The Deadly Percheron

by John Franklin Bardin, Jonathan Lethem (Introduction)

“Doctor, I’m losing my mind.” So begins John Franklin Bardin’s unconventional crime thriller in which a psychiatrist's attempts to help his patient lead to a dead-end world of amnesia and social outcasts. The Deadly Percheron is a murder mystery, poignant love story, and an unsettling and hallucinatory voyage into memory, madness, and despair.

Genres: Fiction, Mystery, Crime, Noir, Thriller, Horror, Classics

223 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1946

About the author

John Franklin Bardin was born in Cincinnati, Ohio on November 30, 1916. During his teens, he lost nearly all his immediate family to various ailments. As he approached thirty, he moved to New York City where during his adulthood he was an executive of an advertising agency, published ten novels and taught creative writing as well as advertising at the NEW SCHOOL FOR SOCIAL RESEARCH.

In 1946, Bardin entered a period of intense creativity during which he wrote three crime novels that were relatively unsuccessful at first, one of them not even being published in America until the late 1960s, but which have since become well-regarded cult novels. His best-regarded works, The Deadly Percheron, The Last of Philip Banter and Devil Take the Blue-Tail Fly experienced renewed interest in the 1970s when they were discovered by British readers.

Also involved in public relations and journalism, Mr. Bardin resided thereafter in New York City until his death.

Reviews

[Bill Kerwin · Rating 5 out of 5]

I like to think of John Franklin Bardin as Don Draper's older—and braver—brother. Brilliant but deeply scarred in his early years, Bardin expressed his creativity not only as one of the “madmen” but also as a writer of experimental mysteries, and this hobby—in addition to producing a few classic books—may have helped him to exorcise his demons and to guide him into a successful middle age.

John Franklin Bardin wrote ten mystery novels, but it is for first three—written in a remarkable burst of creativity in the years from 1944 to 1946—that he will be best remembered. Ignored in his lifetime, The Deadly Percheron, The Last of Philip Banter, and The Devil Take the Blue Tail Fly are respected today by connoisseurs of the genre for their twisted noir psychology and hallucinatory atmosphere.

Bardin was born in 1916 to an affluent family. Graduating from Cincinnati's elite public high school Walnut Hills, he studied engineering briefly at the University of Cincinnati, but an unfortunate series of calamities—beginning in his teens with his father's fatal heart attack and ending with his mother's institutionalization for paranoid schizophrenia—wiped out both his family and his fortune and deprived him of a college education.

He worked many odd jobs—everything from bench worker at a valve foundry to bouncer at a roller rink—but perhaps benefited most from being a clerk at a bookstore, where he read and educated himself. He moved to New York City in his early thirties and lived there most of his life. He spent the first half of that life in advertising (1944-1963), becoming Vice President and Director of Edwin Bird Wilson Inc, and the second half teaching Advertising and Creative Writing at the New School for Social Research and writing copy and doing publicity for various charities, including the United Jewish Appeal and the United Negro College Fund.

The Deadly Percheron begins like a nightmare, a joke, or a shaggy dog story: a young man walks into a psychiatrist's office, wearing a large scarlet hibiscus behind his ear, and says, “Doctor, I think I'm losing my mind.” Jacob Blunt tells Dr. George Matthews that he has been hired by three “little men” (Joe, Harry, and Eustache) to perform certain odd tasks: wear specific flowers in his hair, whistle loudly at Carnegie Hall, and give away quarters on the street. The doctor suspects Blunt must be hallucinating, but later, when he goes out with Blunt for a drink and actually meets Eustache the “leprechaun” ("an ordinary midget," he tell Jacob) he no longer knows what to think. But it seems Eustache has upped the ante. He no longer wants Jacob to give out quarters on the street, but percherons. (That's right, percherons. Those six foot high, 2000 pound horses.) And he's got one ready for Jacob to deliver right now, to Broadway actress Frances Raye, star of the musical Nevada!

Then things get much weirder: murder, disfigurement, amnesia, a mental hospital, loss of identity, and—above all—a hunger for answers and a way to “get back home.” (The last—perhaps not coincidentally—was Bardin's schizophrenic mother's abiding obsession.)

If you like mysteries—particular the ones which have the bizarre, hallucinatory qualities of a good 40's film noir, you should give The Deadly Percheron a try. Seldom will you find a mystery so intriguing and satisfying.

[Jeffrey Keeten · Rating 4 out of 5]

”Jacob Blunt was my last patient. He came into my office wearing a scarlet hibiscus in his curly blond hair. He sat down in the easy chair across from my desk, and said, ‘Doctor, I think I’m losing my mind.’”

Jacob Blunt seems perfectly sane, but the scarlet hibiscus in his hair begs to differ. He has a perfectly illogical explanation for that. A leprechaun, not the three inch tall Irish variety, but the American 3 foot tall variety, pays him to wear a different flower in his hair every day. Another leprechaun pays him to give away a certain number of quarters every day. The lad believes he is going crazy, which is a reasonable assumption.

Dr. George Matthews is suitably intrigued by the story and breaks numerous personal rules for himself by agreeing to go meet Eustace the Leprechaun. Matthews is amazed to discover he exists. He might be a Leprechaun, or he might be a midget, dwarf, small person, Lilliputian, hafling. Who can say? Of course, any reasonable person will just presume he is a small person running some kind of scam, or he could be a wealthy, certifiably insane munchkin. Regardless, the self proclaimed Leprechaun is not his client, but Jacob Blunt is, even if he has only been one for a matter of hours.

