IV, blogger who has written books about noir fiction

[Robin Landseadel]

On Sep 15, 2009, at 7:46 AM, Mark Kohut wrote:

		-In terms of language and narrative convolution, Pynchon
	could, by a quite stretch of the imagination, be compared with
	Chandler. After all, Chandler, though a total original, was
	writing a parody of the Hammett/Black Mask school. One would
	have to put oneself back in the late 1940s or 1950s to
	experience the impact Chandler's language must have had at
	the time of publication. So in that sense, IV might even be more
	faithful to Chandler than some of the more obvious parodies of
	the latter.

> http://woodyhaut.blogspot.com/2009/09/notes-on-inherent-vice-by-thomas_15.html


	I poked at one of the long Russian cigarettes with a finger, then
	laid them in a neat row, side by side and squeaked my chair.
	You just don't throw away evidence. So they were evidence.
	Evidence of what? That a man occasionally smoked a stick of
	tea, a man who looked as if any touch of the exotic would
	appeal to him. On the other hand, lots of tough guys smoked
	marihuana, also lots of band musicians and high school kids,
	and nice girls who had given up trying. American hasheesh. A
	weed that would grow anywhere. Unlawful to cultivate now.
	That meant a lot in a country as big as the U.S.A.

	I sat there aud puffed my pipe and listened to the clacking
	typewriter behind the wall of my office and the bong-bong of the
	traffic lights changing on Hollywood Boulevard and spring
	rustling in the air, like a paper bag blowing along a concrete
	sidewalk.

	They were pretty big cigarettes, but a lot of Russians are, and
	marihuana is a coarse leaf. Indian hemp. American hasheesh.
	Evidence. God, what hats the women wear. My head ached.
	Nuts.

	Raymond Chandler, Farewell My Lovely