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My first experience with a Willeford novel. A few decades after the publication (in 1955) of this second book of his, the author hit his stride with the popular 'Hoke Moseley' series. I can only hope he got better.

'Pick-Up' brought to mind the kind of pulp fiction which, in the '50s, was most easily found on 'spinning tree' racks in airports and pharmacies: disposable; neither good nor bad but serviceable in the days when the noir style was popular.

It's certainly a 'cherchez la femme' tale and here, in the pathetic form of Helen Meredith, one immediately finds the femme. When first released as a paperback original, there was a tagline: "He hooked up with a helpless lush." And there you have it; that's it for plot. Equally nihilistic Harry Jordan finds his soulmate and, before long, they reveal a mutual death wish.

Needless to say, things don't bode well for the couple during the instant-courtship:

"I'm pretty much a failure in life, Helen. Does it matter to you?"

The two share genuine attraction and desire but inside both of them nobody's home. Harry has a certain interest in painting and Helen revels in a welcome opportunity to nurture - but it's not like either one has a personality to speak of. They're pretty much ciphers who basically live to drink. (Harry takes and drops jobs to keep them in booze and rent money.)

It's only because Willeford is a reasonably competent writer that the novel's first half is of mild interest. (The 3 stars is for basic literary know-how.) But the doomed lovers decide on a suicide pact that fails. They later try again and partially succeed, landing Harry with the law and a protracted period of observation - when all he wants is execution. (This latter section is particularly languid.)

Unfortunately, most of the novel's second half is a nosedive. Once or twice there's a minimal perk-up - and (considering the period) the so-called twist ending feels unearned and tacked on.