Dusty Detwiller and his Sandmen were undoubtedly the most-hoodooed aggregation of hot-lickers that ever jammed a number from a bandshell. It kept the Warden of the Mad House jumping, trying to furnish substitutes for the swingsters who apparently Dutched it after each of those fatal jam-sessions. But a smart dick who didn’t know the Bolero from Dinah, and the little blonde who canaried it for the band proved even the cagiest murderer can go kill-corny once too often.
Any hint of budding literary genius was notably absent from little Johnny’s English paper. But a sinister hint of something else was there — which thrust his pretty schoolmarm into a career of amateur sleuthing and landed her on dangerous ground indeed, before she concluded her one-woman manhunt — and returned to award Johnny’s opus a well-deserved A-plus.
Here is the story of a mad love, written against the mysterious background of the underworld. Unlike the ordinary tale of this type with its crude, realistic descriptions, Manhattan Love Song is attuned in style and pace to the exoticism that surrounds and controls the life of Bernice.
Because it is unusual, daring and bizarre this book will impress and delight the reader as few books have done before.
Someone — I wish it were me — has put together a fantastic collection of Woolrich stories that everyone needs to have. This includes most of his classics (It Had to be Murder is really Rear Window). Many great pulp classics here — plus one I’ve been looking for for a long time, Jane Brown’s Body, which is CW’s only Science Fiction story. Grab this one — it’s a noirfest everyone should indulge in.