I ought to leave this as just "DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT," because it makes me happy, but it's not really a fitting conclusion to my triptych of Cain reviews. (And why have I still not reviewed the superior Mildred Pierce, Double Indemnity, and The Postman Always Rings Twice? Your guess is as good as mine.)
I'll say, first of all, that a two-star book by Cain is still worth reading, because few writers do the sickening allure of a downward slide to hell better than James M. Cain. And this novel, like Serenade, is compellingly strange--plus, who doesn't want to read grit lit by one of the founding fathers of noir?
The Butterfly is about Jess, an upright (read: self-righteous) man who has lived alone since his wife ran out on him. When a pretty girl turns up one day and asks him for food, Jess finds himself immediately drawn to her by an almost-uncontrollable lust--unfortunately, she's his long-lost daughter, Kady, who is washing up on his doorstep after her own misfortunes. Jess does his best to fight his attraction to her, if we assume a pretty low bar for what his best actually is, but Kady isn't really troubled by such things. When she can't draw him into sex, she settles for drawing him into making and selling moonshine, and for a while, the novel is about the two of them locked in a mutually self-destructive tango of illicit attraction and criminality. Then Cain throws a couple of spanners into the works as Kady's sister shows up with Kady's illegitimate son, recently recovered from their mother's lover, Moke, who'd kidnapped him; the baby's father, Kady's beloved ex-boyfriend Wash, follows along shortly thereafter. The novel loses its tightness but gains a valuable source of drama as the new characters complicate things with their own desires and agendas, relieving the pressure on Jess and Kady in some ways and increasing it in others.
All of this is a pretty good set-up, and the complications develop naturally enough. The huge problem of this book, though, is Jess's motivation: this seems like a gross thing to say, but Cain simply doesn't flesh out Jess's desire for his daughter enough for the huge role it's required to play in the plot. The damaging, damning ferocity of Jess's lust--and arguably his love--is the engine that drives the novel's third act. It's overwhelming enough that Jess proceeds in his final plans with no hesitation or guilt, and for me to really believe that he wouldn't even blink at the destruction he's caused, I have to believe that this feeling is utterly overwhelming to him, and Cain never quite sells it. (I also have to believe that Kady is powerfully attracted to him in return, if less overwhelmingly so, and I don't buy that either, because Jess is about the least attractive man I could think of: stern, judgmental, manipulative, and preachy. But Kady is interesting and believable in other ways, so I'm willing to grade Cain on a curve here.) The ending is great, as is the atmosphere and setting, but Jess is a black hole at the novel's center, and it can never quite escape how much he's dragging it down.