Elmore Leonard

Elmore Leonard died last week. It's not a shame; at 87 he was old enough. I'm sorry because he was a man who continued to grow in his craft until it became an art. Then he kept on writing.

I have a paperback of his short stories that demonstrates this. It's titled When the Women Come Out to Dance [Dark Alley, an imprint of HarperCollins publishers]. It contains nine stories. The first stories are early, early Leonard; the later ones are, well, later; they progress, textbook fashion, from so-so to polished to superb. The title story, "When the Women Come Out to Dance", took my breath away.

Today the press is full of his accomplishments; that'll last until the weekend, so I won't elaborate. There is something I haven't heard yet, though, and it is this; everybody could enjoy his work. My mom discovered Elmore Leonard in her mid-seventies and fell in love, especially with his wicked sense of humor. I watched a bunch of his movies and when I decided to write fiction, began reading his novels - at first to learn, then for the fun of it. My son swears by him.

That's three generations and counting. In my book, a record like that argues for the man's art and genius. It's true: Elmore Leonard will be missed. Sorely.