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Dashiell Hammett

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The Thin Man Kindle Edition

by Dashiell Hammett (Author) Format: Kindle Edition

4.2 2,059 ratings

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Amazon.com Review

The Thin Man, Dashiell Hammett's classic tale of murder in Manhattan, became the popular movie series with William Powell and Myrna Loy, and both the movies and the novel continue to captivate new generations of fans.

Nick and Nora Charles, accompanied by their schnauzer, Asta, are lounging in their suite at the Normandie in New York City for the Christmas holiday, enjoying the prerogatives of wealth: meals delivered at any hour, theater openings, taxi rides at dawn, rubbing elbows with the gangster element in speakeasies. They should be annoyingly affected, but they charm. Mad about each other, sardonic, observant, kind to those in need, and cool in a fight, Nick and Nora are graceful together, and their home life provides a sanctuary from the rough world of gangsters, hoodlums, and police investigations into which Nick is immediately plunged.

A lawyer-friend asks Nick to help find a killer and reintroduces him to the family of Richard Wynant, a more-than-eccentric inventor who disappeared from society 10 years before. His former wife, the lush and manipulative Mimi, has remarried a European fortune hunter who turns out to be a vindictive former associate of her first husband and is bent on the ruin of Wynant's family fortune. Wynant's children, Dorothy and Gilbert, seem to have inherited the family aversion to straight talk. Dorothy, who has matured into a beautiful young woman, has a crush on Nick, and so, in a hero-worshipping way, does mama's boy Gilbert. Nick and Nora respond kindly to their neediness as Nick tries to make sense of misinformation, false identities, far-fetched alibis, and, at the center of the confusion, the mystery of The Thin Man, Richard Wynant. Is he mad? Is he a killer? Or is he really an eccentric inventor protecting his discovery from intellectual theft?

The dialogue is spare, the locales lively, and Nick, the narrator, shows us the players as they are, while giving away little of his own thoughts. No one is telling the whole truth, but Nick remains mostly patient as he doggedly tries to backtrack the lies. Hammett's New York is a cross between Damon Runyon and Scott Fitzgerald--more glamorous than real, but compelling when visited in the company of these two charmers. The lives of the rich and famous don't get any better than this! --Barbara Schlieper

--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

About the Author

Dashiell Hammett (1894-1961) was an American author of hard-boiled detective novels and short stories. He is widely regarded as one of the finest mystery writers of all time. In addition to The Maltese Falcon, his pioneering novels include Red Harvest (1929), The Dain Curse (1929), The Glass Key (1931), and The Thin Man (1934).

William Dufris attended the University of Southern Maine in Portland-Gorham before pursuing a career in voice work in London and then the United States. He has won more than twenty AudioFile Earphones Awards, was voted one of the Best Voices at the End of the Century by AudioFile magazine, and won the prestigious Audie Award in 2012 for best nonfiction narration. He lives with his family in Maine.

--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

From the Back Cover

Nick and Nora Charles are Hammett's most enchanting creations, a rich, glamorous couple who solve homicides in between wisecracks and martinis. At once knowing and unabashedly romantic, The Thin Man is a murder mystery that doubles as a sophisticated comedy of manners. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

From the Inside Flap

Nick and Nora Charles are Hammett's most enchanting creations, a rich, glamorous couple who solve homicides in between wisecracks and martinis. At once knowing and unabashedly romantic, The Thin Man is a murder mystery that doubles as a sophisticated comedy of manners. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

