Raymond Chandler--ex-tennis racket stringer, soldier, fruit picker, book keeper-- pulp fiction from a dead broke alcoholic, a genius, trained in the classics and going no where. Desperate to support the lovely, rich, older woman he married as a kid, Chandler decided that if Dashiel Hammet could make money writing for the pulps, he could too. So he gave up on sappy poetry and invented Marlowe-- a knight errant in a fedora and silk tie.
His use of language is breathtaking; his scathing, "regional" descriptions of southern California have become classics in themselves. He boiled his characters hard but left them enough humanity to make them live for the reader, even after the book was closed. You know this guy is a hero to me! --s6
Any fan of Chandler is a friend of mine.
The clerk on duty was an eggheaded man with no interest in me or in anything else. He wore parts of a white linen suit and he yawned as he handed me the desk pen and looked off into the distance as if remembering his childhood.