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Run Man Run
A white undercover cop vents his rage and starts a cycle of violence from which there is no escape. Walker, one of New York's embittered policemen, is vicious when drunk. Staggering into a restaurant on a freezing day, he kills two black workers "because they were there," and pursues a third who witnessed the murders in one of the most suspenseful chases ever put on paper.
192 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1960
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About the author
Chester Himes
105books462followersChester Bomar Himes began writing in the early 1930s while serving a prison sentence for armed robbery. From there, he produced short stories for periodicals such as Esquire and Abbott's Monthly. When released, he focussed on semi-autobiographical protest novels.
In 1953, Himes emigrated to France, where he was approached by Marcel Duhamel of Gallimard to write a detective series for Série Noire, which had published works from the likes of Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett and Jim Thompson. Himes would be the first black author included in the series. The resulting Harlem Cycle gained him celebrity when he won France's Grand Prix de Littérature Policière for La Reine des Pommes (now known in English as A Rage in Harlem) in 1958. Three of these novels have been adapted into movies: Cotton Comes to Harlem, directed by Ossie Davis in 1970; Come Back, Charleston Blue (based on The Heat's On) in 1972; and A Rage in Harlem, starring Gregory Hines and Danny Glover in 1991.
In 1968, Himes moved to Spain where he made his home until his death.
In 1953, Himes emigrated to France, where he was approached by Marcel Duhamel of Gallimard to write a detective series for Série Noire, which had published works from the likes of Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett and Jim Thompson. Himes would be the first black author included in the series. The resulting Harlem Cycle gained him celebrity when he won France's Grand Prix de Littérature Policière for La Reine des Pommes (now known in English as A Rage in Harlem) in 1958. Three of these novels have been adapted into movies: Cotton Comes to Harlem, directed by Ossie Davis in 1970; Come Back, Charleston Blue (based on The Heat's On) in 1972; and A Rage in Harlem, starring Gregory Hines and Danny Glover in 1991.
In 1968, Himes moved to Spain where he made his home until his death.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 50 reviews
March 4, 2011
I went on a quest for some Chester Himes not to long ago, hearing that he was an influence on Joe Lansdale. This was the first of his books I stumbled upon. The blurb on the cover says "Lush sex and stark violence, colored Black and served up raw by a great Negro writer." How could I not buy it?
A drunken cop, Matt Walker, is stumbling around Harlem and can't find his car. He wanders into an automat where three black men are working as porters. He immediately accuses them of stealing his car. While he's pointing his gun at one of them in a drunken rage, the gun goes off "accidentally." Seeing the trouble he'll be in, Walker finishes off the man he shot, kills another porter, and wounds the other, Jimmy Johnson. Johnson survives, but Walker is on his trail...
The suspense in this thing is unbelievable. It's not hard to empathize with Jimmy, what with the psycho cop Walker stalking him at every turn. You also feel for Detective Brock, Walker's brother cop and brother in law. And though some of her behavior is horrible, you even feel for Linda, Jimmy's girlfriend who's not sure what to believe.
You can definitely see how Himes influenced Lansdale. It's not hard to believe that Lansdale's Texas and Himes's Harlem exist in the same world.
I'd recommend this to all crime fans, especially those of the pulp and Hard Case variety.
A drunken cop, Matt Walker, is stumbling around Harlem and can't find his car. He wanders into an automat where three black men are working as porters. He immediately accuses them of stealing his car. While he's pointing his gun at one of them in a drunken rage, the gun goes off "accidentally." Seeing the trouble he'll be in, Walker finishes off the man he shot, kills another porter, and wounds the other, Jimmy Johnson. Johnson survives, but Walker is on his trail...
The suspense in this thing is unbelievable. It's not hard to empathize with Jimmy, what with the psycho cop Walker stalking him at every turn. You also feel for Detective Brock, Walker's brother cop and brother in law. And though some of her behavior is horrible, you even feel for Linda, Jimmy's girlfriend who's not sure what to believe.
You can definitely see how Himes influenced Lansdale. It's not hard to believe that Lansdale's Texas and Himes's Harlem exist in the same world.
I'd recommend this to all crime fans, especially those of the pulp and Hard Case variety.
June 20, 2022
030119: i read this first a book from u in the 80s (not for class). this is my first himes and led me to this other perhaps unappreciated genre in black literature (not all diaspora africans are american... though he is) that of course is first thought of highly in france. maybe it is sentiment but i love this book. when i read this i thought young brad pitt could play older as the mad, dangerous, pathetic white cop. this is how long ago i read this... it is still the case, should anyone say make a crime movie/black comedy, i would want to do this story...
July 17, 2010
I don't have much to say about Run, Man, Run. It's quality Himes. The most fascinating part of the novel is Himes' chilling depiction of the sociopathic detective Matt Walker, whose drunken rage and murders of two black men drive the story. Whether he's seducing and abusing women, murdering witnesses, or justifying himself, Walker is eerily compelling - Himes nails the sociopath's charisma and personality.
March 13, 2021
Incubi in bianco e nero
Sul finire degli anni '50... cosa succede se un poliziotto bianco uccide senza motivo due uomini? Il poliziotto è molto ubriaco e in cerca di guai, i due uomini sono afroamericani che fanno il turno di notte in una tavola calda ad Harlem. E tu sei il terzo che intende far fuori solo perché hai capito cosa ha combinato.
Non ti resta che correre, amico, e anche forte, perché le pallottole hanno già raggiunto il tuo corpo e tu non hai voglia di morire.
Questa è la situazione in cui si trova Jimmy, anche lui inserviente afroamericano, ferito durante la fuga e che, oramai privo di sensi, viene soccorso in extremis da un altro collega inserviente, inconsapevole di essere aiutato proprio da quel poliziotto, Parker, che ha cominciato questo casino e che intende finirlo.
Jimmy viene portato in ospedale, e una volta ripresosi racconta tutta la storia alla polizia che lo interroga.
Un nero che accusa un poliziotto bianco senza nessuna prova e soprattutto senza una motivazione valida per l'accaduto?
Sappiamo tutti come andrà a finire.
Himes parte in grande stile, dilata su molte pagine la scena iniziale di questi omicidi 'casuali' senza mai perdere l'attenzione del lettore. Tutt'altro, riesce a dare vita a una tensione che sin da subito diventa protagonista, non tanto per il fatto in sé ma per le conseguenze che porterà nella vita di Jimmy, qui specchio di un'intera razza.
Parker, il poliziotto bianco ubriacone, è un dannato razzista.
Jimmy, l'inserviente afroamericano, è una brava persona.
Le due cose insieme sono l'esplosivo per sovvertire quelle regole non scritte che vedono il primo dalla parte della giustizia e il secondo no, regole buone, per quanto mi riguarda, per pulircisi il culo.
La tensione di Himes - quella dietro le quinte, quella vera - è una questione ancor oggi irrisolta.
Se volete conoscere i polizieschi di Himes partite da questo, ha un andamento più 'classico'.
Se vi sentire più arditi, invece, non fermatevi solo a questo, vi perdereste il suo caotico universo razziale popolato da una succulenta e verace varietà di personaggi.
Sul finire degli anni '50... cosa succede se un poliziotto bianco uccide senza motivo due uomini? Il poliziotto è molto ubriaco e in cerca di guai, i due uomini sono afroamericani che fanno il turno di notte in una tavola calda ad Harlem. E tu sei il terzo che intende far fuori solo perché hai capito cosa ha combinato.
Non ti resta che correre, amico, e anche forte, perché le pallottole hanno già raggiunto il tuo corpo e tu non hai voglia di morire.
Questa è la situazione in cui si trova Jimmy, anche lui inserviente afroamericano, ferito durante la fuga e che, oramai privo di sensi, viene soccorso in extremis da un altro collega inserviente, inconsapevole di essere aiutato proprio da quel poliziotto, Parker, che ha cominciato questo casino e che intende finirlo.
Jimmy viene portato in ospedale, e una volta ripresosi racconta tutta la storia alla polizia che lo interroga.
Un nero che accusa un poliziotto bianco senza nessuna prova e soprattutto senza una motivazione valida per l'accaduto?
Sappiamo tutti come andrà a finire.
Himes parte in grande stile, dilata su molte pagine la scena iniziale di questi omicidi 'casuali' senza mai perdere l'attenzione del lettore. Tutt'altro, riesce a dare vita a una tensione che sin da subito diventa protagonista, non tanto per il fatto in sé ma per le conseguenze che porterà nella vita di Jimmy, qui specchio di un'intera razza.
Parker, il poliziotto bianco ubriacone, è un dannato razzista.
Jimmy, l'inserviente afroamericano, è una brava persona.
Le due cose insieme sono l'esplosivo per sovvertire quelle regole non scritte che vedono il primo dalla parte della giustizia e il secondo no, regole buone, per quanto mi riguarda, per pulircisi il culo.
La tensione di Himes - quella dietro le quinte, quella vera - è una questione ancor oggi irrisolta.
Se volete conoscere i polizieschi di Himes partite da questo, ha un andamento più 'classico'.