When the Leprechaun instructs Jacob Blunt to deliver a Percheron horse to Francis Raye, an actress, as a gift, Matthews suggests that Blunt get clear of the whole mess, but Blunt is an earnest, young man who insists on fulfilling his obligations.

I really appreciate the way that John Franklin Bardin describes people in this novel. ”The redhead was on the long divan in the center of the room, half-lying, half-sitting against a striped pillow. Her hair was long, loose, in lovely disarray. Another girl sat more stiffly beside her--a small, neat, childlike creature with soft-brown curls and an open, innocent look in her blue eyes. The redhead glanced up at us as we came into the room, her eyes intense green blurs in her beautiful, blank face.”

While George Matthews is waiting for a train to go home, he feels a sharp blow to his back and wakes up in an insane asylum with everyone referring to him as John Brown. I won’t go into details, but let's just say there is irrefutable evidence proving to the institution that he isn’t who he says he is.

The nightmare begins.

Now, in my opinion, if you find yourself incarcerated for insanity, the first thing that you should learn is what the institution wants from you. They will give you cues all along. I remember the episode of Penny Dreadful when Vanessa Ives ( Eva Green) is incarcerated, and I’m just sick to my stomach the whole episode, worried that those numbskulls will destroy that pretty mind of hers trying to cure her. I begged her, telepathically, to start giving them what they want so they start to believe she is sane. Matthews doesn’t buck the system for long. He has the proper training, after all, and soon he is playing the game. Still, he is a changed man when he comes out. The only job he can get is working in a restaurant on Coney Island. He doesn’t feel himself, but also doesn’t even look like himself.

”He was not old--about my age now that I studied his face--although he had seemed older at first glance. This was because his short cropped hair was gray streaked with white and his jaw, that showed the remains of strength, trembled spasmodically. But what made him really fascinatingly ugly was the wide, long, angry red scar that traversed his face diagonally from one ear across the nose and down to the root of the jaw at the base of his other cheek. It was an old scar that had knit badly and in healing had pulled and twisted the skin until the face it rode had the texture of coarse parchment and grimace of a clown.”

So how did he get this scar? What exactly happened to him between the time he felt that sharp blow and woke up in the mental hospital? ”Scars make crimes.” Or in my mind, crimes make scars.

Just before beginning this book, I’d finished the book Helter Skelter by Vincent Bugliosi, but Charlie Manson wasn’t quite ready to let go of me yet. ”But it was the last entry in the notebook that brought memories rushing back to my mind helter-skelter, head over heels.” What are the chances! I was first struck by this seemingly very modern word appearing in a book as old as 1946, but then, after some research, I realized the words date back to the Middle English period of the 16th century, skelte hasten.

John Franklin Bardin wrote several books, but there was a productive period starting in 1946 with The Deadly Percheron reaching publication, followed by The Last of Philip Banter and Devil Take the Blue-Tailed Flyk where he had more like a tiger by the tail. He said his influences were Graham Greene, Henry Green, and Henry James, but there are certainly elements of Edgar Allan Poe at work in this book. He never became very popular until a British audience rediscovered him in the 1970s. Now, he is considered by many to be one of the most important American noir writers.

The plot of this novel becomes more and more complex as Matthews researches his recent past, trying to reassemble the missing pieces caused by his amnesia. Bardin overcomplicates the plot, which will stretch the believability of many readers, but his writing style is fresh, muscular, and gritty. I’m certainly looking forward to reading the other two novels from his most intriguing and successful writing period.

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[Francesc · Rating 4 out of 5]

Desconocía totalmente las novelas de este autor y ha sido un descubrimiento genial.
Esta novela te engancha y no te suelta. Empieza con una inocente visita a un psiquiatra y continúa en un torbellino de suspense.
El autor recrea una historia de esquizofrenia, asesinatos, de amnesias recurrentes, de giros de la trama que te mantiene totalmente enganchado.
Todos los personajes están perfectamente dibujados y hay muchos y de diferentes condiciones sociales.
La lástima es el final. No es un mal final, pero un poco inverosímil.
Un clásico de la novela negra que no conocía y del cual voy a seguir leyendo sus obras.

----------------------------

I was totally unaware of this author's novels and it has been a great discovery.
This novel hooks you in and doesn't let go. It starts with an innocent visit to a psychiatrist and continues in a whirlwind of suspense.
The author recreates a story of schizophrenia, murder, recurring amnesia, and plot twists that keeps you totally hooked.
All the characters are perfectly drawn and there are many and from different walks of life.
The pity is the ending. Not a bad ending, but a bit unrealistic.
A classic crime novelist that I didn't know and I'm going to keep reading his works.

[Julio Bernad · Rating 3 out of 5]

Ya que esto va de caballos, hagamos una analogía hípica: imaginad un hipódromo abarrotado, hombres donosos y mujeres emperifolladas, todos con gemelos en ristre y preparados, a la espera de la inminente salida de los animales, ya en posición y con sus jockeys cargados; de entre la manada expectante destaca un animal por su talla y vigor, una mole pisadora, de potentes corvas y pezuñas, cuello macizo y larga crin, amenazando con romper el bocado por la fuerza con que cierra su mandíbula; el disparo marca la salida, y el percherón corre como solo un animal de semejante tamaño podría hacerlo: desmedido en sus zancadas, agitando la tierra a su paso, el albero convertido en una estela amarilla que lo aísla de sus adversarios, apenas a distancia de rebufo; caballo y jinete corren como una fuerza de la naturaleza; los espectadores contienen el aliento, nunca habían visto a un animal volverse estampida; a pocos metros de la línea de meta, desastre, una pata cede y el animal cae, y es tal la fuerza del impacto que sus cuatro miembros quedan irreconocibles bajo el cuerpo maltrecho. De las gradas salta un hombre con un revolver, y de un piadoso y certero disparo pone fin a la agonía del animal que, durante su cabalgada, se había creído imparable.

