What do you think?
Rate this book


368 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1982



"You know what you got in this city, this fucked-up toilet of a naked fucking city? You know what you got? You got eight million ways to die." ~Eight Million Ways to DieMatt Scudder, how much do I love thee? Let me count the eight million ways.

"I'm looking for a particular pimp."
"They're all particular. Some of them are downright finicky."
He was holding up his end of a typical alcoholic conversation, wherein two drunks take polite turns talking aloud to their own selves.
“There are eight million stories in the naked city,” he intoned. “You remember that program? Used to be on television some years back.”
“I remember.”
“They had that line at the end of every show. ‘There are eight million stories in the naked city. This has been one of them.’”
“I remember it.”
“Eight million stories,” he said. “You know what you got in this city, this fucked-up toilet of a naked fucking city? You know what you got? You got eight million ways to die.”

I’d heard a man at a meeting who told of coming out of a blackout on the Brooklyn Bridge. He was over the railing and he had one foot in space when he came to. He retrieved the foot, climbed back over the railing, and got the hell out of there. Suppose he’d come to a second later, with both feet in the air.