Se vi sentire più arditi, invece, non fermatevi solo a questo, vi perdereste il suo caotico universo razziale popolato da una succulenta e verace varietà di personaggi.
September 30, 2024
Having read his Harlem Detectives (Harlem Cycle) series, this was my first standalone from Himes. Overall, I enjoyed it more as it was less over-the-top violent and caricatured than Gravedigger and Coffin Ed. There were moments when it read like Richard Wright and at other moments seemed like cheap pulp fiction from the bus station spinner. Both are good, of course. Himes' presentation of Black and white worlds colliding and his incisive interplay of white and Black perspectives were the best part of the book as he channeled his inner James Baldwin. Thinking about it afterwards, the ending could easily have gone other ways, and I'm unsure if this was the best alternative. In Chapter 18 Himes provides a valuable nine-book reading list of Black Americana (circa 1966), some titles that are still commonplace and others that are less read, but would be well worth the time to seek out (six of which are in my local public library). [4★]
April 9, 2012
I need one of these from time to time. Just a quick shot of fiction that reads like a good action movie. Good professional writing, in this case from Chester Himes. Well drawn characters in the New York City of the 1960s. Himes knows the geography, sociology and the pshycology and, as it turns out, this book is still relevant to todays world. I wish I could find the cover of the edition I read this from: a 1969 Dell paperback.
October 23, 2023
The 8th of 9 from Crime Novels From the 1960s.
Three separate worlds: Cops who are inoculated from responsibility, black men who just want to survive and possibly flourish as humans, women who are creatures outside of the world and only get a chance to react. The worlds are separate, but not equal.
There is a constant motion within the story and the injustice that permeates is as disturbing today as when it was first written.
Three separate worlds: Cops who are inoculated from responsibility, black men who just want to survive and possibly flourish as humans, women who are creatures outside of the world and only get a chance to react. The worlds are separate, but not equal.
There is a constant motion within the story and the injustice that permeates is as disturbing today as when it was first written.
October 5, 2020
This was my introduction to Chester Himes in 1997 thanks to a contemporary lit class. Run Man Run is what so many other books of the genre wish they could be.
July 5, 2010
Chris Rock once remarked that if there was anything scarier than terrorists it was crazy white guys, but he could have been referring to the crazy white cop in this book.
“Run Man Run� is a brilliant noir novel about a Christmastime drunken white cop who goes berserk in a night owl luncheonette killing two out of three black porters and relentlessly stalking the third porter through the streets of Harlem and Manhattan. Himes makes the streets of New York read like an insane carnival of light and noise. The only question I’ve got is where was Coffin Ed and Gravedigger Jones when all this shit was going down?
“Run Man Run� is a brilliant noir novel about a Christmastime drunken white cop who goes berserk in a night owl luncheonette killing two out of three black porters and relentlessly stalking the third porter through the streets of Harlem and Manhattan. Himes makes the streets of New York read like an insane carnival of light and noise. The only question I’ve got is where was Coffin Ed and Gravedigger Jones when all this shit was going down?
May 26, 2013
un doppio omicidio brutale e insensato, un testimone inconsapevole, un poliziotto folle e razzista e una caccia all'uomo a harlem ma non solo. tra locali equivoci, botteghe di barbieri, bar e case- un altro piccolo affresco di new york. e stavolta, a differenza di "cieco con la pistola" c'è una storia serrata e costruita benissimo. ottimo libro di genere.
October 20, 2024
Must read. Helps one to understand racism.
March 29, 2025
Run Man Run is a dark and terrifying thriller about a white detective gone mad, and his black victims. There’s plenty of racial injustice, but the story is much deeper and more complicated than racial stereotypes, so it didn’t play out the way I was expecting. This book was exciting to the last page. I just read A Rage in Harlem before this one. It was very different, but I am hooked on Chester Himes.
February 26, 2025
Run Man Run by Chester Himes aptly named and chillingly good. Recalled for me a song from back in the day, —For What It’s Worth…by Buffalo Springfield�
“There's something happening here
But what it is ain't exactly clear
There's a man with a gun over there
Telling me I got to beware
I think it's time we stop
Children, what's that sound?
Everybody look, what's going down?
There's battle lines being drawn
Nobody's right if everybody's wrong
Young people speaking their minds
Getting so much resistance from behind
It's time we stop
Hey, what's that sound?
Everybody look, what's going down?
Paranoia strikes deep
Into your life it will creep
It starts when you're always afraid
Step out of line, the men come and take you away
We better stop
Hey, what's that sound?
Everybody look, what's going down?�
Mad cop Matt Walker on Jimmy’s trail. And for Porter #3 —the answer was run� run —and then to finally get a gun.
Drunk-mad cop —you stole my car! Porter 1, Luke —“figured Fat Sam could handle a drunk cop better than himself. Fat Sam had a soft line of Uncle Tom jive and white folks who were distrustful of a lean Negro like himself were always convinced of Fat Sam’s honesty.� —� White folks get to drinking and the first thing they think about is colored folks stealing something from them. You’re from the South, ain’t you?� Mad Cop to Porter #2. � born and raised in Jackson Heights on Long Island and I’ve never lived outside of New York City in my life. I never had nothing against colored people. I don’t know what made me think like that—suspecting you porters. I guess I must have just picked it up.�
Two porters dead, 3rd found wounded. “seeking a shape to the life the murdered men � Luke was a home man with a wife and eleven children � Fat Sam was just the opposite. He lived with a big sloppy woman who looked quite like him and they spent most of their time boozing� � � three interrogators—Lieutenant Baker, Sergeant Brock, and the assistant D.A.—went into the building next door where the wounded porter had been found, and questioned the superintendent and his helper, Joe. � calling the precinct station, of the detective arriving almost immediately following his phone call. He had taken the detective to the basement and they had found the wounded porter. -And then when the porter had regained consciousness, he had accused the detective of being the man who had shot him. The superintendent remembered that the porter had said the detective still carried the gun, but on examination by the patrol car police the detective’s pistol proved to have been unfired. -the lieutenant telephoned homicide and asked to have detective Walker report to him. Then he telephoned Bellevue and ordered Jimmy transferred to the hospital ward of the county jail downtown. -dangerous to transfer him at the time. “All right, as soon as you can,�
“Brock asked to sit in on the questioning of Walker, who was his wife’s brother. The lieutenant hadn’t known this; he was embarrassed. But he consented for Brock to sit in. “Just keep quiet is all,� the assistant D.A. demanded —the arrival of detective Walker. Walker wore the same clothes he had worn all night. His face was redder and his eyes were red-rimmed. He gave Brock an accusing look but nodded dutifully, then turned toward the lieutenant and asked, “You want to talk here?� —“tour of duty is from eight to four in the Times Square district. I deal chiefly with prostitutes and pickpockets but occasionally there are shootings and robberies in the district—� -“Go on.� “Last night, shortly before going off duty, I took a final check on the Broadway Automat to see if there were any wanteds inside or any prostitutes working. There wasn’t anybody in there but bums—� “How could you tell?� the assistant D.A. asked. “Bums look like bums,� he said flatly. “What else you expect� -“I saw a prostitute running toward me—that was south—from 47th Street.� -“I knew she was a prostitute because she looked like a prostitute.� “A big man in a dark overcoat without any hat was chasing her. I cut in front of her and seized her, then I moved to seize the man. But I saw he had an open knife in his hand and I let go the woman to stop him� � “I turned over to Fifth Avenue, still without seeing a soul, and again I drove down to 34th Street—� “Hadn’t it occurred to you she might have gone into a house by then?� the assistant D.A. asked. “She could have,� Walker admitted. “But I wasn’t thinking.� Again all three officials looked at him sharply. “I just wanted to catch that thieving whore.� -It’s an eastbound street�36th—and I couldn’t drive into it—� � “I just parked on Madison at the corner and got out and ran after her. I had to cross Madison and just as I turned into 36th Street she ran up the steps of a house way down the block and disappeared.� � “That was when I saw the Negro. -My first thought was that he was a prowler—� “Why?� the lieutenant asked. “Why what?� Walker was genuinely puzzled. “What made you think he was a prowler?� “Oh, that. Hell, why else would a Negro be in that neighborhood?� “There are Negro janitors and porters and some might even live there.� “This one was a porter.� —Superintendent. “he said if I was a policeman I was just the man he was looking for. He said there was a burglar hiding in the basement of the corner building.� “I asked him for some identification and he produced a Schmidt and Schindler worker’s identity card,� “What did this Negro look like?� the lieutenant asked. “Look like? Like a Negro, what was he supposed to look like?� � “You told the superintendent about your informant?� “He didn’t ask. I just followed him down to the basement where they thought the burglar was hiding.� “Instead, you found another Negro Schmidt and Schindler porter,� “This one was wounded.� “That’s right.� “And he accused you to your face of shooting him?� “That’s right.� “How do you account for that?�
“It’ll take a psychiatrist to figure it out. That’s why I had him sent to Bellevue.� � “Then the Negro porter you met on the street—the informant—might very likely be the murderer himself?� the lieutenant suggested. “Very likely,� Walker said. “At least I think so now.� “The sergeant cautioned me about leaving fingerprints—� “Yes, they found your prints all over.� “That’s what he said, I was leaving them all over. Then suddenly I remembered my car and prisoner—� “What made you remember them all of a sudden?� “How the hell do I know? I just remembered them, that was all.�
“There would be plenty of time after all the facts were in to begin thinking about Walker. Now was the time to try to find a motive.�
Detective Walker on the prowl. “South of 145th Street the Puerto Ricans were taking over, crowding out the Germans and the French, who’d gotten there first. It was like a dark cloud moving over Manhattan, he thought. But it wasn’t his problem; he’d leave it to the city planners, to Commissioner Moses and his men. Looking eastward was Harlem, extending across the island to the Triborough Bridge. Those poor colored people; they had a hard life, he thought. They’d be better off dead, if they only knew it. Hitler had the right idea. —He was back among the pimps and the prostitutes, the racketeers and the horseplayers, the has-been actors and actresses, cheap hotels and cheap people, the tag-end of Times Square. —feeling like the Cock of the Walk. Now he was a man of purpose again; a man with a purpose. If he hadn’t accidentally pulled the trigger and killed Fat Sam, the whole incident would have been just a joke. Now it was double murder; and that wasn’t the end.�
The Harlem scene. “A curtained doorway at the back led to the private club where money was the only requisite for admission. It was another world, a Harlem nightclub for home folks, like nothing else on earth. The atmosphere was both sensual and animal, thick, dense, odorous —But violence always lay cocked and ready in the smoke-filled, whiskey-fumed air. —It was a hangout for people whose business was vice—pimps � The prices were too high for working people. However, Negroes of the middle class—businessmen and professionals, doctors, lawyers, dentists and morticians—came when they were in the mood for slumming. Everyone kept their passions in their own backyard and tended strictly to their own business. Yet sex was the most predominant factor of the overall atmosphere.