1 I was leaning against the bar in a speakeasy on Fifty-second Street, waiting for Nora to finish her Christmas shopping, when a girl got up from the table where she had been sitting with three other people and came over to me. She was small and blonde, and whether you looked at her face or at her body in powder-blue sports clothes, the result was satisfactory. "Aren't you Nick Charles?" she asked. I said: "Yes." She held out her hand. "I'm Dorothy Wynant. You don't remember me, but you ought to remember my father, Clyde Wynant. You--" "Sure," I said, "and I remember you now, but you were only a kid of eleven or twelve then, weren't you?" "Yes, that was eight years ago. Listen: remember those stories you told me? Were they true?" "Probably not. How is your father?" She laughed. "I was going to ask you. Mamma divorced him, you know, and we never hear from him--except when he gets in the newspapers now and then with some of his carryings on. Don't you ever see him?" My glass was empty. I asked her what she would have to drink, she said Scotch and soda. I ordered two of them and said: "No, I've been living in San Francisco." She said slowly: "I'd like to see him. Mamma would raise hell if she found it out, but I'd like to see him." "Well?" "He's not where we used to live, on Riverside Drive, and he's not in the phone book or city directory." "Try his lawyer," I suggested. Her face brightened. "Who is he?" "It used to be a fellow named Mac-something-or-other--Macaulay, that's it, Herbert Macaulay. He was in the Singer Building." "Lend me a nickel," she said, and went out to the telephone. She came back smiling. "I found him. He's just round the corner on Fifth Avenue." "Your father?" "The lawyer. He says my father's out of town. I'm going round to see him." She raised her glass to me. "Family reunions. Look, why don't--" Asta jumped up and punched me in the belly with her front feet. Nora, at the end of the leash, said: "She's had a swell afternoon--knocked over a table of toys at Lord & Taylor's, scared a fat woman silly by licking her leg in Saks's, and's been patted by three policemen." I made introductions. "My wife, Dorothy Wynant. Her father was once a client of mine, when she was only so high. A good guy, but screwy." "I was fascinated by him," Dorothy said, meaning me, "a real live detective, and used to follow him around making him tell me about his experiences. He told me awful lies, but I believed every word." I said: "You look tired, Nora." "I am. Let's sit down." Dorothy Wynant said she had to go back to her table. She shook hands with Nora; we must drop in for cocktails, they were living at Courtland, her mother's name was Jorgensen now. We would be glad to and she must come see us some time, we were at the Normandie and would be in New York for another week or two. Dorothy patted the dog's head and left us. We found a table. Nora said: "She's pretty." "If you like them like that." She grinned at me. "You got types?" "Only you, darling--lanky brunettes with wicked jaws." "And how about the red-head you wandered off with at the Quinns' last night?" "That's silly," I said. "She just wanted to show me some French etchings." 2 The next day Herbert Macaulay telephoned me. "Hello, I didn't know you were back in town till Dorothy Wynant told me. How about lunch?" "What time is it?" "Half past eleven. Did I wake you up?" "Yes," I said, "but that's all right. Suppose you come up here for lunch: I've got a hangover and don't feel like running around much. . . . O.K., say one o'clock." I had a drink with Nora, who was going out to have her hair washed, then another after a shower, and was feeling better by the time the telephone rang again. A female voice asked: "Is Mr. Macaulay there?" "Not yet." "Sorry to trouble you, but would you mind asking him to call his office as soon as he gets there? It's important." I promised to do that. Macaulay arrived about ten minutes later. He was a big curly-haired, rosy-cheeked, rather good-looking chap of about my age--forty-one--though he looked younger. He was supposed to be a pretty good lawyer. I had worked on several jobs for him when I was living in New York and we had always got along nicely. Now we shook hands and patted each other's backs, and he asked me how the world was treating me, and I said, "Fine," and asked him and he said, "Fine," and I told him to call his office. He came away from the telephone frowning. "Wynant's back in town," he said, "and wants me to meet him." I turned around with the drinks I had poured. "Well, the lunch can--" "Let him wait," he said, and took one of the glasses from me. "Still as screwy as ever?" "That's