My Dark Places

My Dark Places

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by James Ellroy
     
 

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At the peak of his career as a mystery writer, James Ellroy turns his talents to a powerful and disturbing memoir. At its center lies this brutal fact: in 1958 a 43-year-old woman was found strangled in a town 12 miles east of Los Angeles. That woman was James Ellroy's mother.

In My Dark Places, Ellroy reveals the tragic origin of his fascination with crime, the

Overview

At the peak of his career as a mystery writer, James Ellroy turns his talents to a powerful and disturbing memoir. At its center lies this brutal fact: in 1958 a 43-year-old woman was found strangled in a town 12 miles east of Los Angeles. That woman was James Ellroy's mother.

In My Dark Places, Ellroy reveals the tragic origin of his fascination with crime, the prime mover in a life marked by professional triumph and personal loss. It is equally a search for truths -- for the true identity of his mother's killer, for the writer's real feelings toward his upbringing and self-destructive youth. Written with the taut prose that is James Ellroy's trademark, My Dark Places is a dazzling detective story in its own right, a detour from the fictional mean streets and into the recesses of the psyche.

"A tough and admirable memoir. . . . A portrait that is at once brave, sad and funny." (Los Angeles Times)

Editorial Reviews

The Barnes & Noble Review
October 1997

From the author of L.A. Confidential comes My Dark Places, an investigative autobiography by James Ellroy. In 1958, Ellroy's mother, Jean, was raped, killed, and dumped off a road in El Monte, California, a rundown L.A. suburb. The killer was never found, and the case was closed. It was a sordid, back-page homicide that no one remembered. Except her son.

James Ellroy was ten years old when his mother died. His bereavement was complex and ambiguous: "I cried. I cranked tears out all the way to L.A. I hated her. I hated El Monte. Some unknown killer just bought me a brand-new beautiful life." He grew up obsessed with murdered women and crime. He ran from his mother's ghost.

Ellroy became a writer of radically provocative and bestselling crime novels. "I wear obsession well," he says. "I've turned it into something." He tried to reclaim his mother through fiction. It didn't work. He quit running and wrote this memoir.

My Dark Places is Jean and James Ellroy's story — from 1958 to all points past and up to this moment. It is the story of a brilliant homicide detective named Bill Stoner and of the investigation he and Ellroy undertook. It is also an unflinching autobiography with vivid reportage. This is James Ellroy's journey through his most forbidding memories.

Charles Taylor

There's no genre of writing more in love with its own bullshit than hard-boiled detective fiction. Possessing a rat's eye view of the world is almost always accompanied by the temptation to bully the reader into stomaching the dark, dirty truth of just how lousy and corrupt things are. Hammett and Chandler had enough style to get by with that sensibility; Ross MacDonald, the most gentlemanly and compassionate of American detective authors, saw its limits. James Ellroy revels in it. And he pushes his tough-guy pose into post-modern cynicism. His heroes aren't slumming angels, but brutal, racist sons of bitches almost as dirty as the slimeballs they're up against.

Ellroy's memoir My Dark Places is, ostensibly, an attempt to explain the formation of his preoccupation with the seedy side of life. The memoir is about his mother's still-unsolved 1958 murder (Ellroy was 10) and his subsequent slide into junior white supremacism, petty crime, dope, booze and dementia. The trouble is that Ellroy has such a pathetically limited sensibility that the book reads like a sub-Jim Thompson take on the hot trend in literary memoirs. Ellroy writes in ridiculously rat-a-tat prose ("The Ellroy case was stalled out. They weren't coming up with shit on the blonde and the dark man . . . A Narco deputy liked the nurse angle. He forwarded the tip to Homicide. Joe the Barber was interviewed and crossed off as a suspect.") which is almost a parody, like Jack Webb on a bad drunk. And while I understand he's imitating the voices of his characters with the incessant references to "homos" and "fruits" and "wetbacks" and "niggers," Ellroy is also clearly getting off on it, and the genre lets him get away with it.

