Thanks to Curt for asking this question that I've been
curious about myself. And many thanks to Mark for the answer.
I only have the 1973 edition so have been unable to do any
comparisons.
Mark, I was wondering if Marlowe did the rewrite himself,
since the revised edition was before his "memory loss"
problem, or if someone
(an editor maybe?) did it. Would you (or anyone else) happen
to know?
Amy
--- In
rara-avis-l@yahoogroups.com, DJ-Anonyme@... wrote:
>
> Curt, back in 2001, I posted this
comparison:
>
> 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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