The Thin Man, by Dashiell Hammett

In keeping with my recent readings of the American "hard-boiled" detective novel, I thought I'd do a quick review of The Thin Man, which I completed a couple of weeks ago. I'm a pretty big fan of the old screwball comedy, so I saw the William Powell/Myrna Loy film version years ago, along with the five sequels that were spun off of it. The movies are great. They capture the era and the lifestyle perfectly. (That great line that Nora says: "Waiter, please serve the nuts"--it's absolute perfection!) Anyway, I was pretty excited to begin reading the book.

I discovered quickly that The Thin Man as a book is nothing like The Thin Man as a movie. For one, it's quite dark. Hammett was writing hard-boiled detective fiction, not screwball comedies, so the book really isn't meant to be funny in the way readers might expect. Yes, it has its moments, but those are common in hard-boiled stories and usually relate to the short, clipped comments that the detective/hero makes as he stumbles through the clues and more or less solves the mystery. But ultimately, the book takes on some pretty heavy issues, making for a grim read. We encounter domestic abuse, alcoholism (Nick Charles, after all, is never seen without a drink in his hand), hints of incest, and a discussion of cannibalism, to name just some of the topics the story brings up--and as if one of these alone wouldn't be enough! For the most part, the ambience of The Thin Man isn't anywhere near as dark and moody as The Maltese Falcon, but it is arguably a far more serious story. While The Maltese Falcon is moody to the point of parody at times, The Thin Man never quite takes itself seriously, but leaves the reader with a much stronger impression.

To be honest, I liked the story, and I'd recommend it as a very interesting read, but it will be a disappointment for anyone wanting William Powell and Myrna Loy. The Nick and Nora in the book are similar to the characters in the movie, but nowhere near as lighthearted. They just drink a lot, which seems to keep them buoyant. As for the mystery itself, it is solved, but in true hard-boiled fashion the solution comes with a catch. Nothing is triumphant in the detective stories of this period, and The Thin Man is no different, even though it almost pulls away from its muse in places and tries to resembe the type of detective story so familiar to readers of English mysteries. Ultimately, though, the ending isn't exactly happy. Nick concludes that even if he has solved the case--and I hope I'm not giving away any spoilers by saying the mystery is solved--it comes without much satisfaction. People don't change for the better, or at all, and they will go on committing crimes. The final line of the story is a good motto for the entire book, if not the entire genre: "it's all pretty unsatisfactory."

All of this aside, I should point out that I'm not discouraging people from reading this book or any of Hammett's stories. This is a fascinating period in American literature; and coming from someone who thinks little of American literature in general, this is saying a great deal. I do recommend this book, but I encourage readers to take it for what it is and not to attach any false expectations to it. Give The Thin Man a try, and you might find yourself drawn into the hard-boiled world.

A couple of great quotes

Both from Raymond Chandler:

"...Sherlock Holmes after all is mostly an attitude and a few dozen lines of unforgettable dialogue."

"The English may not always be the best writers in the world, but they are incomparably the best dull writers."

Interrupted Music, by Verlyn Flieger

This review will be more retrospective than usual, as it's been some weeks since I've read the book, but I'd like to review it nonetheless. I had read Flieger's other analysis of Tolkien's mythology, Splintered Light, a while back and was thus looking forward to this book. For lovers of Tolkien, Splintered Light is a truly fabulous book. Flieger takes a close look at the element of light in Tolkien's mythology and analyzes the role it plays. After reading it, I actually managed to derive a topic from it for a paper I was writing on an entirely different genre altogether. But the book was so wonderfully comprehensive in its study of light (and from this, of fantasy) that it allowed me to employ its main ideas in the study of something else.

Anyway, all of this to say that I was excited to find Interrupted Music at the library and was really looking forward to reading it. I'm sorry to say that I was disappointed. The subtitle for the book is The Making of Tolkien's Mythology, and my hope was that Flieger would explore this topic in some depth, as she explored light and fantasy in her earlier book. Instead, this book is little more than an anthologized series of articles that she wrote over a number of years. They are connected in the basic topic of considering Tolkien's mythology, but overall they lack the cohesion that set Splintered Light apart. I was genuinely hoping that Flieger would actually take a close look at the way Tolkien uses music; she takes a look at it, but to me it seems like more of a passing glance than a careful study. This is unfortunate, because the use of music in Tolkien's mythology is fascinating and deserves a better analysis.

The book is not, itself, unscholarly or unworthy of a good read. Perhaps my biggest complaint is that it wasn't what I expected, for which I can only blame myself and not Flieger. That aside, though, I don't think Flieger did quite a good enough job of creating a sense of unification among the various parts. She hints at a union among sections but without much success. I always felt as though I was reading a series of articles--entire in themselves--and not the chapters of a complete book. The result is that I simply didn't understand Flieger's main point, even if I did understand the points in each chapter. This is unfortunate, because the book has a great deal of potential but ultimately fails to deliver.

I recommend this book only for the most devoted Tolkien fans, and only when many other resources have been exhausted. It's not a long book, but I'm sorry to say that even so it really isn't worth the time.

The Maltese Falcon, by Dashiel Hammett

I'm currently taking a summer course on American Detective Fiction, and this is the first book on the list. Having watched the movie a number of years ago, I was excited about the story but have since come away from it with mixed feelings. On the one hand, this is a great example of the genre produced during a very distinctive era in American history. It's dark, gritty, and thoroughly American. On the other hand, this really isn't a happy story at all, and even though there is the proverbial prevailing of good in the end, the reader doesn't walk away from it feeling satisfied. As a result, my review for this story will be mixed.

In terms of prose style, this certainly isn't a great work of literature. Hammett was, if nothing else, blunt and direct in the way he wrote. Descriptions are clear to the point of overkill, and characters don't engage in complex dialogue at any point along the way. At the same time, what may come across as somewhat simplistic in style is, in my opinion at least, very evocative of an era. The Maltese Falcon is set during the 1920s and embodies all of the darkness of that period, with its look at the world of crime and corruption in the underbelly of American society. Far from this being the "roaring twenties," the story provides a glimpse of something quite sad. There is little in the way of true morality to The Maltese Falcon. The detective "hero" is Sam Spade, a cynical, straight-talking man who acknowledges little authority outside himself and seems to live by the rule of what seems best at any given moment. He really doesn't seem to be good at detecting so much as just good at getting into and out of sticky situations. In fact, Hammett describes Spade as a "blond Satan" at the beginning of the story, a description that mystified me until one of my classmates pointed out that this makes him the devil's advocate. Spade is a hard character to like, but ultimately even harder to dislike. He may make some questionable choices in the story, but readers sense that his heart is in the right place.

This is where I begin to draw issue with the story. Yes, Spade grows on readers as a character--but why? I think the answer to this lies in something that has become so ingrained in the American psyche that we take it for granted. Spade is the lone man up against the world: the 20th-century version of the cowboy. He's even in the "Wild West," so to speak, as the story is set in San Francisco. Americans have a weakness for the strongly individual character to the point that we come to respect him more than we might someone who follows the path of conformity a little more. I'll admit that I like Spade. But I also dislike him for the same reasons that I like him, which creates an interesting irony.

Do I recommend this story? Yes, but with the caution that many readers may not enjoy it. The story is interesting and at moments almost amusing, with one of the greatest lines I've come across in a long time: "When you're slapped you'll take it and like it!" (My teacher pointed out that he should have that printed on some business cards. I like that idea.) But ultimately this is a dark story with a rather dark ending. In terms of genre, it's essential; in terms of literature, it's not for everyone.