It's quite wonderful how the hard-boiled detective genre, whether taken seriously or not, provides a perfect venue for sarcasm. The philipmarlowes of this world seem to deliver half their lines in a thoroughly mocking sarcastic register. The following extract is from Squeeze Play, which Paul Auster wrote in 1978 under the pseudonym of Paul Benjamin. The book was not published until three years later. Auster calls it "an exercise in pure imitation".

"A Jew-boy shamus from the big city," he said.
"That's right," I answered. "I come from a long line of rabbis. All those people you see walking around in the funny hats and long beards are my cousins. At night I sprout horns and a tail, and every spring at Passover I kill a Christian baby to use its blood in a secret ritual. I'm a Wall Street millionaire and a communist, and I was there when they nailed Christ to the cross."
"Shut the fuck up, Klein," he snapped, "or I'll break your goddamn neck." 13:21