I think this might be my first ever crime/mystery book. Ever. I’ve wanted to read Raymond Chandler’s books for many years now, since I first read an interview with another author (sadly, I can’t remember who, or in what publication) describing Chandler’s skill at describing, of all things, furniture. Later, I saw the excellent series of books put out by Vintage (my cover is not the same as the one shown, which I like better) and wanted to own them for their beauty as objects, as well as for the stories themselves. Finally, a few weeks ago, I managed to find a copy of The Big Sleep that I could afford (it wouldn’t do to read them out of order, after all). It was great fun to read.
Chandler’s prose is energetic, casual, and surprisingly fun. I was worried that I would have to remind myself at times that Philip Marlowe is the source of the hard-nosed detective cliché, and not just another in a long, unimpressive string. Not once did such a thought actually cross my mind. The slang was sometimes hard to follow, but Marlowe was almost refreshing, defying the stereotype in a surprising number of ways. He had a tremendous and overflowing sense of humour, for one thing. I was surprised by the treatment of sexuality and pornography in the book. I expected more repression, the references to be less direct. Instead Chandler was frank, open, and though not exactly non-judgemental, his characters seemed almost less conservative than many an average person would be today. I can’t wait to read more.
Next: Shelf Monkey, by Cory Redekop
