A classic hard-boiled police detective story from the pen of a mother of this genre. Although a plot twist is rather obvious too early, the setup of the case and the originality (always in relation to the era in which it was published) easily cover it up. I had started it again 10 - 12 years ago and left it at the 1/3 mark. It wasn't yet the right time for me reading-wise. Now at 28, it has a different kind of charm, apart from that which is given by the weight of its title. It's not a masterpiece of course, but very few end up being so in one's entire reading life. However, it's what is needed for these warm summer nights.

Whoever likes crime fiction should read at least one of the 7 great stories of Chandler. Of course, I don't know if the introduction should be this one or "The Big Sleep".

I read all of Chandler's short stories, novels, essays and letters back in the 1970s.

At that time, I was deeply impressed and thought they were truly great.

As a writer of mysteries, Chandler stood out as one of a kind. His works were filled with unique charm and style.

Among all his creations, this novel holds a special place in my heart and is one of my absolute favorites.

The way he crafted the plot, developed the characters, and built the atmosphere was simply remarkable.

Each page turned was like uncovering a new layer of mystery, drawing me deeper into the story.

Chandler's writing was not only engaging but also had a certain depth and sophistication that made his works truly unforgettable.

Even after all these years, his novels still have the power to captivate readers and transport them into a world of mystery and intrigue.

First of all, disclaimer: I've read this in Romanian, not English, and the translated prose flows like the River Ankh in Discworld (hint: it doesn't). So I missed a lot of the fun everybody else seemed to be having.

Anyway, let's talk about the plot. If there's one thing I hate in a mystery novel is to be able to tell early on what happened with the murder and all that - which is what happened here. I'm not sure it's Chandler's fault or if I can recognize hints when I see them, but everything clicked for me relatively early on. Seriously, don't read this if you want to enjoy the book or something. The detective investigates the disappearance of a blonde, pretty woman, and he comes across a man who had another blonde, pretty woman for a wife, and who goes out of the way to describe how similar the two are. I mean, it was a pretty obvious hint that the two switched places at some point.

After that, there was a lot of chasing bad guys around and trying to figure out where women vanished off to. Decent, but I wasn't wowed. I liked the way it built up into a coherent narrative at the end, with a nicely evil villain. And I was a bit amused at the tendency to kill everybody who committed murder by the end, which I've encountered in other places as well. Crime doesn't pay, indeed. Because the author kills you before you collect, I suppose.

Overall, it was an okay read, but not one that blew me away. There were some good elements, but the predictability took away from the enjoyment for me. Maybe if I had read it in the original English, it would have been a different experience.

Call me stupid, but I'm not quite as much of a fan of Chandler as everyone tells me I should be.

After I peaked with The Big Sleep, I seem to be on a downward slope. I still love the laconic style and the noir atmosphere of the deliciously cynical and jaded Marlowe. His tough exterior and sharp wit make him a captivating character. However, the convoluted plots are becoming an irritant.

I know everyone says you don't read Chandler for the plot, but is it too much to ask for a storyline that is coherent and comprehensible? It's frustrating when I have to constantly re-read passages to try and make sense of what's going on.

Taking Marlowe out of LA is a bit yawny. While the local sheriff is a great character, the change of setting doesn't quite have the same impact. There are various dames to be traced and castigated with Marlowe's usual sense of ethics. This installment feels particularly dark with that ending. However, the 'twist' has become cheapened over time. It feels more retro than the earlier books, lacking the freshness and surprise that made the first few so engaging.

Overall, while I still appreciate Chandler's writing style and the character of Marlowe, the increasingly convoluted plots and somewhat tired twists are starting to take their toll on my enjoyment of his work.

Arthur: The Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering silmite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water. Signifying by divine providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. THAT is why I am your king!

Dennis: Listen, strange women lyin' in ponds distributin' swords is no basis for a system of government! Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony!

The fact that I can't resist a Monty Python quote aside, the titular lady in the lake in Chandler's book is distinctly non-Arthurian. Rather, she is a lovely, rotting corpse who rises up from the depths to make Philip Marlow's day more interesting.

This is yet another classic noir gumshoe tale that will delight fans of the hard boiled genre. The story is filled with twists and turns, keeping the reader on the edge of their seat. The characters are well-developed and the dialogue is sharp and witty.

This has my favourite ending of any of the Marlow books so far. I finished reading this with a big, cheesey grin on my face. It was a satisfying conclusion that tied up all the loose ends and left me feeling fulfilled.

To be honest, I hadn't thought I'd finish this book today but a two-and-a-half hour traffic jam had other ideas. Thank goodness for audiobooks. They are a great way to pass the time when you're stuck in traffic or doing other mundane tasks.

