When I bought this I thought it was the second of the Marlowe novels coming after The Big Sleep that I’d already read. It turns out it’s actually the sixth and last of them. Ho hum.

I enjoyed this more than the first book, partly because I had no clue as to the plot whereas I already had a fair idea of the plot of The Big Sleep from other sources and partly because I was just in more of a reading mood for this book. Sometimes with Chandler you feel like you’re reading something so cliched that it’s silly but you have to stand back and realise that this is exactly where all the cliches come from. I liked the story a lot, it has all the elements that I’d expect to find in a forties noir novel (even though I know bugger all about forties noir) and exceeds expectations by being a lot better than the authors who have tried to imitate him.

I’ll definitely read some more Marlowe but I think these are books best spread out over a long time.