It always thrills me when I happen to discover a
hard to find paperback novel for nickels and dimes. I think I bought this one
for less than a buck a few years back. I was barely aware that it was a rare find
but I sure liked the book premise: the swinging sixties and the rise and fall
(mostly fall) of a privileged but doomed heroine. I’m sure NIGHT GAMES (1969, Award Books) wouldn’t have existed had it not been for
the mega-success of Jacqueline Susann’s VALLEY OF THE DOLLS. More power to both
titles I say, for I could spend the rest of my life reading this trash, and I
say this with all the love in my heart. Call me masochist but there’s nothing
better than a sizzling tale of an unhappy wealthy bunch to cure any gloomy day.
Take the heroine of NIGHT GAMES, for example. She could easily have been little moi, if
little moi was still 40 years old and a former screen goddess looking for love
in all the wrong places. Since I’ve been happily hooked for 22 years, two of
which being married, all I can say instead is, boy, does it bring me back. Clubs,
booze, dope, fucked up rich—or not that rich—friends; those were the days of my
so-called life and they are all showcased again in this 156 page effort which gravitates
around lost as a lamb Dana as she shakes her curvy bonbon in New-York and in the
French Riviera in the hopes of finding happiness. A futile attempt of course
since everybody knows that happiness comes from within (and a lot of therapy,
trust me). If author Charles Rigdon is aware of that he sure as heck disregards
it in NIGHT GAMES, for when it comes
to the goings-on of his heroine the girl is a complete mess, which can sure
make a fascinating read in the process but oh what a sad and pathetic ride this
is.
And that’s where the book might irk a little, its
tendency to stray away from rose-colored situations. Indeed, NIGHT GAMES is far from being
lightweight. The characters involved are all desperate people holding on to
their desperate lives. Glammed-up and in control they very well may be but each
and every one of them is hanging on by a thread. And that’s what makes this
novel such a page-turner, to see them all tumble one way or the other. But most
importantly despite its sexually-charged context NIGHT GAMES is mainly a character study of one lost soul who may
never find her rainbow after all, and I’m the first to admit that that sucks,
for everyone deserves a piece of the happy pie, even characters in a novel such
as this one.
If you ever cross this title I urge
you to give it a chance. If you can find it at a decent price, that is. Last
time I checked, it was going at its cheapest for $50. Charles Rigdon wrote a
few other scandalous novels (which I still have yet to get into) before
disappearing from the public eye in the mid-‘80s. I have no idea of his
whereabouts, but if he’s still around I sure would like to shake his hand for
having delivered one heck of a read with NIGHT
GAMES.
Until next post—Martin
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