Edited March, 2019:

I've just completed reading The Annotated Big Sleep, edited by Owen Hill, Pamela Jackson, and Anthony Dean Rizzuto. For some reason, it is simply regarded as another edition of the novel rather than a distinct work on its own. The only way I managed to locate it was by using the ISBN number, which is 978-0-8041-6888-5. It led to the correct edition, but when I clicked on it, GR directed me to my original review of the novel itself.

I truly relished the annotated version and would award the annotation a solid four stars. It meticulously goes through the novel line by line, offering captivating details about the time period, the city of Los Angeles, and, of course, the novel itself. Anybody who adores The Big Sleep would almost surely appreciate this edition.

My original review of The Big Sleep from November, 2012:

What could one possibly state about this book that hasn't already been said? When a dying millionaire requires assistance, Philip Marlowe answers the call and forever alters the course of crime fiction.

This is the first of Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe novels, boasting a complex plot with such sharp twists and turns that even the author ultimately couldn't untangle them, yet it is written so exquisitely that nobody minds. And at the core of it all is the man who will become the archetypal P.I. with a code of his own that no mobster, cop, politician, or beautiful dame can shatter.

When questioned by a cynical prosecutor as to why he's willing to endanger so much for $25.00 per day plus expenses, Marlowe responds, "I don't like it. But what in the hell am I to do? I'm on a case. I'm selling what I have to sell to make a living. What little guts and intelligence the Lord gave me and a willingness to get pushed around in order to protect a client....I'd do the same thing again if I had to."

Which essentially sums it all up.

James L. Thane
www.jameslthane.com

Fantastic novel!

It takes a while to adjust to the old slang, which is the vernacular of that era. However, once you manage to do so, it becomes very delightful and witty. The story is filled with twists and turns that keep you on the edge of your seat.

If you have a penchant for detective mysteries, hard-boiled detective fiction, or fiction Noir, then you are sure to enjoy this one. The author's writing style is engaging and immersive, drawing you into the world of the story and making you feel as if you are a part of it.

The characters are well-developed and complex, with their own motives and desires. The plot is tightly constructed, with no loose ends or unnecessary filler. Overall, this is a great read for anyone who loves a good mystery.

My 2022 review is presented below.

I find that I take great pleasure in the annotations. The authors provide a wealth of time and place details, such as: "3. Fairy-tale or “storybook” houses were extremely popular in the 1920s, being fanciful evocations of medieval Europe through the lens of Hollywood set design. The famously eccentric “Witch’s House” in Beverly Hills originated as a Hollywood set and was used in the silent film Hansel and Gretel, among others. This poetic description recalls the fairy-tale landscape in Chapter Four. In TBS, interiors and exteriors are in play: the Sternwood mansion, Geiger’s nice suburban home, and these wealthy estates house various forms of degeneracy and decay, while our hero represents the rain-drenched permanent outsider. It is as existential as it is Grimm. It is also political. In A Room of One’s Own (1929), Virginia Woolf poignantly reflects on this division. Her view of domestic interiors at twilight, seen from the sidewalk, leads her to wonder, “What was the truth about these houses…dim and festive now with their red windows in the dusk, but raw and red and squalid…at nine o’clock in the morning?” Woolf comments from the outside, excluded from membership in patriarchal “Oxbridge” by gender. Marlowe comments from the outside, excluded by class."

There are only a few iconic detectives more renowned than Philip Marlowe, Raymond Chandler's creation. Fortunately for fans, Chandler wrote more than one Marlowe mystery. For those of us who have read beyond Marlowe, it is evident that Chandler was economical, never allowing a good plot to go to waste. He was a recycler before it was something to boast about. The Marlowe novels are reworkings of earlier (and shorter) efforts and have demonstrated the wisdom of perfecting a plot and dialogue. Most of us will be satisfied without this in-depth exploration of his work and its influences.

I CERTAINLY WOULDN’T ATTEMPT TO READ THE BIG SLEEP FOR THE FIRST TIME WHILE SHUTTLING BETWEEN ANNOTATIONS.