—Linda Lou was singing: “Come to me, my melancholy baby, cuddle up and don’t you cry…� She was standing in a baby blue spotlight beside a white baby grand piano at which sat a slim dark man with shiny conked hair, making the soft run of notes sound like falling rain. -Negro woman’s blues voice which lies between soprano and contralto, and is husky on the deep notes and plaintive on the high notes� � “Keep an eye on that chappie,� he ordered. “Shamus?� the bouncer asked. “No, a city dick, but he’s got a sad look, and I don’t trust cops with a sad look about them. They ain’t sad for nothing.� “That’s no lie,� the bouncer said. � act was finished there was a smattering of applause. She knew it didn’t mean they didn’t like her singing; these people just didn’t believe in applause. During her break she went over and sat beside Jimmy. The Jive Fingers, a rhythm group, took over. The Jive Fingers began harmonizing on one of their own songs called “Don’t Blow Joe,� and all over the place big and little feet began patting time.� —Linda Lou -City Dick “These people in here don’t give a hoot in hell for who you are. If I tell them you’re trying to hurt me they’ll cut your throat and leave your carcass in some dirty gutter.� � “Don’t you believe me?� “I believe you,� he said sadly. “That’s what it all comes down to. Who believes who.� “Then get wise to yourself!� —the Jive Fingers filled the silence: “I’m gonna sit right down and write myself a letter, and make believe it came from you…� -she was on again. She began with an old favorite, “If this ain’t love it’ll have to do…� Jimmy heard her over the amplifier in the bar and went back into the club to listen.� —The Dick at LL’s table. -“numbed by a strange bewilderment. He felt lost in a situation which he did not understand. � Someone in the audience cried for “Rocks in My Bed� and she took it and gave out. � An instrumental trio—piano, bass, and drums—had taken over and were knocking themselves out with a vulgar, old-time tune…“Yass-yass-yass!� some loud-mouthed drunken madam shouted. The joint began rocking and jumping, reeling and rolling�. The instruments thundered and another drunken woman screamed uncontrollably, “It’s your ass-ass-ass!”…It’s your ass!� Walker —LL. “He got me suspended from my job. He’s put me under suspicion. Until I catch the killer, I’ll be under suspicion. I’ll never be reinstated on the force. I’m going to keep on following him until the killer shows himself. And the killer’s going to try to kill him the first opportunity he gets. You can bet your sweet life on that.� “The only thing he can do to help himself is to tell who the killer is,� he said in a positive tone of voice. Her face clouded again with suspicion and perplexity. “He’ll only just say it was you.� “That will get him killed for sure,� he said. —She stared into his bright blue eyes as she listened to his hypnotic voice. She felt as though he were casting a spell over her. —“What will be the difference if I tell you who the killer is?� she asked. He leaned forward again and held her gaze. “I will kill him,� She was repulsed by him and at the same time irresistibly drawn to him. He would kill a man, she thought. —“Your friend will go home with you. He’ll want to know what we’ve been talking about, what I’ve said to you. Don’t tell him. Continue to act as though you believe him implicitly. When I see a light in his room, I’ll come up to your flat to see what you’ve found out. Okay?� She wanted to tell him not to come, but she found herself saying. “All right,� against her will.� —Jive Fingers had just come on again and were giving out in a frenzy with: “It ain’t what you do but it’s the way that you do it…� Jimmy. “I just wished you hadn’t talked to that murdering son of a bitch,� “You act as if I wanted to talk to him; as if I had enjoyed it. —just did it for you.� “I know you did.� “You’re all I got,� he said. “If you don’t believe me, who will?� -She too was overcome by a sudden wave of tenderness. She stroked his kinky hair. It felt stiff and electric to her touch, inspiring an indefinable thrill. � “It’d just make it easier for us to get a case against him and get others to believe you too if he looked more like the type who’d do such a thing.� “If he looked like a murderer?� he exploded. “What’s a murderer supposed to look like?� “I mean if he looked vicious,� � But he doesn’t act as if he’s got any prejudice at all.� � he’s the man. I saw him as well as I see you.� -You were coming up the stairs and the first thing you knew somebody was shooting at you—� “Not somebody—him!� —“All you think is, Run, man, run for your life. But you see him all right. You see him in a way you’ll never forget him.� � He’d kill the killer, he had said, but she couldn’t believe he’d murder two defenseless colored men and shoot at Jimmy without warning. Is that possible? For him to shoot you without any reason at all?� “White men’ve been killing colored men for years for no reason you’d understand.� —he’s on the vice squad, too. There’s no telling what might happen to a man’s mind who constantly associates with criminals and prostitutes.� —“You don’t even believe me yourself, because of how he looks—� “How do you think he looks to them, who’re white like he is? They’ll think I’m the one who’s a schizophrene. Maybe you’re beginning to think so too, since you’ve talked to him.� “What I thought was, maybe we could figure out some way to get him out into the open. “I don’t know what to think anymore,� she confessed.� “Stay with me, honey,� she pleaded. “Hold me in your arms. I need you as much as you need me. Don’t run out on me.� “I need you too, but you’ve already run out on me,� he accused. “I’ll go my way alone.� Jimmy headed toward the elevator, moving like a sleepwalker, tight inside that he felt wooden and his breath wouldn’t go any deeper than his throat. But the emasculating notion persisted: His girl had turned against him for a white man � Jimmy wheeled about stricken gaze locked with Walker’s opaque blue stare. The next instant he was running. He was leaping up the stairs. He was running for his life.
Jimmy runs, and gets himself a gun� � “There’s a good show at the Apollo,� he said. “It’s a matinee today.� “You ought to catch it.� “What for?� -� might interest a man like you from Durham, North Carolina,� he said just as carefully. “Got one act by two comedians you ought to like. One of these comedians says where can I buy a gun? Other comedian says you ought to go to the Apollo, man. First comedian asks, they sells guns at the Apollo? Second comedian says naw, man, that’s a theatre where a man can get a seat First comedian asks how come all of that just to see a show? Second comedian says you want to buy a gun, don’t you? First comedian says sure. Second comedian says that’s the way I like to see shows.� Jimmy had got it. “Right,� he said. “I’d like to see that show.� “The price is right. Twenty bucks.� “Best time to be there is around three-thirty,� “Big or little?� he asked. “Not too big, not too little,� Jimmy said. “That’s what I always say,� the bartender agreed, looking relieved. “Give a woman that’s not too old and not too young.� “A buck, twenty.� Jimmy gave him two dollar bills, picked up a half dollar of the change. He slid from his stool and said, “I’m sure going to see that show.�
Waiting for the Apollo show —Jimmy � “read the titles of books by colored authors in the showcase of the hotel bookstore. Black No More, by George Schuyler, he read; Black Thunder, by arna bontemps; The Blacker the Berry, by Wallace Thurman; Black Metropolis, by Cayton and Drake; Black Boy, by Richard Wright; Banana Bottom, by Claude McKay; The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man, by James Weldon Johnson; The Conjure-Man Dies, by Rudolph Fisher, Not Without Laughter, by Langston Hughes.�
What? No Chester Himes? Well � Run Man Run� more of my highlights visible, but you better get yourself this read.
“There's something happening here
But what it is ain't exactly clear
There's a man with a gun over there
Telling me I got to beware
I think it's time we stop
Children, what's that sound?
