A review by readingoverbreathing
Farewell, My Lovely by Raymond Chandler

3.0

"The fog had cleared off outside and the stars were as bright as artificial stars of chromium on a sky of black velvet. I drove fast. I needed a drink badly and the bars were closed."

In the chronology of twentieth-century crime fiction we're following for my English module this semester, I did not expect there to be such a big jump in tone from the clue-puzzle mysteries of Christie and Sayers that we covered last week to the hardboiled, manly grit exemplified here in Chandler's Philip Marlowe. Where Christie and Sayers are homely, matter-of-fact, and at times a bit foppish, Chandler is violent, pugnacious, and intensely masculine. This novel unfolded much like a Humphrey Bogart film, which makes sense since Chandler was involved in quite a few of those, and presents itself as ostensibly American and rather jaded.

The cozy clue-puzzle is definitely much more it for me. While I could appreciate what Chandler was doing here, the overwhelming male energy, the constant degradation of the female characters to objects of sexual desire, and the tendency to outright violence were just not as enjoyable for me. Even at the end, when everything finally came together, the plot still seemed all over the place, with a decent amount of random associates I felt weren't necessary.

One thing, though, that I did actually love about this book was Chandler's descriptive writing. Throughout the whole book he maintains a very distinct sense of place wherever Marlowe goes, with really rich visual language that really makes this book a masterpiece of atmosphere. Every office, every street corner, every dark, nighttime landscape is described with care and attention to all five of the senses, and thus why I still say I can respect Chandler's writing.

I would actually like to still read some of Chandler's work that was adapted by old Hollywood eventually, and, in the meantime, I'm excited to dig into the politics of this book in my course later this week.