"The point emphasized throughout the novels is that Marlowe’s unwavering integrity has placed him outside the legal profession but kept him within his own ethical code. Chandler himself was fired as vice president of the Dabney Oil Syndicate in 1931, the event that led him to become a pulp writer. He later attributed the sacking to the Depression and various conspiracies against him, but in reality, he was fired for drunkenness, absenteeism, in-office liaisons, and general erratic behavior. Such is the stuff that dreams are made of."

Here are a couple of my favorite reviews by GR friends: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show... https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

One of the most interesting observations made by this team of authors is that private detectives essentially worked for the rich. This tension was a recurring theme in Chandler’s work, where he saw Los Angeles as being both pervaded and controlled by the cops, the gangsters, and, of course, the rich.

Enlightening (and with the Kindle edition) and easy to search for what interests you the most.

PS: In the electronic version, you can easily toggle between the text and the footnotes.

Do you know that early episode of Scrubs where J.D. is trying to prevent his relationship with Elliot from falling into the 'friend zone'? The concept is that after that initial flirty moment, you have 48 hours to seal it with a kiss, or you're doomed to remain forever in the 'friend zone'.

I received The Big Sleep in the omnibus collection of Marlowe books 1, 2, and 6 on a long-term loan/gift from my friend Justin. I was excited, thinking, "Wow, I've heard of this, it sounds amazing!" But every time I tried to start it, something interrupted me. First, it was something I forget, and then maybe a Jehovah's Witness visit. And just like that, we entered the friend zone. I got used to having this book around, unread. I moved house with it multiple times, took it to work like a literary take-your-child-to-work day. My baby son even ripped the front cover off in his enthusiasm for all things book. But we never advanced our relationship. I never opened the covers and gave The Big Sleep the good, hard read it deserved.

So we drifted for a couple of years. Then, recently, I asked the Goodreads feed, "What book on my to-read shelf should I pick up next?" Dan Schwent, a big Marlowe fan, encouraged me to give Chandler his long-overdue chance... and here we are.

I'm clearly a fool. Why did I wait so long? This book was fantastic! I read it at work during my lunch breaks, and my breaks were never long enough.

I recently read Neuromancer for the first time and had the same response. I love cyberpunk-inspired work, and I loved the book that defined cyberpunk! The Big Sleep follows the same winding path of inspiration back to its noir roots. I've heard that Hammett basically created the noir detective, and Chandler refined it. If that's true, I should probably read some Hammett because I loved this, especially with Neuromancer still fresh in my mind.

I love noir-tinted sci-fi and urban fantasy. Why am I surprised that I love straight-up noir? I think it's because I'm a bit of an era-snob. As a general rule, I'm skeptical of anything written before 1980. Sure, there are some good books from that time, like those by Tolkien, Orwell, Lewis, and Peake, but that's about it. If it was written before you could buy a Casio digital watch, I'm skeptical.

Also, I think my expectations were influenced by cinema. I never fell in love with the classic black and white noir movies, but I love their influence on modern cinema. So I thought old noir books would leave me cold too. Wrong! I felt right at home from page one. I was captivated by the style, tone, dialogue, and details. It's a book about crazy rich dames giving a snappy-talking private eye with unwavering morals a hard time. It's a book about dirty rackets and dirtier blackmail.

It's like four cups of black coffee, a long swig from the office bottle in the bottom drawer, and then a couple of French cigarettes first thing in the morning. God, it tasted good!

The omnibus I have contains three books, but I'm pacing myself. I read one at work and one at home, alternating with another title in between. So my work books were The Big Sleep, then Hominids, then the second Marlowe, Farewell my Lovely, then Manhattan in Reverse, and finally, I'll be onto The Long Goodbye in the next couple of weeks. I can't wait!

The tough decision for me now is whether to add the rest of the Marlowe books directly to my finishing-the-series list. I'm trying to reduce that list, not increase it, but these books are so good, I don't think I have a choice.

After this, I read Downbelow Station.

Ok. Well, I initially thought I would like it a great deal more. However, perhaps coming right after reading Hammett's The Thin Man & The Maltese Falcon wasn't the most opportune thing to do. I have a distinct preference for Hammett's writing style.

Because I'm speculating that these books might improve as one delves deeper?

It just appears that this plot was overly convoluted without a valid reason. In the end, the story really didn't seem to lead anywhere significant.

