You may find some misspelled words in this opus, but if so, overlook them or blame them on the editor's third assistant, who is supposed to take care of such things. I can spell and I own a dictionary, but my ability to typewrite was impaired, to say the least, the night of March fifth.
That is the opening paragraph of the title story of Hugh B. Cave's Come Into My Parlor.
This is a collection of stories by Hugh B. Cave, a writer of pulp fiction. That opening paragraph tells more about the book than just that story. The editing of this edition had much to be desired. Misspelled words, poor kerning, especially near punctuation. These errors did not make the book unreadable, but they detracted from the pleasure of reading.
The stories themselves were quite enjoyable. Short enough to polish off quickly, but each was different so that they were fresh.
No superheroes here, just policemen, detectives, thugs, and dames. Gun play, fists, bodies, cars. All the cool stuff to pass a few hours..
I had a friend check this copy out from the Knox County Public Library. It seems strange to me that a library would have a signed limited edition book in circulation.
I guess that one of the downfalls of having it in circulation is that it can become damaged. In this instance, the pamphlet, Desperate Character (which I assume is another story), is no longer with this book. There is a sleeve to hold the pamphlet, but it is empty.
Worth reading, but I wish that the editing had been tighter. I'd recommend it.
1 comment:
Hugh B. Cave sounds like a bogus name.
"Pick something dark and deep", the editor said, and I didn't want to Hugo Downdy Well.
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