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EC Archives: Crime SuspenStories #1
The EC Archives: Crime SuspenStories, Vol. 1
Road to Perdition author Max Allan Collins re-introduces us to the thrilling and mysterious first volume of Crime SuspenStories - six full issues and 24 complete stories by the likes of Al Feldstein, Johnny Craig, Harvey Kurtzman. Wally Wood, Jack Kamen, Graham Ingels, Jack Davis, George Roussos and others, originally published between 1950 and 1951
212 pages, Hardcover
First published January 29, 2008
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157 people want to read
About the author
Al Feldstein
369 books48 followersAlbert Bernard Feldstein was an American writer, editor, and artist, best known for his work at EC Comics and, from 1956 to 1985, as the editor of the satirical magazine Mad. After retiring from Mad, Feldstein concentrated on American paintings of Western wildlife.
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Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews
January 29, 2012
...........THE DOUBLE-CROSS REVIEW...OF DEATH...........
The following is an homage to the pulpy noirtasticness of CRIME SUSPENSTORIES by EC COMICS
3:00 A.M. Upstairs in a rundown room in a rundown house deep in the heart of a city with no name. I'd been reading for hours, my eyes going back and forth like the swish-swishing of a windshield wiper. Outside the room, rain was dropping in buckets like swells over the bow of a rusty boat. I knew I needed to sleep, but I didn’t want to stop reading... I couldn’t stop....I was Afraid to stop. I had to finish before...before...well I’ll get to that.
The dame next to me in bed, my wife, stirred in her sleep. Her green eyes opened heavily, looking like emeralds reflected through smoky glass. She purred something in a lazy, bedroom voice that sounded like, “TURN OFF THE FUCKING LIGHT I’M TRYING TO SLEEP”...but I ignored my little kitten and gave her a nice firm pat on the bottom.
Later, after she'd offered to surgically remove my testes if I didn't let her sleep, I decided, on my own mid you, to get out of bed and turn off the light. Scratching my danglies to assure myself they were still attached, I grabbed the book and my smokes and headed downstairs to the kitchen. Outside, the rain kept falling, relentless as death and taxes.
Downstairs I made my way past the cat who looked right through me, dismissed the intrusion and casually went make to licking its butt. I went to the kitchen and dropped some ice in a tumbler. I looked back up stairs where my wife was sleeping, and then quietly grabbed the large butcher knife from the drawer.
Walking slowly back towards the bottom of the stairs....I headed past them to the bar where I cut the tape off a new bottle of Scotch. I poured myself three fingers and drank it down in a gulp. It burned like VD but I calmed my nerves. I poured another hooker from the bottle, lit up a smoke and dropped down onto my couch with a sigh.
It was gonna be one of those nights. One of those nights that won't let go, that creep inside you and nest like rats. I shook my head telling my self to clam the self-pity. I told myself I didn't have a choice, so stop belly-aching and get to it. Somehow, someway, I had to finish the book by morning. Otherwise...otherwise...it would be too late.
Trembling, I tried to brush the thoughts from my head like cobwebs in a haunted house. I downed the rest of the Scotch, lit another smoke and continued to read. So far, I'd been through 24 stories, gems like:
Murder, My Boomerang,
Snapshot of Death,
Dead-Ringer and
A Moment of Madness.
Stories that made me shake in my socks like a junkie after a 3 day bender. Still, I slowly...ever so slowly... turned each page and pressed on.
With 12 more to go by morning, it was gonna be close. I had to make it. I had to try. I started working my way through the next batch, hands sweating like preacher in a whorehouse. Reaching for the Scotch bottle and another smoke, I came to the next piece, Mr. Biddy…Killer. It was corker about a man looking to get rid of his wife...permanent like, and scared me so bad I was trying to back my way straight through the chair.
As the night wore itself out like a prize-fighter on a punching bag, I continued on. Next was The Gullible One and then The Sewer. Tales that had me jumpier than a six-legged kitten on a hot plate. I drank and read and smoked.. and then drank some more….always reading, never stopping except to try and calm the beating of my heart.
Finally...with the sun just beginning to creep up over the horizon like fire coming up from a struck match, I came to the last story. I had very little time left...was that a noise?... probably nothing...just the nicotine and my nerves singing me a lullaby.
Upstairs, I could here the woman begin to stir. She must have reached over and felt the coldness from the other side of the bed because I thought I heard her silky voice saying, “DID THAT FUCKING MORON STAY UP ALL NIGHT READING AGAIN?” It was clear to me she wanted me to come hold her, maybe give a little of the old heave and ho, but I had to finish. I had to...before it was too late.
Finally, here it was, the last story. A frightful tale called Jury Duty, about an execution that didn’t take and a condemned man out for some payback. It spooked me so bad I thought I might just cash it in right there. Somehow, I got through it...barely...but I got through it.
