Think about every stereotype you know about the hard-boiled private investigator. The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett is where those came from. I kept having to remind myself that this book isn't cliched. The book made the cliches.
Sam Spade is a private detective and one day a woman comes in with a story about a missing sister. Then there are lies and more lies and a missing statue that is apparently worth a lot of money. You never know who's lying, what angle anyone is playing, or what's so great about this statue.
Rather than do a real review, here are random thoughts:
You keep trying to tell me Sam Spade is blond and I giggle every time because no, no he isn't. How silly Mr. Hammett for you to get that wrong about your own character.
Sam Spade doesn't just kiss a dame. He does it "on the mouth". Which I suppose is an accurate description of a normal kiss, except I kept picturing him giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Or that Coneheads kiss. So you know, not sexy. But every time "He kissed her on the mouth".
The female characters are pretty one-note. But then again all the characters are, so it's hard to get mad at Hammett for this.
Speaking of, Sam Spade doesn't have a lot of emotion. Like at all. I'm not saying I expect a PI to be super touchy-feely, but I expect something beyond "Oh that guy died. Meh, whatchya gonna do." And that's pretty much his tone for the entire book.
Also, hey look! I finished another challenge book! I am in no way going to actually complete these 2 challenges, but I'm still trying.
Title quote on page 190
Hammett, Dashiell. The Maltese Falcon. Orion paperback, 2005. Originally published 1929
