The Killer Inside Me by Jim Thompson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
The whole time I was reading The Killer Inside Me, I kept thinking, “I hope he gets away with it.” What’s that say about me? I’m a product of 21st century entertainment, where serial murderers and sociopaths are portrayed as sympathetic killers. If the post-modern era set everything topsy-turvy, and the so-called post-post-modern era mired itself in self-reflective absurdity, where are we now? This is the post-ironic age (can’t wait for the era that doesn’t need a “post-“ in its name) and we take our bloodlust very very seriously. Well, so did Thompson, back in the day, to stroke the cliché’.
Because if Thompson’s Lou Ford is a sociopath, he’s a real one, and not the Hollywood version of the last twenty years. He does not delight in horror, enjoy cruelty, or in any way feel enriched by murder. Nor does he find identification in the self-hatred that murder brings upon him. Murder is a means to an end, even while he understands and accepts that society says its wrong. But here’s the important part: Lou Ford doesn’t think too hard on why he has no trouble murdering even while society condemns it. This is not a novel about a man conflicted.
What’s it about then? That depends on you (as it should). Thompson doesn’t moralize, proselytize, or preach. He gives you a character who does what we fantasize about doing all the time, and doesn’t solve your inner conflicts by punishing—or rewarding—his hero.
When I read Pop. 1280, I had no idea of Thompson’s reputation, which I was glad of—I went in uncynical. Less so with The Killer Inside Me, which is more or less the first draft of Pop. 1280. I would encourage you, if you’ve got the edition with the preface by Stephen King, to skip that preface and first read chapter one. Read the preface when you’re done—it’s more like an academic review than a preface, more like an introduction for those who’ve already read the novel once or twice already.
Not that the plot’s the point. Not that Thompson’s message needs you to be surprised and shocked. That’s because Thompson doesn’t have a message. Someone asked me, while I was reading this, what I had in my hands. I said “The Killer Inside Me” and she said “The killer inside you, huh?” We laughed about that, but honestly, I don’t think that was much of a slip.
