Secret Agent X - Monarch of Murder

Thanks to more pulps becoming available on eReaders, most of us not born in the early decades of the 20th century have a second chance at reading some of the old pulp heroes adventures. When I was a kid I could buy paperback reissues of Doc Savage and The Shadow and The Avenger, but that was about it. I didn't know a thing about other heroes like The Phantom Detective or Secret Agent X.

August 1935

I've now read two novels featuring The Phantom Detective and will be getting around to writing about them soon. But most recently I got to read Monarch of Murder, a Secret Agent X novel by Paul Chadwick under the name Brant House. I thought the story was a blast. It was my first introduction to Secret Agent X, thanks to Altus Press making these adventures available again.

This particular caper involves Agent X tracking down a master criminal named Dr. Marko. Dr. Marko is on is way to the United States disguised as a passenger in an ocean liner from Europe. Once Agent X manages to sneak on board the ship all the fun begins. Dr. Marko has a nasty way of murdering his victims by turning them into crumbling skeletons. He refers to this murder method as "dusty death" and enjoys zapping the dusty death on just about anyone who interferes with his dastardly plans. Agent X is no sooner on the ship when he's rescuing a raven-haired dame in an emerald gown from getting pitched overboard by a hooded scar-faced killer. Our raven-haired beauty is Carlotta Rand, who is personal assistant to Colonel Borden. Colonel Borden is returning to the states with some top secret documents that may or may not have something to do with the nefarious plans of Dr. Marko. Carlotta Rand seems to have a penchant for attracting low characters of dubious motives, much to Colonel Borden's dismay. Could one of these passengers be Dr. Marko. Well, of course, and it's up to Agent X to find out! Unfortunately, Dr. Marko is as much a genius of disguise as Agent X is, so most of the fun for "X" will be trying to capture Dr. Marko while avoiding blame for all the nasty murders going down. Once the ocean liner reaches New York, Agent X can utilize his secret hideouts, and his team of assistants, including the lovely Betty Dale, girl reporter!

My favorite style of pulp adventures are the crime stories that have heavy doses of horror and science fiction elements to them. Or, what's known as "weird menace" to aficionados. Judging by this Secret Agent X adventure, it seems I won't be disappointed.

Nymph to the Slaughter - Carter Brown

For a breathtaking moment she floated above the couch, then gently came to rest real close beside me. At that range I could see it was a two-piece outfit, and not completely transparent, although the ten percent that wasn't really didn't matter. 

Signet, June 1963

It's for dames like the one floating above the couch, or that nifty babe on the Oriental rug on the cover above, that guys go into the detective business. Sure, you have to take some lumps along the way, get used to walking around with a gun in your back, but eventually, if you get lucky like our friend Danny Boyd does in this novel, you get to wake up and share coffee and toast with a hot little chick named Kitty, sitting across from you in nothing but her leopard-print undies. There are definitely worse things in life.

Carter Brown (Alan Geoffrey Yates) was born in England and lived in Australia, where he wrote a slew of mystery novels set in the U.S. featuring several different, yet somewhat randy, detectives. Nymph to the Slaughter, from 1963 features Danny Boyd, a tough Manhattan private eye with a talent for smart-assed quips and getting involved with dangerous dames. In this case he's hired by a hookah puffing cat named Osman Bey to find the missing daughter of a partner. Seems Osman Bey wasn't too careful at insuring the missing girl's safety on her recent arrival to Manhattan. And it's no wonder, since she was bringing with her a rare book loaded with smuggled diamonds. Boyd is sent to a seedy joint named The Ottoman Club where he encounters a deadly belly-dancer named Leila Zenta, and her boyfriend Frankie Lomax. And if those two weren't problems enough, there is nattily attired Julie Kern, the club's manager, always popping up expectantly with gun in hand. The gang at the Ottoman Club are on the hook for a delivery of some kind to another person named Corlis. Turns out that Corlis is Beatrice Corlis,  an aging nympho who lives in a fortress estate on Long Island. The old bat likes to keep her meek husband on a leash while a couple of house thugs pleasure her on the side. It's all very confusing and gets pretty convoluted in a mere 125 pages, with everyone double crossing each other and lying to Danny Boyd the whole time. Still, there are a couple of dames ready to drop their pants for our hero, which helps, and before you know it, the whole thing is wrapped up in a blood-spattered resolution that ultimately leads Danny Boyd between the legs of another young lovely lass like the one described in the quote above.

I've read a couple Carter Brown novels over the years. The best things about them are their awesome covers by Robert McGinnis. They're always a reliable, quick read and not a bad way to spend a rainy afternoon. They used to be easy to find in used bookstores, but with fewer bookstores out there, you might have to do a little extra hunting to get some. Just don't let some greedy bastard overcharge you for copies.

The Pollinators of Eden - John Boyd

"To my knowledge, you’re the first woman who ever did it to a flower, and the first case of space madness located in the primary erogenic zone."

Dell - November 1970

The Pollinators of Eden by John Boyd had the goods to be way more fun than it was. Plant sex, weird experiments, a smoking hot yet frigid babe, space travel, talking tulips, and hot orchids! Right? Well…not so fast. Instead, these pulpy ingredients got stirred into a novel that, after all is said and done, more is said than done. There are some cool moments and intriguing ideas presented, and yes, there is a pretty hot space orchid-on-woman scene (the orchid’s name is Suzy, if it matters), but that comes way too late in the novel. Long past the point that many readers would have likely bailed and missed it. I didn't bail, and I sort of glad for it. But that didn't make the novel much fun getting there.

A brief rundown: In the year 2237, Dr. Freda Caron is a cystologist for the Bureau of Exotic Plants. Her fiancé, Paul Theaston, is due back from an expedition on Flora, or the Flower Planet. Instead of returning as scheduled, Paul has decided to remain on Flora and continue is studies of the plant life there. In his place, he sends back an assistant, Hal Polino, and a couple of native tulips that have some very unusual characteristics. Freda is a bit miffed at Paul’s decision and isn't too thrilled at getting an eager, smitten assistant in his place. The tulips have this weird ability to mimic sounds, including speech. They’re also single sexed, instead of having both male and female parts, that we're all supposed to have remembered learning in high school biology. Hal and Freda set up studying the plants, and do a lot of verbal teasing back and forth in the process. Freda soon learns that Paul is more than just interested in the studying the plant life on Flora. In fact, he’s gone native there, and is now living among the plants with no intention of returning. Then there is a sideline to the plot where Freda goes to Washington D.C. for a hearing on the potential colonization of Flora. By this point I lost most interest, because while everyone is talking, they’re all really starting to sound like the same person. Most dialog is delivered in a smart-alecky tone where nothing feels serious, or is to be taken seriously. Okay, maybe a book that features plant-on-human sex isn't so serious, but I at least wanted the characters to seem to care a little about the world they’re skipping around in. Ultimately we’re teased by the plot, along with the characters' endless banter, slowly learning that Freda can drink four martinis before she’s in danger of succumbing to her buried horny nature. Okay, we also learn that the procreating tulips display a lethal talent for self-preservation. Hal, and a few other unfortunates, learn this the hard way. But Freda doesn't seem so much concerned for them as she does for finagling a way to avoid getting a gig in the loony bin in Houston in lieu of a ticket to Flora to rescue Paul…remember Paul?

The other gripe I had is that for a novel that takes place in the year 2237, there seems to be very little progress, beyond interplanetary travel, since the year 1969. People still use telephones, paper, mail, film and concepts like marriage, psychology, and mental health, hasn't changed either. It creates a disassociation between the reader and the book. It’s a world that is too familiar, too old-fashioned and absent from the wonder of its themes. I almost envied the victims of “space-madness” described so poetically and wished that one of them was holding a starring role instead of Freda.

The Pollinators of Eden is really a bit too boring to recommend. I will admit that maybe I’m not the right reader for it. Maybe there were things I missed out in it by rushing to the finish. So it’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself if you want to search out for. 

I will add that the cover by Paul Lehr (shown here) is terrific. I’m keeping it in my collection for the cover alone.

And…who knows, there is that hot babe-on-orchid scene that may get a dramatic reading from me at some point in the near future, when I've had four martinis to loosen my inhibitions that is.

