SOURCE: "Raymond Chandler's Smoking Gun," in The New Yorker, Vol. LXXI, No. 29, September 25, 1995, pp. 99-102, 104.

In the following essay, Wolcott discusses Chandler's works in light of current literary tastes.

Lined up on the shelves in their glossy black jackets, the books constituting the Library of America resemble tiny, shiny coffins. Modelled on the portable French Pléiades editions of classic authors, the Library of America is the final resting place for writers—where they receive their induction into the canon and a chance for rediscovery by the common reader, assuming there are any left. Until now, the authors whom the Library has chosen have been mostly safe and genteel—illustrious pilgrims in what Alfred Kazin has called "the American procession." With the induction of Raymond Chandler, the American procession sidesteps to fetch its latest recruit. The creator of Philip Marlowe and the man who brought a chin stubble...