The Talented Mr. Ripley

Much like Highsmith's The Price of Salt, The Talented Mr. Ripley can be slow going at times. Highsmith takes her sweet time to set the stage and develop her characters. I almost found myself loosing interest after nothing much happens within the first third of the book. Thankfully that changes in a surprising way. It's because of this surprise that I'm especially glad to have gone into The Talented Mr. Ripley completely blind; I think more than most books it benefits from that lack of foreknowledge. Her lenghty character development sets the framework within which the many dramatic twists and turns can be most effective.

Ripley is, without a doubt, a psychopath. He's manipulative, jealous, selfish, deceitful, all without showing an show more ounce of remorse. He is a tried and true people pleaser who nonetheless curates a deep hatred for many of his companions, more than willing to keep his internal thoughts to himself right up to the point that he stabs them in the back. Ripley's character is a testament to Highsmith's writing because, despite all of these traits, Ripley never becomes insufferable. Much of his personality can be tied to a deeply traumatic past that many can relate to. Ripley desperately wants to escape his own identity, to becomes cooler, more popular version of himself, or someone else entirely if he can. As the walls of his own decision making come closing in around him, I couldn't help but almost root for him to escape against what appear to be insurmountable odds. Ripley's emotions often swing between extremes of complete despair and an almost lackadaisical confidence that everything will work out.

Ripley, while certainty the highlight of the novel, is not its only draw. While not quite as on the nose with its exploration of queer identity as The Price of Salt, The Talented Mr. Ripley also dances the razor-thin line that Highsmith was forced to work within to grapple with a lot of the same issues that faced the queer community in the 1950's. It's also a deft commentary on the relationship with the United States and Europe post WWII. Ripley is but one of many foreign expats that roam Italy with moral and legal impunity as they spend their newfound wealth/power in a county that finds itself struggling to reorganize and modernize. Perhaps Ripley's selfishness, obsession with a leisure filled life, and lack of moral compass reflects Highsmith's opinion on post-war American values.

It's not surprising that Highsmith felt there was much more she could explore with such a complex character as Tom Ripley. While I'm not exactly sure if I'll ever dip my toes into the many sequels, I can confidently say the first in the series was well worth my time. show less

They were not friends. They didn't know each other. It struck Tom like a horrible truth, true for all time, true for the people he had known in the past and for those he would know in the future: each had stood and would stand before him, and he would know time and time again that he would never know them, and the worst was that there would always be the illusion, for a time, that he did know them, and that he and they were completely in harmony and alike. For an instant the wordless shock of his realization seemed more than he could bear.

Tom Ripley is the most sympathetic sociopath I've ever had the pleasure to meet on the written page. An orphan, raised by a harsh aunt who ridiculed him as a "sissy" and cut off support when he came of show more age, he has a talent for disguise, both in being what people want him to be and in imitating others. In his early 20s, he's been using these talents as a small-time con-man, ingratiating himself into upper class social circles in a shallow way. He gets lucky when a few of these interactions score him a trip to Europe to talk an acquaintance into returning to his family and responsibilities in the U.S. That's where everything goes horribly wrong or wonderfully right, depending on which way you view the situation.

The young man that Tom is sent to fetch, the unfortunately named Dickie Greenleaf, is a golden rich boy. (Jude Law playing the role in the 1999 movie adaptation seems perfect.) I kept picturing him as a 21st century Instagram influencer. Here's Dickie sailing his boat. Here's Dickie serving a pitcher of martinis on the terrace of his quaint Italian home. Here's Dickie taking a ski vacation or popping into Rome for the day. And like those who drool over others' idealized lifestyles on their phones, Tom covets Dickie's life. But Tom takes it a step further and actually takes Dickie's life in multiple meanings of that phrase. (This isn't much of a spoiler as Dickie doesn't even survive the first half of the novel.)

The rest of the novel concerns Tom's efforts to cover up Dickie's murder and effectively become Dickie. Can Tom outsmart everyone: Dickie's family, his kind-of-sort-of girlfriend, the Italian police, an American private detective? (Knowing that there are five books in Ms. Highsmith's "Ripliad" gives that away, but doesn't decrease the suspense of watching Tom's accomplishments.) show less

Bleurgh.

Firstly, I had to buy a second hand copy because Amazon have replaced the first in the series with an image from the Netflix adaptation, and I am not an Andrew Scott fangirl (although he does have a suitably reptilian look to play Ripley). Secondly, I absolutely hate whiny bitches in fiction, especially when the narrative is from their perspective and the reader is stuck in their head, and Tom Ripley is the queen of all whiny bitches. Oh, my parents died and my aunt was mean to me, and I have nothing and nobody pays any attention to me, so clearly the world owes me a favour, uwu. Marge pigeon-holes him best by calling him 'a nothing', but she also thinks he's 'a pansy', which is an insult to gay men, quite frankly. 'He hated show more going back to himself as he would have hated putting on a shabby suit of clothes, a grease=spotted, unpressed suit of clothes that had not been very good even when it was new. His tears fell on Dickie's blue-and-white striped shirt ...' And his answer to being a creepy little shit who clings to other men like snot and dresses in their clothes when they go out?

