Epitaph for a Tramp and Epitaph for a Dead Beat: The Harry Fannin Detective Novels Paperback – November 15, 2006

David Markson wrote two noir novellas, the first of which is the best: moody, dark, cynical, just what one wants in a Manhattan noir story.

Markson's writing is moody dark and cynical. However, it has a flair for language often missing from the genre. Fannin isn't the aloof type of PI that Chandler envisioned or the blood thirsty angel of death that Spillane trotted out. He is an intelligent and caring man turned cynical by watching the world operate.Overall the stories seem to be a missing link between the sometimes self parodying work of the Spillane generation of noir writers and the modern navel gazing (or over intellectualized) strains of detective stories. There is no lack of atmosphere or action and no excess of self analyzing. These stories are rare gems that deserve to be shared more widely.

Once I started reading Markson's "Epitaph For A Tramp," I immediately started searching for other Markson books, hoping that he had penned a dozen or more of these Harry Fannin detective tales. There appear, however, to be only two in this series.If you gobble up hardboiled tales like they are Halloween candy, you'll chomp this one to bits. Yes, it is purposefully filled with all the cliches about a down on his luck PI who is holding a torch for an ex who descended into a downward spiral of trampiness and chasing the next high. But, it is simply a terrific read. Fannin slings the one liners like any great PI and stays just friendly enough with the police to stay out of the clink - barely.Cathy is the one who slipped through his fingers, but she stumbled back into his life, desperately seeking his help. She's still so lovely that poor Harry can't even think straight.And now she's brought danger and knives and tough punks into Fannin's life.This book is just plain old fashioned over the top hardboiled PI fun. Every page is an absolute joy to read."Epitaph For A Deadbeat" is the second novel in this double feature. It's the "B" side. It's a fun read, but not quite the story "Tramp" is. This one, too, features wisecracking PI Harry Fannin and some violent murders. Here, Fannin walks into the wrong bar and the trouble starts from there. This one is all about the beatniks and their crazy lifestyle in Greenwich Village. They are all nutty want-to-be poets and trampy women floating in a haze from bed to bed. Fannin doesn't exactly approve of the Beats and what goes on in the Village.Together, the two stories are fun, good, and worthwhile.

When I started reading this, I thought it must be a parody. Nobody but characters in bad TV shows and movies ever talked the tough-guy lingo the narrator and others in the book talk (I'm only reviewing "Tramp." Couldn't take any more.) But then I realized he intends for readers to take this silliness seriously. Swallowing his lumpy style is what I imagine it must be like to try to drink oatmeal. There's a detective story cliche (or 12) on every page, and at least one major plot twist in every chapter (and the chapters are short). And yet beneath it all throbs some kind of life that kept me reading to the end. However, I don't care to spend my reading time on more of this foolishness, even if it was a hoot when I first started.

aymond Chandler lives! Or one might have thought so in 1959 when Markson wrote this remarkable novel (published the same year Chandler died, ironically). I've only read Epitaph for a Tramp. I'm saving the second one for dessert. Harry Fannin is a tough, sardonic, New York private eye. One night his ex-wife, a beauty and a beast (the tramp in the title), shows up knocking on his door. By the time he opens it, she lay dead, a trail of blood leading from the sidewalk. Harry calls Brannigan, an archetypal burly, cigar-chewing city cop. Together they set out into the night to chase leads until the murder is solved.The style is classic 30's despite the two decade gap. Cigarettes, booze, and the crunch of fists on faces abound. Markson never uses a simple declarative sentence when he has a pithy metaphor or simile in his quiver. Or three. It's more noir than a black cat in a coal mine.I thought this was absolutely terrific, but it is something of an acquired taste. Read at your own risk. If you become addicted, don't blame me.

Dunno what compelled me to pick this off the library shelf, but damned sure glad I did, oh yes, oh yes.After finishing 'Tramp' I thought there's no way this is from '59, it's too savvy, too literate. But sure enough that is it's Library of Congress date, and that's what makes this so unique: how would a dime-store detective novel sound if it were written by an aspiring postmodernist more at home in the classics than in pulp?Fannin's a great character. Totally detached, sarcastic, well-read but uninterested in his own intellect, more interested in a stiff rye and a comfy bed. Essentially, Markson pretending to be a private eye.Was very pleased to find Hiram Henshaw in 'Dead Beat' as well. Like these characters clamantis in deserto for movie treatment, comprenez-vous? Oh yes.Seriously though, buy this sh*t before someone ruins it somehow.