I should not re-read old favourites. And I rarely do. The prime reason I choose not to re-read books a lot is simply because I want fresh experiences, stories I have not read before, and every book I re-read takes time away from anything that is new and different. Even if I have forgotten most or all of a book, it’s in my head somewhere, previously conquered, it will not be an original experience, I did download it to my little grey cells already. There’s also the shock of discovering that beloved old books inevitably have parts that just have not aged well. The Far Cry has parts that have not aged well; I was hoping that would not be the case, but there’s some dubious 1950s narrow-mindedness on display. Some characters with a few lousy attitudes…and yet, if there are degrees of this stuff, it’s interesting that in just about any paragraph in this book where a character thinks or speaks in dated stereotypes that character also reflects on how wrong they may be, and they ponder the other viewpoint. I dunno, it’s a very odd aspect to the book: you’d have to see what you make of the not-aged-well stuff yourself, but Fred Brown at least goes to the trouble of arguing against any crap attitudes that he gives to characters.
Anyway, and getting back to my original train of thought, re-reading has been tempting; I wouldn’t say I’ve got bit by the bug, but Wodehouse, Bob Shaw, and Fredric Brown these days, are getting me to revisit stories I already did. The Far Cry is, at first glance, an odd choice, because I remember the trick, the solution to the Mystery. But I wanted to see the mechanics of it as it led up to the final scene of a guy losing his mind, picking up a knife, and chasing his wife out the kitchen door and out into the desert. Previously, this man had become obsessed with an eight-year-old cold case - and the whole book had been him poking about, trying to discover why a man named Nelson had chased his bride to be out that same kitchen door and killed her.
The twist is that she didn’t die all those years ago. She got away - the corpse found months later was a different woman (that’s a late revelation; my re-read cleared up whether there never was a body buried, though that would be hard to reverse, or did Fred Brown pull some other trick in terms of the “she never did die that day, so the evidence saying she did needs to dissolve, including the body found”? There was a body - cops and newspaper reports from eight years earlier confirmed it - it just wasn’t Jenny Ames. Little twist: our killer Nelson had lured at least one other bride to be out to the lonely cottage and murdered her).
Big Twist: Jenny disappeared and became Vi, and our amateur sleuth, George, is married to her. While he’s been looking into her tragic case, sequestered near Taos, New Mexico, and slowly become obsessed with it, obsessed with the cottage she spent her last night in (George rents it), and obsessed with alcohol. Not a good combination. Fresh from a nervous breakdown, a little unstable and advised to relax and become a fellow who can hold a job again, George does the wrong thing. He tries to solve that old murder, and discovers he is married to the “murder victim”. His marriage to Vi has long been loveless, the two can barely tolerate each other, and soon Jenny/Vi is stuck with a horrible case of knife-wielding deja vu.
Really amazing details:
The slight ambiguity of the reveal and final paragraphs: is Vi really Jenny? George puts some final pieces together just as he’s losing his sanity…but the book ends with him trying to kill his wife, leaving it kind of hanging, whether or not Jenny has become, of all people, Vi. I think this is delicious; we can assume that George has become trapped in a dead marriage with a woman whose “murder” (greatly exaggerated) he has been investigating…buuuuuuut we don’t really know to the point of absolute certainty that Vi was Jenny eight years ago. This is a wonderfully nightmarish aspect to the whole story. Is this just George going mad?!
The little hints and clues that Jenny has survived, and become Vi, and married George (or, uh, probably did all those things!), are put masterfully in place and of course are just circumstantial enough to make the final reveal both shocking, and just ever so slightly questionable.
The closing of the loop: Beginning the book with a flashback of a killer chasing a woman outside with a knife, and ending the book with the same scene, same woman (unless George is just bonkers), different guy eight years later.
This will probably be the only book I spoil this thoroughly, while doing a review. This is an example of how this author’s mind works, and if, in spoiling it, it gets you curious about his work overall, then maybe it was a good move. Maybe this review will be gone soon, and replaced with a non-spoiler review. But for now, the only way I could revel in revisiting this chilling, clever plot was by showing you why I love it, without hedging.