When I first heard of the American writer Alfred Hayes, through Fifi late last year, I was taken by surprise. It's not that I claim to know about every writer of note that's ever been, but I was puzzled as to why Mr Hayes had somehow gone completely under my radar despite being quite highly rated in literary circles. I decided then that I would make the acquaintance of at least one of his novels, encouraged by the fact that the one Fifi had purchased was very short, coming in at around 100 pages or so. Also in broad terms the critics seemed to see him as a successor to Scott Fitzgerald, so that helped reinforce my decision.
I made good on my promise over the last two days, and I'm heartily glad I did so because the guy can really write. My Face for the World to See from the late 1950's proved a delight in terms of its evocation of the Hollywood of the period without in any way going over the top. If I hadn't known Hayes had worked as a screenwriter I think I would have guessed it. The novel aches verisimilitude and is wonderfully economical in style. The mastery of the short chapter alone makes it a worthwhile read and the ending is just stunning in its power.
But I'll not be in a hurry to read another of the writer's works, despite the many virtues of this one. I'm not exactly sure of the reason, but I suppose it relates to the fact that I have no great love for movies of that period, though enjoying them for their craft. The concern with what might loosely be termed romance, the focus on the narrator's confused and complex relationship with the enigmatic girl he rescues at the beginning (who, I think remains unnamed throughout) is intended to fascinate but didn't quite work for me. I found myself very much admiring the writing but from a distinctly uninvolved distance.
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