Review: The Black-Eyed Blonde: A Philip Marlowe Novel

The Black-Eyed Blonde: A Philip Marlowe Novel by Benjamin Black

My rating: 1 of 5 stars



One of the most interesting things about books is the way that two people can read the same thing and have such different reactions. This applies not just to the implications or moral of a story, but even to the characters themselves. My Pillip Marlowe is, for better or worse, not Benjamin Black's Marlowe, and The Black-Eyed Blonde, despite trying hard to hit all the right notes, just didn't come together for me.

If this weren't presented as a Marlowe book (and if it didn't carry the many allusions to Chandler's works so blatantly), I think I'd have enjoyed it a lot more. The ending would need to be reworked, of course, but, frankly, I think it ought to have been reworked anyway given how, as another reviewer points out, appallingly eye-rolling it is. For a while, the story clips along alright, and the central plot certainly keeps Marlowe confused in an appropriately Chandleresque fashion, but... well... it's just not Marlowe.

The author tries very hard--too hard--to remind you that this is a Marlowe book. The constant barrage of throw-back references was too much at times. "Oh, here's the place I used to drink back in that other book. Here's the doctor I called from that one. Here's the restaurant that reminds of that lady I helped out that one time. Remember that? Do you? Because they totally happened to me." There are times where less is more, and this would have been a major one. Marlowe's constantly referring back to Terry and Linda and Holland and etc... it began to feel like the author was shouting in my ear all the time "Look, see, it's Marlowe!" Yes, yes. I know... I knew it was Marlowe when I picked up the damn book. I knew that because it says it in big letter right on the spine "A Philip Marlowe Novel." While I'm not a private eye, I still managed to pick up on that one.

Even beyond that issue, The Black-Eyed Blonde is also noticeably more... vulgar than Chandler's earlier works, in the sense that the violence and sex are far more explicit and blatant. Having just finished a reread of the other Marlowe books, it really stands out. A character hit and tortured so badly that it leaves an "eyeball dangling"? Another shot in the head such that "there were two holes in his head, the one in his forehead and another, bigger one at the back, at the base of his skull. There was a lot of blood coming out of this second hole, and some sticky-looking gray stuff, too."?

And, like I said, this wasn't my Marlowe, nor my Chandler. My Marlowe was world weary and waxed philosophical and, yes, he talked tough and he had an eye for women, but he was sort of a knight in tarnished armor. He'd seen things and the world had beaten him down, but he tried to stay on the right side of things and he helped the people who needed to be helped because if he didn't, nobody else would. And, to be fair, he wasn't the most progressive character regarding race or sexuality (that is: there's pretty explicit homophobia and racism in the books). Weirdly, here, Black white-washes away the racism and homophobia, but really ramps up Marlowe's issues with women (who, we're reminded, are nothing but trouble). His infatuation for the femme fatale is never justified, but Marlowe lets us know, repeatedly, what he thinks about her body. Black's version of Marlowe is darker than mine... less tarnished knight and more bitter jerk.

Overall, the effect was like seeing these characters--Marlowe, mostly, but also Joe and Bernie--through a funhouse mirror.

You know who you're supposed to be looking at, but everything is distorted and wrong.



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