The Big Sleep: Writing Style of Raymond Chandler

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The Big Sleep: Writing Style

How can I humble myself? I can write about Raymond Chandler's style. I am amazed that someone can write with a style that appears to be almost effortless. No, it seems completely effortless. Breezing through this book is very easy. There are no seams. Chandler's "no buts about it," "hard-boiled" style, characters and story are completely cohesive. All elements seem perfectly placed. The narrator and interesting use of figurative language contribute to the unity in the text.

First, the narrator sets the mood of the text. He is a character, an agent in the action of the story. He fits it completely. He's a real "cool" guy, Marlowe. I picture him just sitting back in a thick green leather chair in a poorly lit, dingy little room, slowly drawing on a cigarette (watching the ash grow), swirling a drink in the other hand and spilling out the story in the concise, natural rhythm of his speech &emdash; street speech. He is super-casual. He upholds his law; he's not bad -- he's not good either. He's laid back. He's street smart &emdash; he knows people. He doesn't always follow the law, but he fights the scofflaws. He's Sherlock underground American style. He's a lady's man. He's in control. He's a one on the Richter Scale. He's suave enough to spill out awesome figurative language with seamless ease.

No dearth of similes exists in this book. Sometimes Chandler decorates a page with more than four. They stand out. The similes are the fragrance of the flower. The only circumstance in which no simile can be found on a page is if the page is full of dialogue. Chandler's similes function interestingly in his text &emdash; they seem to be the only art in his concise style. Some of his similes are almost silly, so they really stand out from the casual mood of the text; "his neck stuck up out of [his coat] like a celery stalk" (25). Yet others are beautiful and create very strong images such as those in Chapter Twenty-six when Marlowe is tracking Henry Jones. Marlowe picks a lock and " there was a dry click, like a small icicle breaking.

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