Although Ellroy claims his attempts to solve his mother's murder (with the help of a retired LAPD homicide detective) are a way of showing the love and loyalty he withheld while she lived, it doesn't read as anything more than a chance to play private dick. I can't imagine what losing your mother to violent crime does to a 10-year-old, and I don't want to deny Ellroy's torment. But using her corpse as an excuse to live out your hardboiled fantasies is about as sordid as it gets. Ellroy is what the pulps he's so enamored of used to call one nasty piece of work. -- Salon

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
The novelist's gritty memoir features a new epilogue. (Aug.)
Library Journal
In 1958, when crime novelist Ellroy (American Tabloid) was ten years old, his mother was found murdered near Los Angeles. The crime was never solved. In 1994, with the help of a retired detective, Ellroy set out to reinvestigate his mother's death. Despite exhaustive efforts, they were unable to identify the "swarthy" man last seen in a bar with Jean Ellroy. Like Ellroy's fiction, this memoir is terse and hard-boiled, treating his early, homeless life as a petty thief and substance abuser; murderers and victims; and most of all his complex feelings about his mother. Ellroy's search for her killer ultimately became a quest for his mother's true identity. A cathartic journey for Ellroy that will appeal to his readers. [Previewed in Prepub Alert, LJ 7/96.]-Gregor A. Preston, formerly with Univ. of California Lib., Davis
Kirkus Reviews
The man who reenergized the hard-boiled detective genre (American Tabloid, 1995, etc.) delivers a true-crime noir unflinchingly detailing his mother's murder and his own belated but obsessive investigation of it.

Jean Ellroy was strangled in 1958, when James was 10. Initially relieved because her death allowed him to fulfill his wish to live with his father, young James develops an obsession with crime—especially homicide. In his teens he begins a life of petty theft fed by alcohol and drug abuse, social alienation, and his father's laissez-faire approach to child-rearing. This steep personal slide—related frankly and graphically in Ellroy's trademark tough-guy staccato—lasts into his 30s, when he channels his murder fascination into a first novel. His feeling toward his mother during these lost years is an unseemly mix of emotional disconnection and sexual attraction. Active interest in her death is ignited in 1994 when a reporter writing about unsolved murders contacts him. Ellroy writes about her death for GQ, which only whets his appetite. And so he enlists the help of retired L.A. police detective Bill Stoner and launches an exhaustive investigation that revisits old witnesses and reconciles Ellroy with family members long abandoned. Eventually, the quest transmogrifies from identifying the killer—an elusive suspect known only as "The Swarthy Man"—to learning the details of his secretive mother's life. Jean's murder remains unsolved and under investigation, but the child is reconciled with his late mother. Ellroy's short, simple sentences set up a punchy but monotonous rhythm that's as unrelenting as a jackhammer—and as wearing, since the book, bogged down in background that indulges Ellroy's fascination with police procedure, is overly long.

Fanatics will undoubtedly savor the facts behind Ellroy's fiction (and his murder riffs), but those expecting autobiographical exposé of the writer's psychological clockwork will feel stonewalled by macho reserve.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9780679459415
Publisher:
Random House Audio Publishing Group
Publication date:
11/05/1996
Edition description:
2 Cassettes
Product dimensions:
4.42(w) x 7.03(h) x 0.81(d)

Read an Excerpt

My father put me in a cab at the El Monte depot. He paid the driver and told him to drop me at Bryant and Maple.

I didn't want to go back. I didn't want to leave my father. I wanted to blow off El Monte forever.

It was hot—maybe ten degrees more than L.A. The driver took Tyler north to Bryant and cut east. He turned on Maple and stopped the cab.

I saw police cars and official-type sedans parked at the curb. I saw uniformed men and men in suits standing in my front yard.

I knew she was dead. This is not a revised memory or a retrospective hunch. I knew it in the moment—at age ten—on Sunday, June 22nd, 1958.

