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Oh, my. This was a vacation into the world of pastime fiction, specifically the tough-guy detective sub-genre. It has all the elements one would expect. There's the grin he gives when someone tells him that doing X is impossible, right out of Conan the Cimmerian's stylebook. He likes to carry two 44s and shows nonchalance about having to kill some bad guy. The female characters, just like in the Bond movies, are all over him, from the innocent little thing to the ones with several levels of BAD. And then there are the racist stereotypes. Written in the '30s, it uses not-so-well-disguised Japanese as the bad guys. The first-person narrator carefully calls them vaguely Eastern or "Eurasian" at times, but also likes to describe them as yellow, with a sickening yellow tone and evilly slant-eyed. It's almost as if they're setting up a movie with Bogart or Robert Mitchum, but we just need to clean up the references to the sneaky and utterly evil Japs. Raymond Chandler wasn't above this attitude either. I took a detour into his work a few years back. One of the movies Mitchum made had a great scene of a shootup in a black bar by the cops, but left out that the narrator was referring to it as "a dinge joint" in the text. Of course, he wasn't afraid of any "dinges." I bet you never heard that word before. OK, vacation over. No more bimbos on the beach and strong drink at the bar. But if you want to study this genre, here's some of its early generation. It's a fascinating look into the past, with all its flaws and allure.