A Glimpse of Stocking - Elizabeth Gage

"Baby's getting sticky," she said with feigned surprise and disapproval. "Does it make you sticky to think such dirty thoughts about me?"

Pocket Books, April 1989

Recently I've strayed from my typical reading cuisine to sample old bestsellers of their time that were marketed toward women. One of the titles that I’d come across now again is A Glimpse of Stocking by Elizabeth Gage. I distinctly remember seeing it often enough in used bookstores but would skip right past it. A post at The Sleaze Factor, kindled my interest in this one. Then finding the dang book turned out to be not so easy. That’s often the way it is, you hear about a book, decide you’re going to look for it and come up short at the local bookstore haunts. So, I put it down on that list of “want-to-reads” that I always lose and moved on to other things. Then about a month back I found it in a used bookshelf, shoved on its side, spine down, so that all one could see was a brick of yellowed pages. Yep, it’s a thick one all right, sort of like your typical Clive Barker paperback.

A Glimpse of Stocking turned out to be a pretty good find. I got pulled in immediately to the story, which starts out in late 60’s Hollywood. The novel kicks off with a prologue that, like most prologues could be skipped, followed by short chapter detailing a disturbing tryst between an unnamed man and woman in a hotel room in 1947. Jump ahead 20 years to 1967 and we meet hopeful young starlet Annie Havilland arriving alone at movie tycoon Harmon Kurth’s mansion. There’s no doubt that Kurth is one of those villainous bastards who has no good intentions in store for our heroine Annie. She quickly realizes that she’s been lured into Kurth’s digs under false pretexts and, as she tries to leave, is brutally beaten and raped by Kurth and his valet. Used and discarded, Annie attempts to press charges and discovers that Kurth is one of those guys who has friends in high places, and that her word against his isn't worth a used condom on a dirt road. After an offer of hush-money is made and rejected, Annie discovers that her name is poison in Hollywood circles. So, it’s back to New York for her, to lick her wounds and plot her next course in life which will ultimately include vengeance on Harmon Kurth.

Christine is brought into the novel as a call girl of stunning beauty matched only by her capacity of self preservation. After a childhood of terrible cruelty and abuse, Christine makes a life for herself hustling playboys and wealthy scions with kinky tastes. And if she has to kill a few dickheads along the way, well then, buddy, that's just what she'll do.

It doesn't take much of a genius to know that Christine and Annie’s world will soon intersect, and in ways that neither one of them could dream of. Along the journey we’re entertained by a parade of characters ranging from noble to sleazy. Included in the bunch is a private investigator who, while essentially honest, isn't above keyhole peeping to get what he needs, a movie star whose seething sexuality and rebel-good-looks mask the fact he’s really just another shallow douchebag, a larger-than-life writer who can buck the rules in Hollywood to get what he wants, a talented stage actor who spirals right down into the basement industry thanks to the needle and the spoon, a socialite with a secret past, and a powerful movie mogul with a taste for torture. There are plenty of scenes to please that little perv hidden within everyone, and just enough violence to counterbalance the melodrama.

Oh, my friends, it’s the stuff of the best kind of trashy fiction you can get. Just the kind of book that is supposed to smell like musty paper and Kent cigarettes. Maybe there should be an app for E-Readers that’ll replicate that…

Cult Movie Classic - The Big Cube

Sorry about the delay in posts. I set a schedule for myself to do at least one post a week, then failed. Like all great intentions...oh well. At least I've gotten some good books finished in the meantime, in addition to another column for Dark Eclipse which you might want to check out if you're so inclined.

I've been meaning to throw out a post for a pretty cool movie I saw some weeks back on TCM. It's The Big Cube, from 1969 and stars Lana Turner, Karin Mossberg, George Chakiris, Richard Egan and Daniel O'Herlihy. It was directed by Tito Davison.

Karin Mossberg in The Big Cube

The big names in the flick are clearly Lana Turner and George Chakiris, and both play their roles to the hilt. Well, at least George Chakiris does. Maybe Ms Turner was cashing a check, but still, she is enjoyable to watch. As is Karin Mossberg for reasons which are readily apparent in the photo here.

