Fante stuck the impulsiveness of Americans in the middle of family values and Pinoy fisheries. He breathed life into characters that wobbled on their feet only to stand solidly on their own, now ready to whistle at passing behinds.
He embodied the megalomaniacal attitude of 1930 Los Angeles writers, typing flurries of papers with wet cigarettes dangling from his mouth.
And yet, to me at least, he signified a simple brilliance that overwhelmed any privileged predecessors. With the juice of L.A. orchards on his hands, he created novels that fueled the development of his own life by describing the development of the Golden State.