Everybody look, what's going down?
There's battle lines being drawn
Nobody's right if everybody's wrong
Young people speaking their minds
Getting so much resistance from behind
It's time we stop
Hey, what's that sound?
Everybody look, what's going down?
Paranoia strikes deep
Into your life it will creep
It starts when you're always afraid
Step out of line, the men come and take you away
We better stop
Hey, what's that sound?
Everybody look, what's going down?�
Mad cop Matt Walker on Jimmy’s trail. And for Porter #3 —the answer was run� run —and then to finally get a gun.
Drunk-mad cop —you stole my car! Porter 1, Luke —“figured Fat Sam could handle a drunk cop better than himself. Fat Sam had a soft line of Uncle Tom jive and white folks who were distrustful of a lean Negro like himself were always convinced of Fat Sam’s honesty.� —� White folks get to drinking and the first thing they think about is colored folks stealing something from them. You’re from the South, ain’t you?� Mad Cop to Porter #2. � born and raised in Jackson Heights on Long Island and I’ve never lived outside of New York City in my life. I never had nothing against colored people. I don’t know what made me think like that—suspecting you porters. I guess I must have just picked it up.�
Two porters dead, 3rd found wounded. “seeking a shape to the life the murdered men � Luke was a home man with a wife and eleven children � Fat Sam was just the opposite. He lived with a big sloppy woman who looked quite like him and they spent most of their time boozing� � � three interrogators—Lieutenant Baker, Sergeant Brock, and the assistant D.A.—went into the building next door where the wounded porter had been found, and questioned the superintendent and his helper, Joe. � calling the precinct station, of the detective arriving almost immediately following his phone call. He had taken the detective to the basement and they had found the wounded porter. -And then when the porter had regained consciousness, he had accused the detective of being the man who had shot him. The superintendent remembered that the porter had said the detective still carried the gun, but on examination by the patrol car police the detective’s pistol proved to have been unfired. -the lieutenant telephoned homicide and asked to have detective Walker report to him. Then he telephoned Bellevue and ordered Jimmy transferred to the hospital ward of the county jail downtown. -dangerous to transfer him at the time. “All right, as soon as you can,�
“Brock asked to sit in on the questioning of Walker, who was his wife’s brother. The lieutenant hadn’t known this; he was embarrassed. But he consented for Brock to sit in. “Just keep quiet is all,� the assistant D.A. demanded —the arrival of detective Walker. Walker wore the same clothes he had worn all night. His face was redder and his eyes were red-rimmed. He gave Brock an accusing look but nodded dutifully, then turned toward the lieutenant and asked, “You want to talk here?� —“tour of duty is from eight to four in the Times Square district. I deal chiefly with prostitutes and pickpockets but occasionally there are shootings and robberies in the district—� -“Go on.� “Last night, shortly before going off duty, I took a final check on the Broadway Automat to see if there were any wanteds inside or any prostitutes working. There wasn’t anybody in there but bums—� “How could you tell?� the assistant D.A. asked. “Bums look like bums,� he said flatly. “What else you expect� -“I saw a prostitute running toward me—that was south—from 47th Street.� -“I knew she was a prostitute because she looked like a prostitute.� “A big man in a dark overcoat without any hat was chasing her. I cut in front of her and seized her, then I moved to seize the man. But I saw he had an open knife in his hand and I let go the woman to stop him� � “I turned over to Fifth Avenue, still without seeing a soul, and again I drove down to 34th Street—� “Hadn’t it occurred to you she might have gone into a house by then?� the assistant D.A. asked. “She could have,� Walker admitted. “But I wasn’t thinking.� Again all three officials looked at him sharply. “I just wanted to catch that thieving whore.� -It’s an eastbound street�36th—and I couldn’t drive into it—� � “I just parked on Madison at the corner and got out and ran after her. I had to cross Madison and just as I turned into 36th Street she ran up the steps of a house way down the block and disappeared.� � “That was when I saw the Negro. -My first thought was that he was a prowler—� “Why?� the lieutenant asked. “Why what?� Walker was genuinely puzzled. “What made you think he was a prowler?� “Oh, that. Hell, why else would a Negro be in that neighborhood?� “There are Negro janitors and porters and some might even live there.� “This one was a porter.� —Superintendent. “he said if I was a policeman I was just the man he was looking for. He said there was a burglar hiding in the basement of the corner building.� “I asked him for some identification and he produced a Schmidt and Schindler worker’s identity card,� “What did this Negro look like?� the lieutenant asked. “Look like? Like a Negro, what was he supposed to look like?� � “You told the superintendent about your informant?� “He didn’t ask. I just followed him down to the basement where they thought the burglar was hiding.� “Instead, you found another Negro Schmidt and Schindler porter,� “This one was wounded.� “That’s right.� “And he accused you to your face of shooting him?� “That’s right.� “How do you account for that?�
“It’ll take a psychiatrist to figure it out. That’s why I had him sent to Bellevue.� � “Then the Negro porter you met on the street—the informant—might very likely be the murderer himself?� the lieutenant suggested. “Very likely,� Walker said. “At least I think so now.� “The sergeant cautioned me about leaving fingerprints—� “Yes, they found your prints all over.� “That’s what he said, I was leaving them all over. Then suddenly I remembered my car and prisoner—� “What made you remember them all of a sudden?� “How the hell do I know? I just remembered them, that was all.�
“There would be plenty of time after all the facts were in to begin thinking about Walker. Now was the time to try to find a motive.�
Detective Walker on the prowl. “South of 145th Street the Puerto Ricans were taking over, crowding out the Germans and the French, who’d gotten there first. It was like a dark cloud moving over Manhattan, he thought. But it wasn’t his problem; he’d leave it to the city planners, to Commissioner Moses and his men. Looking eastward was Harlem, extending across the island to the Triborough Bridge. Those poor colored people; they had a hard life, he thought. They’d be better off dead, if they only knew it. Hitler had the right idea. —He was back among the pimps and the prostitutes, the racketeers and the horseplayers, the has-been actors and actresses, cheap hotels and cheap people, the tag-end of Times Square. —feeling like the Cock of the Walk. Now he was a man of purpose again; a man with a purpose. If he hadn’t accidentally pulled the trigger and killed Fat Sam, the whole incident would have been just a joke. Now it was double murder; and that wasn’t the end.�
The Harlem scene. “A curtained doorway at the back led to the private club where money was the only requisite for admission. It was another world, a Harlem nightclub for home folks, like nothing else on earth. The atmosphere was both sensual and animal, thick, dense, odorous —But violence always lay cocked and ready in the smoke-filled, whiskey-fumed air. —It was a hangout for people whose business was vice—pimps � The prices were too high for working people. However, Negroes of the middle class—businessmen and professionals, doctors, lawyers, dentists and morticians—came when they were in the mood for slumming. Everyone kept their passions in their own backyard and tended strictly to their own business. Yet sex was the most predominant factor of the overall atmosphere.
