David Goodis
David Goodis
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Full Name and Common Aliases
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David Michael Goodis was a prolific American novelist, short story writer, and screenwriter who wrote under the pseudonym David Goodis.
Birth and Death Dates
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Born: February 2, 1915, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Died: May 15, 1967, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Nationality and Profession(s)
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American novelist, short story writer, and screenwriter
Early Life and Background
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David Goodis was born in Philadelphia's South Philly neighborhood to a large family of modest means. His father, a Jewish immigrant from Poland, worked as a tailor. Goodis grew up on the streets of Philadelphia, developing a keen sense of observation and a deep understanding of urban life.
Goodis's early writing career began with short stories published in pulp magazines such as _Black Mask_ and _Dime Detective_. He developed a reputation for writing gritty, hard-boiled fiction that explored the darker aspects of city life. His experiences on the streets of Philadelphia heavily influenced his writing style and subject matter.
Major Accomplishments
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Goodis's literary output was prolific and varied, with over 30 novels and numerous short stories to his credit. Some of his most notable works include:
Dark Passage (1946): A classic noir novel about a man wrongly accused of murder.
Nightfall (1947): A haunting tale of crime and revenge set in the sweltering summer of 1930s Philadelphia.
* The Burglar (1953): A gritty, atmospheric novel about a burglar who becomes embroiled in a complex web of crime.
Notable Works or Actions
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Goodis's writing often explored themes of crime, violence, and the human condition. His works were known for their dark, atmospheric settings and morally ambiguous characters.
One notable aspect of Goodis's career is his long-standing relationship with the French avant-garde publisher Maurice Girodias. Under Girodias' patronage, Goodis wrote several novels that pushed the boundaries of literary expression.
Impact and Legacy
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Goodis's influence on American literature is undeniable. His writing style, which blended elements of hard-boiled fiction and social realism, has been cited as an inspiration by numerous writers, including Elmore Leonard and Dennis Lehane.
Goodis's work also had a significant impact on the development of film noir, with several of his novels being adapted into classic movies.
Why They Are Widely Quoted or Remembered
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David Goodis is widely quoted or remembered for his gritty, atmospheric writing style, which captured the essence of urban life in mid-20th century America. His works continue to be celebrated for their dark, complex characters and morally ambiguous themes.
Goodis's legacy extends beyond his literary output; he has also become a cultural icon, symbolizing the darker aspects of city life and the human condition.
Quotes by David Goodis
There’s nothing fragile about this one. That ain’t a fragile nose or mouth or chin, and yet it’s female, more female than them fragile-pretty types who look more like ornaments than girls.
He craved Mildred’s body and he couldn’t do without it, and that was the one and only reason he went on living with her.
It’s just that I’m curious, that’s all. He usually walks alone” “Yeah, he’s a loner, all right,” the waitress murmured. “Even when he’s with someone, he’s alone.
What it amounts to, is you’ve been listed minus zero, strictly useless, absolutely worthless. The tip off came when he didn’t even bother to have you thrown out. I guess that puts you right at the bottom, even lower than Carp and the other mischief-makers. At least they get some attention, they rate high enough to get bounced. All you’re getting is the look; the look that says in no uncertain terms that you’ve been junked.
I think the way to stop it is to shrug it off. Or take it with your tongue in your cheek. Sure, that’s the system. At any rate, it’s the system that works for you. It’s the automatic control board that keeps you out there where nothing matters, where it’s only you and the keyboard and nothing else. Because it’s gotta be that way. You gotta stay clear of anything serious.
At three in the morning it was dead around here and the windows of the mansion were black, the mansion dark purple and solemn against the moonlit velvet, green of gently sloping lawn.
He told himself she wasn’t really such a bad person, she was just a pest, she was sticky, there was something misplaced in her make-up, something that kept her from fading clear of people when they wanted to be in the clear.
A cat came out of an alley, took a look at all the snow, and went back in. Farther on up the street a fat man, aproned and puffing, emerged from a restaurant and whiffed the cold air and gazed yearningly at the sky. As though even the dreams were up there, much too far away.