I wasn't enjoying the first quarter or so of this; the ridiculous similes and tough-guy banter. I had always assumed Chandler would be indistinguishable from Hammett but the latter's characters were much more interesting and sympathetic.

What saved this novel from being a wreck for me was the epiphany (probably entirely within my own imagination) that the over-the-top embarrassing metaphors might serve as a mnemonic device for Marlowe; describing a shag rug that a badger could be lost in for days in order to lock the detail into his 'memory palace'. It may have been entirely unintentional, but rationalizing it this way made the clunky parts forgivable.