Mon 8 Nov 2021
Reviewed by Dan Stumpf: FREDRIC BROWN – His Name Was Death.
Posted by Steve under Reviews[7] Comments
FREDRIC BROWN – His Name Was Death. Dutton, hardcover, 1954. Bantam #1436, paperback, 1956. Black Lizard, paperback, 1987/1991.
Fredric Brown at the very top of his form: tricky, entertaining, and compulsively readable.
This is ostensibly the story of Darius Conn, successful wife-killer and novice counterfeiter, and his attempt to track down some bogus bills that have gone astray. Having already gotten away with the murder of his wife, Conn sees no problem with committing a few more perfect crimes to cover his latest felony, so he tracks each bogus bills to whoever’s holding it, and… and Death becomes a fast-moving and sardonic tale of multiple murders.
But that’s only on the surface. The genius of His Name Was Death is that the reader thinks he’s reading one story, when Brown is actually telling a completely different tale. And when the hidden story surfaces, it rears its surprising head with all the fatalistic power of a Greek Tragedy.
There’s a wonderful moment toward the end of the book when Conn’s crime spree seems to be heading irreversibly towards another murder: The reader can see and feel that there are only a few pages left, and the reader knows this story will end soon and that it shouldn’t end with the killer going free, but that it must.
And Fredric Brown resolves the issue with the brilliance that was uniquely his. This is a top-notch tale and one I recommend highly.
November 8th, 2021 at 7:54 pm
Brown pulled more rugs out from under more readers perfectly fairly than just about any writer I know, and more successfully more often.
He didn’t need tricks, but they certainly deliver. Most of his work would be outstanding without the twist, the twist making them damn near perfect.
November 9th, 2021 at 1:44 am
Astute observation there about how turning the pages of a printed book, is a factor in the read.
November 9th, 2021 at 7:59 am
Very much so but I’m glad you mentioned a printed book. If I’m reading on a Kindle, I hardly ever know when the end is coming.
November 9th, 2021 at 11:38 am
Yes indeed. Subtle, but (to my mind anyway) quite crucial differences. A paper book has a familiar, comfortable weight-in-the-hand specific to the page count, dimensions, binding. You know where you are in your progress at all times.
At least for me anyway, this never plays a part in my decision which/what to read. From the stack of books I choose for my pocket just before stepping out my door in the morning, I take the one which suits my activities that day, or my wardrobe, or my pocket size. Or, I take the one which suits the weather.
Or maybe I want to pace myself with the one I’m enjoying most; or maybe I want to skim one, fold one up, close-read one. I might want to throw a poor read back in the used-bin halfway through; maybe loan/gift it away to a pal if it’s good.
Myriad little factors keep me with paperbacks. The genius of light, portable, disposable printed works is surpassed by nothing else man has ever invented, in my opinion. Books topple tyranny, support the spirit, feed the mind. Greatest invention ever …except for maybe window air conditioners…
November 9th, 2021 at 1:24 pm
Even better: Central Air.
November 9th, 2021 at 1:24 pm
Otherwise I agree with you, 100 percent!
November 9th, 2021 at 2:33 pm
p.s. I also like the inward sensation of ‘good citizenship’ I get when I read a paperback in public.
These days, everything is so tense and people are all so edgy. Holding a printed book open in your lap says, “Hey everyone, you can relax around me, I’m a reader, see? I’m harmless, I’m open-minded, and I’m a good neighbor. Wanna know what I’m reading? I’ll be glad tell you”.
Whereas some of my fellow-pedestrians often give off a “squirrely” or “sneaky” vibe as they gaze fixedly into their hi-tech smart gadget right beside me. You never know what they’re up to. The unspoken message I get from them is, “haha I’m scanning your credit cards…” or something equally shady.