no joke," Macaulay said solemnly. "You heard they had him in a sanatorium for nearly a year back in '29?" "No." He nodded. He sat down, put his glass on a table beside his chair, and leaned towards me a little. "What's Mimi up to, Charles?" "Mimi? Oh, the wife--the ex-wife. I don't know. Does she have to be up to something?" "She usually is," he said dryly, and then very slowly, "and I thought you'd know." So that was it. I said: "Listen, Mac, I haven't been a detective for six years, since 1927." He stared at me. "On the level," I assured him, "a year after I got married, my wife's father died and left her a lumber mill and a narrow-gauge railroad and some other things and I quit the Agency to look after them. Anyway I wouldn't be working for Mimi Wynant, or Jorgensen, or whatever her name is--she never liked me and I never liked her." "Oh, I didn't think you--" Macaulay broke off with a vague gesture and picked up his glass. When he took it away from his mouth, he said: "I was just wondering. Here Mimi phones me three days ago--Tuesday--trying to find Wynant; then yesterday Dorothy phones, saying you told her to, and comes around, and--I thought you were still sleuthing, so I was wondering what it was all about." "Didn't they tell you?" "Sure--they wanted to see him for old times' sake. That means a lot." "You lawyers are a suspicious crew," I said. "Maybe they did--that and money. But what's the fuss about? Is he in hiding?" Macaulay shrugged. "You know as much about it as I do. I haven't seen him since October." He drank again. "How long are you going to be in town?" "Till after New Year's," I told him and went to the telephone to ask room service for menus. 3 Nora and I went to the opening of Honeymoon at the Little Theatre that night and then to a party given by some people named Freeman or Fielding or something. I felt pretty low when she called me the next morning. She gave me a newspaper and a cup of coffee and said: "Read that." I patiently read a paragraph or two, then put the paper down and took a sip of coffee. "Fun's fun," I said, "but right now I'd swap you all the interviews with Mayor-elect O'Brien ever printed--and throw in the Indian picture--for a slug of whis--" "Not that, stupid." She put a finger on the paper. "That." INVENTOR'S SECRETARY MURDERED IN APARTMENT Julia Wolf's bullet-riddled body found; Police seek her employer, Clyde Wynant The bullet-riddled body of Julia Wolf, thirty-two-year old confidential secretary to Clyde Miller Wynant, well-known inventor, was discovered late yesterday afternoon in the dead woman's apartment at 411 East Fifty-fourth St. by Mrs. Christian Jorgensen, divorced wife of the inventor, who had gone there in an attempt to learn her former husband's present address. Mrs. Jorgensen, who returned Monday after a six-year stay in Europe, told police that she heard feeble groans when she rang the murdered woman's door-bell, whereupon she notified an elevator boy, Mervin Holly, who called Walter Meany, apartment-house superintendent. Miss Wolf was lying on the bedroom floor with four .32-caliber bullet-wounds in her chest when they entered the apartment, and died without having recovered consciousness before police and medical aid arrived. Herbert Macaulay, Wynant's attorney, told the police that he had not seen the inventor since October. He stated that Wynant called him on the telephone yesterday and made an appointment, but failed to keep it; and disclaimed any knowledge of his client's whereabouts. Miss Wolf, Macaulay stated, had been in the inventor's employ for the past eight years. The attorney said he knew nothing about the dead woman's family or private affairs and could throw no light on her murder. The bullet-wounds could not have been self-inflicted, according to . . . The rest of it was the usual police department handout. "Do you suppose he killed her?" Nora asked when I put the paper down again. "Wynant? I wouldn't be surprised. He's batty as hell." "Did you know her?" "Yes. How about a drop of something to cut the phlegm?" "What was she like?" "Not bad," I said. "She wasn't bad-looking and she had a lot of sense and a lot of nerve--and it took both to live with that guy." "She lived with him?" "Yes. I want a drink, please. That is, it was like that when I knew them." "Why don't you have some breakfast first? Was she in love with him or was it just business?" "I don't know. It's too early for breakfast." When Nora opened the door to go out, the dog came in and put her front feet on the bed, her face in my face. I rubbed her head and tried to remember something Wynant had once said to me, something about women and dogs. It