, I think his schtick has grown tired.

I filed my review of Night Falls in Damascus this morning. One last remark and then I’ll leave it alone. Highland used one of my least favorite sentence constructions. He only did it once, so I won’t hold it against him, but here it is:

He was just not prepared for–how could he be prepared for?–death’s monstrous feast, the carnage that was the Western Front during the Great War.

Did you spot it? No, it’s not “death’s monstrous feast,” although that’s pretty questionable. It’s “the carnage that was the Western Front.”

Every week or two I’ll spot a similar phrase in a newspaper or magazine: the BLAH that was BLAH. It’s melodramatic, the equivalent of a hack Hollywood composer using swelling strings to accentuate the tears dripping down the heroine’s face.

• The mighty land that was America.
• The pop phenomenon that was U2.
• The death of civilization that was cable news.

I like clean writing. And I try to write cleanly. (In fact, my current five-minutes-a-day book is William Zinsser’s indispensable On Writing Well, which we should all reread from time to time–it instructs us to eliminate cliches such as “from time to time.”) And I believe that, in almost every instance, the writer or speaker would be better served by a less grandiose arrangement:

• America was a mighty land.
• U2 was a pop phenomenon.
• Cable news was the death of civilization.

I made these up, but I welcome real-life examples.

I’m no grammar nazi–using the term “grammar nazi” should be proof enough of that. Besides, my own grammar isn’t reliable enough to allow me to don the jackboots and sleeve protector of that particular group. But because I read a lot, I have developed a fairly keen eye for clutter. And I never had a writing teacher tell me to take a clean sentence and complicate it.

Of course, I’m sure that the archives of Likely Stories contain awkward and overreaching locutions, too, so I’m going to go delete them now.

I finished reading Night Falls on Damascus last night. After I passed the halfway mark, the stilted language stopped bugging me–mostly–and I found myself fairly absorbed in the story. This is one of those books that I have a lot of complaints about (stilted language, clunky exposition, slow pace) and yet I still don’t think it’s a bad book. “Not bad,” is how I’d describe it, I guess. Moreover, I think there are people who will like it more than I did, so this will be one of those reviews that will include both my complaints and still allow for the fact that it may find an audience.

It’s ambitious, too. As Faroun’s investigation goes deeper, he delves into complex and ancient animosities that make the book worthy of its Middle East setting. So, after all that grousing, a very qualified thumbs-up. Highland is good with setting and plot, but he could use help with pacing, dialogue, and some individual scenes. Despite the unfamiliar locale and history, there are encounters between characters (the at-gunpoint summation of the case with the villain, for example) and lines of dialogue (see below) and that could have used an unexpected spin.

“Old scores,” said Ihab.

“Wounds that never heal,” said Faroun.

“That’s what’s wrong with this place,” said Ihab sadly. “Damascus people never forget and they never forgive.”

“Not until Judgment Day. If then.”

You see what I mean.

I’ve had Night Falls on Damascus, by Frederick Highland, in my book pile for a long time now. The galley arrived in early summer, before I started my family leave, but because the publication date is listed as December 18, I kept pushing it farther down in the stack as more urgently dated books came in.

In a weird way, I didn’t mind putting it off, because I was thinking I’d really like it, and it’s always nice to have something to look forward to. As I’ve written before, I try to avoid reading anything about the book except the book, but a glance at the cover and the first few pages led me to hope that this would be something right up my alley.

Set in Syria, in 1933, it’s about the attempt of Nikolai Faroun, chief of the Damascus civil police force, to unravel the mystery surrounding the death of Vera Tamiri, a feminist activist who lived a complicated life. Faroun, a Maronite from Lebanon, has some intrigue in his own past as well, and the idea of setting a murder investigation against a politically chaotic background had me hoping I’d be reading something a bit like the work of Alan Furst or Eric Ambler, two of my favorite espionage authors.

Highland has clearly done his homework–his Damascus is chockablock with specific detail–but so far I’m a little disappointed. The exposition is a little clumsy (”Maronites are not popular in Syria, as I’m sure you know,” Faroun tells someone), the dialog can be a little cliched (”When I find the animals that did this to her, I will kill them with my bare hands,” declares Tamiri’s former lover), and most frustrating, the prose feels curiously antique.

Ambler wrote the bulk of his novels from the 1930s to the 1960s, so we can forgive him if his prose sounds dated now. Furst’s novels are scrupulously researched and full of perfect period detail, but he writes in prose that feels modern, or at least timeless. Highland’s prose feels like something that might have been written in 1933. A barman is a “diffident fellow”; the wife of a French official is “a handsome woman from an old Norman line”; a wintry rain is “playing the fool with spring.” This may, of course, be exactly the effect Highland intends, but I find that it interferes with the story.

On the other hand, I’m still reading. The language really bugged me for the first few chapters, but now I’m halfway through the book rather little worse for the wear. (See, that’s the sort of phrasing…never mind.) The plot moves quite slowly, but it’s interesting enough that those who like their historical recreations to extend all the way to the narrative prose may find Night Falls on Damascus to be their cup of…tea.

Okay, the rate of tweaking here has been a lot slower than planned, but I did add two new features today.

Under “Info,” you’ll see a page called “My Pile of Books,” where I’ll maintain an updated list of the books I’m considering for review.

And under “Links,” you’ll see a link to the book I’m reading now. I’ve cleverly titled this “What I’m Reading Now.” Clicking the book cover may take you to the author’s site or to the publisher’s–or maybe to an entry I’ve already written about the book. My readers demand excitement and unpredictability, and, darn it, I intend to give it to them.

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I enjoy reading obituaries. Not that I’m obsessed with death–okay, I’m obsessed with death. But I also enjoy learning about the fascinating things that ordinary people have done with their lives. Okay, they’re not always fascinating. And I guess I prefer reading about extraordinary people. The he-never-missed-a-day-of-work-for-40-years obits are usually a snooze.

But, lest my attempt at populism fall too flat, I do think that the most amazing lives are often lived by unfamous people. I see the obits as mini-biographies, a public peek at the lives of people who, most of them, will not be profiled at book length.

On Saturday, I read in the Chicago Tribune the obituary of Patricia Langan, a local book reviewer with a “flair for the dramatic”. Or perhaps she was a dramatist with a flair for book reviews.

Patricia Langan drew on her theater background to perform book reviews for women’s clubs and other groups throughout the Chicago area for 20 years. With her flair for the dramatic, she’d turn discussions of “The Godfather” and other popular novels into virtual one-woman plays.

I would have loved to see her review of The Godfather. And also her review of The Exorcist.

Perhaps Mrs. Langan was a woman ahead of her time. I haven’t run this idea past any of my colleagues yet, but with the multimedia capabilities of Booklist Online, it should be easy to present Ray Olson performing his review of Garry Wills’ What Paul Meant, or Ilene Cooper performing her review of William J. Mann’s Kate: The Woman Who Was Hepburn.

I should probably volunteer to be first, but I think the opportunity belongs to someone with more experience than me.

Rest in peace, Mrs. Langan.