I recently found a copy of the 1962 The Name of the Game is
Death. I haven't read it, yet, but I have compared it to the
copy I already had:
"Copyright 1962, 1972 . . . Printed in the United States of
America January 1962/January1973"
The story is exactly the same. The earlier one has one extra
chapter, but that is only because the later edition combines
Chapters VIII and IX.
However, the book has been extensively rewritten, from first
page to last. The language of the earlier one is a bit more
clipped, more "just the facts" simple sentences, but longer
paragraphs.
Here are two examples. The first two paragraphs from
1962:
From the back seat of the Olds I could see the kid's cotton
gloves flash white on the steering wheel as he swung off Van
Buren onto Central Avenue. On the right up ahead the strong
late September Phoenix sunshine blazed off the bank's white
stone front till it hurt the eyes. The damn building looked
as big as the purple buttes on the rim of the desert.
Beside me Bunny chewed gum rhythmically, his hands relaxed in
his lap. Up front, in three-quarter profile the kid's face
was like chalk, but he teamed the car perfectly into a
tight-fitting space right in front of the bank.
From 1973:
From the back seat of the Olds I could see the kid's cotton
gloves flash white on the steering wheel as he swung the car
from Van Buren onto Central Avenue. The strong,
late-September, Phoenix sunshine blazed off the bank's white
stone front till it hurt the eyes. The damn building looked
as big as the purple buttes on the rim of the desert.
Beside me Bunny chewed gum rhythmically, his hands relaxed in
his lap. Up front the kid's face was like chalk, but he
teamed the car perfectly into a tight-fitting space right in
front of the bank.
So it's close, but subtlely different.
SPOILER ALERT
And the last chapter, from 1962:
I was in black darkness for six months. I may have gone a
little crazy, too. I gve them a hard time. I went the whole
route: baths, wet packs, elbow cuffs, straitjackets,
isolation. I stopped fighting them a little while ago. They
don't pay much attention to me now.
Even before I could see again, I knew what I looked like. I
could feel the reaction, when a new patient was admitted, or
a new attendant came on duty. Hazel came to see me four or
five times. I refused permission for her to be allowed
in.
They don't know that I can see again, that I'm not crazy.
They think I'm a robot. A vegetable.
I'll show them.
I have a hermetically sealed quart jar buried in the ground
up in Hillsboro, New Hampshire, and another in Grosmont,
Colorado, up above the timber line. There's nothing but money
in both. I don't need it. All I need is a gun. Some one of
these days I'll find the right attendant, and I'll start
talking to him. It will take a while to convince him, but
I've got plenty of time.
If I can get back to the sascccck buried beside Bunny's
cabin, plastic surgery will take care of most of what I look
like. With a gun, I'll get back to it.
That's all I need--a gun.
I'm not staying here.
I'll be leaving one of these days, and the day I do they'll
never forget it.
And from 1973:
I was blind for six months.
I may have gone a little crazy, too. I went the whole route:
baths, wetpacks, elbow cuffs, straitjackets, isolation. I
stopped fighting them a while ago. They don't pay much
attention to me now.
I knew what I looked like even before I could see again. I
could tell from the reaction when a new patient was admitted
or a new attendant came on duty. Hazel came to see me five or
six times. I refused to consent for her admission.
They don't know that I can see again. That I'm not crazy.
They think I'm a robot. A vegetable.
I'll show them.
There's a hermetically sealed quart jar buried in Hillsboro,
New Hampshire, and another in Grosmont, Colorado. There's
nothing but money in both. I don't need money. All I need is
a gun. One of these days I'll find the right attendant, and
I'll start talking to him. It will take time to convince him,
but I've got plenty of time.
Plastic surgery will take care of most of what I look like if
I can get back to the sack buried beside Bunny's cabin. With
a gun, I'll get back to it.
That's all I need--a gun.
I'm not staying here.
I'll be leaving before too long, and the day I do they'll
never forget it.
Again, same content, slightly different presentation. Nothing
had to be changed to make it a series. As a matter of fact,
the prologue in my copy of One Endless Hour (March
1969/January 1973) begins with yet another close, but not
quite the same, version of the last chapters of Name of the
Game.
I don't have the Vintage edition, so I can't tell you which
version they use, one of these or yet another one.
Mark
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