was not the woman-spaniel-walnut-tree line. I could not remember what it was, but there seemed to be some point in trying to remember. Nora returned with two drinks and another question: "What's he like?" "Tall--over six feet--and one of the thinnest men I've ever seen. He must be about fifty now, and his hair was almost white when I knew him. Usually needs a haircut, ragged brindle mustache, bites his fingernails." I pushed the dog away to reach for my drink. "Sounds lovely. What were you doing with him?" "A fellow who'd worked for him accused him of stealing some kind of invention from him. Rosewater was his name. He tried to shake Wynant down by threatening to shoot him, bomb his house, kidnap his children, cut his wife's throat--I don't know what all--if he didn't come across. We never caught him--must've scared him off. Anyway, the threats stopped and nothing happened." Nora stopped drinking to ask: "Did Wynant really steal it?" "Tch, tch, tch," I said. "This is Christmas Eve: try to think good of your fellow man." 4 That afternoon I took Asta for a walk, explained to two people that she was a Schnauzer and not a cross between a Scottie and an Irish terrier, stopped at Jim's for a couple of drinks, ran into Larry Crowley, and brought him back to the Normandie with me. Nora was pouring cocktails for the Quinns, Margot Innes, a man whose name I did not catch, and Dorothy Wynant. Dorothy said she wanted to talk to me, so we carried our cocktails into the bedroom. She came to the point right away. "Do you think my father killed her, Nick?" "No," I said. "Why should I?" "Well, the police have-- Listen, she was his mistress, wasn't she?" I nodded. "When I knew them." She stared at her glass while saying, "He's my father. I never liked him. I never liked Mamma." She looked up at me. "I don't like Gilbert." Gilbert was her brother. "Don't let that worry you. Lots of people don't like their relatives." "Do you like them?" "My relatives?" "Mine." She scowled at me. "And stop talking to me as if I was still twelve." "It's not that," I explained. "I'm getting tight." "Well, do you?" I shook my head. "You were all right, just a spoiled kid. I could get along without the rest of them." "What's the matter with us?" she asked, not argumentatively, but as if she really wanted to know. "Different things. Your--" Harrison Quinn opened the door and said: "Come on over and play some Ping-Pong, Nick." "In a little while." "Bring Beautiful along." He leered at Dorothy and went away. She said: "I don't suppose you know Jorgensen." "I know a Nels Jorgensen." "Some people have all the luck. This one's named Christian. He's a honey. That's Mamma--divorces a lunatic and marries a gigolo." Her eyes became wet. She caught her breath in a sob and asked: "What am I going to do, Nick?" Her voice was a frightened child's. I put an arm around her and made what I hoped were comforting sounds. She cried on my lapel. The telephone beside the bed began to ring. In the next room "Rise and Shine" was coming through the radio. My glass was empty. I said: "Walk out on them." She sobbed again. "You can't walk out on yourself." "Maybe I don't know what you're talking about." "Please don't tease me," she said humbly. Nora, coming in to answer the telephone, looked questioningly at me. I made a face at her over the girl's head. When Nora said "Hello" into the telephone, the girl stepped quickly back away from me and blushed. "I--I'm sorry," she stammered, "I didn't--" Nora smiled sympathetically at her. I said: "Don't be a dope." The girl found her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes with it. Nora spoke into the telephone. "Yes . . . I'll see if he's in. Who's calling, please?" She put a hand over the mouthpiece and addressed me: "It's a man named Norman. Do you want to talk to him?" I said I didn't know and took the telephone. "Hello." A somewhat harsh voice said: "Mr. Charles? . . . Mr. Charles, I understand that you were formerly connected with the Trans-American Detective Agency." "Who is this?" I asked. "My name is Albert Norman, Mr. Charles, which probably means nothing to you, but I would like to lay a proposition before you. I am sure you will--" "What kind of a proposition?" "I can't discuss it over the phone, Mr. Charles, but if you will give me half an hour of your time, I can promise--""Sorry," I said. "I'm pretty busy and--""But, Mr. Charles, this is--" Then there was a loud noise: it could have been a shot or something falling or anything else that would make a loud noise. I said, "Hello," a couple of times, got no answer, and hung up. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

