Coming for the hardboiled crime story, stay for the rich human insights.
On one level, John D. MacDonald's 1961 novel is simply a crackerjack tale of three people: an honest but realistic small-town Florida cop, his sociopath-criminal brother-in-law, and the wife and sister between them who believes Dwight McAran who simply believes her brother from the hill country never got a fair chance from the world to play life straight. When McAran gets out of prison after five years, Fenn Hillyer and his wife Meg take him in; Meg believing he'll go straight, Fenn knowing better but also knowing that even a killer is family. Eventually Meg has to make a choice between the two, and her choice could wind up getting both men — and a lot of other people — killed.
On another level, this is a story which depends on people seeing one another for what they really are, and ONE MONDAY WE KILLED TEM ALL is full of people who have lost their illusions, are in the process of losing them ... or never had them. And MacDonald has the reputation he has because of his extra gear for this sort of insight:
“All prison ever does for most men like McAran is prime them and fuse them like a bomb. You won’t know where or how that bomb is going to go off.”
"Why, if a man knows he’s doing the right thing, it doesn’t matter to him that any cheap member of the Common Council from the mayor on down can spit right smack in his face and walk away smiling. It doesn’t matter he’s never owned a new car and never will, and he can’t afford a pair of shoelaces except on the years that end with an odd number. It doesn’t matter at all that he’s stuck forever in a dirty little city, because they let him carry a gun and a badge and they let him defend the rights of mankind."
"As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a policeman. Most small boys get over this. I didn’t. I don’t know why it should have been this way with me. Most men who become cops do so when other dreams become unattainable."
"Such trivia as the careful timing of mutual orgasm becomes a ponderously serious thing, whereas all true lovers know that the times of love are like an endless shelf of books."
"I can walk down a busy city street and pick out the ex-cons who have done long time with a good chance of being right, but oddly enough some of the ones I pick out will be career enlisted personnel in civilian dress. They have lost the normal mobility and elasticity of the muscles of the face, the expressive muscles. There is a restriction of normal eye movement, a greater dependence on peripheral vision. The range of the conversational voice is reduced. There is a restriction of gesture and a reluctance to move quickly. Somewhat the same effect can be achieved as a parlor game with the normal person by asking someone to balance a book on their head and then continue to walk, sit, talk, drink."
"I spent the most miserable years of my life back in the hills, darling, but it wasn’t the fault of the hills.”
"I have learned that in the management and manipulation of human beings, control can best be exercised by responding to a question with a question."
"You seem to think warmth is weakness, my friend. It makes you a bit of a prig. It starves your wife of her proper due, and it isolates you from your kids. And somehow I don’t think it makes you any better in your job.”
"The hunt appeals to an area which lies below the heart of man."
"I’m going to kill you. I have to tell you first, so you’ll know.”
"The world moves, and news fades as quickly as the retinal image of a flash bulb. But Johnny Hooper has observed that while it was going on, it was like being trapped in a burning fireworks factory along with ten thousand starving ducks, after having been rolled through an acre of poison ivy."
And there's a lot more of these, mostly a lot longer, and every single one is pure prescient pleasure. That's John D. MacDonald's gift to the world, and we should receive it with ceaseless grace.