***Out In The 1940s Crime Noir Night-Death Be Not Proud- Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep

The Big Sleep, Raymond Chandler, Vintage Books, New York, 1976

Recently, after doing one of my periodic re-readings of Raymond Chandler’s tough as nails P.I. (private investigator, private detective, private dick, gumshoe, shamus, key-hole peeper, sleuth or whatever you call guys who do heavy lifting for short dough and expenses trying to keep the world on its axis in your neighborhood), Philip Marlowe, I noted in reviewing The Lady In The Lake that the story-line and the action there paled against certain earlier works like Farewell, My Lovelyand the crime novel under review here, The Big Sleep. Needless to say someone, in response to that characterization, took exception to my remark. And forthwith had to be sure that I was informed that I was totally off-base in my evaluation. That person, a person unknown to me, but clearly with more than a passing knowledge of Chandler’s works, and, more importantly, with a knowledge of the evolution of the Marlowe character through several books, believed that Marlowe in Lady although maybe a little world –weary, maybe not as committed to endlessly tilting at windmills for light cash and many bruises represented a, get this, more mature Marlowe, rather than the hot-headed and impetuous younger Marlowe whom he or she characterized as a “bull in a china shop.”

No question there are many Marlowes, or rather Marlowe characteristics, which made him along with Dashiell Hammett’s Continental Op (and the classic P.I., Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon but we only got one look, admittedly a full-blown and robust look, but only one at that guy), the premier tough guy detective of the 1930s and 1940s when such men were needed, and necessary to get through the crime noir night. So that recklessness, that tilting at windmills, that gallant (to the ladies, although he only passed by them in his gallantry), that getting rid of the bad guys, or at least holding them in check, that ability to take a low-blow punch to the groin and elsewhere, take a couple of well-placed but not fatal slugs in the pursue of a little rough justice in this wicked old world gets a much better work-out in The Big Sleep. In Ladyit is clear our boy had lost a step or two in the battle against the bad guys. And that is probably the biggest distinction I could make between the two novels Brother Marlowe had taken a few too many punches, a few too many slugs and so was kind of slumming out in the boondocks on that one. Here our man in ready to take on some rough hombres, en masse, to keep such guys in check, and to give an old man a little peace before he went to his big sleep, to his rest.

Let me give you the “skinny” and maybe you will see my side in the great Marlowe night. See that old man, old General Sternwood, a guy with two wayward, reckless and wild daughters was going to need all the peace he could grab due to their careless unrestrained ways. Seems the younger daughter, the wilder of the two, slightly wilder, liked her dope (a lanadum cocktail in those days, maybe a little sister morphine) and not afraid to take her clothes off at the drop of a hat, was the subject of blackmail by parties unknown, or rather relentless, once they knew they could keep tapping the old man to keep things hush-hush. And of course there was that matter of the strange disappearance of the older daughter’s husband, Rusty Regan, who was from the old school, and had kept the old man company in his last hurrah. Enter one Philip Marlowe.

Yes enter one multi-tasker Philip Marlowe to track down those low-rent blackmailers, to track down the whereabouts of old Rusty, and to single-handedly break-up one bad guy gangster Eddie Mars’ hold on the Sternwood family. Yes, Philip took a few beatings from Eddie compliant cops and from no good back alley guys in Eddie’s employ but he got the sweaty thing tied together with a bow before he was through. And along the way he got a little justice for a stand-up guy who was took his our fatal beating for being a stand-up guy, opened some eyes about what one Eddie Mars was all about, and gave an old man some peace. What he couldn’t do was bring old Rusty back to life, or make those daughters come to heel, give up their wild ways, but what can you expect in this wicked old world. Our boy Marlowe gave it his all here, and he has the bumps to prove it.

Oh yah, about Raymond Chandler, about the guy who wrote the books. Like I said in that other review he, along with Brother Hammett, turned those dreary drawing room sleuths who dominated the reading market back in the day on its head and gave us detectives we could admire, could get behind, warts and all. Thanks, guys.