From AudioFile

Hammett was the quintessential tough-guy writer of 1930s' noir. It's interesting to see how he holds up after all these years; you'll be astounded at how much Nick and Nora Charles drink, for starters. Welcome though it is, this is a less than perfect production. Narrator William Dufris, who normally is in tune with his characters, misses the mark here. The women, even suave, ironic Nora, all sound hysterical and whiny even when they're supposed to be seductive or charming, which makes it hard to tell why anyone puts up with them. This does not help the rather creaky plot, nor do the forced tough-guy male voices, which sound so alike that it's often hard to know which character is talking. No shades of William Powell and Myrna Loy here, alas. B.G. © AudioFile 2005, Portland, Maine-- Copyright © AudioFile, Portland, Maine --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Review

'The exuberance of language, the relish with which seediness is described .. it's a pleasure to imagine Hammett cutting loose with whatever rascally high jinks he could cook up' * Margaret Atwood * 'The ace performer' * Raymond Chandler * --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.

Product details

ASIN ‏ : ‎ B00M5EHCVE
Publication date ‏ : ‎ July 25, 2014
Language ‏ : ‎ English
File size ‏ : ‎ 633 KB
Simultaneous device usage ‏ : ‎ Unlimited
Text-to-Speech ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Screen Reader ‏ : ‎ Supported
Enhanced typesetting ‏ : ‎ Enabled
X-Ray ‏ : ‎ Enabled
Word Wise ‏ : ‎ Not Enabled
Sticky notes ‏ : ‎ On Kindle Scribe
Print length ‏ : ‎ 210 pages

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4.2 2,059 ratings

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Dashiell Hammett

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Samuel Dashiell Hammett (/ˈsæmjʊəl dəˈʃiːl ˈhæmət/; May 27, 1894 – January 10, 1961) was an American author of hard-boiled detective novels and short stories, a screenplay writer, and political activist. Among the enduring characters he created are Sam Spade (The Maltese Falcon), Nick and Nora Charles (The Thin Man), and the Continental Op (Red Harvest and The Dain Curse).

In addition to the significant influence his novels and stories had on film, Hammett "is now widely regarded as one of the finest mystery writers of all time" and was called, in his obituary in The New York Times, "the dean of the... 'hard-boiled' school of detective fiction." Time magazine included Hammett's 1929 novel Red Harvest on a list of the 100 best English-language novels published between 1923 and 2005.

Bio from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Photo by Unknown [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

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LoveMondays

Written 90 Years Ago

Reviewed in the United States on March 14, 2023

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It was a fun read, after having seen the movies many times. I loved Nick and Nora’s repartee and was picturing William Powell and Myrna Loy the entire time. It’s such a good mystery book because no one’s story could be trusted! You can only rely on Nick and Nora being the innocent ones. There were a few words that are outdated and I haven’t heard used before, but no big deal to figure out. I don’t understand why they just don’t delete the one N word that’s used in the book.

Reviewed in the United States on February 3, 2024

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You've seen the movies, this is the original book. Very snappy dialog, personality of Nick and Nora Charles come through well. The murder mystery is convoluted, though. Introduction says Nora is directly based on Hammett's wife at the time, Lillian Hellman, but I can't see Myrna Loy as Lilian Hellman (in the movie versions).

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Gary B.

Not a Detective Novel Fan, But Loved This Book

Reviewed in the United States on March 23, 2024

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The Thin Man was recommended to me by a friend who reads a lot of the same authors as I do. I wasn't sure what to think when he recommended The Thin Man to me, but I knew I could trust his judgement and I was right. While the style of writing could sometimes be slightly difficult to follow, overall, it was an excellent read with an interesting story. I would definitely recommend The Thin Man to fans of this genre and to fans of classic literature in general.

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Patrick McHugh

Worth the read.

Reviewed in the United States on August 11, 2013

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I enjoyed the story, but I didn't think the plot or the characters deserved 4 or 5 stars.

Interesting to see the difference in eras: then versus today. Nick, Nora and most of the characters in this story can't seem to go more than a few hours each day without having a drink. I know this story was written during prohibition (1933), but the references to drinking were everywhere, as if drinking was the only extracurricular activity worth pursuing. Nick and Nora even go to the theater, but then leave before the performance is concluded in order to get a drink. I can only assume that novel readers of that era were fixated on drinking and wanted story protagonists to be alcoholics.

The n-word is also contained in the narrative, which is just another historical reference to the era and the author: born in Maryland, baptized a Catholic, grew up in Philly and Baltimore, a Pinkerton operative for many years, one of the people wrongly harassed by Joseph McCarthy, and became an alcoholic early in his adult life (not a surprise there - just read The Thin Man).

While the whole drinking-thing is a bit over-cooked for my tastes, the characterization in this novel is excellent. Each character's personality stands apart from each other character, a tough thing to accomplish for any writer. Yes, many of those character types have become clichéd in today's literary world, but back then they were new and unique. Judging this story based on today's environment is not doing justice to the story or the author.

The story sometimes drifts, slows down, and many scenes are repetitive, so I'd say the pacing is uneven, but overall it was an enjoyable read. I've read better, and I've read worse. Part of the enjoyment in reading this story was knowing it was Dashiell Hammett's last novel and part of the noir/hard-boiled era of mystery writing.

Maybe it was the Kindle formatting or maybe it was just the way Dashiel Hemmett formatted his writing in this story, but the paragraphing frequently made it difficult to follow the flow of the dialogue, as in: Who was saying what to whom? Yes, I figured it all out, but I thought it required more work and attention-to-detail than should normally be required.

