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Well, I seem to have a thing for spoiled rich brats like Sebastian Flyte and Dickie Greenleaf, who have much in common. Including that the actors who portrayed their film versions were so very handsome. And then there's Tom Ripley. In the same way I should feel repulsed by my attraction to Zac Efron in his portrayal of Ted Bundy, I should probably feel repulsed by my attraction to Tom Ripley. But I don't--he can take me out boating any day.

Oh, the Talented Ms Highsmith! Unlike in the movie version, she directly addresses the gay elephant in the room. I'm not queer, I'm just obsessed with you and literally want to have your babies. Or, in the letter Tom fantasizes about writing to Marge. Me and Dickie are very happy together. Excuse me while I go and find some Dickie Greenleaf/Tom Ripley fan fiction.

On second reading I was constantly reminded of Andrew Cunanan (Vulgar Favors: Andrew Cunanan, Gianni Versace, and the Largest Failed Manhunt in U.S. History) and this is once more a testament to Patricia Highsmith's skill. Having recently finished Muriel Spark's The Public Image, also set in Rome and dealing with media sensation, it struck me how much of this book revolves around newspapers/tabloids. And so much correspondence, which I love!

Having seen the movie a few too many times, I found myself missing the character of Meredith Logue, but the author can't be faulted for that. And where's the romance between Ripley and Peter Smith-Kingsley, damnit? The movie ending is probably slightly more effective than the one in the book--there's more of a sense of inner turmoil rather than Tom's cue-pure-evil-smirk-triumph. Why does the triumph of evil feel so good sometimes? Perhaps only in fiction.