Cain is a great writer: great in a way I wouldn’t have noticed a few years ago. He breaks up opponents’ play deep in their own half, plays the simple pass and shoots when he can, usually from inside the box; no step-overs for Cain. With him you get crisply drawn characters, pacey plot and great dialogue; he writes in the service of the story, not to show you how clever he is.
It has been great, this wallow in the crime novel; my Waterstones 3 for 2 lake has now been drained, so this might be the last one for a while. I read this all the way up the road to my house, glancing occasionally for lampposts. Only certain books do that to you. The narrator's voice is engaging, he almost sounds like a hero; and Cain doesn’t blink as he shows him plan and carry out a murder. If I have a criticism it is that written in 1936, Freud’s shadow looms a little large over Double Indemnity, so certain motivations seem a little shaky. But hey, that’s the past for you, they didn’t know nothing back then.
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