I've read exactly six Elmore Leonard
novels. This puts me in the peculiar spot of having read a fair representation of the man's work, without quite picking him up as a habit. I'm settling on the
reasons for that, but I'll get to those after I've digested Raylan.
I
devoured his profiles and interviews, though. The man was a canny
self-promoter nonpareil.
1967: The ad-man cometh. |
Here
is a classic example: a Brit interviews “Dutch” and swallows the
“What a humble man” shtick hook, line and sinker. Now, granted,
at this point it's bad form to suggest Leonard was anything but.
Certainly he was a master at charming self-effacement. But look at
the little digs he takes at Quentin Tarantino and Martin Amis.
They're delivered in a “Just joshing amongst friends” tone, and both subjects
seemingly laugh it off. But these “off-handed” jabs also hit the
bulls-eye — pretty hard — making Dutch the winner-by-a-knockout
in this profile, without either of his targets realizing what hit
'em.
I'm
going to miss that.
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