A Gun for Sale.

I’m on record as a huge Graham Greene fan, both of his serious novels and his “entertainments,” primarily because his writing was so crisp and evocative. Greene’s prose established the time and place with a minimum of verbiage. His 1936 entertainment A Gun for Sale, the 20th of his novels I’ve read, veers a bit towards the silly end of the spectrum, a bit more cliched than his later works, although it is still a pleasure to read and, as with all of his writing, infuses humanity into his villains and blurs the lines between the good and the bad.

Raven is both protagonist and antagonist in the book, a hired killer with a facial disfigurement that leads him to an abundance of caution and a strategy of eliminating any witnesses because he’d be too easy to identify. The novel opens with a scene of him in Prague, killing a foreign minister and one witness, only to discover that the man who hired him has double-crossed him, putting Raven on the run and also bent on revenge. The assassination was supposed to trigger a second European war, although the plot unravels in the background as Raven is hunted by authorities, including the ambitious police detective Jimmy Mather. A coincidental meeting puts Mather’s girlfriend, Anne Crowder, in the path of “Cholmondely,” the man who hired Raven but paid him in stolen banknotes, and she eventually intersects with Raven as well, helping him escape temporarily when she hears his side of the story.

The actual reasons for the assassination are at the same time overly familiar and tiringly current: A munitions manufacturer wants war to break out so he can make more money. (The manufacturer is Jewish, and Greene’s pre-WWII work was typical of the period of English literature in its casual use of anti-Semitic phrases and stereotypes.) It’s the least interesting part of the story, too, but becomes critical in the resolution. Greene does much better in making Raven a three-dimensional character – why he is who he is, how he feels persecuted at every step – and turning Anne into an important actor in the plot and giving her real moral dilemmas without clear right and wrong options. By the end of the novel, I wasn’t sure why she would still be interested in Mather, who seems a bit dull for her, whereas Greene leaves the reader with the strong implication that Mather had to choose to take her back after her role in helping Raven escape arrest at least once over the course of the novel.

Cholmondeley, pronounced “Chumley” and possibly named Davis, is a typical Greene villain, dotted with peculiar flourishes (e.g., a sweet tooth) that give a superficial sense of reality to what would otherwise be a sort of one-note scumbag. He had no qualms whatsoever about selling Raven out; if anything, he seems like he might have enjoyed it had Raven not gotten away from the police. He’s creepy with women and creepy in his personal habits, and when Anne ends up cornered by him, it’s one of the best horror scenes Greene ever wrote, even though it’s entirely of the psychological sort and ends the chapter with a pulpy cliffhanger.

Greene’s best novels bridge the gap between his spy-novel work and his attempts to tackle more serious themes, dealing with matters of politics rather than the theological questions of his Catholic novels. (Greene’s own Catholicism was complicated; he converted to marry a Catholic woman, but they separated and he was a notorious philanderer, often sleeping with friends’ wives, and described himself later in life as a “Catholic atheist.”) In The Quiet American, Greene explores and exposes the deep hypocrisies of western powers fighting a proxy war in Vietnam. In Our Man in Havana, my favorite of his novels, he lampoons British intelligence services and their willingness to believe anyone who tells them what they want to hear, a story that bears many elements of the real Operation Mincemeat and that was later imitated in John Le Carre’s The Tailor of Panama. A Gun for Sale feels like a precursor to those later novels – an entertainment, certainly, but one bearing elements of the cynicism about war that would populate many of Greene’s later, better works outside of the Catholic novels. It’s a quick read, well short of 200 pages, instructive in the broader continuum of Greene’s work and a sign of how his attempts to split his output into two camps broke down over time as serious themes bled into the works he tried to distinguish as mere spy novels.

Next up: I’m reading John T. Edge’s The Potlikker Papers: A Food History of the Modern South and am also about 80% through the audiobook version of Matthew Desmond’s Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City, winner of the 2017 Pulitzer Prize for Non-Fiction. (Same as yesterday.)

Comments

  1. I’ll be very interested in to read your write-up of The Potlikker Papers. Edge is an excellent speaker as well, if you ever get the chance to see him live.