WHAT IS PULP FICTION?
There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks.
That’s the opening of the classic pulp story “Red Wind” by one of the greatest practitioners of the form, Raymond Chandler. The paragraph sets a tone. It gives you a sense of what’s coming. We know it’ll have at least one dead body and plenty of sharp gab.
Pulp doesn’t bog us down with thematic ambiguity or thick flights of circumlocutory style. (I consulted a thesaurus to get circumlocutory, which is exactly the kind of thing pulp doesn’t do.)
Pulp is escapist and entertaining.
And there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.
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