Quote:
Originally Posted by GA Russell
Thanks Zod!
I'm a long-time fan of Hammett and Chandler, and I don't see hard-boiled detective stories being written today.
|
Don't overlook Ross MacDonald's Lew Archer series. Here are some of my highlights from The Drowning Pool:
- Her torso jiggled in the blouse like a giant soft-boiled egg with the shell removed.
- I stood still for an instant, caught by my own distorted face, and the room reversed itself like a trick drawing in a psychological test. For an instant I was the man in the mirror, the shadow-figure without a life of his own who peered with one large eye and one small eye through dirty glass at the dirty lives of people in a very dirty world.
- Standing in the full glare of the light, she looked like a painted rubber doll, made with real human hair, that wasn’t quite new any more.
- The counterman slid a thin white sandwich and a cup of thick brown coffee across the black lucite bar. He had pink butterfly ears. The rest of him was still in the larval stage.
- I felt like a lonely cat, an aging tom ridden by obscure rage, looking for torn-ear trouble. I clipped that pitch off short and threw it away. Night streets were my territory, and would be till I rolled in the last gutter.
- Her eyes were melancholy under heavy lashes, her cheeks faintly hollowed as if she had been feeding on her own beauty.
- Hatred flashed in the ocean-colored eyes and disappeared, like a shark-fin.