What do hard-boiled eggs, actors, aspirin, and railroad travel all have in common? They all incurred the ire of Raymond Chandler.
How do I know this? Because last Friday, Doyle Auctioneers & Appraisers sponsored a sale of “the largest trove of unpublished Raymond Chandler stories, poetry, letters, books and personal artifacts to come to market.” The late noir writer known for his detective fiction (The Big Sleep) and classic screenplays (Double Indemnity) was part of a great pantheon of _____ crime writers. (The absent adjective would be insulting here, given how we know he doesn’t like his eggs.)
The archive belonged to Jean Vounder-Davis (formerly Jean Fracasse), Chandler’s one-time secretary turned fiancé turned muse. Pieces were sourced from her personal collection, and several were lovingly inscribed. But the man who brought us Philip Marlowe left behind many effects.
Up for auction were several of Chandler’s original manuscripts, a silk scarf, cocktail muddlers, fan mail, and the portable typewriter on which he wrote his 1957 novel, Playback. Chandler once wrote admiringly of the latter in a quip about his process. “I am apt to get up around 4am, take a mild drink of Scotch and water and start hammering at this lovely Olivetti 44, which is far superior to anything we turn out in America,” he said, in 1955.
But though fan favorites like the typewriter and the first English edition of Farewell My Lovely fared well at auction, the biggest curveball of the evening was the list of hated things. To auctioneers’ surprise, “it went for $2,304, exceeding the estimate of $600-$800.”
The two-page list includes 46 bugaboos. Some of Chandler’s icks are relatable (“Gin” “People with moist hands”), while others mystify (“Public libraries” “Manly men who dislike cats”). The author’s disdain was expansive, and prone to contradiction. He apparently loathed “giving money to panhandlers and feeling stung” as much as “not giving money to beggars and feeling cheap.” He also went back and forth on both the world (“People”) and himself (“Me”), both of which have been crossed out in pencil.
Though talk ain’t cheap at these prices, it’s nice to get a glimpse of a great author’s idiosyncrasies—especially when you may feel a kinship with his scorn for, say, “Baggy Trousers.” Devoted Chan-fans should also note that some treasures are still up for grabs. Like the “extensive archive” of Chandler’s unfinished, unpublished fantasy stories.
Talk about humanizing details. You and me both, good sir.
