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Crime fiction master Raymond Chandler's fifth novel featuring Philip Marlowe, the "quintessential urban private eye" (Los Angeles Times).In noir master Raymond Chandler's The Little Sister, a movie starlet with a gangster boyfriend and a pair of siblings with a shared secret lure private eye Philip Marlowe into the less than glamorous and more than a little dangerous world of Hollywood fame. Chandler's first foray into the industry that dominates the company town that is Los Angeles.
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btuckertx If you enjoyed The Little Sister, you're going to love The Big Sleep!
32
Bookmarque If you liked the more noir-ish voice Crais comes back to here, give Chandler a go - TLS is his best IMO.
Member Reviews
My least favorite Raymond Chandler novel, and the one which Chandler himself conceded was the weakest: "It's the only book of mine I have actively disliked. It was written in a bad mood and I think that comes through." (See Frank MacShane, The Life of Raymond Chandler.) He was right. The lone observation I can add is that when Chandler alluded to going off "on a tangent, playing with the wisecrack and the witty remark," what he meant is that there was only enough material for half a book, so he found it necessary to pad The Little Sister with one weary quip after another to stretch it to full length. And, as in the self-caricaturing worst of Hemingway and Rod Serling, all those quips are delivered in the same prickly, implausible show more voice:
"You would not waste your time [making love to me]," Dolores Gonzales snipes at Philip Marlowe. "I am not one of these synthetic blondes with a skin you could strike matches on. These ex-laundresses with large bony hands and sharp knees and unsuccessful breasts."
"Just for half an hour, let's leave sex to the side," Marlowe snipes right back. "It's great stuff, like chocolate sundaes. But there comes a time you would rather cut your throat. I guess maybe I'd better cut mine."
That's not the way people actually talk to each other, of course, and it doesn't even sound like two distinct characters: just a great writer with his mind on something else, phoning in the dialogue to meet a deadline. And there's a lot of this tiresome, clunky, very unwitty stuff in the book. It makes up the entirety of Marlowe's interaction with several profoundly unpleasant female characters, in fact. Early on there's a flawless scene in which Marlowe's investigation takes him to a shabby Bay City rooming house, and it's sure to kindle fond (if fleeting) memories for anyone who has experienced the magic of Chandler's other novels...but after that, The Little Sister falls into a slump from which it never quite recovers, despite the usual plethora of murders and opaque plot twists. Marlowe's ethical position is uncharacteristically muddy here, too; more than once he cites his obligation to his clients, but what he owed to any of the awful people in this story (and why) frankly eluded me.
This is a tough book to like, but I'm a big Chandler fan. My rating may be overly generous. show less
"You would not waste your time [making love to me]," Dolores Gonzales snipes at Philip Marlowe. "I am not one of these synthetic blondes with a skin you could strike matches on. These ex-laundresses with large bony hands and sharp knees and unsuccessful breasts."
"Just for half an hour, let's leave sex to the side," Marlowe snipes right back. "It's great stuff, like chocolate sundaes. But there comes a time you would rather cut your throat. I guess maybe I'd better cut mine."
That's not the way people actually talk to each other, of course, and it doesn't even sound like two distinct characters: just a great writer with his mind on something else, phoning in the dialogue to meet a deadline. And there's a lot of this tiresome, clunky, very unwitty stuff in the book. It makes up the entirety of Marlowe's interaction with several profoundly unpleasant female characters, in fact. Early on there's a flawless scene in which Marlowe's investigation takes him to a shabby Bay City rooming house, and it's sure to kindle fond (if fleeting) memories for anyone who has experienced the magic of Chandler's other novels...but after that, The Little Sister falls into a slump from which it never quite recovers, despite the usual plethora of murders and opaque plot twists. Marlowe's ethical position is uncharacteristically muddy here, too; more than once he cites his obligation to his clients, but what he owed to any of the awful people in this story (and why) frankly eluded me.
This is a tough book to like, but I'm a big Chandler fan. My rating may be overly generous. show less
The Little Sister (Marlowe #5) (1949) by Raymond Chandler. Yet another great book from the typewriter of Chandler. As usual, don’t try to follow the plot too closely, just relax and enjoy the characters and the writing. Marlowe is asked by a prim young woman from Kansas to track down her brother. He’s been in California for a while now but his family have stopped hearing from him.
Marlowe heads out to the last known residence of the young man, but he has flown the coop. And there is an icepick murder happening while Marlowe is there so the cops become interested in him. A lot of things happen and there are drugs and sex and more death as the case progresses. You know, the standard.
