Lincoln Fargo, the patriarch of the Fargo clan, at the beginning of the book, is 60 or 65, he doesn't know which. In this musing on his front porch, I could relate:
"it was strange, shocking, the number of things he no longer cared about, could no longer trust. He had seen and had all that was within his power to see and have. He knew the total, the absolute lines of his periphery. Nothing could be added. There was now only the process of taking away. He wondered if it was like that with everyone, and he decided that it must be. And he wondered how they felt, and reasoned that they must feel about as he. That was all there was to life: a gift that was slowly taken away from you. An Indian gift. You started out with a handful of something and ended up with a handful of nothing. The best things were taken away from you last when you needed them worst. When you were at the bottom of the pot, when there was no longer a reason for life, then you died. It was probably a good thing.
he had no use for Life. Very little, at any rate.
He was pretty well stripped, but it had been a good long game and the amusement was worth something. It wasn't so much the loss as the losing he minded. If there were some way of calling the thing a draw, he would have pulled back his chair willingly enough."

Grant Fargo, Lincoln's son, is a bum dAndy. He likes to dress well, but he has no money and no job. He lives off his parents. He used to be a printer, but when they brought in the linotypes, he refused to learn to run them, so he lost his job.
This is strange parallel to my own life. I used to be a printer. I was a printer who set type on IBM selectrics, I was a printer when they came out with computer typesetting machines, but when they came out with desktop publishing, that spelled the end of my career. That's when all the companies that used to buy the typesetting shop's work, bought their own machines, and set their type in-house. Ah, such is life:
"...'you, now. How long have you been here?'
'if it's important,' said Grant, 'it's approximately 3 years.'
Lincoln studied the answer, nodded a reluctant agreement.
'I guess it ain't any longer than that. But, here you are – young, strong, a man, no one to look after but yourself and with a good trade. And you won't work. You're willin' to go on forever, living off your parents, begging spending money –'
'that ain't -- that's not fair!' Grant cried out indignantly. 'I'm quite willing, anxious to work. How do you suppose I feel after spending half my life to learn a trade and then be put out of a job by a machine! I've worked on the Dallas News and the Star in Kansas City and -- '
'seems to me I'd learn how to run one of the machines.'
'I won't! Never!' Grand exclaimed so hotly that his father almost looked upon him with favor. He liked a man with principles, even if they were the wrong kind. 'I'll set type by hand, like it was meant to be set, or not at all!' "
I had an older brother like that. He moved back to Albuquerque with my mom and dad when they retired, saying that he would take care of them when they got old. But when my mom died, he resented having to take care of my dad. My dad got so sick, I brought him home to live with me, then my brother went to go live with his caretaker. He ended up in a nursing home in New Mexico all alone, though I looked after him from far away in San Jose California. He got covid in November of 2020 and died. I miss him :-(

Myrtle Fargo, who is married to Alfred, the banker's assistant, doesn't have anything to do during the day while Alfred is at work, so she goes to visit her cousin Bella.
This reminds me of my mama:
"she was a tall, well-built girl with a daring coiffure which allowed a black curling Fringe of bangs across her forehead. Now, as she Coolly looked at Myrtle, an unpleasant smile curving her red lips, she drew the robe more tightly around her and gave the bangs a bored Pat.
'Well?' she said.
'why -- why, I was just passing by, Bella...'
'yes?'
'well – well, I hadn't seen you in such a long time, I thought I'd just stop in and see how you were.'
'I'm all right,' said Bella. 'I've been lying down.'
'oh. Well, I hope you haven't been ill.'
'no. But I'm going to lie down again.'
'well... Well, if you're lying down, you must be ill.'
'not necessarily,' said Bella, and a secret amusement grew in the malicious depths of her eyes. 'is that the only time you lie down?'
Myrtle reddened. She stammered idiotic meaningless things. She heard herself asking if she could borrow a cup of tea, though goodness knew tea was the one thing she and Alfred always had plenty of." My mama was of the persuasion that if you are lying down in the daytime, you must be sick. That's I guess the Midwest way of thinking?