And when it was all over, I sort of had that reaction of...what? that's it?

Again, it's not so much that I believe The Big Sleep is a bad book. Rather, I think I simply enjoy the dialogue of the other author better. It's snappier or something along those lines.

Having said that, I'm not going to abandon Raymond Chandler entirely. But I do think I'm going to take a brief hiatus from hard-boiled detective stories for a while and then return to visit Philip Marlowe at a later time.

I had the audiobook with Elliott Gould as the narrator and he was truly outstanding. In case you were considering giving this one a listen, you should know that Gould's narration added a great deal to the experience.

Sometimes, when our dogs are extremely excited, they wag their tails vigorously. So hard, in fact, that they lose their balance and fall on their bottoms. Then, they might even slide a little on our hardwood floors.

That's precisely what this novel did to me this week. It made me so excited that I felt like I was wagging my tail and then fell flat on my ass. I'm actually writing this review from the hardwood floor.

Here's the deal: this book isn't for everyone. It's American "detective fiction" from the 1930s. You know, pulp fiction, "noir fiction," those edgy, pulpy, stylized novels from a specific time in U.S. history. A time when two of my favorite writers, Carl Sandburg and Langston Hughes, were captivating small, literate audiences with their new beats and tones. A time when jazz was playing in the background on countless radios.

(It's appropriate to mention Carl Sandburg here. He and Raymond Chandler were born just 10 years apart in the Chicago area. How could they not have been influenced by rhythm and blues? It was all around them.)

Despite his early years, Mr. Chandler ultimately ended up in southern California, which both intrigued and repelled him due to the paradox of its beauty and tawdriness.

He was a unique man, married to a woman old enough to be his mother. I was fascinated to learn that only seventeen people attended his funeral.

In many ways, he seems to have been a loner, much like many of us here. By "loner," I don't mean that you or I don't have friends or family. I just suspect that many of us who list "reading" as a top hobby often avoid crowds and parties. Many of us who list "reading" and "writing" as our two top hobbies might as well admit that we barricade the door.

So, Mr. Chandler was different, but perhaps not so different from you or me. It turns out that his fictional creation, Philip Marlowe, the now famous (or infamous?) detective, was also quite different.

Philip Marlowe has been described in various ways in other reviews, perhaps most commonly as a "misogynist" and a "homophobe." But I had the pleasure of meeting him for the first time this week, and I'd like to share my personal experience of him.

I found him to be a guarded, walled-off man who may be struggling with a dissociative disorder rather than misogyny or homophobia, although his behavior certainly gives that impression.

Interestingly, I noticed that Marlowe's disgust for gay men was equal to that of women. And, to be completely honest, I think I could make a strong case that Marlowe is a closeted, gay man who has chosen to be asexual.

What we do know for sure is that Marlowe is a man who finds every excuse to be alone and stay alone, whether it's through his verbal savagery against a gay, male killer in the story or the barbs he uses against the sexually suggestive Sternwood sisters.

Oh, and as a reader, I certainly didn't miss the fact that the one woman he seems to desire in the story has "lips of ice" when he finally kisses her. She appears to be death itself to him, or so it seems.

I was surprised (and, frankly, shocked) to love Marlowe as much as I did. Despite his casual hatred of those around him and his constant tough-guy posturing, I found him to be a fascinating and complicated character. And when I read these lines, a part of my heart softened towards him (and all loners, really):

". . . this was the room I had to live in. It was all I had in the way of a home. In it was everything that was mine, that had any association for me, any past, anything that took the place of a family. Not much: a few books, pictures, radio, chessmen, old letters, stuff like that. Nothing. Such as they were, they had all my memories."

Damn it. I didn't expect to feel this way at all. I mean, I love detective fiction from this time period, so I thought I'd be a fan. But I had no idea that Raymond Chandler had the ability to evoke such a range of emotions in me.

I laughed throughout almost the entire novel, I had one night when I stayed up late reading it and got so creeped out that I couldn't fall asleep, and, oh yeah, I cried.

This is one slice of California dreaming for me. Only Cain's Mildred Pierce brought the rocky coastline, the "wind-twisted Monterrey cypresses," and the "tall eucalyptus trees [that] always look dusty" to life more vividly than this story did for me.