5 people found this helpful

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Schuyler T Wallace

VINTAGE CRIME NOVEL

Reviewed in the United States on April 3, 2020

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Wisecracks and cocktails abound in Dashell Hammett’s “The Thin Man” as Nick and Nora Charles travel the world of the wealthy and the romantic searching for the elusive killer of members of NYC’s high society. A comedy of manners and conspicuous consumption, long the milieu preferred by Hammett, the reader can only be amused by the hi-jinx displayed by the devoted couple. Not displaying the usual coarseness and vulgarity found in most modern day detective stories, Hammett instead prefers to probe congeniality and mutual respect in his partnership of the Charles’ duo, providing an entertaining study into a relationship that radiates adoration along with common good sense.

Perhaps the most worrisome thing about the Charles couple is their predilection to having an alcoholic beverage to keep their interest up and their spirits flying, so to speak. No harm done. It’s a habit that does not hinder their abilities. It’s nice they have a common interest, albeit morning, noon, and night quaffing.

I have decided to read more of the old masters at detective stories such as Hammett, Ellroy, and Chandler to reassure myself that good writing is still out there. Not many of today’s writers display the same inventiveness and clean living as portrayed by authors such as these. Hammett’s writing is spare and clean. The story is understated and uncomplicated, but embodies the hardboiled action employed in late 1930s and early 1940s crime novels. I thoroughly enjoyed the book and recommend it for a refreshing reminder of what good writing entails. The details of Los Angeles in its growing years are fascinating. Reading it was entertaining and fun, and I look forward to reading more books from writers of this era.

Schuyler T Wallace
Author of TIN LIZARD TALES

22 people found this helpful

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Craig Graham

Very good!

Reviewed in the United States on September 3, 2023

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That being said I found it a bit hard to understand or follow at times. Might be the writing style from several generations ago.
However, it was a good story, a good mystery, did not guess the bad guy until nearly the last few pages!
I will read others from this author !
Craig Graham

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Penelope Marzec

Everyone Is Suspicious!

Reviewed in the United States on April 3, 2023

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I did not guess who the murderer was. The author did a great job of making everyone suspicious and they were such a varied and interesting bunch of characters. I did have a few problems with the archaic slang from the 1930s, which I had to look up. And my goodness, everyone was always having a drink or several and going to sleep in the wee hours. Nick Charles and his wife Nora were wonderful protagonists. All in all, I’m glad I finally got around to reading this classic.

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Amazon Customer

Tedious and boring.

Reviewed in India on February 8, 2023

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I wonder why it is classified as a classic.I am very disappointed with this work by a great writer.

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Yves Hausermann

Du grand Hamett

Reviewed in France on May 2, 2020

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Écriture minimum pour résultats optimum. C'est précis, et on en oublie de dormir à travers les chapitres. Points négatifs : ça donne envie de boire et de sortir la nuit.

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Flower girl

Another great story by the master.

Reviewed in Australia on December 6, 2020

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Great read, a classic.

D. J. Wilden

The Thin Man

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on February 10, 2014

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I used to really love the films with William Powell and Myrna Loy as Nick and Nora Charles and their dog Asta, only fairly recently found out that Dashiel Hammett wrote the stories, again another link via Rory Gallagher who was a great fan of his works, Just read a book from the library which turned up in Hammetts papers and was published in 2012, Its kind of quirky and full of punchy dialogue, very very 1930's which I love, Nick was mostly a bit squiffy all the time, solved crimes and no bad language which is really refreshing, going to enjoy reading it as I have enjoyed the library book.
I also didn't realise Dashiel Hammett wrote The Maltese Falcon which is another favourite film of mine, so I bought the book to read

5 people found this helpful

さんぺい

1933年出版のハードボイルド小説の元祖

Reviewed in Japan on June 3, 2010

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　ハードボイルドの元祖ということだったので、２００ページにしては高いと思ったが買ってみました。
　なるほど、ストーリー展開は現代的で、現代のスリラーと比べても遜色なく、元祖と言われるのは納得です。最後のころは何となく犯人が推測でき、無理のない展開で納得できます。
　ただし、英語の表現は、どういう訳か分りませんが、難解で、読み返さないと分らないところがたくさんあること、登場人物の関係が把握しにくかったので、読み辛いと感じました。

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