Author: Raymond Chandler
Pages: 266
Copy: Vintage Crime paperback I've had for years
Read: November 13-16 (I read this for my Noir mystery reading group)
Spoilers: I won't give away who murders who, if that's what you mean
I think there are two kinds of people in this world: people who think Raymond Chandler is a great Noir mystery writer and people who don't. I'm one of the latter. Now, let me explain.
I think two things go into whether or not you like Chandler. The most important factor is who you read first, Dashiell Hammett or Chandler. If you read Hammett first (and enjoy him), then Chandler is an upstart copycat who has no idea what he's writing about. If you read Chandler first, then Hammett is an insane violence junkie.
The second factor is how snobbish you are about genre fiction. Chandler tries hard to make his writing read like literary fiction--using overblown figurative language, obvious allusions, and complex murders that require bizarre coincidences that are only barely plausible, laboring under the impression that complexity equals literary. If you think genre fiction is pointless money-grubbing (read this thoughtful if still painfully elitist piece on the debate between genre and literary fiction--it'll at least give you ammunition, even if it doesn't change your mind), then you can read Chandler happily because he's trying so hard to escape the genre. That being said, he seems to genuinely love Noir mystery, so his desire to escape could really be an attempt to elevate the genre. Unfortunately, to my mind, he reinforces the so-called problems of genre fiction rather than transcending them. Hammett, on the other hand, never tried to escape his genre. He more or less created the genre and then broke the mold. No one--granted I haven't read everything but that's why I'm leading a Noir mystery reading group--no one does Noir better than Hammett. I think that kills Chandler. He wants to be the literary version of Hammett, but that's impossible. Hammett existed happily enough within the confines of genre. Chandler can't stand genre.
The Lady in the Lake is a page turner, I'll give it that. The timescale is off-the-charts unrealistic (almost The Da Vinci Code bad, minus the airplanes), but it's easy to ignore that detail. The case starts out as a simple missing persons, but the body count builds rapidly (interestingly, only one person is shot to death--the rest are killed in a more hands-on way) and the mystery deepens. That the solution requires...well, I don't want to give everything away. But the solution is divisive. Some (probably those pesky Hammett fans) will find the solution absolutely ridiculous. Others (probably those staunch Chandler fans) will find the solution ingenious. I doubt anyone will find it boring.
The violence is mostly off-stage. Sure Marlowe gets beat up a couple times, but all the deaths happen before Marlowe arrives or while he's unconscious. That being said, the first murdered body is described in rather gruesome detail. Eat your lunch after you've read the first 60 pages. But other than that first body, the violence and death is pretty understated. Think Greek tragedy, not Stephen King.
The novel is written in the first person, which is always a difficult move for a writer of mysteries. The author can't give too much away, which means the detective can't think too much. This runs the risk of making the detective seem like a bumbling idiot. Unfortunately, this novel suffers a little from that. It's difficult to tell whether or not Marlowe actually knows what he's doing. He just seems to sort of wander around, getting beat up and finding dead bodies. Then the big pay-off scene comes around and he suddenly knows everything. (For the record, Hammett also uses the first person occasionally, but his detective doesn't seem quite so bumbling to me. Chalk it up to bias, I suppose.)
Two final notes. The diction is awkward. Marlowe tends to use fairly sophisticated diction, which is jarringly out of place in a Noir mystery. He's also a bit of a snob, commenting on the quality of his food and drink, a move that makes him a little dandified. And then there's the figurative language.
"The minutes went by on tiptoe, with their fingers to their lips."
"One drop of that in the hollow of your throat and the matched pink pearls started falling on you like summer rain."
The first is the way Marlowe describes the time he spends waiting outside the office of his soon-to-be client, the second describes a perfume. Both sentences occur within the first six pages. Did you wince a little? I winced. That kind of language shows how hard Chandler is trying and how completely he is failing. (Okay, okay--he fails to me. Not everyone agrees.) I can't really see a hard-boiled detective thinking like that. The figurative language reinforces the sense that Marlowe has either slipped down a few pegs socially, or that he has no idea what he's doing--that he's just playing at detective.
Alright, who should read this? I think young people (say 16 or 17+) will love Chandler. He's a little gross and a little violent, just enough to titillate a young reader who hasn't read many mysteries yet. People from LA are likely to love Chandler, just because he celebrates the area. Established mystery readers are going to either be Chandler fans or not, so be careful. Ultimately, the Noir mystery genre is a little more of a man's genre--the women are pretty stock, often deeply sexualized, and often either evil or dumb. Some women won't care--they'll just like the mystery--other women will be offended. That's a deeply personal opinion, so I'd never try to really influence anyone one way or the other. Just keep it in mind.
--Benvolia
