The Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett. 

This book fits right into my two most recent reading habits–accidentally picking up books written by locals and/or relating to water.  Good old Dash was a local–he was born in St. Mary’s County, Maryland, which is one of my favorite places in the world.  St. Mary’s lies between the Potomac River and the Chesapeake Bay there on the DelMarVa peninsula.  Within St. Mary’s lie Turtle Hill, the best banjo shop, well, ever anywhere; some of the best food made with two ingredients I can think of;  Point Lookout, where the girls and I go every year; all sorts of great historic sites, and many other things I love but can’t think of right now.  That little county produces a lot of things I love, lemme tell you.  So I favor it a bit.  It’s on my short list.

Where was I?

I studied Film Noir a bit way back in the way back, and Film Noir could never have happened if it weren’t for Hammett and Raymond Chandler.   This book is a classic, and it birthed a classic film.  I’m sure not everyone has a taste for hard-boiled characters, but I love them. 

Really, this is good old plot driven fiction, so I won’t say much.  Hammett uses some phrases and idioms that ring strangely these days, but as a writer, that’s reason enough for me to read his work.  Pairing that with a pile of interesting plot twists makes for good summer reading.  The book was a delicious little snack.

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