As I finished, I crushed out my smoke and sat there shivering with relief. I had done it. I had finished the book and I still had over an hour to spare. The sun was shining down on me like a cop on the beat, but I didn’t care. I had time. More than enough time to shower, put on a fresh suit and throw some coffee down my throat.
Then they would see. I would show all of those wise guys down at the library when I walked in at 9:00 a.m. on the dot...and returned the book, avoiding their dumbshit late fees and *gulp* an uncomfortable visit from library police. Sure, I had to stay up all night reading, and my eyes were redder than a wino's nose, but I had done it...and no one would be coming after me.
.
.
.
Of course...I still needed to figure out what to do with the dead hooker I had stashed in my trunk, but I suppose that would keep for the moment. For now, I was on easy street...without a care in the world...
Wait a minute...what's that sound coming from the trunk?...it sounds like...no, it couldn't be...I saw her dead...but that must mean....oh no, it can’t be...NOOOOOO!!!!.........The End?
5.0 stars.
The following is an homage to the pulpy noirtasticness of CRIME SUSPENSTORIES by EC COMICS
3:00 A.M. Upstairs in a rundown room in a rundown house deep in the heart of a city with no name. I'd been reading for hours, my eyes going back and forth like the swish-swishing of a windshield wiper. Outside the room, rain was dropping in buckets like swells over the bow of a rusty boat. I knew I needed to sleep, but I didn’t want to stop reading... I couldn’t stop....I was Afraid to stop. I had to finish before...before...well I’ll get to that.
The dame next to me in bed, my wife, stirred in her sleep. Her green eyes opened heavily, looking like emeralds reflected through smoky glass. She purred something in a lazy, bedroom voice that sounded like, “TURN OFF THE FUCKING LIGHT I’M TRYING TO SLEEP”...but I ignored my little kitten and gave her a nice firm pat on the bottom.
Later, after she'd offered to surgically remove my testes if I didn't let her sleep, I decided, on my own mid you, to get out of bed and turn off the light. Scratching my danglies to assure myself they were still attached, I grabbed the book and my smokes and headed downstairs to the kitchen. Outside, the rain kept falling, relentless as death and taxes.
Downstairs I made my way past the cat who looked right through me, dismissed the intrusion and casually went make to licking its butt. I went to the kitchen and dropped some ice in a tumbler. I looked back up stairs where my wife was sleeping, and then quietly grabbed the large butcher knife from the drawer.
Walking slowly back towards the bottom of the stairs....I headed past them to the bar where I cut the tape off a new bottle of Scotch. I poured myself three fingers and drank it down in a gulp. It burned like VD but I calmed my nerves. I poured another hooker from the bottle, lit up a smoke and dropped down onto my couch with a sigh.
It was gonna be one of those nights. One of those nights that won't let go, that creep inside you and nest like rats. I shook my head telling my self to clam the self-pity. I told myself I didn't have a choice, so stop belly-aching and get to it. Somehow, someway, I had to finish the book by morning. Otherwise...otherwise...it would be too late.
Trembling, I tried to brush the thoughts from my head like cobwebs in a haunted house. I downed the rest of the Scotch, lit another smoke and continued to read. So far, I'd been through 24 stories, gems like:
Murder, My Boomerang,
Snapshot of Death,
Dead-Ringer and
A Moment of Madness.
Stories that made me shake in my socks like a junkie after a 3 day bender. Still, I slowly...ever so slowly... turned each page and pressed on.
With 12 more to go by morning, it was gonna be close. I had to make it. I had to try. I started working my way through the next batch, hands sweating like preacher in a whorehouse. Reaching for the Scotch bottle and another smoke, I came to the next piece, Mr. Biddy…Killer. It was corker about a man looking to get rid of his wife...permanent like, and scared me so bad I was trying to back my way straight through the chair.
As the night wore itself out like a prize-fighter on a punching bag, I continued on. Next was The Gullible One and then The Sewer. Tales that had me jumpier than a six-legged kitten on a hot plate. I drank and read and smoked.. and then drank some more….always reading, never stopping except to try and calm the beating of my heart.
Finally...with the sun just beginning to creep up over the horizon like fire coming up from a struck match, I came to the last story. I had very little time left...was that a noise?... probably nothing...just the nicotine and my nerves singing me a lullaby.
Upstairs, I could here the woman begin to stir. She must have reached over and felt the coldness from the other side of the bed because I thought I heard her silky voice saying, “DID THAT FUCKING MORON STAY UP ALL NIGHT READING AGAIN?” It was clear to me she wanted me to come hold her, maybe give a little of the old heave and ho, but I had to finish. I had to...before it was too late.