Esto es lo que le ocurre a la originalísima, divertidísima, pero excesiva, El percherón mortal de John Franklin Bardin.

Hay novelas cuyo inicio subyuga. Con unos pocos párrafos inspirados, una idea estimulante o una escena sugerente pueden inducirte un trance alucinado del cual solo el autor te puede sustraer bien colocando el punto y final o bien por incompetencia. El percherón mortal tiene el honor de tener uno de los principios más memorables de la literatura policiaca, si conseguimos retorcer el concepto de este género para embutir su original planteamiento, pero es víctima de sus propios excesos. O mejor dicho, de no estar a la altura de sus excesos, como si lo estaría un Harry Stephen Keller.

¿Pero, cuál es este inicio? Pues bien. Todo comienza en el gabinete del afamado psiquiatra George Matthews, el cual se halla analizando a su último paciente, igualmente afamado. El loco, o presunto loco, es el millonario Jacob Blunt, y el motivo que le lleva a recurrir a un alienista es comprobar si, efectivamente, está loco. Y es que Blunt dice estar recibiendo extravagantes encargos de unos enanos irlandeses, unos leprechauns, encargos como vestir con un hibisco rojo en la cabeza o regalar monedas de 25 centavos a desconocidos hasta vaciar sus bolsillos. El mismo es consciente de que la mera existencia de estos seres feéricos es una locura, pero las pruebas que presenta al doctor son tan inapelables que este último se verá obligado a acompañar a su paciente para conocer a Eustace, el leprechaun de los inusuales encargos. Cuando el doctor conoce al tal Eustace y se cerciora de su existencia, la locura de su paciente queda en un segundo plano, pues ahí está ocurriendo algo mucho más complejo, incluso peligroso para su paciente. Delante del doctor Jacob recibirá su siguiente encargo: entregar un percherón en la casa de la actriz Frances Raye al anochecer. Me voy a atrever a desvelar el final de este primer acto, incurriendo en la descortesía de ignorar la advertencia de Guillermo Cabrera Infante, pues estas fueron las líneas que me convencieron de estar ante una obra sobresaliente.

Me dormí esa noche, pero no antes de dar vueltas durante lo que me parecieron horas. Pero no dormí mucho. La voz de Sara, dormida y malhumorada, me despertó:

—¡Suena el teléfono, George! —dijo—. ¡Hace horas que suena! ¡Por favor, contesta!

Busqué a tientas las zapatillas, me eché la bata sobre los hombros y bajé a tropezones la escalera. La voz en el aparato era la de Nan. Si había estado medio dormido hasta ese momento, me desperté del todo al comprender lo que me decía.

—¡Han arrestado a Jacob, doctor! —dijo—. ¡Por el asesinato de Francés Raye! ¡La encontraron muerta en su apartamento, y él afuera, borracho, tocando el timbre y tratando de entrar! ¡Oh, doctor, creen que él la mató!

Todo lo que se me ocurrió preguntarle en ese momento fue:

—¿Qué hizo con el caballo?

Aquí es cuando comienza una huida hacia delante en la que va sucediendo de todo. Y cuando digo de todo es de todo. Una sucesión delirante de situaciones imposibles, enredos, casualidades, personajes extraños y marginales y crímenes sórdidos que nos llevan de un lugar a otro en un torbellino absurdo que, como digo, podría ser sublime si no fuera por cierta contención, o quizá cierta reiteración, que hace que su locura no esté a la altura de la propuesta. Es difícil explicar esto sin destruir por completo el factor sorpresa de la novela. Una trampa en sí mismo, pues si no puedes hablar de su trama prácticamente no puedes argumentar, y si toda la fuerza de una novela reside en su capacidad para sorprender su calidad es la de un caramelo: de usar y tirar. Diré, sin decir nada realmente, que a veces la trama parece avanzar a causa de un elemento extraordinario y algo tramposo que sale de la nada y que, aún así, es completamente predecible; y que la novela hubiera mejorado más si hubiera antepuesto la paranoia a la pura acción.

Con todo, El percherón mortal sigue siendo una novela originalísima y divertidísima, que se lee de un tirón. O mejor sería decir que debe leerse de un tirón. Quizá si las circunstancias me hubieran permitido inyectarme esta novela en una sola dosis me hubiera sido imposible escapar de la vorágine en que viven sus personajes. Confío en que vosotros sí podáis leerla del tirón y disfrutarla mucho más que yo. Aunque yo, desde luego, la he disfrutado.

[Oscar · Rating 5 out of 5]

El escritor norteamericano John Franklin Bardin (1916-1981), es autor de una decena de novelas, la más famosa de la cuáles quizá sea ‘El percherón mortal’. Actualmente, es uno de esos escritores de novela policíaca olvidados. Sin embargo, escritores como Guillermo Cabrera Infante, lo consideraban como uno de los autores más originales de novela policial, y lo equiparaba a Edgar Allan Poe y Dashiell Hammett. Yo incluiría también a Philip K. Dick. Seguramente, es una exageración, pero creo que es la única manera de acercarse un tanto a lo que nos ofrece ‘El percherón mortal’: enigmas, misterios, novela negra, giros inesperados, casualidades inauditas, trastornos mentales, paranoia, seres marginados…

La trama de ‘El percherón mortal’ (The Deadly Percheron, 1946), como bien dice Cabrera Infante, jamás debería ser resumida. El lector cae en las redes de Bardin desde el principio: un hombre entra en la consulta del doctor Matthews, creyendo que se está volviendo loco. No tarda en contarle una extraña historia sobre hombrecillos y las peculiares tareas que le encargan. Y sería una pena contar más. La historia policial está perfectamente narrada e imbricada, no faltan los enigmas y el suspense. La narración es en primera persona, con lo que seguimos los razonamientos de Matthews a través de aquella época, 1944.