—Linda Lou was singing: “Come to me, my melancholy baby, cuddle up and don’t you cry…� She was standing in a baby blue spotlight beside a white baby grand piano at which sat a slim dark man with shiny conked hair, making the soft run of notes sound like falling rain. -Negro woman’s blues voice which lies between soprano and contralto, and is husky on the deep notes and plaintive on the high notes� � “Keep an eye on that chappie,� he ordered. “Shamus?� the bouncer asked. “No, a city dick, but he’s got a sad look, and I don’t trust cops with a sad look about them. They ain’t sad for nothing.� “That’s no lie,� the bouncer said. � act was finished there was a smattering of applause. She knew it didn’t mean they didn’t like her singing; these people just didn’t believe in applause. During her break she went over and sat beside Jimmy. The Jive Fingers, a rhythm group, took over. The Jive Fingers began harmonizing on one of their own songs called “Don’t Blow Joe,� and all over the place big and little feet began patting time.� —Linda Lou -City Dick “These people in here don’t give a hoot in hell for who you are. If I tell them you’re trying to hurt me they’ll cut your throat and leave your carcass in some dirty gutter.� � “Don’t you believe me?� “I believe you,� he said sadly. “That’s what it all comes down to. Who believes who.� “Then get wise to yourself!� —the Jive Fingers filled the silence: “I’m gonna sit right down and write myself a letter, and make believe it came from you…� -she was on again. She began with an old favorite, “If this ain’t love it’ll have to do…� Jimmy heard her over the amplifier in the bar and went back into the club to listen.� —The Dick at LL’s table. -“numbed by a strange bewilderment. He felt lost in a situation which he did not understand. � Someone in the audience cried for “Rocks in My Bed� and she took it and gave out. � An instrumental trio—piano, bass, and drums—had taken over and were knocking themselves out with a vulgar, old-time tune…“Yass-yass-yass!� some loud-mouthed drunken madam shouted. The joint began rocking and jumping, reeling and rolling�. The instruments thundered and another drunken woman screamed uncontrollably, “It’s your ass-ass-ass!”…It’s your ass!� Walker —LL. “He got me suspended from my job. He’s put me under suspicion. Until I catch the killer, I’ll be under suspicion. I’ll never be reinstated on the force. I’m going to keep on following him until the killer shows himself. And the killer’s going to try to kill him the first opportunity he gets. You can bet your sweet life on that.� “The only thing he can do to help himself is to tell who the killer is,� he said in a positive tone of voice. Her face clouded again with suspicion and perplexity. “He’ll only just say it was you.� “That will get him killed for sure,� he said. —She stared into his bright blue eyes as she listened to his hypnotic voice. She felt as though he were casting a spell over her. —“What will be the difference if I tell you who the killer is?� she asked. He leaned forward again and held her gaze. “I will kill him,� She was repulsed by him and at the same time irresistibly drawn to him. He would kill a man, she thought. —“Your friend will go home with you. He’ll want to know what we’ve been talking about, what I’ve said to you. Don’t tell him. Continue to act as though you believe him implicitly. When I see a light in his room, I’ll come up to your flat to see what you’ve found out. Okay?� She wanted to tell him not to come, but she found herself saying. “All right,� against her will.� —Jive Fingers had just come on again and were giving out in a frenzy with: “It ain’t what you do but it’s the way that you do it…� Jimmy. “I just wished you hadn’t talked to that murdering son of a bitch,� “You act as if I wanted to talk to him; as if I had enjoyed it. —just did it for you.� “I know you did.� “You’re all I got,� he said. “If you don’t believe me, who will?� -She too was overcome by a sudden wave of tenderness. She stroked his kinky hair. It felt stiff and electric to her touch, inspiring an indefinable thrill. � “It’d just make it easier for us to get a case against him and get others to believe you too if he looked more like the type who’d do such a thing.� “If he looked like a murderer?� he exploded. “What’s a murderer supposed to look like?� “I mean if he looked vicious,� � But he doesn’t act as if he’s got any prejudice at all.� � he’s the man. I saw him as well as I see you.� -You were coming up the stairs and the first thing you knew somebody was shooting at you—� “Not somebody—him!� —“All you think is, Run, man, run for your life. But you see him all right. You see him in a way you’ll never forget him.� � He’d kill the killer, he had said, but she couldn’t believe he’d murder two defenseless colored men and shoot at Jimmy without warning. Is that possible? For him to shoot you without any reason at all?� “White men’ve been killing colored men for years for no reason you’d understand.� —he’s on the vice squad, too. There’s no telling what might happen to a man’s mind who constantly associates with criminals and prostitutes.� —“You don’t even believe me yourself, because of how he looks—� “How do you think he looks to them, who’re white like he is? They’ll think I’m the one who’s a schizophrene. Maybe you’re beginning to think so too, since you’ve talked to him.� “What I thought was, maybe we could figure out some way to get him out into the open. “I don’t know what to think anymore,� she confessed.� “Stay with me, honey,� she pleaded. “Hold me in your arms. I need you as much as you need me. Don’t run out on me.� “I need you too, but you’ve already run out on me,� he accused. “I’ll go my way alone.� Jimmy headed toward the elevator, moving like a sleepwalker, tight inside that he felt wooden and his breath wouldn’t go any deeper than his throat. But the emasculating notion persisted: His girl had turned against him for a white man � Jimmy wheeled about stricken gaze locked with Walker’s opaque blue stare. The next instant he was running. He was leaping up the stairs. He was running for his life.
Jimmy runs, and gets himself a gun� � “There’s a good show at the Apollo,� he said. “It’s a matinee today.� “You ought to catch it.� “What for?� -� might interest a man like you from Durham, North Carolina,� he said just as carefully. “Got one act by two comedians you ought to like. One of these comedians says where can I buy a gun? Other comedian says you ought to go to the Apollo, man. First comedian asks, they sells guns at the Apollo? Second comedian says naw, man, that’s a theatre where a man can get a seat First comedian asks how come all of that just to see a show? Second comedian says you want to buy a gun, don’t you? First comedian says sure. Second comedian says that’s the way I like to see shows.� Jimmy had got it. “Right,� he said. “I’d like to see that show.� “The price is right. Twenty bucks.� “Best time to be there is around three-thirty,� “Big or little?� he asked. “Not too big, not too little,� Jimmy said. “That’s what I always say,� the bartender agreed, looking relieved. “Give a woman that’s not too old and not too young.� “A buck, twenty.� Jimmy gave him two dollar bills, picked up a half dollar of the change. He slid from his stool and said, “I’m sure going to see that show.�
Waiting for the Apollo show —Jimmy � “read the titles of books by colored authors in the showcase of the hotel bookstore. Black No More, by George Schuyler, he read; Black Thunder, by arna bontemps; The Blacker the Berry, by Wallace Thurman; Black Metropolis, by Cayton and Drake; Black Boy, by Richard Wright; Banana Bottom, by Claude McKay; The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man, by James Weldon Johnson; The Conjure-Man Dies, by Rudolph Fisher, Not Without Laughter, by Langston Hughes.�
What? No Chester Himes? Well � Run Man Run� more of my highlights visible, but you better get yourself this read.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 2, 2023
Another novel from Library of America's "Crime Novels: Four Classic Thrillers 1964-1969" collection, which I received from Netgalley; of the quartet of crime novels, this was the one I looked forward to the most, together with Margaret Millar's "The Fiend": it sounded so exciting! (Also, unfortunately, quite timely.) A bad cop chasing an innocent Black man through NYC, intent on eliminating the only eyewitness to a horrendous double murder, what's not to like, story-wise? The description made it sound like this was a very tight, fast, compact story, likely playing out in the space of a single night.
Well.
Turns out this is NOT what's inside the box. The described chase is over after the first chapter or so; what follows is lots of hand wringing, and talking (mostly variations on "he's out there, he'll get me, will no one believe me", which gets old a lot sooner than seems humanly possible, mostly due to prose that seemed barely competent to me and the fact that the hunted man is so, SO unlikable), and weird interactions between strangely unformed characters. This novel goes on and on and ON, long past the point where I lost interest and, later, much of the will to live, or at least to read.
I also found it in questionable taste, to put it this way; I mean, what's going ON in that Harlem nightclub?? Let's see:
The atmosphere was both sensual and animal, thick, dense, odorous, pungent and perfumed. Bulls herded their cows. They were domesticated bulls but they were dangerous. [...] Every bull had his cow with heavy udders filled with sex, smelling of the breeding pen, cows that had been topped again and again and wanted to be topped again indefinitely. WTF? Also, can I please go home now?
The author obviously belongs to the More is More school of writing when it comes to adjectives, making for some mediocre to plain idiotic writing straight out of Bad Style 101: "'Shit!' she exclaimed irritably.", "'Oh God,' she whispered sobbingly", "She sighed feelingly." In case the reader is still too thick to work the characters' Feels out for themselves, the author is ready with a helping hand: "Linda's eyes stretched. It was meant to show disapproval." Ah! I see! Now I only need to know how eyes can possibly "stretch" and everything will start to make sense.
Some of the prose doesn't border on the purple so much as downride straddle it and push it to the ground: His panic-stricken muscles were straining in incredible frenzy like a wild stallion in a fit of stone-blind terror. Or what to make of this: The fear came up into her loins like sexual torture. (Of course the lady in question will go to bed with the fear-inducing gent within a couple of pages, because this is simply that kind of book. In fact, they'll screw like jackrabbits. It's all a bit, okaaaay...) The eroticism generally feels like it's been sitting out in the sun too long: Then she went as sweet as sugar candy. Her big brown eyes got limpid and her mouth got wet. Her body folded into his. He could feel her pointed breasts through the thickness of their coats. Ouch! Talk about pointed...
Women are treated in a way that you might want to call old school if you were feeling generous (nothing like a slap in the face when the broad gets hysterical with fear); the one recurring female is basically in a state of perma-arousal when she's around men, which made for some, um, interesting reading. Her main function seems to be a fairly worrisome fixation on her man; she only exists in relation to him, and of course to deliver the verbal cues that let him spool off his interminable loop of fears, convictions and suspicions, 99% of which are so underwhelming and pedestrian as to make the reader (well, me) howl with exasperation.
This felt like a long, long excercise in Blaxploitation without the camp aspect; it actually made me angry. Also, I found it hard to believe that it wasn't even 200 pages long -- to me, it seemed to go on FOREVER, because there wasn't actually that much happening apart from lots and lots of unconvincing and unexciting dialogue between wooden characters.
Just not for me, I guess.
Well.
Turns out this is NOT what's inside the box. The described chase is over after the first chapter or so; what follows is lots of hand wringing, and talking (mostly variations on "he's out there, he'll get me, will no one believe me", which gets old a lot sooner than seems humanly possible, mostly due to prose that seemed barely competent to me and the fact that the hunted man is so, SO unlikable), and weird interactions between strangely unformed characters. This novel goes on and on and ON, long past the point where I lost interest and, later, much of the will to live, or at least to read.
I also found it in questionable taste, to put it this way; I mean, what's going ON in that Harlem nightclub?? Let's see:
The atmosphere was both sensual and animal, thick, dense, odorous, pungent and perfumed. Bulls herded their cows. They were domesticated bulls but they were dangerous. [...] Every bull had his cow with heavy udders filled with sex, smelling of the breeding pen, cows that had been topped again and again and wanted to be topped again indefinitely. WTF? Also, can I please go home now?