Lana Turner stars as Adriana, a stage actress who retires from the stage to marry Charles Winthrop, played by Daniel O'Herlihy. Winthrop is one of those wealthy cats who makes his living flying around the world making millions. His daughter Lisa (Karin Mossberg) fresh in from school in Europe, takes an instant dislike to Adriana. Adriana is nothing but kind to Lisa, and fervently hopes the two can get along swimmingly. Instead, Lisa immediately falls into the sordid world of bored rich kids and their squalid kicks. She meets a real charmer named Johnny Allan, who notices the swanky jewels on Lisa's lovely body and decides his ship has finally come to port. Daddy is none too pleased with Lisa's savage friends and makes it loud and clear to her. But Charles Winthrop is quickly jettisoned from the story due to a boating accident. He leaves his fortune to Lisa, naming Adriana as executor of the estate. The only catch is that Lisa is not to marry her boyfriend Johnny. Seems old Winthrop has seen right through slimy Johnny's intentions with Lisa. Johnny (George Chakiris) is a medical student of dubious reputation. When not bedding his new rich girlfriend, he gets his kicks dosing people with LSD. It's all mad fun! Everything is all hunky-dory until he learns of the the condition that Lisa not marry him if she expects to inherit a dime of Daddy's wealth. He quickly convinces Lisa that everything is Adriana's fault. If Adriana had never come into the picture, why Lisa would have her fortune and they could be married. Damn that Adriana, damn her! Only one thing the lovebirds can do. That is, dose Adriana with LSD and drive her batshit. Lisa, bless her pretty (empty) little head, quickly falls into line, and together she and Johnny commence with a campaign of psychological warfare on kind and trusting Adriana.

There are plenty of campy, psychedelic trippy scenes in The Big Cube to enjoy, along with a nifty little strip-tease act by one of Lisa's pals. Karin Mossberg is lovely to look at throughout the movie, but can't really compete in the acting department with the likes of Chakiris and Turner. Still, it's kind of a fun movie to check out. I understand it's available in a camp classic box-set from Warner Bros. I've also seen it pop up on TCM a few times, so it shouldn't be too hard to catch at some point.

All on Sunday - Don Elliott

The family shame was their only fame!

This is one I picked up about a year ago for the princely sum of $9 from a local book dealer. I'd already learned, thanks to the terrific Stark House Press that Don Elliott is really Robert Silverberg. Silverberg wrote dozens of these titles back in the heyday of smut paperbacks, two of which, Gang Girl and Sex Bum, have been re-issued for your pleasure by Stark House.

Ember Library Books, 1966

There really isn't a plot to All on Sunday. All of the events in the novel take place on a single day where the Hallowell family, Ken and Kate, and their children Avis and Johnny, go about chasing down their own afternoon delights with wild abandon. Ken Hallowell is a 42 year old suburbanite square, proud of his virility and his mistress, Laurel (more on her to come). He wakes up with a woody, next to his attractive wife Kate, early on Sunday morning. He debates a morning tussle in the sheets with her, before deciding to save his reserves for Laurel. After breakfast, he informs Kate that he's off for 18 holes on the links with his buddies. He throws his clubs into the trunk of the car and speeds off to Laurel's apartment like a kid tearing off to the candy store.

Laurel is one of those icy-hot babes that make an art out of twisting men like Ken around her finger. Within moments after his arrival, she has Ken kissing her feet, and begging her for it. Throughout their afternoon date, she'll have Ken on the ropes, alternatively teasing and pleasuring him, driving him (and the reader!) mad with desire. And she's got a special surprise in store for Ken that just might be more than his square suburban proprieties can handle!

Johnny Hallowell, Ken and Kate's teenage son, has an afternoon lined up with Donna, the butcher's wife. Donna is one of those babes with a kinky streak a mile wide. In no time flat she's initiating Johnny into the world of latex, leather, whips and bondage. It turns out Johnny is quite an apt pupil.

