This is your stereotypical crime Noir - all about people back-stabbing each-other. There is a detective who gets all the cool dialogues. Almost all the women fall in category of femme fatale who can be assumed to be wearing, if they are wearing anything, a deep cut dress or a night dress or better still a still a deep-cut night dress. They are all trying to seduce our hero, who may accept or reject their proposal as the case may be. You can be sure there will be drug dealers in there, somewhere - and everybody, without exception, is carrying guns. Everybody is morally deficient in one way or other and there are sure to be psychopaths. I just love psychopaths - they are the only characters I can relate to.

One thing I hate in all crime books when in the rare case hero gets outnumbered or overpowered by villain(s). My problem is that villains are satisfied in knocking the hero to unconsciousness and then just tying him. Why won't they just kill him? They have killed other characters far less threatening than heroes and yet they are satisfied in captivating him, and in a place where they can easily get help. The least they could do is to break some limbs but no .... It is frustrating for someone like me who roots for them. I call it Brutus syndrome - after Brutus from Popeye the sailor man - you know how he is happy in just tying Popeye every time and whats more, around a place where he can easily get some spinach. It is worse in case of masked heroes - villains never unmask them, they are just too respectful of hero's right to privacy. It is high time that our villains should learn from their mistakes.

For me, Chandler's problem is that of Austen and Wells; they were all highly and beautifully original - but the problem is after once they came up with the egg of Columbus, they get averaged out by the better and bad works inspired by them.

It struck me as horribly sad how homophobic the book is. "Faggot" is used liberally throughout. This runs counter to Philip Marlowe's otherwise bracing truthfulness. The two gay characters here are criminals: one is a pornographer, the other a murderer. Though they're not the sole wrongdoers, the relationship they share is viewed with untempered abhorrence. This will be upsetting to some readers, as it was to me, so be advised.

I generally abhor the hardboiled clichés and corny deadpan humor of the detective genre, but Chandler's action is relentless and his humor usually effective. Most of the narrative is explication of past action, then the action shifts into the present, then there's another section of recapitulation/explanation. This as opposed to, say, action that moves steadily ahead as an end in itself. There will always be characters/narrators discussing and reflecting on the action, but the extent to which that is taken here for purposes of an airtight plot I find annoying and unnecessary. Philip Marlowe is not an unreliable narrator but he controls the narrative that will be presented to the fictional public. At several points it becomes necessary to determine precisely what the public narrative will be. Marlowe decides what details are to be included, which left out, which modified. This is connected to the idea of his underlying belief in "the system," though he often verbally disdains it, he views cops as basically honest, as he sees himself. No matter what happens he is confident that he can talk himself out of it with the truth. He always comes clean to the authorities. He is their enabler, solving mysteries they themselves have been flummoxed by, so they need him, are willing to grant him special dispensation because of his utility.

General Sternwood, a millionaire in 1930s Los Angeles, hires Phillip Marlowe to investigate a man who claims to have controversial photos of his socialite daughter. However, as Marlowe's investigation progresses, he finds himself in for a little more than he bargained for (excuse the cliche).

In the last few years, I have developed quite an appetite for detective fiction. However, in the past few months, I've wanted to dig deep into the hard-boiled and noir sub-genre. What better place to start than with one that is considered one of the founding fathers of all modern detective fiction.

Chandler not only presents us with a great mystery but also his much revered original style. After finishing this book, I can see why his prose was so influential on a generation of writers. So many memorable quotes are contained within this book! I've selected just a few of my favorites but there are more than I can possibly remember.

It must have been something to be an avid reader when this hit shelves back in 1939. To read this and take in something special that rarely existed must have been refreshing to say the least. With so many signature characters and series' that clutter bookstores nowadays, it's hard to imagine seeing something like this for the first time.

I've certainly become a Marlowe fan after just this one outing and I can't wait to get my hands on subsequent novels.

Written in 1939, delightfully offensive, but a fun book to read. Very impressive for Chandler’s first full length story.

n   “You're broke, eh?"

“I been shaking two nickels together for a month, trying to get them to mate.”n

Excellent quotes abound in this old murder mystery.

n  “As honest as you can expect a man to be in a world where it’s going out of style.” n

Now I see why Philip Marlowe is the archetype for all the trench coated private eyes I have seen in countless films over the years: there is a poetry in 'Marlowian' soliloquies that I think Bukowski would appreciate. Elliot Gould does a fantastic job of making each character jump off the page.

