The fourth part in a series of eleven book reviews.
From the 1930s to the 1950s Raymond Chandler penned a stylish collection of short stories and novels within the crime fiction genre.
Over the coming months I’m rereading his work and writing reviews. More details about the who, what and why are explained here in part one.
Review Number: 9 (4 in Chandler series)
Review Date: 1 November 2015
Title: Killer in the Rain
Author: Raymond Chandler
Country: United States
Publication Date: 1964 (collected stories / 1935 to 1941)
Genre: Crime Fiction
This collection first published by Hamish Hamilton in 1964 consists of eight short stories: Killer in the Rain (Originally published in Black Mask, January 1935); The Man Who Liked Dogs (Originally published in Black Mask, March 1936); The Curtain (Originally published in Black Mask, September 1936); Try the Girl (Originally published in Black Mask, January 1937); Mandarin’s Jade (Originally published in Dime Detective Magazine, November 1937); Bay City Blues (Originally published in Dime Detective Magazine, November 1937); The Lady in the Lake (Originally published in Dime Detective Magazine, January 1939); and No Crime in the Mountains (Originally published in Detective Story Magazine, September 1941).
“Go to hell,” he said.
“A right snappy comeback,” I said. “And full of originality.”
If the publishers had listened to Chandler, none of these stories would have been reprinted. That’s because all of the ideas from these eight tales were reused in his later novels.
He wanted them to be forgotten as considered the novels to be better. He was right. But publishers only think of big bucks and so the short stories are back in the public domain.
With that in mind, this review is going to be a whole lot different from the three before. That’s because I don’t want to spoil any surprises in his classic novels. I’ll merely skim over the contents in this review. It’s what Chandler would have wanted. Well, almost wanted.
All the right elements of crime fiction are here in this Killer in the Rain collection – they’re just unpolished. The memorable story Mandarin’s Jade is long enough to have some cool chapter titles: ‘I Lose my Client’; ‘Lady in Liquor’; ‘I Cross the Bar’; and ‘Poison Blonde’.
While Bay City Blues is even better for titles: ‘Cinderella Suicide’; ‘My Dead Neighbour’; ‘I Get My Gun Back’; and my favourite – in reference to one of the characters – ‘Big Chin’.
The last one showcases Chandler’s wit and brusque style:
A lock turned in the front door and it opened and a figure stood there, shadowed, a big Colt in his hand. Big Chin was a good name for him. His big, broad jaw stuck out from his face like a cowcatcher.
Later in the same passage it gets better:
I wanted to hit his chin – it fascinated me.
While all these short stories may seem simple at times, don’t be fooled. It takes some talent to create something entertaining and smooth. He worked hard to write them and was always improving and, more importantly, he was trying to improve. Chandler never relaxed or felt satisfied with his work.
Each story is similar in a sense – it’s invariably an American detective trying to find closure, attempting to right wrongs in a brutal and unforgiving world. But then everything repeats in the end – we learn that from history and the news.
It’s worth noting that Chandler was a well-travelled individual and had seen the world. He was an intellectual. All of that shines through in his work. He cared and thought about what he said. He was also a modern thinker for his time – I’ve noticed that in all the short stories everybody is treated equally. Regardless of gender, age, race or profession – characters can be bright and breezy, or slight and sleazy. He was always keen to show that the scum of the city occupy all levels of society.
Well, that’s all his short stories reviewed and it’s been fun to read them again. They’ve been good. A lot of style and humour – all overlaid with bullets, battles and bload-soaked shenanigans.
The seven novels are up next, and good news – they’re even better.
“I’m a miracle man,” I said. “I’m the great American detective – unpaid.”