Bardin se mueve en esa zona intermedia entre lo fantástico y lo real, hablando siempre en términos criminales. Se trata de una lectura absorbente como pocas, de esas de las que no te puedes separar.

[Allie Riley · Rating 5 out of 5]

Utterly, utterly brilliant. I completely devoured this book and now I want to find more by the same author. It kept me guessing right until the very end. I suppose the plot is convoluted and the repeated bouts of amnesia may seem to be a little unbelievable, but I was so caught up in the action that I willingly suspended disbelief. For most of the novel I was unsure as to whether George Matthews (or John Brown) was an entirely reliable narrator, but that was fully resolved in the end. Fabulous stuff.

[Dustin Reade · Rating 5 out of 5]

a truly weird, madcap detective novel that left my head spinning. It was kind of like walking through green smog, but it smelled nice, like a joke, or carnival food.

The basic story: a man claims a leprechaun paid him to be somewhere at a specific time. He goes there and a woman is killed. There is a vague mention of a horse. People can't remember who the main character is. He thinks he might be crazy. He meets several circus freaks.

and so on.

[George K. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Αγορασμένο από το παζάρι βιβλίου έναντι τριών ευρώ, το είχα να πιάνει σκόνη στη βιβλιοθήκη μου για πάνω από εφτά χρόνια, μέχρι τελικά να πάρω την απόφαση να το διαβάσω αυτές τις μέρες. Πρόκειται για ένα πολύ ενδιαφέρον και αρκετά ψυχαγωγικό μυθιστόρημα μυστηρίου με νουάρ αισθητική και πλοκή που κρατάει στην τσίτα τους αναγνώστες. Ο συγγραφέας παίζει με το μυαλό των χαρακτήρων του, αλλά ακόμα και με το μυαλό των αναγνωστών, μιας και χρησιμοποιεί διάφορα τεχνάσματα που έχουν να κάνουν με τις ψυχικές ασθένειες, έτσι ώστε σαν αναγνώστης να μην είσαι σίγουρος τι ακριβώς συμβαίνει με τον αφηγητή της ιστορίας, αν είναι ένας κακομοίρης που τον έμπλεξαν ή ένας σχιζοφρενής δολοφόνος με διαταραχές προσωπικότητας. Σε μερικά σημεία η πλοκή ίσως να κουράζει λίγο, γιατί θες επιτέλους σαν αναγνώστης να βγάλεις μια άκρη με όλα αυτά τα μπερδεμένα και απρόσμενα επεισόδια που διαβάζεις, από την άλλη όμως έχει όλα αυτά τα καλούδια που χαρακτηρίζουν ένα καλό μυθιστόρημα μυστηρίου και αγωνίας, με τον Μπάρντιν να χειρίζεται πολύ καλά όλα τα εργαλεία του είδους, προσφέροντας στο τέλος κάποιες λογικές (ή έστω λογικοφανείς) εξηγήσεις για τα "ποιος", "γιατί" και "πώς". Η γραφή είναι αρκετά καλή και ευκολοδιάβαστη, με τις απολύτως απαραίτητες περιγραφές, χωρίς κουραστικές και άσχετες με την υπόθεση λεπτομέρειες. Γενικά, ένα καλό νουάρ μυστηρίου, κάπως μπροστά για την εποχή και τη σχολή του, που θα προσφέρει λίγες ψυχαγωγικές ώρες στους λάτρεις του είδους.

[cafejuntoalibros · Rating 4 out of 5]

La crítica la señala como una historia de terror psicológico que desafía el género, en que desde la primera página nos envuelve con su misterio hipnótico, en el que perderse de la mano de uno de los grandes maestros del crimen. Porque desde que la empiezas a leer no puedes parar de hacerlo. John Franklin Bardin estuvo siempre obsesionado con la locura, y reflejó ese mórbido interés en una serie de novelas de misterio entre las cuales, ésta ha sido considerada su obra maestra.

Una narración en primera persona, jugando con la fantasía, el humor, el absurdo, que al lector cree tener la solución del caso, pero estos elementos entorpecen con su lógica. Me encantó ese análisis psicológico con los que el narrador nos hace conocer los conflictos de todos sus enigmáticos personajes, que parece incomprensible llegar a comprender la mente criminal y dar con el culpable.

Recomendadísima.

[Albóndiga Lee · Rating 4 out of 5]

Todavía me explota la cabeza.
No voy a decir nada, es imposible no caer en el spoiler y mejor déjate llevar por esta novela policiaca. Un descubrimiento.

[Juan Fuentes · Rating 4 out of 5]

3,5

No me ha parecido una obra maestra pero he disfrutado mucho de su lectura.

https://liblit.com/john-franklin-bard...