I just absolutely loved it.

"Well, you do get up," she said, wrinkling her nose as her eyes surveyed the faded red settee, the two mismatched semi-easy chairs, the net curtains that were in desperate need of laundering, and the boy's size library table with the venerable magazines on it, which were presumably there to give the place a professional touch. "I was beginning to think perhaps you worked in bed, like Marcel Proust."

"Who's he?" I put a cigarette in my mouth and stared at her. She looked a little pale and strained, but there was an air about her that suggested she was a girl who could handle herself under pressure.

"A French writer, a connoisseur in degenerates. You wouldn't know him," she replied with a hint of condescension.

"Tut, tut," I said. "Come into my boudoir."

-The Big Sleep

=====

Chandlerisms...

https://www.goodreads.com/author/quot...

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 into the category of femme fatale. They are assumed to be wearing, if anything, a deep cut dress or a night dress, or even better, 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 another 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 is when, in the rare case, the hero gets outnumbered or overpowered by the villain(s). My problem is that the villains are satisfied in knocking the hero unconscious and then just tying him. Why won't they just kill him? They have killed other characters far less threatening than the hero 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 what's more, around a place where he can easily get some spinach. It is worse in the case of masked heroes - villains never unmask them, they are just too respectful of the 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 that after once they came up with the egg of Columbus, they get averaged out by the better and bad works inspired by them.

It really dawned on me just how terribly sad it is that the book is so homophobic. The word "faggot" is used freely throughout the text. This stands in sharp contrast to Philip Marlowe's otherwise refreshing truthfulness. Here, the two gay characters are depicted as criminals: one is a pornographer, and the other is a murderer. Although they are not the only wrongdoers, the relationship they share is regarded with unmitigated abhorrence. This will undoubtedly be upsetting to some readers, as it was to me. So, be forewarned.

I generally have an aversion to the hardboiled clichés and cheesy deadpan humor that are characteristic of the detective genre. However, Chandler's action is non-stop, and his humor is usually quite effective. Most of the narrative involves the explication of past action, then the action shifts to the present, and then there is another section of recapitulation and explanation. This is in contrast to, for example, action that progresses steadily forward as an end in itself. There will always be characters or narrators discussing and reflecting on the action, but the extent to which this is done here for the sake of an airtight plot strikes me as both annoying and unnecessary. Philip Marlowe is not an unreliable narrator, but he does control 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 which details to include, which to leave out, and which to modify. This is related to the idea of his underlying belief in "the system." Although he often verbally disdains it, he views cops as basically honest, just as he sees himself. No matter what happens, he is confident that he can talk his way out of it with the truth. He always comes clean to the authorities. He is their enabler, solving mysteries that have left them perplexed, so they need him and are willing to grant him special dispensation because of his usefulness.

When Private Investigator Philip Marlowe received a call to visit General Sternwood, he was rather surprised.

He didn't anticipate finding the General seated in his wheelchair within the hothouse. The General was in a terminal state, and the warmth of the hothouse was something his frail body craved.

When the General hired Marlowe to uncover the identity of the person blackmailing him, Marlowe had no inkling that the situation would be far more complex than a simple case of extortion.

Sternwood had two daughters, Carmen and Vivian. Vivian was married to a man named Regan, whom the General had grown fond of. However, Regan had mysteriously vanished.

The General only mentioned his disappearance but didn't explicitly ask Marlowe to search for him. Instead, he expressed his wish to know where Regan was and that he was in good health.

The rumor was that Regan and Eddie Mars' wife had eloped together, but no one had seen either of them for quite some time.

As Marlowe delved deeper into the investigation, he found himself entangled with the seedy underbelly of society. The criminals of the underworld were involved, and there were numerous strange occurrences.

Then, murder entered the equation, putting Marlowe in grave danger. Not only was he at risk, but so were those around him.

What was truly going on? What had General Sternwood and his family dragged him into?

This is my second Chandler book, and considering it was written so long ago, it is indeed a great detective story.

However, at times it seemed confusing and lacking in substance, failing to grip me as strongly as I had hoped.

That being said, I would still recommend this author's work as I am aware that many people appreciate his unique writing style.

