There’s a fine art to hallucinatory writing. You have to hook the reader for one but the most difficult aspect of that style of writing is to sustain a fevered intensity over the course of the narrative. Overdone, the style becomes grating and the suspension of disbelief evaporates. At the same time, once engaged in this vein, you have to commit to it otherwise the reader will throw their hands up in disgust at having followed your premise. Herein lies the dilemma.

Cornell Woolrich typically maintains the intensity by clipped descriptions, staccato and fractured protagonists and lots of plot twists, he really piles it on aiming to keep you breathless.

This is a simple tale about how far a man will go to hide a secret and the consequences of a rash decision that continue to haunt him, tainting every relationship. It is without any doubt breathless but the rub here is that it isn’t hallucinatory as it promised to be. Plot is substituted for fever. Great plot and high-wire suspense, still I would have preferred fever.