So, I have been dutifully neglecting the part of my blog dedicated to the books I love to read. To this I say, “No more!” Alternately, for my dutiful Spanish readers out there, “Nada mas!” Anyway, so I just finished Dashiell Hammett’s classic, The Maltese Falcon. Hammett’s book, later made into a movie starring Humphrey Bogart, was written based off of his own background. He was both a resident of San Francisco and a former detective. Part of the brilliance of this story is the apparent reality there is for the setting. Many places he mentions are real, and those that aren’t are just alternate names given to real places. Additionally, the streets that the characters travel are completely real.
Hammett’s writing is well done. It’s not my favorite, but I didn’t detest it, certainly. He tells a good story with plenty of detail, but not in a Dickens-esqe serialist manner. The thing that’s interesting about the writing in the book is that there is no thought dialogue whatsoever. Plenty of the characters speak, but we don’t hear any of them think. Whether it works for you is really a matter of preference, but I’m standing behind it, and I’ll explain that later.
Without giving too much away, the story follows the main character, Sam Spade who is a private investigator working in San Francisco. A woman by the name of Brigid O’Shaughnessy approaches him (actually, it’s more complicated than this) to find, you guessed it, the Maltese Falcon. From there, you follow Sam’s twisting and turning to find this long lost treasure that everyone seems to have an interest in. Filled with romance, murder, false identities, and a hardass private investigator, this book is a definitive example of what a good detective novel needs to have.
The character Sam Spad is confounding to say the least. He is defined as a “hard-boiled” detective, and it makes sense. Throughout, Spade is one to get his way. Every time. There are pages and pages of back and forth for doing it Spade’s way versus any other way, and Spade always receives the other party’s consent. Never the other way around. This includes his business dealings when he seeks to milk his client for every last dollar bill left in their wallet or purse. Surely his motives seem obvious: money. Or is it? On the other hand Spade does pursue justice for his murdered partner and does entertain a love interest through O’Shaughnessy. This leads us to a bigger question: where is his moral compass pointing? If it even exists, that is. I’m not going to delve into my interpretation, but I will say this: the cleverness of withholding thought dialogue is evinced when these questions arise. When we have to judge a character simply by what they say and do, it makes the reader’s job much more involved. Hammett was a detective himself, and he was always looking for answers but he didn’t do it by reading their thoughts, he had to go with what they said and did. It was all he had. Maybe this is Hammett’s way of letting us do the same guess work, or maybe he just forgot to put it in. I don’t really know. What I do know is that it adds something to the book. Maybe not much, but something nonetheless.



