Since I once read that the term
Black Friday to designate the masochistic shopping crush in which all those other people are engaged at this moment originated in Philadelphia, I see no harm in bringing back this post from 2010 about Black Friday, by Philadelphia's own David Goodis.
TODAY ONLY: Stay home and read this book instead of going to the mall, and derive 70% more pleasure from your reading!!!
read David Goodis's 1954 novel Black Friday
on Thanksgiving Day, and I can see why the French love this guy. The book's bleak, uncertain ending reminds me strongly of Jean-Patrick Manchette
I also got a kick out of its mention of my newspaper and out of its references to Dizzy Gillespie and the painters Corot
Here's a routine bit of description whose tone is, however, indicative of Goodis' bleakness:
"The front of the cellar* was divided into two sections, one for coal, the other for old things that didn't matter too much."
And here's a tiny excerpt from Black Friday read at Goodis' graveside
I know of no Goodis story in which cellars do not play a part: Black Friday
, Down There
, "Black Pudding." That has to say something about Goodis. Here’s your humble blogkeeper reading from “Black Pudding.”
© Peter Rozovsky 2010
Labels: Black Friday, David Goodis, Jean-Patrick Manchette