Las Vegas Sun

March 28, 2024

Sin City’: Dead man writing

Title: "Sin City."

Author: Unknown, written in the style of Harold Robbins.

Pages: 383.

Publisher: Forge.

Price: $25.95.

Grade: C-

The first thing you should know about Harold Robbins' new book "Sin City" is that Harold Robbins didn't write it.

Although his name is emblazoned across its electric blue book jacket -- in exactly the same size as the title -- Harold Robbins died five years ago.

You have to make it to the sixth inside page to find the disclaimer: "Harold Robbins left behind a rich heritage of novel ideas and works in progress when he passed away in 1997. Harold Robbins' estate and his editor worked with a carefully selected writer to organize and complete Harold Robbins' ideas to create this novel, inspired by his storytelling brilliance, in a manner faithful to the Robbins style."

If such "a carefully selected writer" wrote "Sin City," why isn't the writer's name mentioned in the book?

Harold Robbins is not alone in having his name used posthumously to sell books he didn't write. But most publishers who do this have the disclaimer on the cover, such as, Vincent Lardo writing in the style of Lawrence Sanders.

Or is it just coincidence that the publisher of the faux Robbins book is named Forge?

But the big question is: Just how closely has this "carefully selected writer" matched Robbins' style?

Both writers introduce a wide variety of characters pivotal to the plot, then take readers back and forth in time to show some incident crucial to each character's psyche. Both include excessive amounts of gratuitous sex and violence, and both researched their plots enough to write authoritatively. But that's where the similarities end.

Robbins wrote most of his 26 novels in another era. Although he penned his first book in 1949, most of his stories were published in the 1960s and '70s. What was avant-garde then, sounds like old hat now. His splashy, over-the-top sensationalism, which was shocking at the time, doesn't cut it with today's more sophisticated tastes. (Although with the success of today's reality TV shows, those sophisticated tastes may be debatable.)

The new book "Sin City" just doesn't work, if you use the barometer of Robbins' past stories as a gauge. His most famous novels, "The Carpetbaggers" written in 1961 and "The Betsy" from 1971, are a whole generation removed from today's tastes.

Reading Robbins is a lot like watching a dated TV miniseries. He holds your interest, but his stories are not timeless. Robbins is not Hemingway.

"Sin City," of course, is about Las Vegas. The story zaps from the 1950s to the late 1980s, recalling how one mob after another controlled the city.

Zack Riordan is a dirt poor kid who just happens to be the illegitimate son of Howard Hughes. His mother is a down-on-her-luck waitress who's known only the hard side of life.

Zack gets his foot in the door at a downtown Vegas casino, parlaying his interest into developing Vegas' first mega-casino on the Strip.

But the biggest difference between the faux Robbins and the real thing, is that you care about the characters in Robbins' books. It's hard to feel any emotion for the characters in "Sin City."

Compare the excerpts for yourself.

From "Sin City":

After Howard Hughes Jr. officially became Zachery Riordan, they drove her to the Greyhound bus depot.

"What'll it be girlie?" The thug had gotten into the backseat with her.

"Reno," she said.

She'd never been to Reno. It was actually a bigger and more important city than Vegas. Compared to it, Vegas was a one-horse town. There'd be more casinos and more jobs than Vegas.

They pulled up near the bus station and the driver went in to buy her a ticket. The man next to her took her left hand. She started to pull it away but he kept a tight grip on her small finger.

"You're getting two C-notes and a one-way ticket. Make sure you never come back this way." He jerked back on her finger.

She screamed. "You broke it!"

"Your friend don't want to hear from you again, no how, capiche?"

From Robbins' "The Pirate," written in 1974:

"If it were not for you, the child would have died with the mother. You are more his father than I."

"You're mad," Samir said.

"No," Ben Ezra's voice seemed to gain strength. "With me, he will die. And the burden of taking him could lead to my death also. But Allah has answered your prayer for a son. With you, he will grow safe and strong."

Samir looked into the Jew's eyes. "But he will be Muslim, not a Jew."

Ben Ezra stared back at him. "Does it really matter?" he asked. "Did you not tell me that we are all travelers on the same sea?"

Samir looked down at the tiny boy-child in his arms. Suddenly he was filled with a love such as he had never felt before. Truly Allah had in His own way answered their prayers.

And that's the difference. Robbins may be old hat, but he has heart.

In the real Sin City -- where impersonators abound -- a fake author would seem to fit right in. And that brings up the trickiest question of all. How do you promote a dead author when it comes time for book signings?

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