Red Harvest

This is my second Dashiell Hammett novel, and I think the reason I like them is because they remind me of watching "oldy-moldy" black-and-white movies with my Dad when I was younger. Hammett doesn't take any breaks in this book. The street rulers of the city of Personville are constantly in flux, with the Continental Op trailing not far behind the long thread of ruthless double-crossers and back-stabbers. The language and slang used, typical for the period of the 20s and 30s, had me laughing several times:

"They're saying you turned rat on him."
"They would. What do you think?"
"Ditching him was all right. But throwing in with a dick [cop] and cracking the works to him is kind of sour. Damned sour, if you ask me."

One of my middle school english teachers, in her beautiful southern accent, would always tell us that "for a fantasy, you must suspend disbelief." (I'm not sure where that comes from, but I'm sure someone knows.) With that advice in mind, I won't dwell on my opinion that the Continental Op was maybe a little too wise, with instincts a little too prescient, to be believable. But in a novel such as this, which I do think was enjoyable, I suppose that is the point of fictional heroes.

I enjoyed The Maltese Falcon much more than this book, and I am surprised that Red Harvest beat it out to get on the Time 100 greatest novels list. I would compare my "diminishing returns" appreciation and enjoyment of Hammett novels to the Charles Bukowski novels I've read. I seem to get less and less enjoyment out of the next book, even though they are still entertaining.