[Timothy Mayer · Rating 4 out of 5]

Dr. George Matthews is an established psychiatrist in New York City. He's in his 30's, happily married, and has much to be proud about in his life. One day a young man, nicely dressed, walks into his office wearing a flower in his hair. This is not something that happens on a regular basis in 1943. The young man, named Jacob Blunt, tells the good doctor that he is going insane. Little men keep paying him money to do ridiculous things. Sometimes it's wearing flowers in his hair, sometimes it's giving away quarters. The money he's paid is good, but the little men keep wanting him to do stranger and stranger things. He's sought Dr. Matthews out because Blunt isn't sure if the little men are real or not.
To help Blunt, Dr. Matthews accompanies him to a bar one night to meet one of the little men. And in the midst of the bar emerges an actual dwarf who introduces himself as an American Leprechaun. Next, he tells Blunt about the next job: delivering Percherons (draft horses) to select people in New York. There's even one in a van outside the bar; all he has to do is tie it up at a given location. Sure Blunt is the brunt of a hoax, Dr. Matthews leaves the bar and takes a train home.
The following morning, Dr. Matthews learns that a famous Broadway actress has been murdered and there is a Percheron tethered in front of her townhouse. Jacob Blunt has been found drunk at the location. But he swears he isn't the killer. When Matthews comes to see Blunt at the police station, they release him into Matthews' care. However, the man they produce as Jacob Blunt isn't the same man who came to see the psychiatrist. Deciding to find out what the hell is going on, Matthews accepts Blunt into his care. But on the way to the subway, he is struck from behind and passes out.
Matthews wakes up in a hospital to find his face disfigured and the staff calling him John Brown. He's in a mental ward, having been found wondering the streets in a delirium with a social security card in the name of John Brown. When he insists he's the psychiatrist Matthews, the hospital checks up on his claims. To his horror, they inform him Dr. George Matthews was found dead ten months ago.
The only way he's able to get out of the mental ward is by pretending to be the derelict John Brown and concocting a story the hospital staff will believe. Eventually, he's released and gets a job working in a cafeteria in Coney Island. "John Brown" settles into his new life and tries to fit in with the other carnival workers. But one day he encounters the leprechaun he'd met with Jacob Blunt....
Perecheron can be a confusing book to read. After Matthews meets the "leprechaun"the second time, he begins to unravel the mystery of what happened to him in the intervening months between his blow to the head and waking up in the mental hospital. The reader is given the sequence of events almost in reverse order. You only find out what happened after the doctor remembers something. In some ways it reminded me of Christopher Nolan's Memento (2000) film.
Highly recommended for fans of hard-boiled crime fiction.

[Brian · Rating 3 out of 5]

* The Brits' rediscovery of this book in the 1970s was based on its psychological elements, and that is how it comes to us now, as an early psychological crime novel. The edition depicted here (not my own) features a Salvador Dali painting on the covers that is clearly intended to suggest a certain surreal quality to it all. One internet reviewer tells us the book is a "deadly serious excursion into identity formation and the psychology of guilt." How such a book was overlooked to begin with is the real mystery. Unfortunately, the solution to that mystery isn't very satisfying: the book so described and the book in your hand are two entirely different entities.

* The first thing you realize as you begin to read--the book opens with a psychiatrist whose new patient claims to be working for leprechauns--is that you're drawn in by the mystery. Like George Matthews, the psychiatrist, you don't for a minute believe the leprechaun story, but you want to know what it means. And like any good mystery you don't find out until the last page. But in between--in spite of the weird addition of percheron horses left at murder scenes, amnesia, and torture--that's what keeps you reading, wanting to know how it all fits together. In the real world. Not in some netherworld of the mind.

* This is because we know (and never doubt) that George is sane. Bardin never suggests otherwise. I applaud Bardin for providing us an explanation of George's amnesia that goes beyond a simple blow to the head, but Bardin uses neither (the amnesia nor its cause) to introduce doubt about the man's perceptions. Instead, he uses them to prolong and to deepen the mystery.

* In his Introduction to The John Franklin Bardin Omnibus, Julian Symons claims that George fears he is going mad. He doesn't. He really doesn't. And this is the key to the book's reevaluation: if the reader brings this perception to the work, then the whole thing becomes a psychological game, with reality in the balance. But it's a game the reader must play with himself, for Bardin does nothing to encourage it.

* But for all that, this is a good book that deserved rediscovery. The mystery is intriguing and the hero's journey to the truth is certainly an unusual and painful one. Just don't believe the hype.

[Rubén Vilaplana · Rating 5 out of 5]

Lo que empieza siendo un hecho absurdamente cómico se convierte en una increíble historia policiaca donde no faltan todos los elementos típicos de este género pero tratados de tal forma que en ningún momento de la historia pierde ni su interés ni la originalidad.
Para todos aquellos lectores amantes de la novela negra.

[Karl]

This is copy 31 of 300 signed numbered copies.

This is the sixth book printed under the Millipede book imprint.

[Fishface · Rating 5 out of 5]

What a delightful read. A gem of a noir mystery, beautifully written, full of unexpected turns in the road. Don't miss it. I expect to proceed immediately to everything else Bardin ever wrote.

[Sonia · Rating 3 out of 5]

Una verdadera lástima: tiene un inicio y una premisa inicial de diez, pero va cayendo en espiral (tanto en trama como en ritmo y originalidad: el autor empieza a moverse por terrenos más que trillados) hasta un desenlace desastroso: inverosímil y que hace aguas por todos lados.
Si le pongo tres estrellas es por el deslumbrante inicio y porque entretiene y es fácil de leer.

[Dergrossest · Rating 4 out of 5]

It’s not easy being green. The New York Psychiatrist at the heart of this story finds that fact out the hard way in this bizarre whodunit involving small men, large horses and lots of hard luck dames. New York City was apparently a very nutty place during WWII for the civilian population left behind and this extremely well written book goes straight to the source of the insanity: Coney Island. Sure, some of the psychoanalytical mumbo-jumbo sounds hokey and the ending is a little flat. But where else are you going to find semi-amnesic victims of chemical torture leading double lives, high-society trust fund man-children with hibiscuses in their hair and Broadway-babes on their arms, all topped off with a leprechaun criminal syndicate possibly pulling the strings? Only here, baby.

