"I hope it will be set in California. In a way, I made a mistake, because a New Jersey policeman can't operate that way in New York. But in California, he can move between different counties"
About this Quote
Highsmith’s genius often lives in the gap between moral chaos and bureaucratic order, and this line is her coolly practical doorway into that tension. She’s talking like a craftsperson, almost blandly: jurisdiction, counties, plausibility. Yet the subtext is pure Highsmith. A “policeman” isn’t just a plot function; he’s the embodiment of constraint, the thin procedural membrane meant to keep violence, obsession, and deceit from spilling everywhere. So she looks for a setting where that membrane is porous.
The “mistake” she names isn’t really geographical; it’s structural. New York, in her imagination, is dense, legible, over-administered. A New Jersey cop trying to “operate that way” runs into hard borders: laws, paper trails, watchful institutions. California, by contrast, becomes an authorial solvent. The ability to “move between different counties” isn’t merely a logistical fix; it’s a license for drift, pursuit, reinvention. It’s the same psychological landscape her characters crave: a place where identity can be rewritten and accountability can be delayed just long enough for something terrible to feel inevitable.
There’s a sly irony, too, in how she frames freedom as an administrative loophole. Highsmith isn’t romanticizing the West; she’s exploiting its fragmentation. Her suspense thrives when authority is mobile, ambiguous, and slightly out of place - when the man supposed to impose order can cross lines as easily as her criminals do. In that small, almost throwaway production note, you can hear her larger worldview: morality may be fixed, but enforcement is negotiable.
The “mistake” she names isn’t really geographical; it’s structural. New York, in her imagination, is dense, legible, over-administered. A New Jersey cop trying to “operate that way” runs into hard borders: laws, paper trails, watchful institutions. California, by contrast, becomes an authorial solvent. The ability to “move between different counties” isn’t merely a logistical fix; it’s a license for drift, pursuit, reinvention. It’s the same psychological landscape her characters crave: a place where identity can be rewritten and accountability can be delayed just long enough for something terrible to feel inevitable.
There’s a sly irony, too, in how she frames freedom as an administrative loophole. Highsmith isn’t romanticizing the West; she’s exploiting its fragmentation. Her suspense thrives when authority is mobile, ambiguous, and slightly out of place - when the man supposed to impose order can cross lines as easily as her criminals do. In that small, almost throwaway production note, you can hear her larger worldview: morality may be fixed, but enforcement is negotiable.
Quote Details
| Topic | Writing |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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