Friday, 6 February 2009

Ripley Underground

Prose pared back to bone that nevertheless grips and holds you, start to finish. How does Highsmith do it? Here's the image that's going to stick in mind forever, I think.

One fly jumped on the other's back. In plain view! Quickly Tom struck a match and held it to the bastards. Wings sizzled. Buzz-buzz. Legs stuck in the air and flailed their last. Ah, Liebestod, united even in death! If it could happen in Pompeii, why not at Belle Ombre, Tom thought.

No comments: