Reprinted by Vintage
Crime/Black Lizard Edition (1984)
Jim Thompson
(1906 – 1977) is a suspense writer who produced his best work during a prolific
period between 1952 and 1955. Among the stories written during that time was A Hell of a Woman, which contains all of
the classic noir elements of a Thompson novel: a sociopath narrator, plenty of
hairpin plot turns, coarse language and the seedy underbelly of American life after
World War II.
Part of the
joy of a Jim Thompson novel is the rapid plot turns, and the language, which is
harsh and crude. In A Hell of a Woman,
Frank Dillon is a down-on-his-luck, door-to-door salesman during the 50s who plans
to rescue a beautiful young woman from the clutches of her elderly aunt and
steal $100,000 from the older woman. Frank’s internal dialogue is like a roller
coaster ride of unfiltered thoughts. Here is Frank's initial description of the
elderly aunt:
“The door flew open while I was still beating on it. I took one look around at this dame and moved back fast. It wasn’t the young one, the haunted-looking babe I’d seen peering through the curtains. This was an old biddy with a beak like a hawk and close-set, mean little eyes. She was about seventy – I don’t know how anyone could have got that ugly in less than seventy years – but she looked plenty hale and hearty. She was carrying a heavy cane, and I got the impression that she was all ready to use it. On me.”
A Hell of a Woman is a wild romp of a
story that has more twists and turns than a demolition derby, and is full of nasty
surprises. You’ll often find yourself laughing out loud as Frank’s hapless
scheme unravels with horrific and deadly consequences.
If A Hell of A Woman is your first
introduction to Jim Thompson, you won’t be disappointed. Other Thompson novels
that I’ve read (and recommend) include: The
Killer Inside Me, Pop. 1280, Savage Night and The Grifters.
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I really enjoyed this lowdown account of adventures. As I was reading, I could see the black and white film unfolding in my minds eye - the smoke curling before me, the slanted grey light falling across the characters as the narrator told the story in his fast, dry, almost detached voice, you know what I mean, baby?
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