The Big Sleep

The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler (1939) I had a similar experience reading this to reading The Long Goodbye (1953) in that it was hard to forget the movie versions. In the case of The Long Goodbye, it’s the crazy 1973 Robert Altman movie, which reimagines the story for contemporary (at the time) Los Angeles. The equally as good 1946 Howard Hawks movie is closer to the book, but perhaps even more strange than the Seventies reimagining, but in a more subtle way. I’m kind of obsessed with that movie, actually, because of the oddball screenplay, written by Leigh Brackett, William Faulkner, and Jules Furthman (I guess—something I’d like to read more about someday—likely influenced in equal parts by high-mindedness and alcohol—or something). So, anyway, there was no chance for me to read this book without thinking of the movie version—just because I’ve seen that movie as many times as I’ve seen any movie, ever. If you happen to be someone who has somehow never seen any of the movie adaptations—and haven’t read this—consider yourself (like people who need people) to be among the luckiest people in the world—in that you can read this book first, and then later see the movie. But I did my best to reimagine the characters—the versions in this book—who are similar, but different. (Sean Regan is Rusty Regan, and so forth). A lot of the pleasure of the novel is the language—concise, no-nonsense writing that still has plenty of style. Ultimately, I was able to get involved in the world of the novel. It's an incredibly involved and complex story. There’s a lot to follow. My favorite thing, though, isn’t even the story, it’s the names of the characters, and the southern California setting—the place names, the feeling. The way Philip Marlowe moves though it all is, of course, what it’s all about. I guess this was the first Philip Marlowe novel—followed by several more—all of which are worth reading—and perhaps rereading—because Raymond Chandler is the best.