Finally, here it was, the last story. A frightful tale called Jury Duty, about an execution that didn’t take and a condemned man out for some payback. It spooked me so bad I thought I might just cash it in right there. Somehow, I got through it...barely...but I got through it.
As I finished, I crushed out my smoke and sat there shivering with relief. I had done it. I had finished the book and I still had over an hour to spare. The sun was shining down on me like a cop on the beat, but I didn’t care. I had time. More than enough time to shower, put on a fresh suit and throw some coffee down my throat.
Then they would see. I would show all of those wise guys down at the library when I walked in at 9:00 a.m. on the dot...and returned the book, avoiding their dumbshit late fees and *gulp* an uncomfortable visit from library police. Sure, I had to stay up all night reading, and my eyes were redder than a wino's nose, but I had done it...and no one would be coming after me.
.
.
.
Of course...I still needed to figure out what to do with the dead hooker I had stashed in my trunk, but I suppose that would keep for the moment. For now, I was on easy street...without a care in the world...
Wait a minute...what's that sound coming from the trunk?...it sounds like...no, it couldn't be...I saw her dead...but that must mean....oh no, it can’t be...NOOOOOO!!!!.........The End?
5.0 stars.
April 1, 2020
EC was one of the pioneers of the harsh and violent comic crime stories of the 1950s. These stories were some of the examples that were shown to congress and led to the creation of the Comic Code Authority. Very nice collection of these early Crime Comics. Recommended
May 3, 2021
These are great comics! The first 6 issues of Crime SuspensStories, and it’s a shame the rest haven’t been published. This is Volume 1 of 1 volume.
I actually wonder if these stories aren’t better now than they were when they were first published in 1950-51. Reading them now, they are a breath of fresh air in comic book style — simple, unpretentious, expressive artwork and quirky stories written by authors who don’t take themselves too seriously.
I don’t mean to condemn more modern popular comics with their psychological themes, social significance, or their more sophisticated artwork. That’s all great, but it’s nice to see what comics were like in a less complicated pop world.
The originals were published at a time before television was common and when movies were black and white. They were the accessible visual media of their time, portable and inexpensive. You can imagine yourself back in those days, when comic books were a “rich” medium compared to others, and your chosen means of escape to another world.
These are not testaments to 50s innocence, though. And the 50s weren’t as innocent as much of its pop culture would make it look, so all the better.
The stories and the art are analogous to pre-code movies of the 20s and early 30s, not yet bound by the Comics Code. These are from the pre-mom-and-apple-pie days of comics, free to explore darker themes, shady behavior, and the parts of everyday life that your parents didn’t want you to know about. Reading these is almost like an act of revenge against the Comics Code’s dominance starting in the late 50s.
No need to over-intellectualize though. These are just plain fun to read. Taboo subject matter, twisty endings, a general feeling of anxiety.
It’s crime, but it’s not cops and robbers, or gangsters and G-men. Often it’s husband vs. wife, or wife vs. husband. It’s never a crime of sudden passion. There’s always a plan, and the plan is going to bite back hard, usually in just the last few frames of the story.
There is certainly social commentary implicit in the stories. Husbands and wives are at each others’ throats (although they typically use more clever means of killing each other). Wives are bored at home. Husbands complain that their wives "nag" them constantly. The standard domestic relationship of the 50s seems unstable, ready to explode. And then it does.
There’s a running theme of fate working against the bad guy like a force of nature. Something doubles back on him — just when he (or she) thinks he’s carried out the perfect murder, he finds out he’s his own victim (the victim dies, too, but . . . collateral damage). A twist of fate he couldn’t have foreseen reaches out and grabs him by the throat at the last second.
So you get the fun, and you get the moral of the story, but it’s not like the good guys win. It’s just that the bad guys lose.
I actually wonder if these stories aren’t better now than they were when they were first published in 1950-51. Reading them now, they are a breath of fresh air in comic book style — simple, unpretentious, expressive artwork and quirky stories written by authors who don’t take themselves too seriously.
I don’t mean to condemn more modern popular comics with their psychological themes, social significance, or their more sophisticated artwork. That’s all great, but it’s nice to see what comics were like in a less complicated pop world.
The originals were published at a time before television was common and when movies were black and white. They were the accessible visual media of their time, portable and inexpensive. You can imagine yourself back in those days, when comic books were a “rich” medium compared to others, and your chosen means of escape to another world.
These are not testaments to 50s innocence, though. And the 50s weren’t as innocent as much of its pop culture would make it look, so all the better.
The stories and the art are analogous to pre-code movies of the 20s and early 30s, not yet bound by the Comics Code. These are from the pre-mom-and-apple-pie days of comics, free to explore darker themes, shady behavior, and the parts of everyday life that your parents didn’t want you to know about. Reading these is almost like an act of revenge against the Comics Code’s dominance starting in the late 50s.
