Raymond Chandler Is Warning You

I recently learned the history of Raymond Chandler, a novelist/screenwriter whom I’ve had a massive respect for. Turns out he was a friendless drunk who died alone yet successful. In fact, after his death a 13 page story idea based on his celebrated character Philip Marlowe put him back into Hollywood. Was he happy in Los Angeles? Hell no. This town blows, according to him (and writer William Goldman...who lives in Connecticut).

I didn’t realize it before, but it must’ve been the agony and pain of what he’s seen in Los Angeles that drew me to his writing. Or, at least, his story ideas. Boy, the acid was boiling in his pot boilers. Cynicism, yet romantic. Optimisic yet weary. A broken man in the City of Angels.

I would say, at least, in his case, perhaps his time served in the war was justified to the horrors of man. It seems the description of his Los Angeles and it’s seedy tinsel streets were more inhumane than watching a man die after being shot. The look in the eyes was what most likely haunted him. Having ostracized anyone close, may have been because he feared their untimely death may adversely effect him. Thus is the life that is so well illustrated in a detective that sees the city in such a ugly burnt way. Philip Marlowe is Raymond Chandler. A tough to know angry person, upset humans have the capacity to murder with no cause. Even with being nationally acclaimed and doted on by awards, he still remained an unrepentant drunk.

His legacy lives on in the disenchanted of this city. Even though he died before the worse even showed up. How strange, the stories we’re robbed of because of his demise. My guess…he didn’t write for money for fame. He wrote to outrun his nightmares.