Peter Joseph Swanson has been fun playing with a detailed biography of Joan's life in his novel. He was born in Texas, and he tried like the devil to remove traces of Southwest twang of a voice speaking to him. William Haines was the closest friend, and she gave him the nickname "Cranberry" (a play on "crayfish," said she must serve Thanksgiving dinner with turkey and cranberry sauce).
You do not need to know the real history of Joan Crawford to enjoy this book, though. Peter brought him down to the page as the characters in a larger-than-life Hollywood stars with excesses of all the stars and the desire of the half believed some of his movie is real. He rumbled through the pages real diamonds and fake fur with a gun in the gun, tore the young stars is lower (according to Joan, everyone but himself) like Esther Williams and Marilyn Monroe to shreds with his words-sharp letter-opener. But Joan's caliber stars would not really tear a young star (or transvestites) apart, is he? In her vodka-and diet pill-induced haze, Joan did not even believe myself anymore.
Read carefully, or you could lose a few clever one-liners Peter. Despite all the gruesome murders and shady backroom Hollywood affairs, this book is fun, fun, fun. There's even a sprinkling of sex here and there, though of course to mislead is observed through the lens of literature Peter offbeat style. Would you like mystery and crime novels, Old School Hollywood, or both, this book promises to be just like what you've read before.
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