"Black Stuff" by Ken Bruen (from Dublin Noir, edited by Ken Bruen, 2006)
The world lost one of its greatest hardboiled and noir fiction writers last year with the passing of Ken Bruen at age74.
No. That's not right. Let me try again,
The world lost one of its great writers -- hands down, period --last year with the passing of Ken Bruen at the age of 74.
There. That's much better.
Bruen has a rather unique background for a crime fiction writer. He had a PhD in Metaphysics and had spent twenty-five years as an English teacher in Africa, Asia, and South America. He had a poet's ear, punk-rock sensibilities, and a love for literature, especially mystery fiction. His first published work was Funerals: Tales of Irish Morbidity (1991). His first four books were not a financial success; they began to get the recognition they deserved after the success of his Tom Brandt series and his Jack Tsylor series, when they were reprinted as A Fifth of Bruen (2006); it was then that people began to realize that the fabulous author of those series had been hiding in the bushes for years before with works equally brilliant.
Bruen set most of his books in his beloved Galway, carefully dissecting the decline of the Catholic church and Ireland's waning economic power, "which has left Ireland as a materialistic and spiritually drained society which still harbors deep social inequality." His characters are flawed human beings, often alcoholic or drug addicted, capable of rage, violence, self-reflection, and compassion. He had an elliptical style, often meandering, yet always honing in the essence of his characters. To read Bruen is unlike reading any other writer. The poetry sings from the page.
"Black Stuff" is a very short tale featuring a black Irisher who uses the name of Phil Lynott, the black co-founder of the hard rock band Thin Lizzy. Phil is bitter, antisocial, and a heavy drinker; he never really realized he was black until he was fourteen, and even then he was not goaded by his classmates because of his race, but because he "was shit at hurling." Phil has two crushed fingers on his right hand given to him because a getaway car he had been driving stalled, angering the crooks who had drafted him. One evening Phil is at a bar when a white man named Charlie Bowman enters and strikes up a conversation, seemingly amazed that Phil is both black and an Irishman. Bowman says that he is an American and actually seems to embody all the negative stereotypes given to Americans.
James Whistler's famous portrait of his mother, Arrangement in Black and Gray, is currently on loan to the city of Dublin and Bowman wants to steal it, and elicits Phil's help. The way Bowman had it figured it would be an easy job, but a soldier appeared out of nowhere and Bowman shot him in the gut. A month later, Phil and Bowman meet up, supposedly to split the profits, and Bowman pulls a gun on Phil. But Bowman had been too cocky all along; his I-am-an-American act was good but not perfect and Phil knew all along not to trust him. And Bowman was also too cocky to realize that Phil had something up his sleeve. Actually, in his damaged hand...
A minor story, perhaps, but one with those lovely Bruen touches. Well worthy of the few minutes it takes to read this tale.