Ok. Well, I thought I would like it a bit more, but maybe coming off of Hammett's The Thin Man & The Maltese Falcon wasn't the best thing to do. I prefer Hammett's writing. <--so far
Because I'm guessing that these books get better?
It just seems as though this plot was overly complex for no good reason because, in the end, the story really didn't go anywhere.
Ane when it was over, I kind of went...what? that's it?



Again, it's not so much that I think The Big Sleep is bad, as I think I just enjoy the other guy's dialogue better. It's snappier or something.
Having said that, I'm not going to give up on Raymond Chandler. But I do think I'm going to take a break from hard-boiled detective stories for a while and then come back and visit Philip Marlowe at a later date.



I had the audiobook with Elliott Gould as the narrator and he was fantastic, in case you were thinking of giving this one a listen.

The Sternwood House Over Yonder

You're cute.

I know.

You've got broad shoulders.

I know...You have wicked eyes.

You've got a lovely way with women.

You've got a beautiful little body.

Would you like to get into bed with me?

Not really.

What? Are you afraid of my father?

No. I just like your sister more.

[[[Bang!]]]





SOUNDTRACK:

Jimi Hendrix - "Red House"

https://vimeo.com/312963979

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This was an interesting experience, and I must admit that I enjoyed the Bogart & Bacall movie much more than the book. (It was fine-tuned by William Faulkner and Leigh Brackett, after all)

The early chapters are a bit stilted and forced, but with an almost too-snappy dialogue identical to the movie.

20% ... After a while, Chandler loosens up a bit, and begins to shine. Great stuff now.

Wow, I am witnessing Chandler find his true voice. What a feeling!

"You—a—you—a—" her throat jammed. I thought she was going to fall on her nose. Her whole body shivered and her face fell apart like a bride’s pie crust. She put it together again slowly, as if lifting a great weight, by sheer will power. The smile came back, with a couple of corners badly bent.

24% ... Wow, better than the movie now. What a thrill to see the change in prose! The descriptions flow and the pacing is very good.

26% ...Hard Boiled wooohoooooo! In my mind as I read, Bogart is indelibly Marlowe, and Bacall is forever Vivian, but I see her as light brunette or blonde, not raven as written by Chandler....



She took the photo out and stood looking at it, just inside the door. "She has a beautiful little body, hasn’t she?"
"Uh-huh."
She leaned a little towards me. "You ought to see mine," she said gravely.
"Can it be arranged?"
She laughed suddenly and sharply and went halfway through the door, then turned her head to say coolly: "You’re as cold-blooded a beast as I ever met, Marlowe. Or can I call you Phil?"
"Sure."
"You can call me Vivian."
"Thanks, Mrs. Regan."
"Oh, go to hell, Marlowe." She went on out and didn’t look back.

I let the door shut and stood with my hand on it, staring at the hand. My face felt a little hot. I went back to the desk and put the whiskey away and rinsed out the two pony glasses and put them away.

Trivia: In both this movie and To Have and Have Not, Bacall did all her own singing.

Chandler wrote The Big Sleep in 1938 or so, but before the ending of the filming of the movie in 1945, Bogart and Bacall were married... They had fallen in love during filming of To Have and Have Not, which was released in 1944, and remained deeply in love until Bogart's death in 1957.



when Bogart married Bacall... nice pics, too

Oh, and the famous scene about racing horses, to evade the Hays Code (about sex on the screen), was the fabrication of screenwriters William Faulkner, Jules Furthman and Leigh Brackett. It was added almost a year after filming was otherwise complete, in an attempt to inject the film with the kind of risqué innuendos that had made To Have and Have Not, and Bacall, so popular a two years earlier.



Especially in the last half of the book, Chandler’s descriptive passages do have a wonderful noir rhythm to them, which I appreciated.

84% ... Hard. Boiled. Delicious...
Her face under my mouth was like ice. She put her hands up and took hold of my head and kissed me hard on the lips. Her lips were like ice, too. I went out through the door and it closed behind me, without sound, and the rain blew in under the porch, not as cold as her lips.

... Not a kiss from Vivian, but from "Silver-Wig" ... What a surprise!

Unfortunately, the final pages become more confused, almost a dissertation, with some small gems thrown in. The ending is very different from the movie, darker and with less clarity and resolution. Perhaps more true to life? You tell me.

On the last page though, I did very much like the final paragraph: A surprising and poignant glimpse into Marlowe’s hidden heart ... (in bold below)

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...

On the way downtown I stopped at a bar and had a couple of double Scotches. They didn’t do me any good. All they did was make me think of Silver-Wig, and I never saw her again.