No need to over-intellectualize though. These are just plain fun to read. Taboo subject matter, twisty endings, a general feeling of anxiety.
It’s crime, but it’s not cops and robbers, or gangsters and G-men. Often it’s husband vs. wife, or wife vs. husband. It’s never a crime of sudden passion. There’s always a plan, and the plan is going to bite back hard, usually in just the last few frames of the story.
There is certainly social commentary implicit in the stories. Husbands and wives are at each others’ throats (although they typically use more clever means of killing each other). Wives are bored at home. Husbands complain that their wives "nag" them constantly. The standard domestic relationship of the 50s seems unstable, ready to explode. And then it does.
There’s a running theme of fate working against the bad guy like a force of nature. Something doubles back on him — just when he (or she) thinks he’s carried out the perfect murder, he finds out he’s his own victim (the victim dies, too, but . . . collateral damage). A twist of fate he couldn’t have foreseen reaches out and grabs him by the throat at the last second.
So you get the fun, and you get the moral of the story, but it’s not like the good guys win. It’s just that the bad guys lose.
February 15, 2020
Inherently not as fun for me as the line of horror comics, but still EC excellent. There's some good twist endings, some pleasantly familiar story tropes, and a nice mix of different artists. These six issues are NOTICEABLY heavy on murderous spouses of both genders, but even in the horror comics I loved the notion of the angry wife who wants to go out and party every night, but the husband is too pooped from work. It gets repeated so many times as to become a hallmark of the brand.
March 27, 2018
Smart, informative text pieces by Max Allan Collins really highlight some of the great work in this book, particularly in Craig's stories. More great stuff from the EC line. Not sure what's going on with Gemstone, but I hope they have more EC Archives coming out soon.
April 6, 2018
I always enjoy the old EC comics.
July 13, 2024
Uneven, this book has some great ones but also starts to lose steam after a few issues.
February 11, 2016
This is a large, hard-cover book which reprints the first six issues of Crime Suspenstories. There's a foreword and then the stories themselves. The original covers are reprinted, although not the ads. There's an analysis for each issue, and the author of the book doesn't pull any punches.
There are some of the stories he doesn't think are that good, and some that are. There are also some short stories thrown in.
It is also interesting that some stories from other EC comics were used. Issue 4 has a Haunt of Fear story, as do issues 5 and 6. I don't know if they didn't have enough stories ready, or if they wanted to use Haunt of Fear to help get people interested in Crime Suspenstories.
The stories do vary in quality, of course, and they are not as heavily into moralistic meanings as the House of Mystery or House of Secret series, which came later. Altogether, it's a good way to see what the EC comics looked like and see what kind of crime stories they did have.
There are some of the stories he doesn't think are that good, and some that are. There are also some short stories thrown in.
It is also interesting that some stories from other EC comics were used. Issue 4 has a Haunt of Fear story, as do issues 5 and 6. I don't know if they didn't have enough stories ready, or if they wanted to use Haunt of Fear to help get people interested in Crime Suspenstories.
The stories do vary in quality, of course, and they are not as heavily into moralistic meanings as the House of Mystery or House of Secret series, which came later. Altogether, it's a good way to see what the EC comics looked like and see what kind of crime stories they did have.
September 5, 2022
Some of the best crime comics ever. "The Sewer" is Johnny Craig's personal favorite of his own stories, and it's obvious why. His recurring visual motif using water as a metaphor reaches it's zenith in this story, and in many ways it is a key to his whole body of work. Wally Wood's "Faced With Horror" is like a "Sin City" chapter 40 years before Frank Miller. Kurtzman's two stories are both great, because of course they are. "Mr. Biddy Killer" is a sharp one from Davis, and Ingels serves some old school justice with "Jury Duty". EC's Crime Patrol and War Against Crime were both a little ragged but very dope, and elsewhere Crime Does Not Pay was the mean, ugly grandaddy of all. These four volumes of CSS are the polished Cadillacs of crime comics, and this one leads the fleet.
Read
July 29, 2011Often over shadowed by the horror and Kurtzman titles, these are still great noir/crime tales. Not much cop and robbers stuff here, instead it's murderous husbands, two timing woman and a good "Haunt Of Fear" cracker for good measure.
And Johnny Craig does some great work on these too...
And Johnny Craig does some great work on these too...
January 2, 2012
Johnny Craig's time spend as Will Eisner's understudy pays off as his art finds its niche in the crime-noir genre. The page of analysis, behind the scenes, and review at the end of each issue is as interesting as the stories themselves.
May 7, 2012
What a brilliant series this was. EC really had some fantastic stuff!
August 18, 2015
It was sort of interesting to read but most of the stories have predictable "twist" to their ending.
July 11, 2016
Reading this book took me back to the old crime stories. Very entertaining!
Displaying 1 - 14 of 14 reviews