But, as with all Chandler’s novels, the writing show more is far from standard. And while you may have trouble following all the twists, I’ve always felt that makes the book more realistic than when the hero can always decipher all that is happening about him or her. After all, do you always know why things happen around you? I know I don’t, and that is when I know that most people are telling me the truth. With Marlowe, almost no-one likes to tell him the truth, although they sometimes hint about it.
Yet another great read from the master, just not quite five star material. show less
Marlowe heads out to the last known residence of the young man, but he has flown the coop. And there is an icepick murder happening while Marlowe is there so the cops become interested in him. A lot of things happen and there are drugs and sex and more death as the case progresses. You know, the standard.
But, as with all Chandler’s novels, the writing show more is far from standard. And while you may have trouble following all the twists, I’ve always felt that makes the book more realistic than when the hero can always decipher all that is happening about him or her. After all, do you always know why things happen around you? I know I don’t, and that is when I know that most people are telling me the truth. With Marlowe, almost no-one likes to tell him the truth, although they sometimes hint about it.
Yet another great read from the master, just not quite five star material. show less
Discovering that a favorite now-dead author wrote a novel you didn't know of is exciting. To find out, by reading it, that it's one of the author's best is thrilling. It happened to me. Scanning the bookshelves at a Goodwill store, I found a copy of Raymond Chandler's [The Little Sister]. New to me...and I was so sure I had copies of ALL his novels. A happy find.
The Little Sister has all the Chandler hallmarks: Philip Marlowe; snappy dialogue; hostile cops; a spectrum of hoods, chiselers, toughs, and gangsters; innocent and/or seductive women; a murder, then another. And another. Add a loon or two, several lunkheads, a whack to the head. Shake or stir (your preference) until noir.
The story begins with a telephone call to Marlowe's show more office, where he is killing time stalking a fly.
More back-and-forth, with the caller expressing her concerns without sharing any personal information or anything about the detecting she wants done. When she says, "You might at least talk like a gentleman," Marlowe hangs up. "It was a step in the right direction," he tells us, "but it didn't go far enough. I ought to have locked the door and hid under the desk."
Within minutes, the caller comes through the unlocked office door and faces Marlowe. She's Orfamay Quest of Manhattan, Kansas, a dowdy young woman who wants Marlowe to locate her older brother, Orrin. He left Kansas for a job one of the area's aircraft businesses. She has an address—a shabby rooming house in a seedy neighborhood—but he's not there. She knows nothing else. Or so she tells Marlowe. She won't say where she is staying, she won't provide a telephone number where he can contact her. She neglects to mention a sister who is in town. Or her sister's friends.
A trip to the rooming house doesn't yield Orrin or a forwarding address. A tough in the kitchen gives Marlowe trouble, as does the drunken manager, as does—initially anyway—a man who is in the process of vacating the room Orrin had stayed it. On his way out, Marlowe stops to question the manager, but finds him out cold. On his way back to the office, he stops at a telephone booth and calls the Police Department.
Yes. It is like that, all the way to the end. show less
The Little Sister has all the Chandler hallmarks: Philip Marlowe; snappy dialogue; hostile cops; a spectrum of hoods, chiselers, toughs, and gangsters; innocent and/or seductive women; a murder, then another. And another. Add a loon or two, several lunkheads, a whack to the head. Shake or stir (your preference) until noir.
The story begins with a telephone call to Marlowe's show more office, where he is killing time stalking a fly.
"Is this Mr. Marlowe, the detective?" It was a small, rather hurried, little-girlish voice. I said it was Mr. Marlowe, the detective. "How much do you charge for your services, Mr. Marlowe?"
"What was it you wanted done?"
The voice sharpened a little. "I can't very well tell you that over the phone. It's—it's very confidential. Before I'd waste time coming to your office I'd have to have some idea—"
"Forty bucks a day and expenses. Unless it's the kind of job that can be done for a flat fee."
"That's far too much," the little voice said. "Why, it might cost hundreds of dollars and I only get a small salary and—"
"Where are you now?"
"Why, I'm in a drugstore. It's right next to the building where your office is."
"You could have saved a nickel. The elevator's free."
More back-and-forth, with the caller expressing her concerns without sharing any personal information or anything about the detecting she wants done. When she says, "You might at least talk like a gentleman," Marlowe hangs up. "It was a step in the right direction," he tells us, "but it didn't go far enough. I ought to have locked the door and hid under the desk."
