“The devil got his money’s worth that night.” Unemployed drifter washes up at a service station and makes the telegraph post in his pants all too obvious to the wife of his host. Result? Murder. Although it’s not that simple. “Ban this sick filth” said Boston in 1934 and even today the libido lances off the page like an electric cable (Jack Nicholson *very* well cast in the 1981 version), swiftly followed by punches, broken bottles, betrayals and a particularly nasty fall of “rain” right at the end. All in under 100 pages too, the great noir masters didn’t mess around. I’ll bet my life insurance there’s reams of literature on “Postman” but… there’s something specifically American about Frank Chambers seeing escape onto “the road” as a solution to all ills. Take to “the road” in England and you’d end up in Milton Keynes. I also can’t help noticing there’s a designing female, a “king” gets offed, his assailant is plagued by nasty dreams and there are a lot of cats in play, although none of them is called Graymalkin. Plus, how far was Cora playing Frank? Wikipedia has some interesting quotes from Cain on the provenance of the title, which is never explained in the book; the postman being fate, if you’re interested. An age-old story transplanted to thirties America and told with some very lean, muscular writing, I’m off to re-watch the films.