The salesman for the harvester company, which sells farming equipment in the valley where Verdun is, is extremely talented at his job. Except for when he visits mr. Deutsch, the German.
" 'good. I will buy a stacker from you, also a baler. The best grade you have, please.'
'well, say!' beamed the salesman. 'I'm certainly glad to get your order. And you're getting it in at just the right time, too. A month or so from now I might not be able to handle it for you.'
'so?'
'yep. It looks like we're about to have a strike on our hands. A bunch of these radicals have got together and are asking for a 10-hour day, and an hour for lunch, and a lot of fancy stuff like restrooms and doctors to look after 'em when they hurt their little fingers or get a backache... Oh, it's a sight, mr. Deutsch! You just couldn't believe the nerve of some of them birds....'
his voice trailed off into silence, and his heavy face fell ludicrously. For he had become suddenly conscious that his usually adaptable personality had again struck a discord with the old man.
'I guess I'd better keep my mouth shut,' he said babyishly. 'I seem to put my foot in it, everything I say.'
'Noo,' said the old man Mildly, 'I was just going to ask why the company didn't give the men what they wanted.'
'well – but but why should they! They don't have to! There's plenty of other men that'll be darned glad to have their jobs!'
Deutsch shook his head and looked away, seemingly absorbed in a flight of crows hovering over a distant haystuck. He was thinking that the cities, perhaps, needed to look into the future even more than the country did. They should look ahead for 40, 80, 160 years, to a strong and healthy plain of population – or to an overworked, weakened, underfed, and infertile desert.
The salesman smiled patronizingly. 'you just don't understand how it is with these unions, mr. Deutsch. You've lived on a farm all your life.'
'I have not,' said the farmer. 'in the old country, in Mecklenburg, I worked in a factory for a number of years. It was a fire brick factory, and we had a very good union there. We had restrooms, and medical attention, and a 10-hour day. Although we could work longer for extra pay – and twice a day we had periods in which to rest and eat. Vendors were admitted at those time with sandwiches, cakes, coffee, beer...'
'haw, haw!' Simpson guffawed, making one last effort to get himself in Deutsch's good graces. 'I'll bet you didn't get much work done, did you?'
the farmer sighed. Stooping, he picked up a brown Clod and crumbled it between his fingers. 'perhaps,' he said, 'we had better be moving along.'
This makes me sad.

Jeff Parker, Verden's only lawyer, is so naive. When he is elected to the legislature, he goes to the state capitol in Lincoln, Nebraska, for the first time. He thinks he'll spend up to $4 a week for a hotel, and he's worried that he won't be able to find one that cheap, because his job doesn't pay much. Finding one that looks fairly respectable, Jeff asks at the counter how much it costs. The boy tells him $3. Still thinking that's the weekly price, Parker takes a room there. He is surprised to find that it has its own bath, but he thinks that's supposed to be for the whole hallway, so when he goes to take a bath, he hangs a sign on the door of his room that says:
taking bath.
Come in.
U-R next.
When he gets out of the bathtub, he sees a fat man sitting on his bed. This is the beginning of the loss of his innocence:
"the fat man reached into his inside pocket and withdrew an envelope. He tossed it onto the dresser. 'that envelope has $1,000 in it. No, hold on! Listen to what I've got to say. That money is yours no matter what kind of opinion you give me. If it's adverse to the railroad's interests, it's still yours. I'll leave it there, and thank you, and get up and walk out. Now, that's not bribery, is it?'
Jeff grinned. 'sure, it is.'
'no, it's not, senator. It's merely a retainer for interests – adverse or favorable – in the railroad's affairs. I'm not going to force it on you; but I am going to ask you a question: how do you expect to live on your salary as a legislator?'
'why, I'll get by all right,' the attorney declared.
'How? What are you paying for this room – three or four dollars a day?"'
'three or four dollars a day!' Jeff exclaimed. 'of course not. I'm paying –' he choked, suddenly, as a hideous fear billowed over him. Livid and shaking, he sank down upon the bed.
'Umm-hmm,' said Cassidy. 'a lot of the boys make that mistake.'
'I've got to get out of here!'
'where are you going to? What's a prominent man, a man of affairs like you, going to do -- stop in a flophouse? That's just about what your salary would pay for. You'd probably have to do your own washing, at that.'
'well – how do all the other legislators get by?'
Cassidy spread his hands. 'how do you think?'
'are you sure,' said Jeff, miserably, 'that they're charging me $3 a day?'
'there's a rate card on the door, if you want to check it. And that doesn't include meals; it's actually the smallest part of your expenses. I suppose'--he squinted thoughtfully – 'you might live on twice your salary. If you were very careful.' "

Alfred Courtland has had a rash on his chest for years. He keeps ordering some pomade, that has mercury in it, and rubs it on his chest, which helps the itching. When he steals the money from his boss, Bella's father, and goes to Lincoln to bank it, he goes to a doctor to get a thorough medical work-up:
"Tower scrubbed his hands and left the room, not to return again in Courtland's presencd. The big doctor looked at Courtland thoughtfully and shook his head. And the air of the room suddenly seemed stifling to the Englishman.
'is it something serious?' He asked.
McClintic made no answer. Stepping around to the end of the table, he slid his hand under the back of courtland's head.
'married, Mister courtland?'
'no.'
'that's good. Very good.'
'I am married,' said Courtland, abruptly. 'is there anything –'
'no children?'
'no.'
'well, that's good, at least. Are you pretty well fixed, financially?'
'quite.'
'that's good, too. Can you feel my finger fingers there – do you know what part of the brain that is?'
'I used to, but I don't anymore.'
'that's the cerebellum. It's the coordination or inhibiting center for the cerebrum and the medulla oblongata. To oversimplify, it keeps the other brains on the right track – stops 'em from making damned fools of themselves.'
'I see.'
'I don't believe I'd drink anymore if I were you mr. Courtland. You need to have that little hinder brain in as good working order as possible. What there is left of it.'
Coyrtland sat up with a cry.'What there is left of it! What do you mean?'
'I'm sorry. You have syphilis of the brain.' "

Edie's Son Robert, is a nine-year-old hurricane of a little boy; he gets in more trouble than any boy I've ever heard of. When Edie finds a job teaching school in another district, she leaves her boy at her parent's home, where his grandfather takes care of him. When his grandfather and his cronies are playing a card game in the theater, out of sheer boredom Bob gets into the craziest of schemes:
"in the nine-year-old mind, one object immediately demands comparison with another; and the bologna presented no problem to Bob whatsoever. Yet the thing was at once too simple and too difficult. He could not picture himself strolling down the street, employing the sausage as a caricature of the only bodily member which it closely resembled, without seeing unavoidable disaster for himself. Reluctantly, for the scheme had startling possibilities, he gave it up and picked up the long wedge-shaped chunk of liver.
It was some moments before he could decide what the liver was, and when the solution came to him, he was amazed that it had not come to him sooner. It was a tomgue, of course. Anybody could see it was a tongue. That's what it was. A tongue. And a person would have to be very nicey-nice indeed to object to a boy's showing his tongue.
Stretching his lips, he forced the broad end of the slimy meat in over his gums, and stood up in front of the mirror. The result was even better than he had hoped for.
He took a handful of soap, worked it into a lather, and spread it over the 'tongue,' ringing his lips with the froth.
he bugged his eyes and almost frightened himself.
peeking out at the players, he carefully inched the screen around until it shielded the window. He started to lean out; then his bugged eyes fell upon the curtain cord. That was it. The final touch.
He looped the cord around his neck.
Then, eyess popping, 'tongue' and mouth drooling, arms waving in frantic appeal, he leaned out over the street.
Little Paulie Pulasky was the first to see him. She had watched him go into the opera house, and had lingered in front of her father's store solely for the pleasure of looking upon him again. She giggled when she saw The apparition at the window, not recognizing it as her own and greatly beloved Bobby Dillon. But seeing him for who he was at last, seeing him perish before her very eyes, she set up such a weeping and wailing that the street was almost instantly filled."

As another reader wrote in her review, "this is NASTY. And good."
the cast of small-minded characters in this valley in the Nebraska of the late 19th century is so creatively crafted, and the story so sneaks up on you, and takes you over, that it's just delightful.
A fairly different kind of Jim Thompson novel. It's my favorite so far.
( )

This is not much like his later crime novels. It's a family drama with some humor and incidental crime. Some personal interest to me because part of my mother's side of the family lived near the setting during the same time. ( )

I saw another book by the author at library book sale and was intrigued enough by its cover to read something by him available through the library---the only ones available were by interlibrary loan. I guess I don't enjoy grubby and mean as much as I thought I might; I gave it a 38-page chance and read the end and decided not to finish it.