MORE WRITERS IN THE SUN

Am I missing something? In your L.A. nostalgia pieces (“It’s Only L.A., Jake,” May 29) no article mentioned James M. Cain.

When I was away from my home in L.A. while in the military service (1948-1952), I had my L.A. fix (which I needed badly when stationed in Texas, New Jersey and Korea) by reading Cain.

LARRY KIRSCHENBAUM, SANTA ANA

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You publish an issue devoted to the strange dance writers have had with Los Angeles for the past 100 years, and leave out Joseph Wambaugh? Shame on you and the Red Car (or surfboard) you rode in on.

TIMOTHY B. TAYLOR, SAN DIEGO

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I realize the impossibility of including a snippet from every author whose thoughts on L.A. became words on a page. But hey--I know an oversight when I don’t see it. For me, no writer has ever vitalized Los Angeles better than Christopher Isherwood.

When by the end of your selection I still didn’t see his name, a sudden wave of dismay made my Sunday smog gray. Almost every page has L.A. as its subliminal theme, mysterious, sensuous, glamorous, ridiculous, enigmatic, obvious, awesome, plain, strange, elusive, intimate, infinite . . . A paradise of paradox. Hooray for Isherwood!!

BING MCGILVRAY, HOLLYWOOD