Reading a hard-boiled detective novel long after I'd already learned a great deal about such novels was truly an engaging experience. Marlowe's terse and witty language, his penchant for day drinking, and his exaggerated descriptions of women were not only delightful in their own right but also simply enjoyable because it was amusing to read something that was precisely as I'd always been led to believe it would be. On the contrary, there were certain aspects of the book that caught me off guard. For example, the significant amount of action that occurred during the day - for some unknown reason, I'd always presumed that Raymond Chandler novels involved a great deal of lurking around after midnight. The Big Sleep was also far funnier than I had anticipated, which was clearly a positive. However, most importantly, I was surprised - although perhaps I shouldn't have been - to realize just how much contemporary detective novel authors owe to Chandler, the progenitor of them all. No, The Big Sleep didn't completely meet the set of expectations I had when I began reading, but it definitely didn't let me down.

In any poll of the greatest private eye novels ever penned, there is a high probability that the top 5 would consist of The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett and the Chandler trifecta of The Big Sleep, Farewell, My Lovely, and The Long Goodbye.

The fifth spot? If one delves deep into the past, it could potentially be The Drowning Pool by Ross Macdonald (thus keeping the genre’s triumvirate together), or—depending on one’s level of tolerance—Red Harvest (awarding the top 5 to only two writers, albeit geniuses in their field) or I, the Jury by Mickey Spillane.

If one decides to explore the medium past, then: Promised Land by Robert B. Parker, When the Sacred Ginmill Closes by Lawrence Block or—again, depending on tolerance—The Last Good Kiss by James Crumley.

From the recent past, there is Devil in a Blue Dress by Walter Mosley or L.A. Requiem by Robert Crais.

Regardless of its ultimate position on any list, though, there is little doubt that The Big Sleep, written in 1939, was Raymond Chandler’s first masterpiece.

Upon deconstruction, it did not initially seem like a masterpiece. Stripped down, the detective novel typically expands to define the parameters of the mystery (what apparently occurred) while gradually peeling away layers (revealing what actually happened), until both threads reach an endpoint (the solution). However, the plot of The Big Sleep does not have traditional layers. Instead, there are clusters. This is perhaps not too surprising as it is said Chandler incorporated two earlier short stories in the creation of this work.

General Guy Sternwood, retired, wealthy, infirm, and nearing the end of his life, hires private eye Philip Marlowe to put an end to a blackmail attempt involving one of his two rowdy daughters. During their initial conversation, Marlowe senses that the General’s true concern lies more with Rusty Regan, a charming bootlegger who married his other daughter and vanished without a word a month earlier. Whether it is fear for Regan’s safety or worry that he might be somehow牵连 in the potential blackmail, Marlowe cannot immediately deduce. He will examine it more closely shortly. This is the second of the aforementioned clusters of criminal activity that he will have to sort through. The first are the blackmailers. A third emerges before the novel concludes. They are connected more by tenuous threads than woven into a greater tapestry. Nevertheless, Marlowe doggedly unravels them.

So, what makes this a classic? Setting aside the smooth narrative and the rich atmosphere, it should be remembered that one can only examine the inner workings of a novel after completion. The actual reading experience must take precedence. With The Big Sleep, the true layers of complexity lie not so much in the plot as in the man. Philip Marlowe is more than just honest; he is honorable: a trait that inherently includes the inability to walk away and leave immorality unexposed. He willingly follows paths scorched black by those with souls shrouded in darkness. It weighs heavily on him.

Perhaps it is because he has become too aware of how the world around him operates. Corrupt police departments are a result of corrupt cities. Corrupt politicians exist to fulfill the needs of that city. Corrupt citizenry have chosen corruption as their means of survival. And throughout it all, Marlowe, in stark contrast to his environment, continues forward, armed with the belief that loyalty to a just client and the ability to unearth the truth from beneath overwhelming nastiness will somehow help stem the tide, if only for a precious, deserving few, if only for a while. It is the slow, layered revelation of those beliefs and their testing at the conclusion of the novel that resonate with the reader. The hero tested is the core ingredient of good fiction. The hero morally tested elevates the norm into something greater. When this internal conflict is elegantly presented and intimately felt, immortality is achieved. Which is why The Big Sleep will remain forever relevant.