This was my first Jim Thompson, and I have to admit I found it difficult. As a member of the 21st century, and a British citizen, the 1950s USA demotic, especially concerning the minutiae of running a private cinema, was at times for me opaque to the point of impenetrable. The story is told in the form of a monologue by the central character, and although every page positively reeks with the seedy atmosphere of his existence, many of his actions and motives had to be deduced from clues I had a habit of missing. I enjoyed guessing, though, and mostly I guess I guessed right, as I did manage to hold on and reach the end of the story mostly knowing (or thinking I knew) what had gone on. What's more, all of the above notwithstanding, it was still gripping enough to inspire me to have another go sometime soon. ( )

petit polar

“Nothing More Than Murder,” first published in 1949, was Jim Thompson’s first major success and was followed in 1952 by the book most critics agree is his magnum opus (“The Killer Inside Me”). On the surface, “Nothing More Than Murder” might appear to be yet another twist on James Cain’s “Double Indemnity.” Here, the husband (Joe Wilmot) has an affair with Carol. There’s a double indemnity insurance policy on the wife (Elizabeth), who is seemingly murdered in a bizarre film editing accident. But, this is a Jim Thompson book and the basic idea of the three-sided romance is twisted in quite a different way. What if the wife accepts that the marriage has gone to hell in a hand basket and offers to step aside if she can collect the insurance money? After all, all you would need is a body somewhat resembling the wife and it doesn’t really matter where you find that body, does it?
Moreover, this is not a simple tale of lust and greed and guilt tearing one apart (as if such a tale were ever simple). This is a Jim Thompson novel and it is a world where seemingly everyone is greedy, dirty, underhanded, and conniving. Joe Wilmot is not a basically decent guy. Make no mistake about that. Never mind the adultery or the murder conspiracy. He is in the movie theater business and he is involved in underhanded, sneaky deals to stifle any competition in his small city and to undermine the union rules. He is as cagey as a shark. And, in the end, everyone seems to put together how he has put more than one over on them. In typical Thompson fashion, the walls start closing in on Wilmot and the noose around his neck gets squeezed tighter and tighter. ( )

This was my first Jim Thompson, and I have to admit I found it difficult. As a member of the 21st century, and a British citizen, the 1950s USA demotic, especially concerning the minutiae of running a private cinema, was at times for me opaque to the point of impenetrable. The story is told in the form of a monologue by the central character, and although every page positively reeks with the seedy atmosphere of his existence, many of his actions and motives had to be deduced from clues I had a habit of missing. I enjoyed guessing, though, and mostly I guess I guessed right, as I did manage to hold on and reach the end of the story mostly knowing (or thinking I knew) what had gone on. What's more, all of the above notwithstanding, it was still gripping enough to inspire me to have another go sometime soon. ( )

This book really surprised me. Written in 1949 (it's old!), clocking in at just over 200 pages and costing me pittance from a discount book store, i actually enjoyed it! It's written a la pulp fiction / noir and centers around a small-town cinema operator - Joe Wilmot - and his odd love-hate relationship with his older wife Elizabeth. They run the show together but a bigger movie chain starts to move in on their turf, and both scheme to find a way out by way of insurance money! To tell more would not do justice to the twisting plot and the black comedy of the seedy US showhouse era of the 50s. And boy does the plot twist and turn, u really never know what to expect next. After reading this, now wonder all the current pulp fiction writers pay homage to Jim Thomson - he was truly a genius amongst a dying breed. ( )