fifty years ago today the death of Dashiell Hammett. This American writer is to blame for the existence of this blog. Everything comes from a long December, I should have sixteen or seventeen. To my father's birthday I did not know what to get and I went to a defunct bookstore in my town. It was a joy to go, especially when there were no people. It could be five minutes to choose the new acquisition and two-hour conversation with the owner. I was on a street not too appropriate commercial terms but that is where he lived part of his charm. It was large, with a good catalog, and pocket book much appreciated my meager portfolio. The book was The Dain Curse, the book unless the author Hammettiano . My father did not make him any attention and the next summer, in an afternoon of boredom I picked it up with the same curiosity as when I bought it, with little knowledge of the author, nothing more his first novel, The Maltese Falcon belonged to my Olympus summit particular film. Two days later returned to the bookstore looking for another author's work had left me spellbound by his brief but direct prose. Next was Red Harvest. If you were a woman rather than man now my nick would not Dinah Brand Ned Beaumont.
would take time, try to remember how much, but I can remember to read The Glass Key, his best work featuring the character of which took the name for my nickname. On 23 I start to read it again.
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