monsters, imagined

To the amazement of many, I've been reading a lot lately. C always has great sport with this, mocking the "three words -- oh, is your brain tired now?" little bits I read each night. But it adds up. Here's two recently finished books most fitting for a Halloween weekend.

The Killer Inside Me, by Jim Thompson: Gosh, Lou Ford is a nice guy. Corny, sure, but this is Texas, after all, and a deputy sheriff should always have some pearls of wisdom handy. What he shouldn't have is a taste for beating prostitutes to death, or shooting people in the mouth. Or framing people for murder, and then murdering them in turn. Ah, but that's all down to "the sickness", isn't it? Or maybe he's just a hellishly intelligent monster. Who cares? It's a classic read.

The Talented Mr. Ripley, by Patricia Highsmith: If you like your narrators to smile like you, and talk like you, and do a crackerjack job of forging your signature, then you'll probably like Tom Ripley. Of course, if he's acting like this, it means he really likes you, too. Not only that, but he's probably planning on killing you, and then assuming your identity. Especially if you wear the same shirt size. Again, what's not to like?


  1. i have read highsmith's short fiction, and loved it! thanks for reminding me about that bio of her i have on my shelf.

    beautiful illos, btw


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