Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson was a Scottish novelist, poet, and travel writer, and a leading representative of English literature. He was greatly admired by many authors, including Jorge Luis Borges, Ernest Hemingway, Rudyard Kipling and Vladimir Nabokov.
Most modernist writers dismissed him, however, because he was popular and did not write within their narrow definition of literature. It is only recently that critics have begun to look beyond Stevenson's popularity and allow him a place in the Western canon.
Now, we know that life is only a stage to play the fool upon as long as the part amuses us. There was one more convenience lacking to modern comfort; a decent, easy way to quit that stage; the back stairs to liberty; or, as I said this moment, Death’s private door.
I was still onboard with the above passage, the tone is somewhat pulpy, the hand heavy and all that. There is a gaslit menace. London is atmospheric, yes--we can see. Matter then propel along, almost hastily. We may consider striking that "almost". The entire titular story appears rushed. The subsequent two are likewise garish and support the notion that Stevenson was toying with his own Holmes and Watson.
I regard the final two pieces as the matters of interest. These are two historical fiction pieces dealing with the late medieval/early modern period. Both are concerned with hospitality and both explore dialogue between the host and the wayward (or fugitive, as the case be). The first one features Francois Villon so it wins in my book. I was curious about the relationship between the two tales, however my budget copy lacked an introduction or any other editorial notation. It is likely worth exploring. 2.3 stars
The Suicide Club is an average adventure tale from Stevenson that loses most of its intrigue after the first chapter. The other stories, A Lodging for a Night and The Sire de Maletroit's Door, were both worth reading; they were a much better demonstration of man's darker side.
These short stories were quite riveting for me. The continuing story of the prince and his companion really did have me on the edge of my seat at certain points. The middle story was the low point, in my opinion. It just doesn't stand out because not much happens after the opening events. The last story was another gripping one, the ending so uncertain until the last. Stevenson naturally has a very long-winded way of getting around to the action, but in my experience, the descriptions bring you into the world if you can get the flowery language to flow in your mind.
There is not a lot for modern readers to like here. You could watch an episode of Goosebumps for more twists and turns, plotwise. The prose is only notable because it involves a style of language that no one uses today, which makes it appear original and new in its own way, but no one could write this way today unless they were writing historical fiction.