The author obviously belongs to the More is More school of writing when it comes to adjectives, making for some mediocre to plain idiotic writing straight out of Bad Style 101: "'Shit!' she exclaimed irritably.", "'Oh God,' she whispered sobbingly", "She sighed feelingly." In case the reader is still too thick to work the characters' Feels out for themselves, the author is ready with a helping hand: "Linda's eyes stretched. It was meant to show disapproval." Ah! I see! Now I only need to know how eyes can possibly "stretch" and everything will start to make sense.
Some of the prose doesn't border on the purple so much as downride straddle it and push it to the ground: His panic-stricken muscles were straining in incredible frenzy like a wild stallion in a fit of stone-blind terror. Or what to make of this: The fear came up into her loins like sexual torture. (Of course the lady in question will go to bed with the fear-inducing gent within a couple of pages, because this is simply that kind of book. In fact, they'll screw like jackrabbits. It's all a bit, okaaaay...) The eroticism generally feels like it's been sitting out in the sun too long: Then she went as sweet as sugar candy. Her big brown eyes got limpid and her mouth got wet. Her body folded into his. He could feel her pointed breasts through the thickness of their coats. Ouch! Talk about pointed...
Women are treated in a way that you might want to call old school if you were feeling generous (nothing like a slap in the face when the broad gets hysterical with fear); the one recurring female is basically in a state of perma-arousal when she's around men, which made for some, um, interesting reading. Her main function seems to be a fairly worrisome fixation on her man; she only exists in relation to him, and of course to deliver the verbal cues that let him spool off his interminable loop of fears, convictions and suspicions, 99% of which are so underwhelming and pedestrian as to make the reader (well, me) howl with exasperation.
This felt like a long, long excercise in Blaxploitation without the camp aspect; it actually made me angry. Also, I found it hard to believe that it wasn't even 200 pages long -- to me, it seemed to go on FOREVER, because there wasn't actually that much happening apart from lots and lots of unconvincing and unexciting dialogue between wooden characters.
Just not for me, I guess.
June 4, 2022
A black restaurant porter who survives a random attack by a drunken white cop must evade the murderer's attempt to tie up loose ends. Impossible not to compare this with the better-known Harlem Detectives series, and there's a lot of overlap: low-level scam artists, deceitful and beautiful women, corruption of literally every form, delicious soul food, hot music, brutal violence, etc. The main character, Jimmy, is a bit too blandly good, an aspirational figure -- the hardworking valedictorian type from the south who moves up north and must take a menial job to finance his education. He's not thin or bad, there's just not a lot of texture to him. The murderer, too, is a little thin, although we get some good POV narration when he's reflecting on the money and favors he extracts as a vice cop. The larger sociological observations on race relations and inequality (familiar to anyone who's read the Harlem Detective cycle) are nicely complemented by the basically random nature of the original crime. It's because of the structural inequality that the cop, Matt, is able to blithely harass the working men, but it takes a certain element of random, individual chance to set the caper in motion -- this keeps the book from having the feeling of a pamphlet, and gives a certain energy to the chase.
It's Chester Himes so you know there's going to be some incredibly cynical takes on relations between men and women, blacks and whites, cops and robbers. When white detective Brock interviews the widows of the two slain porters and feels _more_ comfortable around the slovenly one than he does around the hardworking mother of eight, I found that a very compelling insight. There's also the tendency, repeated several times in Harlem Detectives, of drunken white men to suddenly become aggressive and overly solicitous toward black men. (I believe that Malcolm X refers to this as well in the first part of his Autobiography.) Of course Himes is great at dissecting these pathologies, where hidden, secretive personal-sexual quirks collide with the massive, impersonal tide of history. He also gives us some good rendering of the economy of the underworld when Jimmy approaches a bartender to arrange for the purchase of an illegal pistol.
Was going to give this one 3 stars bc the characters and scenes don't quite measure up to the madcap creativity of Harlem Detectives, but summarizing all the insight and observation made me go up a star. For Chester Himes completionists this is a quick must-read; for people who've never read any Himes, start with A Rage in Harlem or one of the other high-ranking HD books.
It's Chester Himes so you know there's going to be some incredibly cynical takes on relations between men and women, blacks and whites, cops and robbers. When white detective Brock interviews the widows of the two slain porters and feels _more_ comfortable around the slovenly one than he does around the hardworking mother of eight, I found that a very compelling insight. There's also the tendency, repeated several times in Harlem Detectives, of drunken white men to suddenly become aggressive and overly solicitous toward black men. (I believe that Malcolm X refers to this as well in the first part of his Autobiography.) Of course Himes is great at dissecting these pathologies, where hidden, secretive personal-sexual quirks collide with the massive, impersonal tide of history. He also gives us some good rendering of the economy of the underworld when Jimmy approaches a bartender to arrange for the purchase of an illegal pistol.
Was going to give this one 3 stars bc the characters and scenes don't quite measure up to the madcap creativity of Harlem Detectives, but summarizing all the insight and observation made me go up a star. For Chester Himes completionists this is a quick must-read; for people who've never read any Himes, start with A Rage in Harlem or one of the other high-ranking HD books.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Read
May 21, 2020Noir estremamente avvincente che procede a ritmo serrato dall'inizio alla fine. Alla vicenda si legano le riflessioni sul razzismo americano e sulla violenza nella vita quotidiana di una delle città più avanzate e civili del mondo. Himes è stato in grado di creare una trama tale che per i personaggi non c'è niente di certo (non per il lettore, che sa già cos'è successo dalle prime pagine), per cui spesso si abbandonano alla paranoia e ti fanno provare da vicino cosa può significare trovarsi in una situazione in cui qualcuno vuole ucciderti, ma poiché in alcuni punti ci si focalizza sull'assassino si arriva anche a capire cosa si prova a sentire che non c'è altra via d'uscita se non uccidere, ancora e ancora.
January 7, 2014
Upon being assigned this book for my Texts & Contexts class, I was really hesitant about how I would receive it judging on the previous books we were obligated to read. However, I was surprised that I actually thoroughly enjoyed the dark, haunting, and invigoratingly sensual suspense that Chester Himes entwines into each sentence on every page. I've never been one to go for a "thriller" novel ( I've been so brainwashed to think that only movies can achieve that feeling), but this book was really a great read from start to finish.
April 8, 2020
Uau.
Un noir che più nero non si può.
Ci sono tutti gli elementi del genere: una fredda e spietata NY, un poliziotto marcio, un ragazzo innocente e disperato, una femme fatale.
Ma è tutto speculare rispetto ai noir tradizionali perché Chester Himes è uno dei pochissimi scrittori noir afroamericani, con una scrittura precisa e efficace, un ritmo serrato e un occhio disincantato e realistico sulla condizione dei neri nelle grandi città americane.
Da leggere assolutamente se ti piace Ellroy, McBain e compagnia bella.
Un noir che più nero non si può.
Ci sono tutti gli elementi del genere: una fredda e spietata NY, un poliziotto marcio, un ragazzo innocente e disperato, una femme fatale.
Ma è tutto speculare rispetto ai noir tradizionali perché Chester Himes è uno dei pochissimi scrittori noir afroamericani, con una scrittura precisa e efficace, un ritmo serrato e un occhio disincantato e realistico sulla condizione dei neri nelle grandi città americane.
Da leggere assolutamente se ti piace Ellroy, McBain e compagnia bella.
September 9, 2016
Un excellent Chester Himes!
September 9, 2016
Un excellent Chester Himes!
January 18, 2021
Run Man Run by Chester Himes is a brilliant suspense novel that holds my attention 'til the last page.
We follow psychopathic undercover cop Matt Walker as he hunts down the last witness to the murder of two innocent black laborers one drunken night at a Manhattan cafeteria.
The witness, Jimmy, is an interesting & compelling character. We root for him. We understand his fears and anxieties and get why he feels that procuring a pistol and taking action is the only way he'll survive.
I also like Jimmy’s girlfriend Linda -- at least at first. Why is she so enamored by the killer Matt Walker? Matt is a maniac while drunk, and I am not convinced that he is as charming as portrayed during his conversation with Linda in the nightclub. Linda falls for his gaslighting in a matter of moments. I found the scene to be entirely unbelievable and dismissive of a woman’s intelligence and intuition.
Things I thought about when I read: Racism; Systemic police violence; Cover-ups; The blue line; The mesmerizing and blinding power of whiteness; The way women are portrayed--weak, easily manipulated by men.
Questionable gender stereotypes aside, the cat and mouse chase threads through the short novel in a way that mesmerizes & captivates.
The monster is Matt, though fellow cop and brother-in-law Brock knows Matt is guilty but wants him to get away with the murders so that Brock's wife and kids won't have to face the reality that their brother/uncle is a racist murderer.
Brock is amoral and self-serving in a way that highlights the twisted power that allows police to discern which laws to uphold and which ones to self-servingly ignore.
