I have a beautiful and particular collection of what must be probably worthless books. They are red “leatherette” with gold trimming hard covers of Raymond Chandler novels. They were printed by Heron Books in 1981 and I purchased them at W.H. Smith (now, alas part of our forgotten Vancouver history) as remainders around 1983 for $6.00 each. They have yellow ribbons to mark your place and illustrations by Paul J. Crompton.
Those who know a lot more about Raymond Chandler have told me that of all the novels he wrote his last Marlowe novel Playback (1958) written one year before his death was Chandler in decline.
Yet it is to Playback that I often go back every couple of years and in particular to Chapter XII
At half-past six the Fleetwood purred up to the front door and I had it open when she came up the steps. She was hatless. She wore a flesh-coloured coat with the collar turned up against her platinum hair. She stood in the middle of the living-room and looked around casually. Then she slipped the coat off with a lithe movement and threw it on the davenport and sat down. 'I didn't really think you'd come,’'I said. 'No. You’re the shy type. You knew darned well I'd come. Scotch and soda, if you have it.' 'I have it.' I brought the drinks and sat down beside her, but not close enough for it to mean anything. We touched glasses and drank. 'Would you care to go to Romanoffo for dinner?' 'And then what?' 'Where do you live?' 'West Los Angeles. A house on a quiet old street. It happens to belong to me. I asked you and then what, remember?' 'That would be up to you, naturally.''I thought you were a tough guy. You mean I don't have to pay for my dinner?' 'I ought to slap your face for that crack.' She laughed suddenlly and stared at me over the edge of her glass.'Consider it slapped. We had each other a bit wrong. Romanoffs could wait a while, couldn't it?' 'We could try West Los Angels first.' 'Why not here?' 'I guess this will make you walk out on me. I had a dream here once, a year and a half ago. There is still a shred of it left. I'd like to stay in charge.' She stood up quickly and grabbed her coat. I managed to help her on with it. 'I'm sorry, 'I said, "I should have told you that before. She swung around with her face close to mine, but I didn't touch her. 'Sorry that you had and dream and kept it alive? I've had dreams too, but mine died. I didn't have the courage to keep them alive. ''It's not quite like that. There was a woman. She was rich. She thought she wanted to marry me. It wouldn't have worked. I'll probably never see her again. But I remember.' 'Let's go’,'she said quietly. 'And let's leave the memory in charge. I only wish I had one worth remembering.' On the way down to the Cadillac I didn't touch her either. She drove beautifully. When a woman is a really good driver she is just about perfect.
Playback, Chapter XIII, by Raymond Chandler
In the last couple of weeks I have taken the book out of its bookcase twice. The first time happened when I read the above chapter to my granddaughter Rebecca. It was my effort (perhaps a futile one) to get my granddaughter Rebecca to become interested in reading as we all watch her increasing addiction to Facebook and texting.
I explained how the novels of Raymond Chandler inspired great movies including The Big Sleep (1946) with Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall. Rebecca seemed to have heard of the film but it quickly “degenerated” into the question as to who was more beautiful, Grace Kelly, Audrey Hepburn or Lauren Bacall.
I attempted to whet her interest by playing Charlie Haden’s Quartet West – In Angel City. I explained how the CD has an excerpt from Chandler’s The Little Sister which describes Chandler driving east on Sunset. I explained that one of the pieces, The Red Wind was about Southern California’s infamous dry and hot wind, the Santa Ana which comes in from the desert and blows all the Los Angeles smog out to sea. I played my favourite tune, First Song (For Ruth) which to me is a song that is pure Marlowe driving East of Sunset during a hot summer evening.
But it was to no avail. She got up and told me that there was not one book in my library that she was interested in. I told her about Paradise Lost by Milton and how, “water, water everwhere and…” now had a Rebecca variation all about books. But I do not despair as I know that sooner or later she will return to books. After all I did not start reading Chandler until 1983 when I was 41!
She drove beautifully. When a woman is a really good driver she is just about perfect.
I had a visitor on Wednesday afternoon. It was photographer Allan Jacques. We discussed the state of photography today in the living room over tea, freshly baked bread, cultured/unsalted butter and apricot jam. I told him about this and how I equated the rise and fall of photography as we know it with the invention, rise and now almost certain demise of the halftone process which enables photographs to be printed in books, magazine and newspapers.
We talked about the pristine, flawless and perfect digitally stitched panoramic photograph prints that are sold at a framing store on the corner of Robson Street and Seymour in Vancouver. We talked on how these panoramics are done in a technique called HDR which stands for high dynamic range. This digital technique enables photographers to capture details in the shadows of evening takes without overexposing the highlights of bright skies and street lights. These pictures are perfect. We talked on how after viewing no more than five it would amount to eating sugar in heaping spoonfuls. We could not look at any, anymore.
The reason is that perfection is boring. Flaws make photographs interesting and quirky. Those photographs of mountain landscapes reflected on perfectly calm lakes so that you don’t know which is the real thing and which is the reflection are a dime a dozen in current photography magazines. These landscapes have bright and saturated colours. There is no real English equivalent to the Spanish verb empalagar. The word means that you might eat something so cloyingly sweet that you cannot proceed any further. The photo magazine landscapes are empalagosas (fotografía is feminine).
Alan Jacques and I believe that the next big thing will have to take into consideration the beauty of the flaw. And of course Chandler knew this, and told us so via Marlowe. That fine Cadillac driver was just about perfect, but not quite. And not quite is where it all is.
The Charlie Haden Quartet West - In Angel City version of First Song (for Ruth) is not available in YouTube but there is that other beautiful one by Stan Getz and Kenny Barron here
The Little Sister