.



More trivia here

For someone who professes to love Noir in general, I find it particularly funny that I had never read Chandler, who is, now that I've read one of his works, a bonafide master.

Or, you know, the original master, the genre-defining master, the mean man of the mean streets, himself.


Okay. So. I fell in love with it. Not only an easy read with charming language and manly man stuff and dangerous broads but a classy, twisty plot full of intrigue and bruises.

Sound like the genre? Through and through? Well, it's never entirely about the subject matter. It's about the execution. It's a murder. Or multiple murders.

It's how the author kills us that matters, see?

I am thrilled. So good.
I am murdered.

Iconic Hard Boiled Detective Story



This was a fun read.

Some online bloggers complain that it is sexist and homophobic.

Those complaints are both true. But, I took the novel in the context of its times (it was published in 1939). So the sexism and homophobia were pretty typical then.

The whole story takes place in Hollywood, California and in nearby towns.

Hard bitten private detective Philip Marlowe is hired by wealthy aging General Sternwood to sort out Arthur Geiger's attempt to blackmail his youngest daughter, Carmen.

His older daughter, Vivian, is under the impression that Marlowe was actually hired to find her husband, Rusty Regan. She didn't love him, but he's disappeared and the General was fond of him.

Naturally, the plot thickens (and in fact gets quite convoluted).

Marlowe finds Geiger's book store. But Geiger appears to be missing and someone is moving the stock out of the store.

I'm not going to outline the entire book, because the plot is quite involved, and there would be spoilers.

I will mention some of the characters.

The main character (and narrator) is, of course, Philip Marlowe. He's very cynical (understandable given his life experience). He used to work as a police investigator, but was fired for insubordination. He's tall, dark, and handsome, and apparently holds an irrestible charm for women, especially those he doesn't care about or like (which seems to be nearly all of them). He also has his own moral code, however, which he follows strictly. He is loyal to his client and apparently incorruptible (offers of bribes do not tempt him). His name almost sounds like that of an English knight in the Arthurian Court. (It's also remiscent of Christopher Marlowe, the sixteenth century Elizabeth playwright and poet, and a contemporary of Shakespeare. Some say Marlowe wrote Shakespeare's plays.)

General Sternwood himself is elderly and ill. Presumably he's not going to live much longer.

Sternwood has two young daughters, who seem to be an infinite source of trouble for both themselves and others.

Carmen is a pretty, empty-headed ditz. She giggles constantly. Marlowe dislikes her, especially when she giggles. He finds the giggling artificial. She's always preening herself and saying "Aren't I cute?" Carmen is always gallivanting around town and wants to bed any man she meets, apparently, single or married. She cannot accept rejection from men.

Vivian, the older Sternwood daughter, is classier than her sister. She is evidently beautiful and seductive. She also has an unfortunate addiction to high stakes gambling.
We are told she, unlike Carmen, has a little bit of her own money, but we never find out how she came by it.

Eddie Mars owns the casino (Las Olindas) where Vivian gambles. His wife, Mona Mars, has been missing for some time. Rumor has it that she has run off with Rusty Regan, Vivian’s husband.

Arthur Geiger is a gay book dealer. Evidently his legitimate book store is a cover up for his real business, which is pornography

Joe Brody is a small time operator who attempted to blackmail Carmen before Geiger did.

Agnes is the bookstore clerk who is also Brody's girlfriend.

Canino is Mars' hired muscle.

Norris is Sternwood's unflappable butler. Owen Taylor is his chauffeur.

There are also many other characters, including Geiger's gay lover; Harry Jones, who offers Marlowe information; various cops and police officials (all more corruptible than Marlowe); and so forth.

There are a few holes in the plot or things that are unexplained or unbelievable.

We never find out who murdered Owen Taylor, the chauffeur.

I also wondered why Marlowe didn't go to Harry Jones' aid when Canino came after him and he overheard the entire scenario. Too dangerous? He didn't trust Jones? It was unclear.

I wasn't entirely sure I believed it when Mona Mars helped Marlowe escape. Maybe it was his famous hold over women? Or because Marlowe convinced her that Mars was a killer, indirectly, because Canino did his dirty work for him? Again this is unclear and the situation is a bit incredible

Still, this classic detective story is an enjoyable read. The ending took me by surprise (which doesn't always happen in crime novels).

Also, Chandler's spare prose style is quite wonderful.

Here are some favorite phrases from the book:

"The sunshine was as empty as a head waiter's smile".

"As honest as you can expect a man to be in a world where its going out of style."

