Best first paragraph: Chandler

If you want to write a great first paragraph to your crime novel, take a look at how Raymond Chandler did it. Here’s the best first paragraph from Chandler’s crime fiction

The king of hardboiled noir focused on building a mysterious atmosphere …and displaying the sardonic sense of humor of his detective hero. This is how he starts a 1950 story called Red Wind:

There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge.

There was a desert wind blowing that night. It was one of those hot dry Santa Anas that come down through the mountain passes and curl your hair and make your nerves jump and your skin itch. On nights like that every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husbands’ necks. Anything can happen. You can even get a full glass of beer at a cocktail lounge.

This tells you a lot about the narrator and his lifestyle. The booze parties, and the sense of being cheated at the cocktail lounge.

Here’s the best first paragraph: Chandler

But the opening paragraph which might be said to define an entire genre  starts Chandler’s 1949 novel The Little Sister:

The pebbled glass door panel is lettered in flaked black paint: “*Philip Marlowe…Investigations*.” It is a reasonably shabby door at the end of a reasonably shabby corridor in the sort of building that was new about the year the all-tile bathroom became the basis of civilization. The door is locked, but next to it is another door with the same legend which is not locked. Come on in –– there’s nobody in here but me and a big bluebottle fly. But not if you’re from Manhattan, Kansas.

That scene became a staple of the genre. But what makes it so compelling is the voice of Marlowe, with its sense of regret at having become involved in the story and its unspoken acknowledgement of the inevitability of a repeat performance. After all, if Marlowe truly learned the lessons he claims to have taken on board, he wouldn’t be who he is. He’d be corrupted or cynical. Of course he’s neither.

It’s this subtext of honor (the knight in shining armor element of Marlowe’s character, Chandler called it) that elevates him above the many who copied him.

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