Kill them and take on their identity! Because we're supposed to believe that Tom the snivelling toad is so like the wealthy and charismatic Dickie that nobody will notice. He arrives in Italy to spy on Dickie for his father and goes to the beach dressed in budgie-smugglers and leather shoes, doesn't leave Dickie's side for a second and then wonders why Dickie's friend Marge can't stand him. And the murders aren't even convincing, he just gets away with bashing people over the head and dumping their bodies because plot; Tom humping Dickie's dead friend down the stairs to his car was so improbable that the scene probably inspired Weekend at Bernie's.

On a bit of a tangent, the reason why I finally got around to reading this 'American classic' was because of Jay Sebring, the 1960s pioneering man's hairstylist who was murdered by the Manson family alongside Sharon Tate. When Sebring was killed, this creepy little 'apprentice' from Albuquerque turned up and claimed, conveniently, that Jay had told him just prior to his death that if anything happened, he wanted the creep to take over running his chain of hair salons and celebrity clients. And boy did he! He took over the business (badly), but also Jay's house, car, clothes and even went after the women he had dated! He got off on his mentor's death, claiming it was an exciting time, and even kidded himself that his own life was at risk before the killers were caught. And I thought, this would make an excellent story - and then I remembered the plot of TTMR. And Ripley is the creepy hairdresser from the sticks to a T; Ripley even comes up with the same 'inheritance' scheme: ' ... a will, signed by Dickie, bequeathing him his money and his income. Now that was an idea.' Sadly, money doesn't buy talent, charm or taste.

Full praise to Patricia Highsmith, because I absolutely detested her twitchy little antihero. Tom Ripley repelled and repulsed me, just like everything he encounters in the story (mainly women and losers just like himself). I'm not sure if we're supposed to cheer him on though, because there are sequels - but I will not be following his trail of slime any further. show less

Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive. Observing Ripley begin his life of deception is curiously riveting --like watching a train wreck in slow motion. He is such an unreliable narrator that I didn't know what or whom to believe by the end. His musings on love, sex, and romance are school-book-Freudianism (Ripley is so repressed he appears asexual.) In sum, a fascinating cavort around Europe with a sociopath as the tour guide. Out-creeps Stephen King.

The Most Artful Deceiver

Psychological thrillers don’t get much better than this. Patricia Highsmith plants you deep within the brain of American sociopath Tom Ripley as he deceives one person after another, assumes the life of a young man he envies, and lashes out murderously to achieve his ends. Even today, more than sixty years after its first printing, with truckloads of psychological crime novels featuring psychos carted of to the remainder bins, and a swamp of crime movies and television shows spilling from our screens, this still stands out as an achievement of perfectly blending literary and hard-edged noir.

Succinctly, Tom Ripley is a young man in his mid-twenties existing in New York City. He really can’t do anything, show more doesn’t own anything, rooms with friends, and engages in petty forgery and scamming, not to make money but to amuse himself. As he says, he is very disappointed in his life and what he has made of it. Then his life changes. Mr. Herbert Greenleaf approaches him thinking him a close friend of his son, Dickie. Dickie has been taking an extended vacation in Italy trying his hand at painting, when his father needs and wants him back home in the family boat building business. Would Tom, all expenses paid, of course, sail to Italy and persuade Dickie to return home?

Tom connects with Dickie in short order and methodically befriends him. What Tom admires most about Dickie is his smooth approach to life, his nice manner, fueled, naturally, by lots of money. In a letter to Dickie, that is, Tom as Dickie, Marge Sherwood, Dickie’s wannabe girlfriend, writes of Tom, “He’s just a nothing ,,,” Perfect, as Tom is a blank canvas awaiting paint, and Dickie is the paint. Tom hatches a plan, really sort of a scatterbrained plan that feels almost spontaneous, to kill Dickie, which he does. Then the adventure truly begins as Tom dodges, weaves, and deceives (the police, Marge, Mr. Greenleaf, and Dickie’s friends) his way around Italy, subsuming Dickie into the very core of his being. So perfectly does he do this that later in the novel he begins to believe he has a talent for painting and an appreciation of art. And no secret here, as you probably know the Ripley story turned into a five-novel series, he gets away with it.

Highsmith’s Ripley is a brilliant creation. He’s at various times a knockabout, a petulant child, a hedonist, a terrorized boy, a self-doubter, an explosive killer, a conniver, and a man unable to understand or even define his own identity. Paramount, though, above all, he thinks of only one person, only what’s good for Tom Ripley. Striping away Highsmith’s literary polishing, he sounds quite despicable. Yet, credit to Highsmith, you find yourself liking him, hoping, too, that his bobbing will succeed. Forget that you know, like all sociopaths, he doesn’t experience emotion but mimics it. Pay attention to Highsmith’s sentences and descriptions, the declarative style she employs here; you’ll see how it helps us feel Tom’s coolness, his emotional void.

Even her plotting captures the essence of Tom, his lackadaisical ambling approach to life, by giving us the impression stuff just happens. A situation presents itself and Tom improvises on the spot. So we readers feel like we’re just skipping from situation to situation, almost as if Highsmith is making it up as she goes, perhaps chortling at each twist.