"Blood began to move around in me, like a prospective tenant looking over a house."

Or Marlowe, describing a hangover:

"I woke up with a motorman's glove in my mouth".

Actor Elliot Gould does a decent job reading the audio.

n  n

4.0 stars. This was the first noir crime fiction book that I ever read and I don't think I could have found a much better place to start. I wasn't sure I was going to enjoy the genre, but decided to test the waters with this classic that introduced the world to the iconic private detective Philip Marlowe. I am very glad I did.

This is a fun, fast read and I was immediately sucked in by the superb dialogue, which was both politically incorrect and just slid off the page and into your head.
n  n

The plot, while familiar now, is the root for so many of the standard "noir" plot devices that it was a real trip reading them as they were presented as fresh and genre-bending. Also, the characters were truly top-notch of the bottom drawer as they ranged from total scum to just really bad. This left Marlowe as the good guy by default.

This was such a terrific experience that I became an immediate fan of the genre and intend to remain so in the future. Highly Recommended!!

n  “What did it matter where you lay once you were dead? In a dirty sump or in a marble tower on the 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.”n

One thing that seldom works for crime fiction is re-readability. For instance, with Agatha Christie, once you’ve read Death on the Nile, why will you turn to read it again? You know the crime, you know the criminal, you know the entire way everything plays out, there’s a clear logical explanation for everything that happens from the beginning to the end.

And therein lies the brilliance of this book, which I also remember in Paul Auster’s novels, though they are of a whole different genre. Like Auster’s novels, here also there are certain significant shifts in the detective genre's character, shifts that inexorably mirror the setting where it was written. Whether overtly criminal or ostensibly lawful, corrupt networks define Chandler's post-Prohibition society, and it is these murky spaces that give the investigator Philip Marlowe his existence. It’s not Kafkaesque at all, however. Marlowe knows the stakes and can struggle to survive. And that’s something you will feel anxious about quite often, even when you know that he can’t possibly die (because it’s the first book in the series).

The aspect of the story I adore the most is the quirkiness, which is risky, but due to the skilled storytelling works brilliantly. Marlowe feels like a guy who can be sarcastic while keeping a straight face. Of course, there are sinister elements to be dealt with, inclusive of pornographic elements (dealt in a far more mature way than most espionage thrillers, as well)… but a good, quick-witted sense of humour seldom fails if used in the right way, and Chandler does that.

n  “I don’t mind if you don’t like my manners. They’re pretty bad. I grieve over them during the long winter evenings.”n

The novel's central theme is the drab, constrictive metropolitan space; although it is situated in Southern California, the setting could truly be any large metropolis given the absence of exteriors. It’s fascinating to know that this sort of atmospheric storytelling existed in the thriller genre even back then, though, of course, it isn’t as imitable as the other elements of the story were. The city itself plays a character in the novel, a stylization that received its appreciation when directors adapted it into movies like Chinatown, L.A. Confidential, Heat or Collateral.

n  “I’m a copper,” he said. “Just a plain ordinary copper. Reasonably honest. As honest as you could expect a man to be in a world where it’s out of style.”n

Even though this is Chandler's first Marlowe narrative, the character isn't introduced as per conventional terms (like say Conan Doyle did with Watson or Holmes); instead, we get right into the inquiry as it starts. A new form of "hero" who appears to only act when there is a case to solve, is crucial to the nature of both the setting and the character. We don't know anything about his past, and the only time we ever see him go back to his office is when a trail has run its course.

I read on the internet that many people have drawn parallels of the shabby fallibility of Marlowe to Sergio Leone's Man With No Name — a heavy drinker who seems to be constantly beaten up by men and women—with an almost supernatural authority, allowing him to seem to serenely coast over the case's jumbled turns and turns, observing and randomly following leads and providence, until a solution is finally reached. But well, we’re living in a time with an overdose of thriller and crime tales, so ask anyone, he can find for you at least half a dozen stories with the same format of a narrative.

Of course, it is supposed to add an aura of mystery (plausibly even mythical, in some cases if the readers can help that) to the protagonist. Now, I can’t say if it impacted me the way it would’ve if I had read it when it came out (strictly hypothetical and nonsensical), but The Big Sleep is practically everything I can ask for in hardboiled crime fiction. It’s complicated but not for the sake of convolutions, it’s atmospheric… look can I just cut to the end of praising and say that you should read it?

Yeah, that’s that.

n  “If I had a razor, I'd cut your throat - just to see what ran out of it."

"Caterpillar blood," I said.”n