Within minutes, the caller comes through the unlocked office door and faces Marlowe. She's Orfamay Quest of Manhattan, Kansas, a dowdy young woman who wants Marlowe to locate her older brother, Orrin. He left Kansas for a job one of the area's aircraft businesses. She has an address—a shabby rooming house in a seedy neighborhood—but he's not there. She knows nothing else. Or so she tells Marlowe. She won't say where she is staying, she won't provide a telephone number where he can contact her. She neglects to mention a sister who is in town. Or her sister's friends.
A trip to the rooming house doesn't yield Orrin or a forwarding address. A tough in the kitchen gives Marlowe trouble, as does the drunken manager, as does—initially anyway—a man who is in the process of vacating the room Orrin had stayed it. On his way out, Marlowe stops to question the manager, but finds him out cold. On his way back to the office, he stops at a telephone booth and calls the Police Department.
"Bay City Police. Moot talking," a furry voice said.
I said: "Number 449 Idaho Street. In the apartment of the manager. His name's Clausen."
"Yeah?" The voice said. "What do we do?"
"I don't know," I said. "It's a bit of a puzzle to me. But the man's name is Lester B. Clausen. Got that?"
"What makes it important?" the furry voice said without suspicion.
"The coroner will want to know," I said, and hung up.
Yes. It is like that, all the way to the end. show less
The archetypal Raymond Chandler/Philip Marlowe detective story. This one has everything you associate with this particular sub-genre of crime fiction; if you were to give evidence of detective pulp, The Little Sister would be Exhibit A. The seedy towns, the vicious mobsters, the duplicitous dames and last but not least the hard-worn, down-and-out detective. Marlowe's world-weary voice in the prose is a great thing to experience, a real treat for the reader, and The Little Sister shows it at its best.
The plot itself is not as clear as the previous book, The Lady in the Lake, but it is still solid and engaging as Chandler's plots go. I love the crapsack nature of Chandler's seedy Bay City and L.A. ("You can live a long time in Hollywood show more and never see the part they use in pictures" (pg. 126)). I love the sad-sack demeanour of his protagonist ("My brain felt like a bucket of wet sand" (pg. 105)). And I love the sapped-by-a-blackjack approach of this detective to his cases. "You're not exactly proud of the way you have handled things, are you, Marlowe?" a cop asks him on pages 269-70 as the dust settles. "I got off on the wrong foot," Marlowe replies. "After that I just had to take my lumps." It's a riotously entertaining approach to crime fiction, part bull in a china-shop and part poking the hornet's nest to see what comes out.
As Val McDermid says in her introduction, it is a case "where everything that can go wrong does go wrong and where every choice our private eye hero makes turns out to be disastrous" (pg. v). It is almost Shakespearean in that sense, totally real and yet just enough apart from reality for us to admire the drama of it. Chandler himself is fully aware of this; Marlowe as narrator talks often of 'stage' and 'characters' and 'dialogue', and of the young, innocent, wide-eyed female client who first employs Marlowe and gets the story started, he says "nobody ever looked less like Lady Macbeth" (pg. 4). If not breaking the fourth wall, then he is at least running his hand along it and admiring the brickwork. And for all the dynamite similes and colourful supporting characters, this is Marlowe's stage and we love having him there. show less
The plot itself is not as clear as the previous book, The Lady in the Lake, but it is still solid and engaging as Chandler's plots go. I love the crapsack nature of Chandler's seedy Bay City and L.A. ("You can live a long time in Hollywood show more and never see the part they use in pictures" (pg. 126)). I love the sad-sack demeanour of his protagonist ("My brain felt like a bucket of wet sand" (pg. 105)). And I love the sapped-by-a-blackjack approach of this detective to his cases. "You're not exactly proud of the way you have handled things, are you, Marlowe?" a cop asks him on pages 269-70 as the dust settles. "I got off on the wrong foot," Marlowe replies. "After that I just had to take my lumps." It's a riotously entertaining approach to crime fiction, part bull in a china-shop and part poking the hornet's nest to see what comes out.
