All the characters of James Crumley brisk walk always on the wrong side of the road and life looking for trouble as if they were to breathe the air every day. His vision is very black, not only for the consolidated noir in which he showed all his skill, but because it points out the psychology of his losers, destined to be "taken for a ride in a nightmare of death and a cold wind blowing on an open grave. " These are the words he writes in the first few pages of his (underrated) debut One way to beat . A story of war and friendship, camaraderie and madness, great intentions (because "a warrior's duty to dream") and inevitable dissolution, One way to beat tells the link between Sergeant Jacob Slagsted Krummel, from a family of warriors, and Joseph Jabez Morning, a folksinger who have changed the guitar with a gun or a soldier with too many utopias too uncomfortable in a dimension in which "the orders have not nothing to do with rationality: they are there to be issued, and acquitted, and do not try a sense in that. " For three quarters, One way to beat tells the monotonous life in a barracks and sbracata Filipino and crazy day in the city in search of an oblivion that comes to power and of beer and whores' illusion that "everything is possible in the darkness before the dawn". A long escalation that results in the last quarter of One way to beat which opens with a brief glimpse into the explosive and the Vietnam War where the group led by Krummel and Morning is transferred at the beginning of the conflict with a deadly, stinging description a firefight with the Viet Cong who enters law in history. The experience is the same that marks each veterarno forever because, as Jacob Slagsted Krummel recalls, "all warriors end up back home, but I was not sure how or when the battle was over, and I could no longer tell day from night. " That perpetual darkness, without boundaries, without memory is the wound from which most black One way to beat can not look away. With a conclusion that explains perfectly the same nature and essence of the writing of James Crumley: "I know. You prefer to feel about the terror of the lungs that seemed split in two in search of a breath of fresh air, but the imperceptible tremor that was now standing in my hands shake, vortex of madness that took over my brain, or diarrhea that I dripped long leg. But you, this aspect of the story, you already know by heart. I did what I did. Two men died, two others were alive, maybe. Do not need to look no logic in this. The fear and trembling, not a justification, the action has nothing to do with reason, and the dead are dead. "
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