Chandler’s fourth full mystery, The Lady in The Lake, is perhaps not the first that comes to mind when thinking of his Philip Marlowe canon. However, I have always had a secret admiration for this particular work.

What makes this story stand out is the awareness it brings of the second world war happening elsewhere. The references are casually and indirectly sprinkled throughout - something contemporary readers wouldn't have required reminding of - yet they are sufficient to firmly ground the story in its period. Written after Pearl Harbor and published in 1944, it reflects the times.

Unusually, a significant part of the main action is relocated to a mountain lake resort several hours' drive from the sweltering heat of LA. But Chandler is a master at taking the reader on drives with Marlowe, and the allure of meeting Puma Point’s Sheriff Patton is such that one might even rent a car and make the journey oneself.

There is an inexplicable (at least to me) plot twist that ranks with the famous "So who killed the chauffeur?" query wired to Chandler by the screenwriters working on The Big Sleep. Interestingly, Chandler himself had no clue about the answer to that either. As the Marlowe novels progress, they increasingly focus on a sense of time, place, and the characters that inhabit them. The narrative detail becomes more of a token. Chandler simply has less interest in it, and ultimately, generations of his readers have followed him in this regard. They understand that the reward is a portrayal of Los Angeles so vivid that it still fires up our image of the metropolis to this day.

Crystal, Muriel, Mildred, Adrienne and Florence are the women showcased in Chandler's Hall of Mirrors. It starts with the seemingly straightforward case of a missing wife but rapidly escalates into four murders. There's also a Dr Feelgood who supplies drugs to his patients and corrupt cops in Bay City or Santa Monica, Ca., which Chandler was all too familiar with. I believe he coined the cliché of a coshed character waking up with a dead body in the same room. Here, it's a statuesque femme fatale on the bed, wearing only nylons – a cheeky image for the author in 1943 when nylons were scarce, yet it creates a visually stimulating effect. "The minutes went by on tiptoe," Ray claims, "with their fingers to their lips."

I understand what's happening – to a certain extent – but I couldn't provide a coherent synopsis, and it doesn't really matter. The murders have a connecting twist and are memorable, like the "Adam's apple that edged through his wing collar and looked harder than most people's chins." Remember that when Howard Hawks filmed "The Big Sleep," he and his writers had no clue who killed the chauffeur found in a car off Lido pier. Hawks sent Ray a telegram asking whodunit. Ray went through his novel, reflected for several hours, and wired back, "I don't know." Ray, Hawks, and readers all agree that the plot doesn't have to make sense if it's enjoyable. How modern can you get? Plot is just a means of telling a story.

Lauded by British aristocrats Edith Sitwell and Cyril Connolly, among others, Chandler knew that overseas he was regarded as an Author, while in the US he was merely a "mystery writer." His language and sentence structure, uniquely his own, have a hypnotic effect on the nervous system: there's a rhythmic tension. Chandler aimed for an emotional quality. It's not the plot, he argued, "it's the richness of texture." And: "The most durable thing in writing is style. Style is a projection of personality and you have to have a personality before you can project it. My kind of writing demands a certain amount of dash and high spirits – the word is gusto, a quality lacking in modern writing."

He wasn't interested in adapting his novels for the screen. He did write one original screenplay, "The Blue Dahlia," but his ending was censored. (The killer could not be a serviceman. So he became the apartment house dick). Yet the noir was a hit. He was pleased. "Good original screenplays are almost as rare in Hollywood as virgins," he said.

Marlowe but not as I remember him.

I generally have a deep affection for Chandler's style. In particular, I love Marlowe, that wise-cracking hard-boiled private investigator. However, for me, there was something amiss with this book. It just didn't seem to be up to par.

Aside from the fact that I could easily predict how the narrative would unfold due to the overly obvious use of the genre staples like portraits and doubles. This made every incident in between feel like a lackluster attempt at laying out red herrings. There was so little in the way of great dialogue and internal monologue that I found myself wondering what had happened to Marlowe. It felt as if this could have been the story of any ordinary gumshoe. Moreover, the combination of this with the middle class murder standards made me completely indifferent to the solution.

As everyone knows, Chandler is quite adept at describing various things, be it places, people, or incidents. They are all vividly and wonderfully described. But beyond that, I truly don't have anything positive to say about this book. It was just weak. No wonder Hollywood only made one ill-fated attempt to adapt this one. Although I must give credit to Robert Montgomery for attempting something completely different with his direction.

My fifth book was read thanks to a suggestion from Goodreads. This particular book was recommended by Alan Firestone.