As Val McDermid says in her introduction, it is a case "where everything that can go wrong does go wrong and where every choice our private eye hero makes turns out to be disastrous" (pg. v). It is almost Shakespearean in that sense, totally real and yet just enough apart from reality for us to admire the drama of it. Chandler himself is fully aware of this; Marlowe as narrator talks often of 'stage' and 'characters' and 'dialogue', and of the young, innocent, wide-eyed female client who first employs Marlowe and gets the story started, he says "nobody ever looked less like Lady Macbeth" (pg. 4). If not breaking the fourth wall, then he is at least running his hand along it and admiring the brickwork. And for all the dynamite similes and colourful supporting characters, this is Marlowe's stage and we love having him there. show less
My favorite Chandler. Have read it at least 1/2 dozen times complete, but often pick it up, turn to a page and read a delicious Marlowe vignette. The plot is perfectly tight. The action is relentless. The characters fairly leap off the page as does the atmosphere. No one can be trusted. Marlowe is jaded and beat up by the world. His cynicism is bone deep and the sarcastic one liners just keep coming. Over the years his relationship with the cops and with women has not improved. But he keeps trying. This is as good as it gets. Love it.
My, was Raymond in a foul mood when he wrote this. Fine by me as I was in one when I read it.
I see this book's copped a bit on goodreads. Unfair. Totally unfair. If you get the drift, the guy's got the shits and he is looking at life from the wrong end of the telescope, he does such a good job of that.
There are two types of people in the world. The ones for whom money is everything: they need to get as much of it as possible, take it willynilly from whereever they can, make sure nobody else gets to touch it; and the ones for whom it is as trivial as something necessary can get. In this story, Marlowe is the latter, everybody else is the former.
Very early on in the story his client walks in, a girl highly motivated by money and as mean show more spirited as such people are.
It didn't bother her in the least to talk like that. People who think money is everything, do. But Marlowe, who couldn't be less motivated by the stuff, is haunted through the book by the picture of this miserable git surrounded by his ghastly family. Throughout he is made gloomier and gloomier by the disparity between the people who use money to get what they want and the ones who don't have it. That means the bell boy and the cop and the DA. The ones who are honest are worn out by their honesty, by fighting with so little on their side against people who don't have rules, whose word mean nothing, who think that power is its own right.
There are few of those moments in this book where Chandler makes you smile. I loved:
I read that a dozen times, what a nice turn of phrase. But then, a few pages later, descibing a room:
I don't think you can get away with this. Sorry, Raymond, having the shits about something doesn't give you those sorts of liberties. Would Marlowe be that sloppy? show less
I see this book's copped a bit on goodreads. Unfair. Totally unfair. If you get the drift, the guy's got the shits and he is looking at life from the wrong end of the telescope, he does such a good job of that.
There are two types of people in the world. The ones for whom money is everything: they need to get as much of it as possible, take it willynilly from whereever they can, make sure nobody else gets to touch it; and the ones for whom it is as trivial as something necessary can get. In this story, Marlowe is the latter, everybody else is the former.
Very early on in the story his client walks in, a girl highly motivated by money and as mean show more spirited as such people are.
'You can't talk to me like that,' she flared up. 'Pipe smoking is a dirty habit. Mother never let father smoke in the house, even the last two years after he had his stroke. He used to sit with that empty pipe on his mouth sometimes. But she didn't like him to do that really. We owed a lot of money too and she said she couldn't afford to give him money for useless things like tobacco. The church needed it much more than he did.'
It didn't bother her in the least to talk like that. People who think money is everything, do. But Marlowe, who couldn't be less motivated by the stuff, is haunted through the book by the picture of this miserable git surrounded by his ghastly family. Throughout he is made gloomier and gloomier by the disparity between the people who use money to get what they want and the ones who don't have it. That means the bell boy and the cop and the DA. The ones who are honest are worn out by their honesty, by fighting with so little on their side against people who don't have rules, whose word mean nothing, who think that power is its own right.
There are few of those moments in this book where Chandler makes you smile. I loved:
One of the girls was a dark beauty who had been younger.
I read that a dozen times, what a nice turn of phrase. But then, a few pages later, descibing a room:
...a tray that had held coffee.
I don't think you can get away with this. Sorry, Raymond, having the shits about something doesn't give you those sorts of liberties. Would Marlowe be that sloppy? show less
My, was Raymond in a foul mood when he wrote this. Fine by me as I was in one when I read it.
I see this book's copped a bit on goodreads. Unfair. Totally unfair. If you get the drift, the guy's got the shits and he is looking at life from the wrong end of the telescope, he does such a good job of that.
There are two types of people in the world. The ones for whom money is everything: they need to get as much of it as possible, take it willynilly from whereever they can, make sure nobody else gets to touch it; and the ones for whom it is as trivial as something necessary can get. In this story, Marlowe is the latter, everybody else is the former.
