These two sentences capture the writing pretty well:

"The night was all around soft and quiet. The white moonlight was cold and clear, like the justice we dream of but don't find."

Good stuff.

Man, oh, man. Chandler writes sentences so thick you have to chew 'em. And for all the hullabaloo over how Hemingway changed the way English stories are written, I think there's a lot of Chandler out there, too. But for some reason, he doesn't get the same level of credit. Oh well. Glad that his works are collected so that I could access them.

Pulp Stories (***) – These are a series of excessively violent stories featuring the tough guy detective and a supporting cast of murderers, blackmailers, thieves, con men, and crooks. And when I say tough guy, I mean it – Chandler’s protagonists take more beatings than old rug. The stories are a catalog of beatings with a gun, sap, black jack, fist, etc. – both received and administered by the tough guy. They are engrossing yarns with all the improbable twists and escapes you can imagine. But it’s all fun. (Uh, I guess.)(12/14)

The Big Sleep **** -- This contains, by far, Chandler’s best writing (that I’ve read so far). But can a mystery novel be good or great if its ending is – is – flat? I thought the last two chapters were unbelievable and poorly conceived. This ends not with a bang but a whimper. All the great writing and great scenes lead up to a finish that fizzles like a wet firecracker at a graduation party.

Marlowe comes to life in this novel. And it’s a good thing, too, because the rest of the characters are somewhat flat. The butler and the General breathe a little. Vivian isn’t really enough of a presence. About halfway through the novel she drops out and you don’t see her until the end. And of course Carmen. She’s interesting, but too weird. It would have been nice if Eddie Mars had a greater role as Marlowe’s antagonist.

On the plus side, this include almost no racism, but makes up for it in misogyny and anti-gay sentiments.

But this is a great, great read. Chandler’s writing is alternately incisive, funny and self-mocking. He is a master of the scene/chapter. It pulls the reader along at a lightning pace. You willingly lose yourself in this testosterone-amped world of frails and gangsters.

For all my complaining, this is probably a book I’ll read again. (06/19)


Farewell My Lovely *** – Chandler’s writing is at times quite beautiful and quirky in this novel. And this is a riveting mystery with unusual characters, swerving plot twists and grim humor. (It’s a very, very funny book. I might argue this is a comedy rather than a mystery.) It pulls you in and won’t let you go. It is also, unfortunately, pretty racist.

Per Chandler’s norm, the plot is convoluted and, in the end, rather pointless. There are long episodes that, on reflection, make no sense. And how did Marlowe ever get paid at the end? But Chandler is master of the scene and the wisecrack. And in this novel, the literary references abound. Shakespeare is frequently referenced overtly and subtly throughout.

Chandler’s focus on the scene, though, was ultimately his downfall. It certainly affected his much criticized plots, but it also made his books shortsighted. Why not focus on a theme for a novel? Why not parley that fascinating metaphorical language into a more consistent image? But Chandler seemed only able to focus on a few pages at a time.

If you can hold your nose through the racists parts, and there are a few, then this is great read. It’s hard to put it down. (05/18)

High Window *** -- This is vintage Chandler with his deliciously twisted descriptions and witty dialogue. The language is brilliantly done. I especially like the descriptions when he sees himself in the mirror throughout the novel.

The plot is tighter than Chandler’s earlier novels. There are fewer unrelated tangents and rabbit holes. The main characters, though, are not quite as vivid as Chandler’s other novels.

As a mystery, it’s not his best. It lacks the big surprise – that one clue Marlowe notices but the reader misses. Without spoiling the ending, I guess the novel does technically have a “surprise,” but it’s rather meh. It feels tacked on. The novel would have been better without it.

As an added bonus, the racism is (thankfully) taken down a few (i.e., many) notches from Farewell My Lovely. There’s still some, but it’s slightly less repulsive.

The writing, though, is exquisite even if it offers rather empty calories. Sometimes you just need to sit down with a bowl of popcorn smothered in butter and eat the whole thing. (08/18)

Chandler wrote the finest noir detective fiction ever. Three early examples here, “The Big Sleep” a masterpiece against which the genre is judged. The 13 pulp stories from the early 1930s are warmup for the novels; “Pearls Are a Nuisance” inventive.

Very good. Descriptions are marvelous. Lots of old slang. Farewell my lovely especially good. Plan or reading the companion volume of his late works.

See other Raymond Chandler review.

Genius

"The room he went into was paved with dirty brown linoleum, furnished with the peculiar sordid hideousness only municipalities can achieve." Blackmailers Don't Shoot, p. 48.

"I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, everything the well-dressed private detective ought to be. I was calling on four million dollars." The Big Sleep, p. 589.

"It was too early in the fall for that kind of rain. I struggled into a trench coat and made a dash for the nearest drugstore and bought myself a pint of whiskey. Back in the car I used enough of it to keep warm and interested." -610

"The coffee shop smell from next-door came in at the windows with the soot but failed to make me hungry. So I got out of my office bottle and took the drink and let myself self-respect ride its own race." -685

[Eddie Mars:] "You ever been here before?" He asked.
"During Prohibition. I don't get any kick out of gambling."
"Not with money," he smiled. -688

[Vivian Regan:] "So you shoot people," she said quietly. "You're a killer." . . .
"I didn't have to," I said. "I might have, I suppose, and got away with it. Neither of them would have hesitated to throw lead at me."
"That makes you a killer at heart, like all cops." -701

"It isn't on account of the neighbors," I told her. "They don't really care a lot. There's a lot of stray broads in any apartment house and one more won't make the building rock. It's a question of professional pride. You know--professional pride. I'm working for your father. He's a sick man, very frail, very helpless. He sort of trusts me not to pull any stunts. Won't you please get dressed, Carmen?" . . . There was a vague glimmer of doubt starting to get born in her somewhere. She didn't know about it yet. It's so hard for women--even nice women--to realize their bodies are not irresistible. -707

"What did it matter where you lay once you were dead? In a dirty sump or in a marble tower on top of a high hill? You were dead, you were sleeping the big sleep, you were not bothered by things like that. Oil and water were the same as wind and air to you. You just slept the big sleep, not caring about the nastiness of how you died or where you fell." -763-64

"You're not going to turn out to be one of those drunken detectives, are you?" She asked anxiously.
"Why not? They always solve their cases and they never even sweat. Get on with the story." Farewell, My Lady, p. 834.

Good book

read almost all stories
returned to library - DO check out again
Did check out again, read all, re-read more than one. Excellent craftsmanship.

the slumming angel. profoundly talented author writing stuff people may actually love to read...

As a recent convert to the hardboiled-detective story, it would be foolish for me to say anything like "Chandler's 'Farewell, My Lovely' is my favorite work of noir-fiction" - but for now, it suits.
The beauty of these stories is not the sensational crime, violence, or "mysteries" they present, so much as the cut and dried staccato of painterly details delivered just-so and matter-of-fact. Yet Chandler manages to lubricate this minutiae with enlivening doses of humorous simile and insight, allowing them to easily nose their way through to the deeper leaves of human nature.
It is somewhat tempting to say that the stories in this volume, following Dashiel Hammet, bring little new to the genre. In fact, many of the pulp shorts in this collection almost seem like shines to Hammet's work; a logical progression or a taking up of the mantle, if you will. Yet, they contain an incisive humor, detail, and inner-life that, for me, go one or two steps further than Hammet. The Philip Marlowe novels in this volume insistently push their way off the page into your brain - and you'll take it and enjoy every minute of it, y'see?
If you've never wedged your nose into the crease of one of Chandler's pulpy page pounders, I highly recommend it.