Previously, I had never read any works by Chandler. However, after reading this one, I was completely enamored. What I loved most about it was its remarkable tightness, intelligence, and stylization.

From the very beginning to the end, this book received high marks from me. It was a truly captivating read that kept me engaged throughout. The writing style was unique and added to the overall charm of the story.

I am now eager to explore more of Chandler's works and see what other literary treasures he has in store. Thanks to this Goodreads suggestion, I have discovered a new author whose works I will surely enjoy.

Looking down into the deep waters of the small lake, there is movement. A hand... The murky image is unclear, concealing a secret which gives this book its title, The Lady in the Lake. Marlowe watches, his stomach is not joyful. However, appearances can be deceiving.

The brutish husband Bill Chess, the village drunk, is arrested for the crime. The victim, his mysterious mate an outsider, Muriel, has been wet for a month. So well, the difficulty in identification is very unpleasant for the poor local coroner. Little Fawn Lake, eighty miles from the bustling metropolis of L.A., is unfamiliar territory for the intrepid shamus. You notice this and the uncomfortable investigator moving about in the quiet area. His client has a vacation cabin here and Marlowe needs to search it.

The fat constable Mr. Jim Patton in the mountains of San Bernardino there is surprisingly competent. Philip Marlowe, a private eye, has been hired to find the wife of businessman Derace Kingsley, Crystal, a woman whose proclivity for extracurricular activity begins the plot. The results: murders. Mr. Marlowe is a magnet in this aspect of discovering dead bodies. Wherever he roams, the unliving are there and stillness prevails. But not for long, others will fall as the detective travels from the mountain lakes outside Los Angeles, that city itself, to a corrupt little town Bay City (Santa Monica).

Al Degarmo, the tough cop from Bay City, they do not think kindness a virtue, is snooping around. No gentleman, a crack in the head with a blackjack, a punch in the face, a kick to the shin, anything to make you talk, few keep quiet. Mr. Marlowe will experience his unhappiness. He is no superman. When hit, it hurts. Blood flows from him very easily like anyone else. Chris Lavery, a playboy the kind that never saw an attractive woman he didn't covet, is the key to the story and revealing the villain or villains from the not so bad. Still, lies and liars are easily found here. People who can be believed are rare. Trust becomes an anomaly.

Raymond Chandler, in my opinion the best mystery writer who ever put ink on paper and that includes computers, shows again his mastery of atmosphere and character. You feel the unhealthy air closing in, the breathing becomes hard, the thickness all consuming, death is near. For this is much more than another who done it. Art, if I may be presumptuous in writing this, is great literature... a fact.

The fourth adventure of Philip Marlowe, the heroic knight of detectives.

This particular case, which involves disappearing wives and corrupt policemen, leads Marlowe away from his familiar haunts and up into the mountains beyond the San Bernadino valley. All the typical shady characters are part of the equation - sophisticated businessmen clients, suspect doctors, and, of course, cool, smoky, and duplicitous women.

As is his custom, the brave Marlowe stumbles upon a few corpses, gets abused, implicated, and slugged. He remains on the trail, incorruptible and unyielding, always taking risks and ready with a witty remark.

This was my third reading of this book. The first time was a decade and a half ago when I devoured the entire series almost in one sitting, just as I suspect many previous enthusiasts must have done before me. The second time was a dozen years ago when I had plans to read them all again, but I never got that far.

"The Lady in the Lake" is second-tier Chandler, not as excellent as "The Big Sleep", "Farewell My Lovely", or "The Long Goodbye", but as good as or better than any of the others. It never really explodes, yet there is plenty of excitement; the plot is ingenious and the prose as captivating as usual.

My favorite simile this time around:

"I separated another dollar from my exhibit and it went into his pocket with a sound like caterpillars fighting".

I have an unwavering love for Raymond Chandler. This time around, I embarked on a reread of The Lady in the Lake. And let me tell you, it was an absolute joy. Once again. Of course.

The structure of the story is indeed familiar, yet it never loses its charm or becomes tiresome. Raymond Chandler has a remarkable talent for piling mystery upon complexity. Philip Marlowe, the protagonist, doggedly pursues leads, fearlessly sticking his nose into places where others would rather he stayed out. And, without fail, he gets beaten up along the way, but he never stops wise cracking. The story is filled with all the familiar tropes that make Chandler's works so captivating - corruption, cynicism, dirty cops, manipulative women, and more. They are all present and correct, adding to the overall allure of the narrative.

In conclusion, this reread was a splendid experience. It reminded me once again why I hold Raymond Chandler in such high regard. I would毫不犹豫地 give this book a 5/5 rating.