Very early on in the story his client walks in, a girl highly motivated by money and as mean show more spirited as such people are.
It didn't bother her in the least to talk like that. People who think money is everything, do. But Marlowe, who couldn't be less motivated by the stuff, is haunted through the book by the picture of this miserable git surrounded by his ghastly family. Throughout he is made gloomier and gloomier by the disparity between the people who use money to get what they want and the ones who don't have it. That means the bell boy and the cop and the DA. The ones who are honest are worn out by their honesty, by fighting with so little on their side against people who don't have rules, whose word mean nothing, who think that power is its own right.
There are few of those moments in this book where Chandler makes you smile. I loved:
I read that a dozen times, what a nice turn of phrase. But then, a few pages later, descibing a room:
I don't think you can get away with this. Sorry, Raymond, having the shits about something doesn't give you those sorts of liberties. Would Marlowe be that sloppy? show less
I see this book's copped a bit on goodreads. Unfair. Totally unfair. If you get the drift, the guy's got the shits and he is looking at life from the wrong end of the telescope, he does such a good job of that.
There are two types of people in the world. The ones for whom money is everything: they need to get as much of it as possible, take it willynilly from whereever they can, make sure nobody else gets to touch it; and the ones for whom it is as trivial as something necessary can get. In this story, Marlowe is the latter, everybody else is the former.
Very early on in the story his client walks in, a girl highly motivated by money and as mean show more spirited as such people are.
'You can't talk to me like that,' she flared up. 'Pipe smoking is a dirty habit. Mother never let father smoke in the house, even the last two years after he had his stroke. He used to sit with that empty pipe on his mouth sometimes. But she didn't like him to do that really. We owed a lot of money too and she said she couldn't afford to give him money for useless things like tobacco. The church needed it much more than he did.'
It didn't bother her in the least to talk like that. People who think money is everything, do. But Marlowe, who couldn't be less motivated by the stuff, is haunted through the book by the picture of this miserable git surrounded by his ghastly family. Throughout he is made gloomier and gloomier by the disparity between the people who use money to get what they want and the ones who don't have it. That means the bell boy and the cop and the DA. The ones who are honest are worn out by their honesty, by fighting with so little on their side against people who don't have rules, whose word mean nothing, who think that power is its own right.
There are few of those moments in this book where Chandler makes you smile. I loved:
One of the girls was a dark beauty who had been younger.
I read that a dozen times, what a nice turn of phrase. But then, a few pages later, descibing a room:
...a tray that had held coffee.
I don't think you can get away with this. Sorry, Raymond, having the shits about something doesn't give you those sorts of liberties. Would Marlowe be that sloppy? show less
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Author Information
278+ Works 47,969 Members
Raymond Chandler was born in Chicago, Illinois on July 23, 1888. Before becoming a professional writer in 1933, he worked as a reporter, an accountant, bookkeeper, and auditor. He wrote several novels featuring private detective Philip Marlowe including The Big Sleep, The High Window, The Lady in the Lake, The Little Sister, and The Long Goodbye. show more In addition to novels and short stories, he wrote screenplays. He won two academy awards, for Double Indemnity (1944) and The Blue Dahlia (1946). He died on March 26, 1959. (Bowker Author Biography) show less
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Common Knowledge
- Canonical title*
- Lillesøster
- Original title
- The Little Sister
- Original publication date
- 1949
- People/Characters
- Philip Marlowe; Orrin P. Quest; Dr. Vincent Lagardie; Orfamay Quest
- Important places
- Los Angeles, California, USA; Manhattan, Kansas, USA; California, USA; Kansas, USA; Bay City, California, USA
- Related movies
- Marlowe (1969 | IMDb)
- First words
- The pebbled glass door panel is lettered in flaked black paint: 'Phililp Marlowe... Investigations'. It is a reasonably shabby door at the end of a reasonably shabby corridor in the sort of building that was new about the yea... (show all)r the all-tile bathroom became the basis of civilization. The door is locked, but next to it is another door with the same legend which is not locked. Come on in - there's nobody in here but me and a big bluebottle fly. But not if you're from Manhattan, Kansas.
- Last words
- (Click to show. Warning: May contain spoilers.)He bent over and closed her eyes.
- Original language
- English
- Disambiguation notice
- 'The Little Sister' was republished as 'Marlowe'.
*Some information comes from Common Knowledge in other languages. Click "Edit" for more information.
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