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(More customer reviews)Sometimes a book takes a sudden twist that knocks you for a loop. Other times, you find yourself reading a book where you have a pretty good idea what the twist is going to be, only you keep reading because you care so much about the central character you hope you're wrong. The second kind is more impressive to me, and "The Golden Orange" is a perfect example of it.
Joseph Wambaugh's 1990 novel focuses on a boozy ex-cop's love affair with a beautiful society girl on the coast of Newport Beach in Orange County, California. Maybe that's why people are down on it; it's more Raymond Chandler than Ed McBain. Yet I can't help loving "The Golden Orange," one of the most humorous and emotionally compelling novels I have ever read.
There isn't anything here to surprise film noir enthusiasts, though this is much different in tone and story. With his masterly sense of characterization, Wambaugh starts off putting the reader in the shoes of Winnie Farlowe, a hard-drinking 40-year-old forced off the local police because of injury. Adrift, wishing he could return to a job where he mattered, he wastes his small pension drowning his sorrows in one of the few cheap dives in Orange County, occasionally getting a peek at the well-heeled around him.
Winnie's a hard guy not to like, with his sardonic yet humble manner. Told he is ingenuous, Winnie asks: "Is that like ingenious? I used to be ingenious sometimes. Working on homicide gave me ingenious moments." He's so straight up he pays child support for his ex-wife's kids because he adopted them during the marriage. The only thing he's not straight up about is his drinking: "I'm not an alcoholic. I jist shouldn't drink rum!"
After a mad drunken boat ride lands Winnie in the papers for a couple of days, into his bar walks an unexpected grace note. Tess Binder, a 43-year-old thrice-divorced "Hot Momma," saw his picture in the paper and felt something, it's hard to explain what exactly, that made her want to reach out to Winnie.
In no time they're in bed, she's asking him to stay the week, calling him "old son," seeking his help in figuring out what happened to her father's lost fortune and why someone might be trying to kill her. Protective Winnie is convinced his life just passed perfect and is somewhere north of sensational. Except when he dreams.
Wambaugh finds a cagey balance between amusement and gravity with the alcoholic Winnie. When we first meet him is having one of his three-in-the-morning wake-up calls with his version of pink elephants, two buzzards he visualizes pecking at his stomach. He's so used to them he's given them names.
There's also a nice portrait of Newport Beach, Wambaugh's home turf when he wrote "The Golden Orange." After a small temblor gets his customer praying, a bartender wisecracks: "A day to go down in Newport Beach history...Fifteen square miles a greed and white-collar crime. And people finally pray because of a little four-point-sixer." Among the funny asides is a dissertation on the different kinds of rich, and how the Hot Mommas work their tans and plastic surgeons in a never-ending quest to marry up.
The one downside of the book is a tinness of dialogue: The bar Winnie frequents is full of drunks who seem to one-up each other with wisecracks straight from Neil Simon. But this wouldn't be as much of a flaw in a lesser book. There are moments, mostly between Winnie and Tess, where the conversations ache with real emotion, and you can almost hear the lilt of laughter in Tess's voice.
Other people express their frustration with Wambaugh after his 70s/80s commercial peak, but "The Golden Orange" makes me want to read more. I love his humor here, but I treasure his sensitivity and his compassion for the unlucky and dumped-upon even more. It's a keeper.
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