Learn how to The Maltese Falcon
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A treasure worth killing for. Sam Spade, a slightly shopworn private eye with his own solitary code of ethics. A perfumed grafter named Joel Cairo, a fat man name Gutman, and Brigid O'Shaughnessy, a beautiful and treacherous woman whose loyalties shift at the drop of a dime. These are the ingredients
… More »A treasure worth killing for. Sam Spade, a slightly shopworn private eye with his own solitary code of ethics. A perfumed grafter named Joel Cairo, a fat man name Gutman, and Brigid O'Shaughnessy, a beautiful and treacherous woman whose loyalties shift at the drop of a dime. These are the ingredients of Dashiell Hammett's coolly glittering gem of detective fiction, a novel that has haunted three generations of readers.
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Add a SummaryBlamed by the police for his partner's death, hard-boiled detective Sam Spade searches for a stolen Middle Eastern statuette.
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Add a QuoteSamuel Spade’s jaw was long and bony, his chin a jutting V under the more flexible V of his mouth. His nostrils curved back to make another, smaller, V. His yellow-grey eyes were horizontal. The V motif was picked up again by thickish brows rising outward from twin creases above a hooked nose, and his pale brown hair grew down – from high flat temples – in a point on his forehead. He looked rather pleasantly like a blond satan.
“I want you to know that I couldn’t be any fonder of you if you were my own son; but – well, by Gad! – if you lose a son it’s possible to get another – and there’s only one Maltese falcon.”
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Add a CommentOne of the best detective novels of the 20th century.
A classic--and the beginning of the hard-boiled detective genre.
Not always knowing what's going on = suspense.
Hammett has the same eye for people that Sam Spade has – their looks, their demeanor, their actions. Unfortunately while he describes everything that Spade sees, he never describes what Spade thinks. When smiling-eyed red-headed Brigid O’Shaughnessy brings Sam a case, the detective might know that he can’t take the facts at face value, but the reader doesn’t. We ride with Spade along the mean streets of San Francisco as he furiously tries to figure out what is going on, but he has the distinct advantage of being an experienced detective while we are (or at least I am) just an inexperienced observer. Spade is confused and frustrated by the mystery at hand, but without Spade’s experience the reader is even more confused and frustrated. Luckily the writing is so cool, so slick, so polished, that staring at it for a few hours is still a pleasure.
This is where you need to start. If you haven't read this, you don't know Noir!