I walked into the yard. Somebody said, "There's the boy." I saw Mr. and Mrs. Krycki standing by their back door.

A man took me aside and kneeled down to my level. He said, "Son, your mother's been killed."

I knew he meant "murdered." I probably trembled or shuddered or weaved a little bit.

The man asked me where my father was. I told him he was back at the bus station. A half-dozen men crowded around me. They leaned on their knees and checked me out up-close.

They saw one lucky kid.

A cop split for the bus station. A man with a camera walked me back to Mr. Krycki's toolshed.

He put an awl in my hand and posed me at a workbench. I held on to a small block of wood and pretended to saw at it. I faced the camera—and did not blink or smile or cry or betray my internal equilibrium.

The photographer stood in a doorway. The cops stood behind him. I had a rapt audience.

The photographer shot some film and urged me to improvise. I hunched over the wood andsawed at it with a half-smile/ half-grimace. The cops laughed. I laughed. Flashbulbs popped.


From the Trade Paperback edition.

Meet the Author

James Ellroy was born in Los Angeles in 1948. His five previous novels, American Tabloid, White Jazz, L.A. Confidential, The Big Nowhere, and The Black Dahlia, were international bestsellers.

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My Dark Places 4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 20 reviews.
Guest More than 1 year ago
For a first read of James Ellroy - this is diving in at the deep end. It is a haunting story told in four parts. Ellroy's stacato reportage in the third person in parts one and three - sets the author and reader in a surreal distance as observers to firstly the crime and, in latter years, the search for the facts. This style, however, does not prepare the reader for the impact of the second section of the book which hits you like a runaway bus - Elloy's drug and booze clouded years from the death of his mother to his meeting with Stoner, the detective on the edge of retirement who takes up his case. Part three 'The Kid in the Picture' is riveting as it is draining as Ellroy opens his phyche to the reader. The final part - again told in the first person - is Ellroy's reconcilliation with the ghost of his monther's memory and his guilt of denial. I was exhausted at the end of this book - but I wanted more.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I did get caught up with author's desire and chase for his own missing pieces, however too much of it was redundant. I found myself wanting to skip ahead to find new progress in the case. It does provide some insights into the anguish that loved ones go thru when they lose a loved one and the scenerio of events does not match their experience with deceased. Hopefully, this case will be solved someday. At that time, with new details added to story- it would not feel so incomplete.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
'My Dark Places' exists in a quantum state of being both "high art" and a "good read". James Ellroy nabs the artistic holy grail of "transcendence" in the face of the literati by eschewing their accepted tropes for many of the common conventions of mass-market paperback "true crime" shock lit. There is nothing that can prepare you for what it is: not 'In Cold Blood', not some Eggers-penned/Oprah-sanctioned book-of-the-month, not however many Ann Rule page-turners. This is more than just a memoir. This is more than just a true crime account given in hard-boiled, post-Beat, staccato style. This is more than just the most compelling story you'll ever read. James Ellroy is the most brilliant writer of the latter 20th century. This is his magnum opus.
Coriolana More than 1 year ago
I like this much better than Ellroy's fiction. It has the unmistakable note of truth and takes no prisoners. Yes, the style is intense, foul-mouthed and dares the reader to separate it from fiction, but in 'My Dark Places', Ellroy finds compassion for his lost mother in the rounds of attempting to solve her slaying. The internal psychodrama sucked me in and its truth creates a weird and wonderful dualism. A Greek tragedy in beat profanity, I could not put it down and it has haunted me for some time after reading. It's harsh and painful and completely mesmerising.
Guest More than 1 year ago
This is the first James Ellroy book I have read. It's a man looking to find his mother's killer, but finding the love for her instead. I could not put this book down. I am now in the middle of reading the LA Quartet . James Ellory's writing is addicting!
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What a waste of money this book sucked
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Sqeals
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