By James Ellroy
The mythical crime author offers us a uncooked, brutally candid memoir--as excessive depth and as riveting as any of his novels--about his obsessive look for "atonement in women."
The 12 months was once 1958. Jean Hilliker had divorced her fast-buck hustler husband and resurrected her maiden identify. Her son, James, was once ten years outdated. He hated and lusted after his mom and "summoned her dead." She was once murdered 3 months later.
The Hilliker Curse is a predator's confession, a treatise on guilt and at the energy of malediction, and in particular, a cri de cœur. James Ellroy unsparingly describes his shattered youth, his antisocial children, his writing existence, his amorous affairs and marriages, his apprehensive breakdown, and the start of a dating with a unprecedented lady who could be the long-sought Her.
A layered narrative of time and position, emotion and perception, sexuality and religious quest, The Hilliker Curse is an excellent, soul-baring revelation of self. it really is not like any memoir you've ever read.
From the Hardcover edition.
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Additional resources for The Hilliker Curse: My Pursuit of Women
There have been short glimpses of the conjuress Erika. The plot used to be a crime-book patchwork. The locale used to be a carefully de-slime-zoned L. A. there has been no El Monte. I didn’t have the balls. there has been no Hancock Park, with all its attendant perversion. I shunned Hancock Park. I stayed north of 1st highway, south of sixth road, west of Highland and east of Western. I zoomed by way of that Laundromat as soon as a month to seem for Marcia Sidwell. She was once by no means there. They have been quick-search missions. I swooped via and received out. Verboten! Don’t do it! You’re a brand new guy! Barbed-wire noose, poisoned good, chance forward! the homes have been nonetheless beacons. Remnants of the women nonetheless raged there. i couldn't permit myself return. 6 girls go to sleep first. Penny taught me that. Lover’s insomnia—a primer. She’s correct beside you, she’s bare, you’ve already made love. She’s insensate. You’re stressed. You’re chatting with her. She’s oblivious. You didn’t pay her to hear. She’s now not conversing again. Penny’s mattress used to be brief and slender. i used to be long-limbed and love-looped and cherished to sprawl. Penny had perfected her sleep-with-men posture. She constantly rolled away on her aspect and created a niche. It was once symbolic. She reposed inside of inches. It used to be someplace off Planet Earth. I scooted nearer. I allow my foot brush her leg. I had reinstigated touch. Then i began chatting with her at the hours of darkness. approximately her, approximately me, approximately Us. approximately her law-school stories and my booklet in growth. I spent occasional weekend nights at her whim. Penny may sleep in. I received up predawn and zoomed to the golfing direction. The mattress was once a minefield. I by no means slept. I craved extra touch. I ran breathlessly apprehensive. She by no means stated she enjoyed me. the connection was once tenuous and unpredictable. I lay there and expected flow. A knee tucked my manner marked affirmation. I clenched my bladder until eventually 5:00 a. m. I fantasy-talked to Penny. I fantasy-talked to different ladies and felt in charge approximately it. Turnovers stuffed me with gratitude. Pull-aways stuffed me with dread. She’s your first sober love and he or she won’t say the phrases. It’s no longer presupposed to be this fashion. You had all of it deliberate out. We met in June ’79. i used to be six months off of the whore patrol and 5 months into my first booklet. I oozed self-confidence. It was once totally justified. i used to be certifiably sizzling shit. I rocked with a feeling of future and exuded a raucous panache. My monks ancestors streaked via my soul and anointed me with their calling. that they had pulpits. I had my booklet and AA lecterns. I now had tales to inform. I instructed my existence tale to a captive viewers. I turned a stunning public speaker on the get-go. Years of psychological practice session had ready me. A awake unravel formed my testimony. I grew to become my intercourse urge to death’s door into comedy. I passed over convinced information. No murdered mom. No bloody coughing matches. The jack-off guy and his loony lust—that’s picaresque. It acquired me laughs from the AA parents. The booklet gave me that life’s composite lady with the cello. My hero meets her in a park I used to sleep in. She’s poised on a bench together with her Stradivarius. My hero hears traces of Dvořák and is going batshit.