A must read for everybody who loves their psychological fiction on the highest order. show less

The Most Artful Deceiver

Psychological thrillers don’t get much better than this. Patricia Highsmith plants you deep within the brain of American sociopath Tom Ripley as he deceives one person after another, assumes the life of a young man he envies, and lashes out murderously to achieve his ends. Even today, more than sixty years after its first printing, with truckloads of psychological crime novels featuring psychos carted of to the remainder bins, and a swamp of crime movies and television shows spilling from our screens, this still stands out as an achievement of perfectly blending literary and hard-edged noir.

Succinctly, Tom Ripley is a young man in his mid-twenties existing in New York City. He really can’t do anything, show more doesn’t own anything, rooms with friends, and engages in petty forgery and scamming, not to make money but to amuse himself. As he says, he is very disappointed in his life and what he has made of it. Then his life changes. Mr. Herbert Greenleaf approaches him thinking him a close friend of his son, Dickie. Dickie has been taking an extended vacation in Italy trying his hand at painting, when his father needs and wants him back home in the family boat building business. Would Tom, all expenses paid, of course, sail to Italy and persuade Dickie to return home?

Tom connects with Dickie in short order and methodically befriends him. What Tom admires most about Dickie is his smooth approach to life, his nice manner, fueled, naturally, by lots of money. In a letter to Dickie, that is, Tom as Dickie, Marge Sherwood, Dickie’s wannabe girlfriend, writes of Tom, “He’s just a nothing ,,,” Perfect, as Tom is a blank canvas awaiting paint, and Dickie is the paint. Tom hatches a plan, really sort of a scatterbrained plan that feels almost spontaneous, to kill Dickie, which he does. Then the adventure truly begins as Tom dodges, weaves, and deceives (the police, Marge, Mr. Greenleaf, and Dickie’s friends) his way around Italy, subsuming Dickie into the very core of his being. So perfectly does he do this that later in the novel he begins to believe he has a talent for painting and an appreciation of art. And no secret here, as you probably know the Ripley story turned into a five-novel series, he gets away with it.

Highsmith’s Ripley is a brilliant creation. He’s at various times a knockabout, a petulant child, a hedonist, a terrorized boy, a self-doubter, an explosive killer, a conniver, and a man unable to understand or even define his own identity. Paramount, though, above all, he thinks of only one person, only what’s good for Tom Ripley. Striping away Highsmith’s literary polishing, he sounds quite despicable. Yet, credit to Highsmith, you find yourself liking him, hoping, too, that his bobbing will succeed. Forget that you know, like all sociopaths, he doesn’t experience emotion but mimics it. Pay attention to Highsmith’s sentences and descriptions, the declarative style she employs here; you’ll see how it helps us feel Tom’s coolness, his emotional void.

Even her plotting captures the essence of Tom, his lackadaisical ambling approach to life, by giving us the impression stuff just happens. A situation presents itself and Tom improvises on the spot. So we readers feel like we’re just skipping from situation to situation, almost as if Highsmith is making it up as she goes, perhaps chortling at each twist.

A must read for everybody who loves their psychological fiction on the highest order. show less

Honestly, I'm of two minds on this one.

The first is just how much fun I had running around with a trust fund buddy and the scam, enjoying 50's Italy, and especially the really delicious riffs from so many of the great authors doing their thing in the day, the subversion and the dark twist. I mean, we're all super-familiar with the heroic(anti-heroic) murderer protagonist, and some of us might be extremely familiar with it if they've read practically any mystery novels or watched ANY tv at all... but here it is, one of the first to really start the very popular modern mystery trend from the PoV of the sympathetic murderers. We'll ignore how much we love Richard the Third or the long line of True Crime novels or the Penny Dreadfuls, for show more now. This is the world of anti-hero worship, after all, thank you Dexter and Darth Vader. :)

So yeah, I had a really good time with this. I remember watching the movie and have a great time with it, too, in the theater. Little did I know that I was missing out on great books, too. :) I'm making up for lost time. :) Mistaken identities, con games, great play-acting, opportunity, and, of course, seeing the bad guys win. What's not to love?


And so I go to my second mind.

Closet homosexuality. This novel, with so many others of the time including movies, always made the bad guys homosexuals. This is trope made tripe and it's as stale as it is insulting and almost entirely distasteful to modern readers, if it wasn't already so to people back then. I chose to read it as a buddy novel gone really wrong instead of thinly-veiled homosexuality, and I enjoyed it more, but the question still remains. I can write it off as a sign of the times or general ignorance or a cynical pandering to popular conceptions, or I can think again and be sad that such an otherwise interesting and cool novel should now be relegated to the back-shelf of history because of the implicit homophobia it exhibits, even if there was never an explicit hate comment.

I'm willing to be generous, though. One doesn't toss out decades of literature just because the societal norms of today has changed significantly from those of our grandparents or great grandparents. We twist our noses and complain of the stench, but we still enjoy what is GOOD about what we've just read. That's where I'm standing, anyway. :) show less