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This novel used similes that were long and round and thin, like a rattailed file that has been ground smooth.
This novel is a sort of sad whisper, like a mortitian asking for a down payment.
This novel had a low lingering voice with a sort of moist caress in it like a damp bath towl.
This novel felt like a nice leg.
This novel was brought up straight, like the wicked foreman of the Lazy Q.
This novel sounded like somebody putting aways saucepans where I was.
This novel flashed like lightening.
This novel burned like dry ice.
This novel bounced me downstairs like a basketball.
This novel made my brain feel like a bucket of wet sand.
This novel spoke to me like a six-hundred dollar funeral.
This novel made a sort of high keening noise, like a couple of pansies fighting for a piece of silk.
This novel grew on me like scum on a water tank.
This novel burned like a hot iron.
This novel gave me the creeps. Like petting snakes.
This novel felt like four years on a road gang.
This novel had a jaw like a park bench.
This novel had eyes cloudy and gret like freezing water.
This novel was sad, like a fallen cake.
This novel's similies poured like water through the floodgagtes of a dam.
This novel fell on silence like a tired head on a swansdown pillow.
This novel made me laugh like a child trying to be supercilious at a playroom tea party.
22 of 29 people found this review helpful
Going back and listening to these classics has been really fun. This is the weakest of the Chandler books so far. There is so much misdirection that by the end I am not sure I really cared "who done it".
One note about audio versions of Chandler. Ray Porter, this narrator, is great. Someone had the idea of getting Elliot Gould to record these books as well. Gould is painful. Sounds like he is just learning to read out loud and we are the sixth grade class made to listen.
1 of 1 people found this review helpful
In the middle of the twentieth century, a middle aged oil executive called Raymond Chandler wrote a series detective novels of which this is one. They were based on the experiences of a principled and generally law abiding Private Investigator called Philip Marlowe, who worked in the Los Angeles area of California. The novels evoked a vivid picture of the city and of Southern California at that time. And some of his works were immortalised on screen to become archetypal examples of film noir.
In some ways, Chandler’s books could be portrayed as pulp fiction crime novels, with above average complexity of plot, but relatively shallow characterisation. However, they embody a style of prose that can be so lyrical and consistent that it raises them to a special level of entertainment and has given rise to the term Chandleresque. His creation of simile’s and evocative turns of phrase are unique and striking.
PI Marlowe is bold and brave with an appreciation of well dressed , good looking women that sometimes leads him into situations he knows he should have avoided. He is streetwise and unfazed by either the cops or underworld thugs. This story is fairly typical of a Chandler novel, but not, in my opinion his best. However, even Chandler’s average pulp is far superior to most others of the genre, so I would definitely recommend this book.
The narrator does a good gob to bring the story to life, although there are a couple of instances where he sounded a little stilted, but nevertheless it was a good portrayal. A narrator who may do an even better job at bringing Marlowe alive, whilst covering a dramatized and abridged version of this story, is Ed Bishop and I would recommend that version as a good introduction to Chandler’s work.
As you may have guessed, I am a fan of Raymond Chandler’s work, so you may wish to read all the reviews here to get a balanced picture
2 of 2 people found this review helpful
just what you'd expect. cantering rather than fast, twisting as a mountain road and amusing without laughs. well read with every chapter leaving you wanting more.
By his own admission and in a running gag where he admonishes himself with the world-weary observation above, Marlowe vents his spleen in a rambling critique of the dehumanisation of that sprawling Hollywood town, the city of angels. With first hand experience gleaned from writing original movie screenplays and having his own works adapted for the screen, Raymond Chandler utilised his knight errant private eye Marlowe to voice his cynicism and wry displeasure with the monster that is modern America, commercialised to the hilt, glittering with gilded sleaze.
This is probably the funniest of Chandler's major works. There are laugh out loud moments aplenty.
Superbly read by Ray Porter. His mastery of Marlowe's wisecracking narration you expect. It is his skill with the women's voices, from the acted primness of Orfamay Quest to the Mexican purring of Dolores Gonzales. She's playing a part too, but doesn't drop the accent or the pretence despite Marlowe's scornful defrocking.
A great pleasure for aficionados. Not the Marlowe to start with but icing on the cake when you come back to him 40 years after your first delightful discovery.