Chandler is God
My treat to myself on a recent trip was to read another Raymond Chandler mystery, The Little Sister. I've grown fond of family events where my presence is only an obstruction, so it's best if Tim just goes off to sit on the porch and read...
A mixed praise-and-blame moment: I'm very glad that Vintage Crime brought out the Chandlers in a matched set and is keeping them in print. They're handsome, well-made trade paperbacks, and I bought the whole set. But after the first few they changed the typeface and page layout to a smaller, less readable bit of a mess. The text of this one also has a number of proofing and editing errors, though I wouldn't be surprised if these just recapitulate the original edition.
Chandler is always fun, though, and The Little Sister is no exception. I had just finished a horribly depressing book when I started this one, and I was laughing (and then having to read that section to my wife) in the very first chapter. And then repeatedly throughout.
His very prissy mid-Western client, who tells him that she wouldn't want to hire a detective who used alcohol in any way, or smoked, is priceless. (As is his "Would it be all right if I peeled an orange?" rejoinder.) The case is noir, seedy, and conducive to high body count. The dialogue is snappy Hollywood stuff, and the descriptions are brutally cynical.
Loved it.
CBsIP: student manuscripts
The Seven Military Classics of Ancient China, Ralph D. Sawyer
The Age of the Galley, Karl F. Morrison, ed.
Ice Blink, Scott Cookman