The first in a series collecting, in uniform editions, all of the suspense and crime fiction of Cornell Woolrich. The first volume contains many stories that are seeing their first reprinting in book form in several years. Film noir expert Thomas Renzi has supplied an outstanding introduction to this volume, which includes many of Woolrich's best-known tales, including "Rear Window," "Marihuana," and over a dozen others. With a stunning cover by famed artist Matt Mahurin.
Cornell Woolrich is widely regarded as the twentieth century’s finest writer of pure suspense fiction. The author of numerous classic novels and short stories (many of which were turned into classic films) such as Rear Window, The Bride Wore Black, The Night Has a Thousand Eyes, Waltz Into Darkness, and I Married a Dead Man, Woolrich began his career in the 1920s writing mainstream novels that won him comparisons to F. Scott Fitzgerald. The bulk of his best-known work, however, was written in the field of crime fiction, often appearing serialized in pulp magazines or as paperback novels. Because he was prolific, he found it necessary to publish under multiple pseudonyms, including "William Irish" and "George Hopley" [...] Woolrich lived a life as dark and emotionally tortured as any of his unfortunate characters and died, alone, in a seedy Manhattan hotel room following the amputation of a gangrenous leg. Upon his death, he left a bequest of one million dollars to Columbia University, to fund a scholarship for young writers.
For a man who supposedly led a wretched life (according to Francis Nevins, his biographer) Cornell George Hopley-Woolrich sure could write. He also wrote as William Irish and George Hopley. His twisted tales of sinners and weaklings caught in fate’s unforgiving grasp shaped NOIR fiction more than the work of any other author.
I'd read about half the stories here before, but that means there were many I hadn't read. My favorite was a novella called The Night Reveals, in which it turns out a man's wife is a pyromaniac, sneaking out at night to set fires.
The world of Cornell Woolrich is dark. No, darker than that. The kind of dark that sinks into your guts and creeps up to your brain, filling you with an awful, smothering dread.
The fifteen stories collected here describe paranoia and madness, doomed criminals and ordinary men caught in desperate situations, usually of their own making. They are page-turners of the best kind, so loaded with white-knuckle suspense and yawning despair that I frequently caught myself pausing mid-scene, muttering “no no no, don’t do THAT!,” almost afraid to move on to the next paragraph, yet utterly compelled to do so.
These are not realistic stories. They hinge on coincidence and irrationality, or 90-degree turns from normalcy. They tell of a capricious world ruled by a cruel, taunting fate. You may be an ordinary, law-abiding citizen today, Woolrich warns, but you could be a dangerous, deranged killer by morning.
Not all of the stories are brilliant, but the many gems far outweigh the two or three middling ones. A few of them became more famous in later versions: “Speak to Me of Death” was expanded into the novel Night Has a Thousand Eyes and “It Had to Be Murder” is the source of the Hitchcock masterpiece “Rear Window.” The Centipede Press paperback edition is beautifully designed and subtly sequenced, with a creepy cover, high-quality paper, and a durable, sewn binding. It’s a terrific collection inside and out.
Contents:
Dead on Her Feet Dusk to Dawn Rear Window (a.k.a. "It Had to be Murder") Marihuana Murder in Wax Post-Mortem (a.k.a. "Death Wins the Sweepstakes") Speak to Me of Death (basis of "Night Has a Thousand Eyes") The Corpse and the Kid The Death of Me The Living Lie Down with the Dead The Night Reveals Three O'Clock Wardrobe Trunk (a.k.a "Dilemma of the Dead Lady") Finger of Doom (a.k.a. "I Won't Take a Minute"/"I'll Just Be a Minute") The Corpse Next Door
Woolrich possessed an uncanny ability to write outlandish storylines that couldn’t conceivably resolve in any rational way. And yet, nearly every one of these stories ends in a satisfying manner grounded in some form of reality. Bizarre and unlikely? Sure. But are they plausible? In a world where anything seems to be possible (both good and bad), I dare say these stories are, even if they’re a representation of what exists on the fringes.
It’s no surprise too that he was just a tiny bit fixated on death. I mean, it’s in the title, which also serves as one of stories. But even outside this volume, that factors into most of his writing. And even though he worked the hell out of every nook and cranny of the idea, he never grew tired of the possibilities it offered him. There may be many ways to skin a cat but as evidenced by his writing, there are even more ways to write about death. And he exhausted every single one of them. Just check out “Dead on Her Feet”, “The Death of Me”, and the eponymous “Speak to Me of Death” for examples of Woolrich’s death-defying macabre, where no one can outrun what’s coming.
Despite his fascination with morbidity, other themes or plot devices such as paranoia and confusion found their way into his writing. These appear in stories like “Dusk to Dawn”, “Marihuana”, and “Wardrobe Trunk”. Of course, death is still a predominant feature, but it takes a back seat to the terror-struck individuals running from crimes they’ve committed (or think they’ve committed) to create even bigger ones, worsening their chances of ever seeing the light of day again. Talk about shooting yourself in the foot to spite your freedom!
And then there’s Woolrich’s most well-known adaptation, “Rear Window”, which stands as an equal to its cinematic counterpart. As a Hitchcock devotee, I can attest to the film’s prowess. But having never read the story, I found it hard to imagine a literary version wringing the same kind of excitement out of me. But I should have known better. I’ve read enough Woolrich now to understand that he really is the king of noir suspense. So, it’s no wonder they decided to make a film out of it. Only Woolrich could generate that much hard-boiled tension from a man observing a neighbor from the comforts of home. And though it may be comfy, home is where I engage in my Woolrich intake, keeping me close to the fringes that have brought so many so few avenues for escape.
The men and women in these stories are doomed by destiny. Every move is the wrong move, and with each booming second they come closer to some inevitable, black denouement - usually incarceration or annihilation... As the 11th hour closes in, they are more and more willing to embrace the taboo, the unthinkable - the scramblings of a wild animal, desperate for life and freedom. "The beserk yowl of an enraged tomcat," a "hydrophobic dog," "a chicken that keeps going after its head is cut off" - the "people" on Woolrich's stories are anything but... They been reduced to the state of hunted beasts, common brutes; consumed by a primal, bestial anxiety...
"... like that game kids play with chalk marks called Hare and hounds - but with death as its quarry... An overwhelming sense of futility and disaster assailed him..."
Literally sick with guilt (the last story is a nod to The Tell-Tale Heart), though remorse not so much, these helpless, hapless individuals are thrust into desperate, violent situations beyond their control -
"Something has hold of us... something that's grown and grown until now it's like an octopus throttling us."
Yes, these are crime stories. And Cornell Woolrich is the - or at least one of the - fathers of the noir genre. But the word that truly characterizes these stories is SUSPENCE. These pages are vital with desperation. It's not a very cheery read, but it's a good one. Easy four stars.