So, I was going through my closet today, and found three books that I had completely forgotten about. I’ve had them for over 15 years, and I’ve read them three or four times each, and it always happens this way: I’m poking around for something else, and I find them. And I read them again. And then I put them away and forget about them.
But I always read them again, and I never throw them away.
I’m not sure one of them is going to survive the next reading; at some point, it seems to have gotten wet. It’s a paperback, it’s over 15 years old, and I think it’s going to suffer catastrophic spine failure.
I’m still going to read it.
Then, I’ll probably have to start digging around on the Internet to replace it. Probably the other two, as well, just to be safe.
See, they’re out of print.
What are they? Glad you asked.
They’re a trilogy by Mel Gilden, who seems to mainly be famous for his Star Trek novels, young adult novels, and Beverly Hills 90210 novels.
Yeah. I know. WTF?
Now, I cannot, I will not, bad mouth anyone who makes money writing. I don’t care what they write. They are living the dream, and more power to them.
(My friends know that there is one exception to this, but I don’t know you well enough to tell you who that is.)
Anyway. Those other things Mel Gilden has written hold no appeal for me, yet this trilogy brings me back time and again.
Surfing Samurai Robots. Hawaiian UFO Aliens. Tubular Android Superheroes.
They are silly. They are brilliant. They are wonderful.
The writing’s good enough not to chase you away if you get past the ridiculous names. He’s got a good touch for noir, for language, and for behaviour.
Here’s the set-up, from the back of Surfing Samurai Robots:
He was the first alien to invade Earth…
He called himself Zoot Marlowe, said he’d just blown in from Bay City, but even the wacked out surfer dudes could tell that the four-foot detective with the giant schnoz was from somewhere out of their world. Still, he could throw a mean frisbee and he said he was a private eye, and when somebody decided to smash and trash all the surfing robots in Malibu just days before the biggest surfing contest of the year, Zoot was the only being around willing to track the bot beaters down.
But Zoot didn’t know just how widespread a conspiracy he was about to run up against. For this first case of his Earthly career would see him taking on everything from the Malibu cops to Samurai robots; motorcycle madmen to talking gorillas; and a misplaced mistress of genetic manipulation…
So, yes, it’s humourous sf. I know a number of people who will hate it on those grounds, but there you go.
Still, you’ve got to marvel. Mixing humour, sf, and noir, and making it work.
And what makes it work? Mainly, Zoot. He’s obsessed with the noir radio shows that his planet has been receiving from Earth, and decides to make a go of it. He never admits he’s an alien to anyone as far as I remember, playing it as straight and Chandleresque as you could hope. But you can see the reactions in the people around him – the confusion, the wary acceptance of his lame excuses for his appearance, the curiosity about what he’s doing and what he is.
He’s got heart. He’s got grit. He’s a true homage to Phillip Marlowe, even if he is hiding behind silly covers.
Right now, I’m re-reading the Dresden Files books for the playtest. Then, I’m halfway through Purity of Blood by Arturo Perez-Reverte.
But then I’m going back to these little gems.
Oh, did I mention the robot duck sidekick?