From what I understand, we are now watching more True Crime than ever. By "we," I mean everybody. I think it's the horror component of each show;  People have always been drawn to things that scare them from a place of control.  They like watching hardcore violence with their family and friends from the safety of their living room couches. Maybe, the popularity of true crime series exploded during the pandemic. I'm talking Netflix of course.  I know this, because my students are choosing to write their research papers on Jefferey Dahmer, Richard Rodriguez, John Wayne Gacy, Charles Manson.  I'm not one to question their choices, not when they seem TOTALLY ENGAGED in their research of true-to-life tragedies.  Their writing requires a high level of critical thinking and research skills.  Their goals are to show an  understanding for the darker side of human nature.  I know.  I can relate to their interest and/or curiosity.    I  read my share of crime fiction. I'm sorry to say, I often root for the bad guy.  Or the bad woman.  I think I know something about them, but I don't know WHAT or HOW.   I just can't put the book down. 

This week I read In a Lonely Place by Dorothy B. Hughes.   Her protagonist, Dixon Steele, is a good looking guy with an appealing sense of humor. Everyone who knows Dix seems to like him, but the thing is they don't know enough about him.  He's a writer, and he's a drinker, and he's a very lonely man.  Like many people we know or have read about, he's learned how to hide his drinking and  his insecurities.  By day he seems very civil.  Like he's wearing a mask.  By night, he prowls the Santa Monica beaches looking for women to assault.  He's a stone-cold killer.  No one sees him coming.  Dixon Steele is Ted Bundy thirty years before we ever knew the term serial killer. 

I don't think I will ever assign In a Lonely Place to any of my classes, but I now realize how to capture the imagination of my students.  This week I bring Joyce Carol Oates and painter Edward Hopper into the classroom  We read the award-winning story, "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?"  It's the story of a creepy twenty-three-year-old who had the looks to pass  himself off as a high-schooler – he prowled teen-age hangouts looking for naive young girls he could sweet talk into submission.  This was around 1965-1966.  When he killed three innocent girls, aged thirteen through seventeen, he became known as the "Pied Piper of Tuscon." Joyce read about him in Life Magazine.  I'm happy with my assignments.  On our classroom discussion boards, I read about sexual victimization of women and our American obsession with violence. Here, students often  share out similar stories from their favorite Netflix viewing.

I also bring in Edward Hopper's painting, Nighthawks. I put it up on the Big Screen to help my students understand the requirement for visual analysis in their research papers. If you don't know already, Nighthawks reflects the anxiety and isolation that pervaded the country in 1942.  Hopper completed this painting just a few weeks after the Pearl Harbour Attack.  It's from the viewpoint outside-looking-in at a group of very lonely people sitting in a New York City all-night diner. Their faces are hard.  Their gestures are nervous.  I ask my students "What is the message here?"  I think I know these people and what they are feeling inside the painting.  They have nowhere else to go. 

They made a movie out of In a Lonely Place, starring one of my favorite actors, Humphrey Bogart. I'm not sure how close the movie follows the novel, but Dixon Steele and Humphrey Bogart are both frightening characters.  On the surface, they seem so cool, but deep down they harbor violent agression towards women. The worst in both cases is they think they can do what they want and get away with murder. I have no background in psychology, but I would say they are not at all delusional.  They know exactly what they are doing.  They just don't give a fuck.

In a Lonely Place is set a few years after the conclusion of World War II.  I'm pretty sure the concept of PTSD was yet conceived. Dix is an Air Corps veteran with no job, no money, and no sleep. At the beginning of the novel, he spends a lot of time cruising the Los Angeles landscape in public transportation.  When he's not seated on a bus, he's seated at a bar.  Many, if not most, of his days begins with a few strong cocktails.    Dix never seems too out of control, but the drinking creates a pathway through the novel.  His drinking parallels his lying. I can't say that all of the alcohoics and drug addicts I know in my life are violent sociopaths, but I can say they are all sociopathic liars. When I go outside in the early morning to pick up the newspaper, they are already in the bathroom drinking.  They brush their teeth a lot. They think the can get away with.  This is the life they know. In a way, Dix's need for alcohol is much like his need for violence.  He dropped bombs every night in World War II, never really sure if he was ever coming back.  For the rest of his life, he would look for a similar rush.  Of course drinking just won't be enough.  But killing comes close.

I'm not writing a book report here. Basically,  Dorothy B.  tells her story through the twisted mind of a violent psychopath.  It is safe to say he is an unreliable narrator. We, the readers, don't really see him strangle or kill anyone. But on many a morning, he shows a desperation to find the daily  newspaper.   That should be a big hint of who and what he is about, but his closest friend Brub, an L.A. homicide detective, suspects nothing, no matter how much they drink together. Dix plays him. He is always asking questions about a recent spree of murders.  He says he is writing a crime novel himself. Over drinks, he even shares some of his own theories for the motives and methods of  the real murderer. Even the lieutenant's chief is impressed with Dix.  He invites him to visit the crime scene.  Interestingly, the only characters in the novel who suspect Dix are the women closest to him.  The detective's wife squirms from the first time she meets him.  Dix's lover, sleeps with him unknowingly after each grisly murder. She has to sense something evil every time he lays a hand on her.  

I recommend both Dorothy B. Hughes and Joyce Carol Oates.  As women artists, they show special insight into the violent minds of their male protagonists. I recommend Edward Hopper. He's got isolation and alienation covered.  On my bookshelves here in Mexicali, I keep The Poetry of Solitude: A Tribute to Edward Hopper in prominent place.  Inside, is a collection of sad and lonely poems inspired by Hopper paintings. The other day, I read Joyce Carol Oates' contribution the book in front of a class.  Joyce's conjures up what many of us must think when we see these type of people in the places where we drink:   Joyce imagines what the Woman in Red in Nighthawks must be thinking behind her dreamy eyes and painted lips.  I mean she's a good-looking woman.  She's used to people staring at her.  The guy next to her is lucky to  be with her.  I've seen this woman, or women like her, a hundred or a thousand times. I'm thinking the same thing Joyce writes in her  poem: So, why is she so sad?