The Thin Man by Dashiell Hammett

Dashiell Hammett, a one-time Pinkerton detective, is the greatest creator of hard-boiled mysteries: his characters Sam Spade and the Continental Op are archetypical anti-heroes of the genre, and his novels regularly make mystery best-of lists (and Red Harvest was featured on TIME's list of the 100 best English novels written after 1923.) His style is spare and economical, free of long descriptive passages. What happens, happens in dialogue and in action. There's little there to distract from his plots--which are clever but never gimmicky, and are just twisted enough to merit a second read.

I forgot a couple characters up there, didn't I? But how could I forget them: Nick and Nora Charles, the married couple who drink their way through solving a mystery mostly for the fun of it, who banter wittily like no other, who were so popular in the film adaptation of the novel they were introduced in that five sequels were produced over the next thirteen years.

I didn't forget, of course. That would be really something, considering I just finished reading The Thin Man, and only just said my good-byes to Nick and Nora.

The Thin Man is quickly-paced and quite short, clocking in at 180 pages. You could read it twice in an afternoon and still have time enough to take the dog for a walk before it got dark. It's also dense in the best sense of the word, full of characters and clues and conversations but all written so clearly and with such a precise hand that you're rarely lost. I have a very low tolerance for complexity in mysteries and crime stories; I've watched The Departed four times and still get confused about what exactly was going on. I just can't keep characters straight through any kind of intrigue or deception. I had very few problems with The Thin Man because characters are outlined quickly and clearly, and there aren't ten-thousand of them mulling around in the corners.

The story itself concerns a missing inventor, Clyde Wynant (the thin man of the title,) and his murdered secretary. Wynant's ex-wife found the body and his daughter is convinced of his innocence. Because Wynant was a friend, Nick Charles, retired detective, decides to investigate the case--if only for his own personal interest. Things get complicated as telegrams go in and out, guns may or may not be bought in the dark corners of speakeasies, and suicides just may have been attempted--or not. It all unfolds in an fairly naturalistic way, and while an odd diversion into the story of a Civil War-era man driven to cannibalism may be jarring, it doesn't do too much to throw off the satisfying pace and straightforwardness of the novel.

It's a relaxing read as well, in no small part because Hammett breaks every "rule" of writing well that your English teachers drill into you. Adjectives are repeated in consecutive sentences, "said" is the verb used for 90% of dialogue, and adverbs are employed only when needed. Locations are described in just a sentence or two if really at all, and most of the plot occurs in simple conversations and the occasional telegram or letter. When there's action, it's described succinctly and dealt with.

The utter lack of pretense or style paradoxically makes the novel all the more stylish. It's also wonderfully gender-neutral; though Hammett has been described as a man who wrote for men, there's universal appeal to this story of murder, theft, and lies against the backdrop of Prohibition-era America. Nick Charles and his wife Nora are accorded the same respect, and for every barb directed her way, he gets two back.

The Thin Man gets a PG-13 from me for violence, drinking, and Schnauzers and an A for being an awesome read that doesn't weigh 12 pounds.