(Fiction; Knopf, 1934)
It’s pretty. It’s intense. It’s fast. It doesn’t mess around with floral language or purple prose. It combines the precision of a short story with the fullness of a novel. What you see is what you get. Sort of.
I’m talking about James M. Cain’s The Postman Always Rings Twice, which—if you haven’t already—you need to read.
