Naturally, the woke generation will only see this novel in terms of what they view as sexist and racist language (failing, as they always do, to realize that this novel is an accurate depiction of the times and NOT the views of the author). 

What it actually is is a brilliant dissection of both Mexican (the corrupt petty officials and death penalty for things like slapping a cop) and American (sexual repression) societies in the late 30s, the class distinctions and distortions, the petty differences between men, an expose of Hollywood corruption--already completely corrupt in 1937 according to the central character, one example of the view of the author coming through one of his characters, with references to the Hays Office and Mann Act and how they both fascistically propagandized society to a false morality--and a thrilling novel of crime in the inimitable Cain fashion. 

It also explores matters of love and sex--how a chill goes through you along with a million thoughts when a girl finally says yes--in a way the modern novel always fails to do, touches on topics concerning high Art and idealism, and leaves us with the secret that true beauty always has some terror in it. There is also a fairly deep exploration of class, illustrated through the main character's interaction with his Mexican lover, but also inherent in comments about how the only thing an Irishman hates more than the landlord is another Irishman. It also features slang like hooked up, slow roll, shade, and crib that wouldn't become part of the modern idiom for another half century. 

It's not quite the masterpiece of his more famous works, but it's awfully close and not as weird as the dullards who have reviewed it seem to think. It's just real.