Recommended.

[Rhys · Rating 3 out of 5]

A very strange and brilliant crime novel originally published in 1947. It begins with a psychiatrist who is visited by a young man wearing a flower in his hair; the young man is doing this because a leprechaun has paid him to do so. From this opening the story gets wilder and wilder, until it culminates in a truly bizarre confrontation in a Coney island funhouse at night. There are twists galore and although the prose style sometimes is a little clunky (inadvertently increasing the oddity of some scenes) as a whole the novel is magnificent.

[Bill Hsu · Rating 2 out of 5]

I certainly enjoyed good chunks of this. But there are also chunks that I don't think date well, like the hokey ending. Whew.

[Rosa · Rating 3 out of 5]

Talk about a novel meant for the screen. It really is a crying shame that this did not become a film noir in the ‘40s. The ending is a confrontation in a carnival funhouse! With a Talking Villain who obligingly dumps all the exposition anyone could want!
This not-quite-psychothriller is just not as good as Nightmare Alley, The Big Clock, Laura, Rebecca, or Phantom Lady. Despite being narrated by a psychiatrist, it doesn’t have all that much psychological depth.
However, once you read the first sentence, you will want to read to the end. The first couple chapters are terrific. As the zany events piled on, I wondered excitedly how the author would ever write his way out.
But somehow, by the end, the multiple episodes of amnesia (with all the action occurring off-page and being recalled), an upsetting death, and the overly helpful villain irritated me so much that I wasn’t paying much attention. I always love starting mysteries, but the plot details are so often hard to follow. Or don’t quite register.
I read once that Michael Crichton’s books “practically include camera angles.” This novel too feels almost more like a treatment or screenplay. Seldom, if ever, does a movie improve on its book, but this story as a movie might seem less hollow.
Poor Sara. We hardly knew ye. I had my suspicions about you, but no, you were only a help meet and the most innocent of victims.
I was tantalized by the first chapter of Bardin’s unpublished novel, I Love You, Terribly. It seems to be a “howcatchem” rather than a whodunit. Alas. It was unfinished.

[Claudia · Rating 5 out of 5]

Me ha flipado!!!! Leedlo cuanto antes!!! No entiendo que haya tenido tan poco reconocimiento, se les escapó!!!!!! 100% disfrutable, lectura amena y no puedes parar de leer!!!!!

[Marie-Therese · Rating 4 out of 5]

3.5 stars

An exceptionally interesting noir mystery that sets questions of identity, of how we know who we are when others no longer recognize us, at the forefront, while providing a pretty decent who-dunnit alongside.

While the body of the book doesn't sustain the remarkably odd, sometimes hilarious, almost hallucinatory beginning (even descending into some "he said, then she said" mundanity at the 2/3 point), Bardin fleshes out his mystery with consistently interesting characters and an existential queasiness that never really lets up, even during the epilogue. Certain plot points are wrapped up or discarded with superficial ease, but it's difficult not to see this as part and parcel of the narrator's own curious glibness, disinterest, and detachment from his former life. It's hard to make out what's real, what's authentic, towards the end of this book, and that confusion is clearly deliberate (and made somewhat teasingly over-the-top by the fun house setting). There's a whole lot of weird subtext in this book that never really gets explored but underlays the plot in a way that makes the sum greater than its parts.

This was apparently Bardin's first novel and it has some typical first book issues (a dragging mid-section, awkward transitions, occasional info-dumping, and difficulty tying up loose ends) but it also establishes what would appear to be the writer's primary and very personal interest in identity and personality and the ways we negotiate and integrate our multiple social selves in the world when either our outside surroundings or our inner resources break down. I look forward to reading his other early novels on similar themes, The Last of Philip Banter and Devil Take the Blue-tail Fly.

[Tyler Hayes · Rating 4 out of 5]

Short version: I enjoyed this book, but I think it shows its age. Bardin writes a nicely psychological story that really throws the reader for a loop early on and guaranteed that I stuck around for the end; I loved how such a ridiculous setup was made to seem chilling and even riveting, and I actually think the way it was resolved was inventive and interesting. The prose is also very strong, and Bardin seems to have a good handle on the psychology of his main characters--it's easy to tell all the way through that the writer knew where the story was going from the very beginning and folded those details in neatly throughout the book.

To be frank, however, I think that Bardin wrote a 150 page novella and then duplicated passages to give himself 38 more, rather than actually finishing the book. The narrator has amnesia, and that's fine as a literary device—but having him suddenly remember the truth of things four times over the course of this book, and using that as the primary driver of the mystery, was a little sloppy. Similarly, I felt like the ending came up absolutely out of nowhere, and that it mismatched the framing device for it horribly (if he'd had a similar confrontation with the murderer and forgotten it, why did the murderer still explain himself again instead of just killing the guy where he stood?).

Summary: If you like noir, I highly recommend it, especially if you're interested in the history of it and how its elements came to be; Bardin is an important part of the psychological side of the noir equation, and this book seems to be a fine example of his style

[Κώστας · Rating 3 out of 5]

Διάβασα την Ελληνική έκδοση με τίτλο Το άλογο, το ξωτικό κι ο θάνατος
σε μετάφραση: Καλλιόπη Δ. Πατέρα, εκδόσεις Αλεξάνδρεια, 1992.