What about the nature of a police system that allows for violent men like Matt to hide behind the badge? Matt faces more consequences here than modern cops face after killing innocent black men in the streets.
Is Chester Himes being whimsical in his evaluation of policing in the United States? Were the times different? Is he fibbing the truth to make his book publishable? Or is this a failure to see policing in the United States as it really is--not far removed from the slave patrols of the early 19th century?
I wanted to give this book five stars, but the portrayal of Linda disappointed. Nonetheless, this is one of the best Himes novels that I’ve read & one I would recommend widely as an exemplary model of suspense fiction, an indictment of individual police power, and a sober window into the world of black lives in Harlem in racist 1960s-era US.
Recommended.
We follow psychopathic undercover cop Matt Walker as he hunts down the last witness to the murder of two innocent black laborers one drunken night at a Manhattan cafeteria.
The witness, Jimmy, is an interesting & compelling character. We root for him. We understand his fears and anxieties and get why he feels that procuring a pistol and taking action is the only way he'll survive.
I also like Jimmy’s girlfriend Linda -- at least at first. Why is she so enamored by the killer Matt Walker? Matt is a maniac while drunk, and I am not convinced that he is as charming as portrayed during his conversation with Linda in the nightclub. Linda falls for his gaslighting in a matter of moments. I found the scene to be entirely unbelievable and dismissive of a woman’s intelligence and intuition.
Things I thought about when I read: Racism; Systemic police violence; Cover-ups; The blue line; The mesmerizing and blinding power of whiteness; The way women are portrayed--weak, easily manipulated by men.
Questionable gender stereotypes aside, the cat and mouse chase threads through the short novel in a way that mesmerizes & captivates.
The monster is Matt, though fellow cop and brother-in-law Brock knows Matt is guilty but wants him to get away with the murders so that Brock's wife and kids won't have to face the reality that their brother/uncle is a racist murderer.
Brock is amoral and self-serving in a way that highlights the twisted power that allows police to discern which laws to uphold and which ones to self-servingly ignore.
What about the nature of a police system that allows for violent men like Matt to hide behind the badge? Matt faces more consequences here than modern cops face after killing innocent black men in the streets.
Is Chester Himes being whimsical in his evaluation of policing in the United States? Were the times different? Is he fibbing the truth to make his book publishable? Or is this a failure to see policing in the United States as it really is--not far removed from the slave patrols of the early 19th century?
I wanted to give this book five stars, but the portrayal of Linda disappointed. Nonetheless, this is one of the best Himes novels that I’ve read & one I would recommend widely as an exemplary model of suspense fiction, an indictment of individual police power, and a sober window into the world of black lives in Harlem in racist 1960s-era US.
Recommended.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 21, 2024
This review originally published in . Rated 3.0 of 5
Matt Walker is a white cop with a bad temper. Drunk and stumbling around Harlem after a rough visit with a prostitute one night, Walker can't find his car and is sure that a Black man - a porter at the hotel - he runs into has stolen it. He threatens the man, pointing a gun at him, trying to make him say where the car is when the gun 'accidentally' goes off. Walker isn't so drunk that he isn't aware of the trouble he'll be in, so he finishes the man off- killing him with another shot.
Another Black porter is aware of what's happened and Walker kills him as well. And still another man, Jimmy Johnson, is in Walker's way to a free and clear exit and Walker shoots him, too. But Jimmy survives and when he wakes from his coma, he points the finger at Walker. But Walker was at least smart enough not to use his service revolver (which was tested after the allegation) so who are people going to believe? A New York cop or a Black man in Harlem?
But Walker isn't satisfied leaving a possible witness to his crime and stalks Johnson, looking for a way to get rid of him. What Walker doesn't know is that he is also being stalked - by someone he would never suspect.
It's more than a little bit sad that a story about a cop killing a Black man, published in 1960, is still a story that resonates, perhaps even more-so, today.
I have to be honest and say that this kind of racism is really hard for me to read and enjoy. Of course I read through it, hoping that Walker would not come out unscathed, but it's still the rare kind of story that puts me on edge and I really have difficulty enjoying.
There's a fair amount of tension in the stalking, which I suspect is what holds this book together for most readers, but I actually found it not only uncomfortable, but a bit boring.
This is not a book I would recommend and it's not something I would consider to be a classic.
Looking for a good book? Run Man Run by Chester Himes is a thriller from 1960 that is much too close to home today and shows how poorly we've done with race relations.
Matt Walker is a white cop with a bad temper. Drunk and stumbling around Harlem after a rough visit with a prostitute one night, Walker can't find his car and is sure that a Black man - a porter at the hotel - he runs into has stolen it. He threatens the man, pointing a gun at him, trying to make him say where the car is when the gun 'accidentally' goes off. Walker isn't so drunk that he isn't aware of the trouble he'll be in, so he finishes the man off- killing him with another shot.
Another Black porter is aware of what's happened and Walker kills him as well. And still another man, Jimmy Johnson, is in Walker's way to a free and clear exit and Walker shoots him, too. But Jimmy survives and when he wakes from his coma, he points the finger at Walker. But Walker was at least smart enough not to use his service revolver (which was tested after the allegation) so who are people going to believe? A New York cop or a Black man in Harlem?
But Walker isn't satisfied leaving a possible witness to his crime and stalks Johnson, looking for a way to get rid of him. What Walker doesn't know is that he is also being stalked - by someone he would never suspect.
It's more than a little bit sad that a story about a cop killing a Black man, published in 1960, is still a story that resonates, perhaps even more-so, today.
I have to be honest and say that this kind of racism is really hard for me to read and enjoy. Of course I read through it, hoping that Walker would not come out unscathed, but it's still the rare kind of story that puts me on edge and I really have difficulty enjoying.
There's a fair amount of tension in the stalking, which I suspect is what holds this book together for most readers, but I actually found it not only uncomfortable, but a bit boring.
This is not a book I would recommend and it's not something I would consider to be a classic.
Looking for a good book? Run Man Run by Chester Himes is a thriller from 1960 that is much too close to home today and shows how poorly we've done with race relations.
March 15, 2024
Another superb crime writer from the mid-20th century whom I likely would not have encountered without the aid of the superb Library of America!
From his bio it is clear that Chester Himes led an interesting and varied life, including brushes with the law and even a period of imprisonment. He drew upon his experiences in painting the grimmer realities of mid-20th century New York as well as granting us glimpses into the lives of many Black people of the time.
In my memory the '60s weren't "all that long ago" -- I turned 20 in '63 -- but, in fact, not only were they 60 years ago now but as this book reveals it was still a time when segregation and discrimination against Blacks was practiced even in the North. Several times in this book the primary character -- a young man running from a white detective seemingly determined to kill him -- is called "boy" by white males!
That white detective is more amoral than a "bad" person; the whole matter begins when he -- horribly drunk and fact-befuddled -- encounters some Black workers at a restaurant and then, while holding his pistol, somehow fires three bullets into one of them, severely wounding the man. The man had done nothing! Moreover, the detective seemingly did not fire intentionally -- he was just drunk and saving his gun around carelessly. Nonetheless, from that accidental firing things take a far darker turn. After killing the first man, he kills the second and then, as the hero of the story also arrives on the scene, fires at him, too! But that shot only wounds our man and the rest of the book covers his attempts to stay alive despite his conviction that the detective will seek him out to silence him, too.
As the story progresses we find that his girlfriend struggles to believe him, as do -- not surprisingly -- the police.
I'll say no more in order to save the meat of the story for you to discover.
Chester Himes is gone now, but he has left behind an astounding number of books, some of which I intend to pursue and read.
From his bio it is clear that Chester Himes led an interesting and varied life, including brushes with the law and even a period of imprisonment. He drew upon his experiences in painting the grimmer realities of mid-20th century New York as well as granting us glimpses into the lives of many Black people of the time.
In my memory the '60s weren't "all that long ago" -- I turned 20 in '63 -- but, in fact, not only were they 60 years ago now but as this book reveals it was still a time when segregation and discrimination against Blacks was practiced even in the North. Several times in this book the primary character -- a young man running from a white detective seemingly determined to kill him -- is called "boy" by white males!
That white detective is more amoral than a "bad" person; the whole matter begins when he -- horribly drunk and fact-befuddled -- encounters some Black workers at a restaurant and then, while holding his pistol, somehow fires three bullets into one of them, severely wounding the man. The man had done nothing! Moreover, the detective seemingly did not fire intentionally -- he was just drunk and saving his gun around carelessly. Nonetheless, from that accidental firing things take a far darker turn. After killing the first man, he kills the second and then, as the hero of the story also arrives on the scene, fires at him, too! But that shot only wounds our man and the rest of the book covers his attempts to stay alive despite his conviction that the detective will seek him out to silence him, too.
As the story progresses we find that his girlfriend struggles to believe him, as do -- not surprisingly -- the police.
I'll say no more in order to save the meat of the story for you to discover.
Chester Himes is gone now, but he has left behind an astounding number of books, some of which I intend to pursue and read.
