Brian McDonald’s essay isn’t as good as some of the drunken writers he loves, but it’s not bad. Aside from Niven/Pournelle’s Inferno, I’m walking through Raymond Chandler’s The Long Goodbye, having been told by a friend, "I think it’s his best, but I don’t understand it. It’s too complicated." Well, no need to understand the whole when you get parts like this: "There was a girl beside him. Her hair was a lovely shade of dark red and she had a distant smile on her lips and over her shoulders she had a blue mink that almost made the Rolls-Royce look like just another automobile. It didn’t quite. Nothing can."