Chandler

Paying another visit to the bookshop mentioned on 18th June the other day, I acquired a fat Penguin from their 'Twentieth Century Classics' brand containing three stories by Raymond Chandler, a writer whom I think I have tried in the past: 'The Big Sleep', 'Farewell, My Lovely' and 'The Long Good-Bye'.

Now more or less got through the first of these, possibly hindered rather than helped by having seen the Robert Mitchum film version at least once. The west-coast low-life milieu held some interest, but in the end I tired of trying to follow the twists and turns of the plot and of the staccato prose. Maybe of the rather large amount of rather stale sex & violence - missing from the vaguely contemporary Agatha Christie, with whom I get on rather better, at least on an occasional basis.

The front of the book contains a very enthusiastic puff for Chandler, a gentleman with a colourful history which includes service with our Civil Service, with the Canadian Army during the first world war and with an oil company afterwards, eventually domiciling in the California of his novels. According to Wikipedia he was a drunk, married for a long time to a much older woman and who was also mixed up with Sonia Orwell, perhaps in her capacity as a literary fixer, at some point (see 15th June). Also according to Wikipedia, the three novels in the present volume are considered important literary works, masterpieces even, several cuts above the usual run of detective fiction.

But I still give up and the book has now been found a new home in Brading, a home where, perchance, it will find happier readers than me. I am prompted to turn up Simenon again, also vaguely contemporary, also a writer of some books considered important literary works etc. They also have a certain something being written in French, a French which as I recall is of a deliberately easy going variety, spurning literary flourishes and fancy vocabulary, perhaps the Simenon version of the Chandler staccato. I also recall that he was rather peeved that they passed him over for a nobel in favour of some other French writer, maybe Camus, so perhaps vainer than Chandler.

PS 1: unable to turn up a proper illustration. All the ones that I could find were of the postage stamp variety, as is that above. Perhaps owners keep a stronger grip on pictures from films than the custodians of paintings seem to (see 22nd June).

PS 2: while I think of it, the Getty of the post of 22nd June used to own a place called Sutton Place near Guildford in Surrey. A very old and fancy building which is still used for its original purpose, being owned by a Russian grade-II oligarch, rather  than by one of the heritage outfits. It would be interesting to go and inspect the fencing arrangements at some point. Perhaps in the margins of a follow-up visit to the nearby Hatchlands (see 2nd July).