March 3, 2025
A racist cop drunkenly commits two murders and attempts to silence a third person when everything starts to close in on him. The potential victim survives and finds that his story isn't to the authorities' liking, and he must ultimately take justice into his own hands. Finally the two men are caught in a cat-and-mouse pursuit through Manhattan, in a chase that will change them both.
"Run Man Run" is my second Chester Himes, and while I didn't take to it as much as "The Real Cool Killers," I did get quite a bit out of it. A noir-ish thriller set in the mid-Sixties, "Run" features two compelling characters who dance around each other, seemingly willing the other to strike. Jimmy, the wounded porter of an uptown dining hall, narrowly survives being shot by Walker, a young detective on the NYPD who kills two other porters in a case of a tragic mistake with a pistol that has a hair trigger. When Jimmy evades Walker and collapses in an adjoining building's basement, it sets the stage for a slow-burn pursuit, where the cop decides to try and get the witness alone for the coup d'grace. But the novel heightens the tension by delaying the moment and by introducing more complications to the plot, such as Jimmy's girlfriend being caught in the middle and a second gun added to the equation, to make Jimmy and Walker even. It all unfolds against a backdrop where the police can't be trusted, and Harlem has to take care of its own.
"Run Man Run" is a taught, propulsive thriller that doesn't waste a lot of space. We know almost immediately what's about to happen, and then we have to see how it all comes together. A crime novel with plenty to say about social topics, "Run Man Run" is a fantastic book and a good indication that Himes deserves a spot in the crime-writing pantheon.
"Run Man Run" is my second Chester Himes, and while I didn't take to it as much as "The Real Cool Killers," I did get quite a bit out of it. A noir-ish thriller set in the mid-Sixties, "Run" features two compelling characters who dance around each other, seemingly willing the other to strike. Jimmy, the wounded porter of an uptown dining hall, narrowly survives being shot by Walker, a young detective on the NYPD who kills two other porters in a case of a tragic mistake with a pistol that has a hair trigger. When Jimmy evades Walker and collapses in an adjoining building's basement, it sets the stage for a slow-burn pursuit, where the cop decides to try and get the witness alone for the coup d'grace. But the novel heightens the tension by delaying the moment and by introducing more complications to the plot, such as Jimmy's girlfriend being caught in the middle and a second gun added to the equation, to make Jimmy and Walker even. It all unfolds against a backdrop where the police can't be trusted, and Harlem has to take care of its own.
"Run Man Run" is a taught, propulsive thriller that doesn't waste a lot of space. We know almost immediately what's about to happen, and then we have to see how it all comes together. A crime novel with plenty to say about social topics, "Run Man Run" is a fantastic book and a good indication that Himes deserves a spot in the crime-writing pantheon.
March 14, 2018
Not the first Himes novel I'd recommend. It lacks the characters and florid language of his trademark Harlem series. However, the setting is the same, dirty and gritty Manhattan, from the seedy Midtown hangouts, expensive hotels with black porters, to the housing projects and commercial streets of Uptown, Harlem.
The purpose here is to illustrate simply but effectively the irrationality of racism. And that goes for any racism, coming from all races. (Even the black characters in the story express questionable hate towards other races.) Himes actually delves deeply, but subtly into the inherent hate within all individuals.
The writing is swift and gripping even if somehow impersonal. There must be some kind of inner mastery of language, plot, description, and character motivation that gives great rhythm to the story. A crooked cop, drunk and raging, kills two black porters and wounds another one, one drunken night, thinking they stole his car. The surviving porter tries to convince his blues singer girlfriend (great characterization!) and the district attorney of the cop's responsibility but nobody believes him until a wild goose chase occurs and both victim and murderer try to battle it out.
If you want to read some deep statement about truth, in fiction and in life, it's there too. "It's all about what people believe". This unassuming story has universal appeal and doesn't hold back in illustrating the selfish and violent impulses of humanity.
The purpose here is to illustrate simply but effectively the irrationality of racism. And that goes for any racism, coming from all races. (Even the black characters in the story express questionable hate towards other races.) Himes actually delves deeply, but subtly into the inherent hate within all individuals.
The writing is swift and gripping even if somehow impersonal. There must be some kind of inner mastery of language, plot, description, and character motivation that gives great rhythm to the story. A crooked cop, drunk and raging, kills two black porters and wounds another one, one drunken night, thinking they stole his car. The surviving porter tries to convince his blues singer girlfriend (great characterization!) and the district attorney of the cop's responsibility but nobody believes him until a wild goose chase occurs and both victim and murderer try to battle it out.
If you want to read some deep statement about truth, in fiction and in life, it's there too. "It's all about what people believe". This unassuming story has universal appeal and doesn't hold back in illustrating the selfish and violent impulses of humanity.
February 28, 2022
's has a raw driving power that carries the reader along at a breakneck pace. The story begins with a drunk and somewhat psychopathic homicide detective named Walker who kills two black restaurant porters for no real reason and wounds a third, named Jimmy. He decides he must finish off Jimmy and pursues him, despite increasing suspicions by the DA and his police co-workers that he is in fact guilty.
Walker is disturbed that he must commit more murders of African-Americans in order to make his story stick. Jimmy is driven frantic at being pursued by Walker. Only in the last few pages do we find out what happens, and it was not what I would have guessed.
Himes is an underrated writer of detective mysteries. He is no stylist, but he is a natural story-teller. Well worth reading!
Walker is disturbed that he must commit more murders of African-Americans in order to make his story stick. Jimmy is driven frantic at being pursued by Walker. Only in the last few pages do we find out what happens, and it was not what I would have guessed.
Himes is an underrated writer of detective mysteries. He is no stylist, but he is a natural story-teller. Well worth reading!
October 6, 2018
Good story about a NY cop who is a racist and a vicious sociopath. The cop murders a couple of black porters late at night when they are closing up a restaurant and then stalks the third porter who saw him. Ironically the third black porter is hunted by the police who think he killed the other two men. The porter who witnessed the killing can't convince anybody of his version of what happened and becomes more frustrated and frightened as the actual killer, the cop, tries to eliminate him as a witness. I would consider this very noirish if it wasn't for the ending. The main point being made is how does somebody deal with a life threatening situation (being stalked by a psycho killer cop) when nobody believes you. But I miss the Chester Himes style that I enjoyed so much in the Harlem cycle novels. I miss the dark humor and outrageous characters and situations that made the Harlem Cycle novels a chaotic roller coaster ride through Harlem of the 1950's and 60's.
January 25, 2018
Книга похлеще Шерлока Холмса. Очень напоминает сценарий для фильма. Странно, что до сих пор нет экранизации
Начало: Он все еще был нетрезв
Конец: Тяжело ступая, он прошел в спальню и снял телефонную трубку
Он в делириуме
Делирий (лат. delirium «безумие, бред»; deliro «безумствую, брежу») � психическое расстройство, протекающее с нарушением сознания (от помрачённого состояния до комы).
Едва заметный прокол на громадном теле города затянулся свежей кожицей и стал неразличим для невооруженного глаза
Что-то у нас не в порядке. Какое-то колесико в механизме нашего американского бытия прокручивается
Мы не всегда верим в то, во что хотим верить
Начало: Он все еще был нетрезв
Конец: Тяжело ступая, он прошел в спальню и снял телефонную трубку
Он в делириуме
Делирий (лат. delirium «безумие, бред»; deliro «безумствую, брежу») � психическое расстройство, протекающее с нарушением сознания (от помрачённого состояния до комы).
Едва заметный прокол на громадном теле города затянулся свежей кожицей и стал неразличим для невооруженного глаза
Что-то у нас не в порядке. Какое-то колесико в механизме нашего американского бытия прокручивается
Мы не всегда верим в то, во что хотим верить
September 5, 2023
Matt Walker, a white cop who is drunk and carrying both his service pistol and another with no ID can't find where he parked his car. When he sees a black porter working outside a luncheonette. The man outside tells the man to go inside and talk to his buddy Fat Sam. Walker shoots Fat Sam, and when the first one comes looking he is shot as well. When the third black Porter, Jimmy, comes inside, he sees Walker lift the gun and runs.
Walker continues to stalk Jimmy, who becomes more scared all the time as Walker figures out where he lives and where his girlfriend lives. The story is VERY exciting and full of suspense - a great read.
Walker continues to stalk Jimmy, who becomes more scared all the time as Walker figures out where he lives and where his girlfriend lives. The story is VERY exciting and full of suspense - a great read.
December 2, 2022
La novela es, para mí, de cuatro estrellas. Tiene un ritmo excepcional y me gustó mucho.
Sin embargo la decisión de traducir el modo de hablar de Harlem como un acento equivalente Español hace sonar a esos personajes como caricaturas. Afortunadamente son pocos, pero en mi caso entorpecen la lectura y es absolutamente innecesario.
Chester Himes me ha dado ya varias sorpresas y se ha convertido en un favorito.
Sin embargo la decisión de traducir el modo de hablar de Harlem como un acento equivalente Español hace sonar a esos personajes como caricaturas. Afortunadamente son pocos, pero en mi caso entorpecen la lectura y es absolutamente innecesario.
Chester Himes me ha dado ya varias sorpresas y se ha convertido en un favorito.
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