Download Only to Sleep A Philip Marlowe Novel Lawrence Osborne 9781524759629 Books

Product details Series Philip Marlowe Paperback 272 pages Publisher Hogarth; Reprint edition (April 2, 2019) Language English ISBN-10 1524759627

Only to Sleep A Philip Marlowe Novel Lawrence Osborne 9781524759629 Books Reviews

• The writing itself is very good, every sentence revealing the finely-hewn character of an old & treasured friend, his every thought, reflection & observation consistently reliable…uncannily precise, whether it be the withering desert heat or the spiders on the local precinct’s ceiling. But midway through the book it be comes as stifling, monotonous & repetitive as the Mexican weather in the story.
  
  I read the book as slowly as I possibly could, to savor each sentence at least twice. I didn’t want to finish it too soon. I’ve enjoyed all of Osborne’s novels & much of his non-fiction.
  
  It seems fitting that Only To Sleep was written by a Brit. Raymond Chandler was educated in England & he seemed to have a foreigner’s appreciation of Southern California vernacular.
  
  But I come away with serious misgivings. These occur in two areas. One is the mindset of Marlowe himself, especially with respect to his age. I’ve read all the Marlowe novels at least once & have seen the movies many times. I’m also older now than Marlowe is in this book & I find his ruminations on aging shallow & pretentious. He’s become a whiner & a coward, something I would not have foreseen, ever. This is not the white knight traveling down mean streets. This is an old rum-soaked dandy babbling away on a Jimmy Kimmel or Fallon talk snooze.
  
  Then there’s the plot. I’m sorry, what plot? Where is it? Have there been so many derivatives of the original Hammett/Chandler/MacDonald (Ross) plots on TV that we are now supposed to fill in the character & plot turns & details ourselves? Is this some new kind of art form? Or are the missing pieces in one or more of the several murders towards the end of the book supposed to be a way of making the reader experience Marlowe’s incipient dementia?
  
  Minor but still significant quibbles in several spots Osborne drops the vernacular altogether & reverts to British poeticisms. Once comparing someone's eyes to "petrol" & another comparing same to an English sky. That's just sloppiness, sorry.
  
  I give this a 2 ½. For some good semi-wise writing. Half a plot, half a protagonist, half a decent use of my time.
• We need a law to prevent beloved writers' estates from treating a legacy as a franchise to be milked for more income. I am a great fan of Raymond Chandler's mystery series and thus a sitting duck for a "new" Marlowe. For the first third of Only to Sleep, I thought I'd struck gold--a retired Marlowe tempted back to solve one last case. Setting the book in Mexico of the 1980s seemed an inspired choice. But as soon as Marlowe begins to investigate a hot widow and a likely insurance fraud, the narrative loses steam and slows to a repetitive crawl. We go back and forth between villages, towns and resorts pursuing a maybe murderer with nothing much happening. In an effort to pick up the action, Osborne creates some truly outlandish plot turns. By the time things are resolved, it's hard to care
  
  Osborne makes a serious effort to tap into the Chandler magic. His use of language can be wonderful. But trying to recreate Chandler's distinctive style, characters, plots and atmosphere is probably a challenge doomed to failure. Continuing a popular mystery series with a new author is doable. Witness the new Spenser novels by Ace Atkins. But no one could claim that Robert Parker writes in the same league as Chandler. Parker, by the way, did his own Chandler simulation, Poodle Springs. Sheesh! Not to mention John Banville's sad effort with The Black-eyed Blonde. Let the man and his hero Marlowe rest!
• Osborne does a great job of writing in the semi-dream state that defines a Marlowe novel. The plot is simple and, of course, the end is ambiguous.
  
  Marlowe, retired in a fishing village in Mexico, is asked to investigate a possible insurance fraud. A man washed up on a beach in a remote cove further south of the border. The body is identified as the insured and cremated. Why insurance investigators from San Diego would seek out a a retired investigator in Mexico in an attempt to find out if fraud is involved after they have paid out the claim is laughable, but go with it anyway.
  
  In this book, Marlow is in his 70's, something he obsesses about and, although intellectually aware, he nevertheless proceeds as though he were decades younger. Of course, he takes the job and finds the much younger and beautiful widow about to flee to Mexico permanently. He follows.
  
  If you are a reader who enjoys packed action over description, this is not the book for you. As Marlowe follows Delores from quaint hotel to quaint hotel ever farther south, the reader is steeped in sombrero's, mariachi's, margaritas, gimlets, fiestas, hummingbirds, sleazy waiters and desk clerks, crooked cops and strange happenings.
  
  Even knowing that she and her husband defrauded the insurance company and may have murdered someone does not deter Marlowe. Nearly being killed does not deter Marlowe. In truth, he doesn't really care whether the insurance company gets the money back, he is just smitten with the widow and can't stop following her. He's interested in finding the truth without much caring what it is.
  
  If this novel has a fault, it is set in the wrong time. The entire premise, the descriptions, the scenes are much more1950's than 1970's.
  Marlowe in his 70's suffers from painful arthritis but yet he climbs up mountainside paths in darkness and walks miles down lonely Mexican dirt roads at night. All in all, though, a just fine way to spent a lazy, rainy afternoon. A better effort than John Banville's, for sure.
• An elderly Philip Marlow makes one last stand, supported by his cane--and, as ever the knight errant, his walking stick hides a sword. The writing is beautiful, lyrical, and atmospheric, taking the reader on a breathtaking tour of Mexico--through the eyes of a world-weary Marlowe. The subtle parallels between Philip Marlowe and J. Alfred Prufrock add to the book's fatalistic charm--our hero is old, he wears the bottoms of his trousers rolled, but he is still in the game.