Ψυχοπάθεια. Διπολισμός και κρίση ταυτότητας. Πάντα δυσάρεστη γι' αυτόν που την βιώνει & το περιβάλλον του, πάντα ενδιαφέρουσα ως σενάριο.
Πολύ προχωρημένο για την χρονιά που γράφτηκε(1946), έχει κάποιες δυνατές στιγμές που ελκύουν τον αναγνώστη ακόμα και στις μέρες μας.
Ο Μπάρντιν εκμεταλλεύεται τα παιχνίδια που μας παίζει η μνήμη, καθώς και τα εύθραυστα όρια ανάμεσα στην τρέλα ως ιδιορρυθμία και την τρέλα ως ασθένεια, για να πλάσει μια μαγική, μυστηριώδη ατμόσφαιρα και να προκαλέσει μια διαδοχή από απρόσμενα επεισόδια.
Κρίμα μόνο που στερείται δυναμικής και περιορίζεται στην βαρετή -για τα γούστα μου- ψυχιατρική οπτική ντιβανιού. Μιλάει ο ένας με τον άλλον εν είδει χρονικογραφήματος και προσπαθούν να εξαχθούν συμπεράσματα και να ανακαλυφτεί ο ύποπτος.
Γραφή πρώτου προσώπου σε παρελθόντα χρόνο, η χειρότερη επιλογή που μου προσφέρεται, είναι κάτι σαν να νιώθω τη γιαγιά μου που μου λέει παραμύθια να είναι ταυτόχρονα και η ηρωίδα τους!
Ωστόσο το βιβλίο δεν κουράζει, η γλώσσα του είναι κατανοητή και το ενδιαφέρον του είναι δεδομένο τουλάχιστον για το πρώτο ήμισυ. Από κει και πέρα ο αναγνώστης καταλαβαίνει ότι έχει να κάνει με one man show, και αυτή η παράσταση για έναν ρόλο, του αφηγητή και μόνο, θα τον πάει μέχρι το τέλος.
Ευχαριστώ τη φίλη που μου το χάρισε, η ανάγνωσή του ήταν ένα ευχάριστο διάλειμμα.

[M.R. Dowsing · Rating 4 out of 5]

I came to this in an unusual way. One of my favourite films is 'Mona Lisa', which I was looking up on IMDB to see if anyone had any words of wisdom about the significance of the white rabbit. I discovered that, not only is one of the characters reading 'The Deadly Percheron' in the film, but that the film is apparently full of references to it. There are no white rabbits in the book but it turned out to be quite a find all the same.

It's hard to believe this was written in the '40s - it seemed to me to be at least 20 years ahead of its time in both style and content. It has one of the most bizarre and intriguing plots in crime fiction, in which the hero experiences the most extreme identity crisis imaginable. Unfortunately, I can't give it 5 stars because Bardin fudges the ending with clumsy exposition and it all gets a bit silly. However, there's still more than enough great stuff here to make it well worth reading.

[Ben Loory · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Then I just let go and swung off into space."

[Virginia · Rating 2 out of 5]

Confusa y anonadada me he quedado tras terminar de leer El percherón mortal, supuesta obra cumbre de la novela policiaca. Y es que toda la trama resulta tan absurdamente intrincada que no puedo decidir si este libro es sublime o el producto de la imaginación de un sádico con ínfulas de grandeza.

El autor de este curioso libro es John Franklin Bardin. Decir que era un absoluto desconocido para mi es quedarse muy corta. Y tras este experimento literario, dudo mucho que vuelva a leer alguna otra cosa de este señor. Literariamente hablando Bardin es un escritor demasiado mediocre incluso dentro de un género que no destaca por poseer unos brillantes escritores. Con su estilo de escritura farragoso, pesado y con una ejecución francamente decepcionante, Bardin no va a conseguir un asiento dentro de las obras maestras del misterio. Pero continuemos... Este autor posee una prosa lenta, pesada y con una ejecución lamentable, un lenguaje plano y vulgar y unas descripciones básicas sin ninguna característica distintiva.
Otro punto poco atractivo son sus personajes. Como todo en el libro, su construcción ha sido bastante mala y con nulo interés. Hay muchos más de los recomendables en especial si vas a hacerlos tan mal. En esencia el protagonista de toda la historia es el Dr. George Mathews (¿?) eminente psiquiatra que dirige una consulta con bastante éxito y se ve envuelto en una situación delirante con crimen de por medio. Le vas siguiendo a lo largo de toda la historia y, ni siquiera al acabar la novela puedes contar como es

No es fácil saber de qué trata El percherón mortal. Y es que, pese a que te la quieren vender como una novela de misterio convencional, la verdad es que está más cerca de un intento fallido de crear algo novedoso dentro de la novela policíaca. Pero para que me podáis comprender voy a hacer una pequeña sinopsis del libro, a ver si con ello consigo que me entendáis. Jacob Blunt cree que se está volviendo loco. Y es que este joven heredero de una gran fortuna dice ver pequeños seres, Leprechauns para ser exactos, que le pagan por hacer cosas extravagantes. Obviamente, alertado por su decadente estado mental va a visitar a George Mathews, psiquiatra. Matthews cree que está ante un paranoico, hasta que Blunt le presenta a Eustace, uno de esos supuestos extraños seres. Matthews sospecha de que alguien está gastándole una broma al joven, cuya siguiente misión es dejarle un percherón a Frances Raye ¿?, famosa actriz, en la puerta de su casa. Cuando al día siguiente, Raye aparece muerta, el psiquiatra Matthews se embarca en una delirante aventura para descubrir quién es el asesino. Y hasta aquí os puedo contar sin desvelar nada fundamental. Se que contado de la manera que lo he hecho, la trama parece, cuanto menos, curiosa. Lo sería si no degenerara hasta el absurdo. Es decir, en toda novela de misterio hay un crimen, unos sospechosos y una serie de pistas, más o menos evidentes, para ayudar a descubrir al asesino. Aquí no. Solo tenemos un batiburrillo de hechos, personas y detalles que ni el propio autor es capaz de desenmarañar. El misterio decae muy rápido y solo nos queda una historia delirante cuya resolución nos sorprende, no por su ingenio o por haber cumplido nuestras expectativas, si no por todo lo contrario, su aleatoriedad y lo delirante de la conclusión. Así pues, el desenlace es abrupto, extraño y desagradablemente original, ya que jamás conseguirías descubrir al asesino por tu cuenta. Y es que todo parece estar improvisado y las escenas dependen de una cantidad enorme de variables y llenas de situaciones sin ningún sentido que hacen que seguir la historia sea toda una proeza.

