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There is only so much Jim Thompson one should read in a summer. Even an Arizona summer starts to seem dark under the weight of too much Thompson. Finishing this book makes me want to punch someone. Hard. Look, this isn't his best pitch. I get it. He's done better stuff. Things that will hang with you longer. Stories that were a bit more dynamic. But still, reading this Dimestore Dostoevsky is going to bend you no matter how this book measures up to Thompson's other stuff. This novel reads like a linear, painful nervous breakdown. The women hurt and the money doesn't help.
Just remember folks. Life isn't fair. Women are hard. Money is damn slippery. It all becomes that much more complicated when you are beat down and a bit crazy to boot. Some people never get a lucky roll. Some people never catch an easy day. This book is for the poor, the misunderstood, the downtrodden. It is a book to remind those poor sons-of-bitches that not only could their lot be worse, but yeah baby, someday it most certainly WILL be worse.
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