For all MYSTERY SCENE readers who do not read THE NEW YORKER (December 23, 2019). Here is what art critic Peter Schjeldahl in his memoir "77 Sunset Me" says about Raymond Chandler:
"Sleeping the big sleep." Raymond Chandler proved that
the American form of Montaigne-grade aphorism is the
wisecrack.
Wisecracks in Chandler are existential rescues of imperilled
self-possession. Worth the risk to the detective of a punch in
the gut. And conserving calm for noticing the world.
"A slanting gray rain like a swung curtain of crystal beads."
" A few windows were lit and radios were bleating at the dusk."
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We can try finishing the simile ..'A slanting gray rain like _______________"
Times like this I wish I drank coffee. I do enjoy a challenge, but I'm not sure my brain is entirely warmed up yet.
Hmm. A slanting gray rain like a cat weaving through a crowded room.
A slanting gray rain like a lighthouse beacon cutting through waves.
A slanting gray rain like a ghost in the rafters.
