"All fiction is just words on a sheet of paper, characters and incidents made up by a writer, but when the magic hits, that's when you have something. Literature. Or a compulsive good read. Something that grows beyond its simple boundaries to mean something more to readers, something that attracts extra-literary attention" Don Herron--from Willeford, p.246
"So I went to my first cockfight. I'll never forget it , Frank. The sight of those beautiful roosters fighting to the death, the gameness, even when mortally wounded, was an exciting, unforgettable experience. Before the evening was over, I knew that that's what I wanted to do with my life: breed and fight game fowl. It was infantile, crazy maybe, I don't know. My wife thought I'd lost my mind and wouldn't even listen to my reasons. Probably because I couldn't give her any, not valid reasons. I wanted to do it and that was my sole reason!" Omar Baradinsky to Frank Mansfield--from Charles Willeford's Cockfighter
With the same infantile fury of Omar Baradinsky I've also become obsessed, obsessed with the "sport" of Charles Willeford. From the pulps all the way through the Hoke Moseley series, to read Willeford is to absorb a meticulous artisan. We see the same names and faces resound throughout the diverse canon, yet each has a different, and ofttimes sardonic, twist. There is no room for political correctness in Willeford's world; all are highly combustible.
Skip asked me once what Willeford wrote about and I couldn't really give him an answer. I told him I knew he would like him because his writings were quick reads--I often devour a work in one or two sittings at the most. More important, though, I said to him that when you walk away from a Willeford novel, short story, play or autobiography you walk away satisfied, satisfied with the notions that absurdism and existentialism can criss-cross and that we share similar anxieties. Stories about grown men making bets about picking up women, an art critic trying to further himself at any cost, a used car salesman/director enacting his revenge upon rejection, cockfighting, to an accountant turned minister all seem implausible, pointless, or insane, but they work.
They work because, as Don Herron, Willeford's adept biographer put it, "...we are all in one great big hole, you get out of it by dying, and you might as well try to make the best of it and get along with people. But if someone wants to be aloof or nurture an illusion of independence or importance, hey, whatever makes you happy" p.209-210. Trying to make the best of "it" is not a bad way to live and Willeford's observations of himself and his characters help keep me going. I hope you'll take the time to pick up (pun intended for Willeford aficionados) one of his tomes. Be warned: like a Lays potato chip, you can't just read one!
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