Avis Hallowell, the beautiful, virginal teenage daughter has an afternoon picnic planned with her boyfriend Fred. Avis is a little worried, because just the night before she and Fred had engaged in some heavy petting resulting in Fred's hand exploring under her skirt. Reluctantly, she put the kibosh on the necking, leaving Fred high and dry. She feels bad about it now, because she really wants to prove her love to Fred, but doesn't want to be that kind of a girl...or does she? Turns out, we all know the answer to that one, especially after Avis decides to wear her sexiest pink underwear under her tightest shorts, so tight they're ready to bust at the seams. Fred is about to have one picnic he'll never forget!

All of the Hallowells are off, leaving Kate home alone, bored and frustrated. Before marriage, Kate was a wild girl in the Greenwich Village scene, hanging out and getting high with her bohemian friends, sharing herself in numerous ways, even allowing one of her artist friends to make a plaster cast of her magnificent boobs. Since then, marriage has been nice and all, but lets face it, twenty years of life with Ken hasn't exactly measured up to the wild promise of youth she so fondly recalls. Kate is just tipping a bottle of sherry to help pass a lonely Sunday afternoon when the phone rings. Her old roommate Elinor is in town for the day and interested in swinging by to say hi to her old pal Kate. When Elinor shows up in taxi a few minutes later, we instantly know that Kate's afternoon is about to get a whole lot more exiting, like toot sweet! Turns out, Elinor is a writer of travel books which provide a jet set globe-trotting lifestyle that Kate could only dream of. But more than that, Elinor is also the woman behind a massive underground bestseller named The Women of Halfworld, a novel about Lesbians.

Elinor grinned. "Sure. That's how it was. I'm a Lesbian now, Kate. I gave up men ten years ago. Didn't you realize? I'm a dyke, sweetie."

And with that, Kate's suburban exterior is quickly shed, along with her clothes, leaving Elinor to initiate her into the wild pleasures of a love that shall remain unspoken.

All in all, All on Sunday was a fun book to read. I didn't go into it expecting a whole lot, and enjoyed the way Elliott (Silverberg) juggled the afternoon's events. Also, the writing was effortless. Even in a "cheap little smut book" like this, Silverberg shows just why his work, even his hack-work, is always readable. Better than today's self-indulgent stuff that is churned out by those oh-so-earnest young artistes with ivy-league credentials we're told to slaver over in reviews heard on NPR. Guys like Silverberg and others have already been there and done that, sweetie!

Saturday Night Vinyl - Portrait of Leda

Leda sings blood music. D.H. Lawrence would have understood her. 

Columbia - WL 114, 1958

Well, if D.H. Lawrence would have understood Leda Annest, then he must have been some amazing kind of cat! This 1958 record Portrait of Leda by Leda Annest and Phil Moore is one of the more unusual albums I've found and taken home. I'd never heard of Leda Annest before picking this one up out of a box labelled "unclassifiable" at an old favorite record store I like to visit. I'd say it's somewhere between exotica and orchestra. The long liner notes on the back of the cover describe it best, "To listen to Leda is to hear the secret voices of the wellsprings of life come to the ear one after the other...I have seen a group of businessmen who listened to Leda together fall into consternation and embarrassment."

This must have been quite a platter to drop on that unsuspecting kitten invited up to a bachelor's apartment for a nightcap. It's got one objective in mind: Sex! Deep, dark, sloppy, wild sex! Leda's voice runs from the guttural to tortured to angelic, all in the space of three long tracks on this record. I'm betting, though, that when played for that neat little chick in 1958, there was too much going on in the dark for anyone to get up and flip the record over. The liner notes in back warn the listener that it's a record best played alone. To let Leda "find you, touch you, know you...you'll be richer for it."

Some years later, a certain phony artist who married a well known Beatle tried recording songs with a similar method. She ended up making cats in heat fighting with screeching babies sound better. Unfortunately, she's the punchline for singing in the style Leda Annest does here. And it's a safe bet that more people know this certain Beatle widow than anyone remembering Leda Annest. That's a shame, because Leda is definitely the real deal when it comes to belting out savage, seductive siren wail of the "soul-psyche-soma."

Find Portrait of Leda, and play it at your own risk. Don't say you weren't warned.