Definitivamente, El percherón mortal es una completa decepción. Absurda, estúpida y aburrida, la totalidad de la concepción de la novela es tan peculiar y estrambótica que es inevitable que te despiste y que acabes frustrado y aburrido. Mi consejo es, pues, que escapéis de este libro. Es verdad que es muy corto. Pero, aunque os lo regalen, a este percherón, sí que hay que examinarle seriamente la “dentadura”.

[Sharon Barrow Wilfong · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book was written by the author of The Last of Philip Banter, a book I reviewed earlier. This book actually precedes Philip Banter, but only one character connects the two books and he plays a minor role in the later novel.

A Psychologist, George Matthews, meets a young man named Jacob Blunt, who informs him that he performs certain bizarre duties in order to get paid by, wait for it....Leprechauns.

Now what Blunt wants to know is, are the Leprechauns real or is he crazy? Quite a conundrum, eh?

Matthews does not believe for a moment there are Leprechauns toddling about in the world, but does wonder if the man is hallucinating or is someone playing a strange hoax on him and if so, why?

Matthews and Blunt go to a bar where the Leprechaun is supposedly waiting for them and will assign the man his next task.

Indeed there is a dwarf there and he is dressed like a Leprechaun. In fact he insists he is a Leprechaun. He angrily hops up and down on his bar stool as he gives his geneology dating back to Old Ireland (the story takes place in New York City).

Then the Leprechaun tells Blunt that his next assignment is to deliver a Percheron to a famous Broadway actress who lives in Manhattan. In fact the Percheron is waiting outside.

Incidentally, for those of you who aren't horse people, Percherons are large draft horses.

Matthews thinks the whole thing is off and tries to persuade Blunt to not go through with it. The man laughs it off and, even though he is quite rich and has a trust fund, he enjoys making his own money. Apparently the Leprechaun pays him well.

Blunt delivers the horse only to find the actress dead. He is then arrested for the murder, even though he insists he didn't do it.

Matthews arrives at the jail to bail him out only to find that a different man comes out to meet him, claiming to be Jacob Blunt. Matthews insists this is not Jacob Blunt the man he was counseling and that is the last thing he remembers as something crashes over his head from behind.

When he comes to, Matthews is in a mental hospital and he discovers that it is nine months later. He cannot remember anything between the time he was knocked out and the time he wakes up in the hospital.

This story is a brilliant tale of psychological displacement. You question everything, not knowing what is real or not until the very end. Even then, things seem to fly apart. I only know that Matthews somehow survives because he has a brief role in the next novel.

I highly recommend this sort of story for those who love Psychological Crime Noir written during the Golden Age of Mysteries.

[Jorge Flores · Rating 4 out of 5]

“En último extremo, la psicología del asesino la del bromista difieren sólo en grado. Ambos son sádicos; ambos disfrutan con lo grotesco y con el placer de infligir dolor a otros. Podría considerarse el crimen como la broma definitiva y, a la inversa, a la broma como la forma social del asesinato”.

La primera vez que leí ‘El Percherón Mortal’, tendría 15 o 16 años, no era un lector tan ambicioso y mayormente leía novelas juveniles, impuestas o no, pero muy de ‘eres especial y tu destino en el mundo es espectacular’. Cuando leí la novela de John Franklin Bardin, las historias de crimen entraron en mi radar y comencé a descubrir un mundo de personajes con olor a whisky y a cigarro, solitarios en busca de redención a través de la captura del villano en cuestión. Bardin es un autor olvidado en la novela negra, ‘El Percherón Mortal’ su primera y más exitosa novela se publicó en 1946, pero fue hasta los 70’s que tomó relevancia en el público anglosaón y hasta el 2005 llegó su traducción en español, al menos la única que yo conozco. La historia es brillante y de un ritmo vertiginoso. El autor pone en entredicho la cordura de su protagonista, al mismo tiempo que a nosotros nos mantiene siempre en duda. Los giros en la trama son hasta cierto punto exagerados, las coincidencia y los Deus Ex Machina suceden, pero eso no demerita, incluso en el más cínico de los lectores, la experiencia de una novela policiaca con extrema adrenalina. Fue durante muchos años mi libro favorito, me abrió un mundo literario ajeno en ese entonces, hoy tal vez hay otras obras que me han deslumbrado de otras formas y otros autores que se han convertido en mi faro en este mar de letras y libros. Pero ‘El Percherón Mortal’ y John Franklin Bardin, después de leerlo una vez más 15 años después, sigue manteniendo una mística que forjó mi personalidad como lector. Léanlo, se los recomiendo y de verdad, lo van a devorar al instante.