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Death Don't Have No Mercy
Eight stories about broken men making bad decisions.
“William Boyle does for the small damaged towns of New York what Nelson Algren did for Chicago: he makes the streets sing with piss-pot poetry and gut-bucket blues. These are edgy stories about people who would have to pull themselves up to walk the line, people who spend so much time in bars, drunks and bartenders start to look like family. In here, hardship is a given, failure too, but Boyle’s beautiful prose infuses his characters with a deep sense of knowledge and dignity and awareness, so hope is always present, no matter how dim the light. In DEATH DON’T HAVE NO MERCY, a shot of whiskey is rocket fuel, and the songs are all sung by dead folks and outlaws. Drunk working men look like dumptrucks, their mouths hanging open for booze. Boyle is a new breed of literary crime writer that knows to be alive is to be a criminal and the art of living is finding the best possible crime. Fans of James Cain and Vicki Hendricks, of Charles Bukowski and Larry Brown, saddle up to the bar and throw down your money for the excellent stories in DEATH DON’T HAVE NO MERCY. I guarantee you will fall in love with the neighborhoods, with the alleys, with the garages and one-bedroom apartments, because around the corner William Boyle is bartending and everything he has to say is the best thing you will read this year. An outstanding collection!” -Dave Newman, author of PLEASE DON’T SHOOT ANYONE TONIGHT, RAYMOND CARVER WILL NOT RAISE OUR CHILDREN, THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE POEMS, and TWO SMALL BIRDS
“William Boyle does for the small damaged towns of New York what Nelson Algren did for Chicago: he makes the streets sing with piss-pot poetry and gut-bucket blues. These are edgy stories about people who would have to pull themselves up to walk the line, people who spend so much time in bars, drunks and bartenders start to look like family. In here, hardship is a given, failure too, but Boyle’s beautiful prose infuses his characters with a deep sense of knowledge and dignity and awareness, so hope is always present, no matter how dim the light. In DEATH DON’T HAVE NO MERCY, a shot of whiskey is rocket fuel, and the songs are all sung by dead folks and outlaws. Drunk working men look like dumptrucks, their mouths hanging open for booze. Boyle is a new breed of literary crime writer that knows to be alive is to be a criminal and the art of living is finding the best possible crime. Fans of James Cain and Vicki Hendricks, of Charles Bukowski and Larry Brown, saddle up to the bar and throw down your money for the excellent stories in DEATH DON’T HAVE NO MERCY. I guarantee you will fall in love with the neighborhoods, with the alleys, with the garages and one-bedroom apartments, because around the corner William Boyle is bartending and everything he has to say is the best thing you will read this year. An outstanding collection!” -Dave Newman, author of PLEASE DON’T SHOOT ANYONE TONIGHT, RAYMOND CARVER WILL NOT RAISE OUR CHILDREN, THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE POEMS, and TWO SMALL BIRDS
194 pages, Paperback
First published March 11, 2015
12 people are currently reading
472 people want to read
About the author
William Boyle
42 books432 followersWilliam Boyle is the author of eight books set in and around the southern Brooklyn neighborhood of Gravesend, where he was born and raised. His most recent novel is SAINT OF THE NARROWS STREET, available in February 2025 from Soho Crime in the US and March 2025 from No Exit in the UK. His books have been nominated for the Hammett Prize, the John Creasey (New Blood) Dagger Award in the UK, and the Grand Prix de Littérature Policière in France, and they have been included on best-of lists in Washington Post, CrimeReads, and more. He currently lives in Oxford, Mississippi.
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Displaying 1 - 25 of 25 reviews
May 18, 2016
I'm glad to have read that book, because it helped me figure out what is so endearing about William Boyle's writing. I find a lot of the pleasures I had reading Raymond Carver. His imaginary is broken and timeless like Carver's and Boyle is fascinated with the lives of drifting people who can't afford to dream anymore. My favorite story was the closing piece HERE COME THE BELLS that could've been a Marlon Brando movie, but I loved most of what I've read in there: DEATH DON'T HAVE NO MERCY, POOR BOX and POUGHKEEPSIE struck me as standing out, but most of the material is golden.
I'm convinced William Boyle is the next big thing in American Letters. I'm not sure crime REALLY is his thing though. I would read a thousand page novel of just him writing about his neighborhood.
I'm convinced William Boyle is the next big thing in American Letters. I'm not sure crime REALLY is his thing though. I would read a thousand page novel of just him writing about his neighborhood.
March 18, 2015
William Boyle's "Gravesend" was my favorite book of 2014. About a year after reading it, it's still resonating. Boyle wrote this collection of stories over a rather long period, and you can see many of the same themes. His characters inhabit the fringes, and psychically too, they are always on the edge of something. Boyle's gifts for description are tremendous, and if you're a New York City/State dweller, you'll enjoy his atmosphere even more. The tone is often sad -- and the doings here can be very strange and sordid -- but there's humor too. The Nelson Algren comparison is valid, but at times (especially with the nicknames) I found myself thinking of William Kennedy too.
It'll be a pleasure to see Boyle's next book.
It'll be a pleasure to see Boyle's next book.
March 18, 2015
Like GRAVESEND, Boyle's collection is excellent. The kind of literary crime fiction I aspire to create. Less focus on "the crime" and more on the people, their life and surroundings. A must read for fans of writers such as Megan Abbott and Richard Lange. Highly recommended.
September 11, 2025
Rather contrived tales from the New York Italian neighborhoods of Boyle’s native turf, these may entertain the many followers of his novels since Gravesend in the subsequent decade. They’re indicative of his talent for street savvy and wise (or not) guy bar banter and petty rivalry turning into bloodshed and vengeance.
But, c’mon. Kid gets done in for minor crimes (stealing an ancient Walkman) as observed by a local thug? Aspiring writer beats up deadbeat brother fresh out of the joint who taunts him, until smarter sibling stuns him with a blow from his typewriter? Lush rips off a kind priest after he confesses to trying to stick his hand down parish poor boxes? This kind of plot reeks of an MFA candidate’s workshop.
Those are just the first three. Of the rest, two dealing with a boxing protagonist and two (in a row) with brain-damaged young women reveal Boyle’s narrower purview. The first, “In the Neighborhood,” has queasy sex scenes surpassing even that in Gravesend for discomforting a blithe reader, but the situation lacks a bit of the nuance he’d show in his debut longer work from around this time. “Here Come the Bells” opens up its teller’s struggles better, a hint of what Boyle can accomplish with greater ease when not as limited to the short story constraints.
But, c’mon. Kid gets done in for minor crimes (stealing an ancient Walkman) as observed by a local thug? Aspiring writer beats up deadbeat brother fresh out of the joint who taunts him, until smarter sibling stuns him with a blow from his typewriter? Lush rips off a kind priest after he confesses to trying to stick his hand down parish poor boxes? This kind of plot reeks of an MFA candidate’s workshop.
Those are just the first three. Of the rest, two dealing with a boxing protagonist and two (in a row) with brain-damaged young women reveal Boyle’s narrower purview. The first, “In the Neighborhood,” has queasy sex scenes surpassing even that in Gravesend for discomforting a blithe reader, but the situation lacks a bit of the nuance he’d show in his debut longer work from around this time. “Here Come the Bells” opens up its teller’s struggles better, a hint of what Boyle can accomplish with greater ease when not as limited to the short story constraints.
March 12, 2015
I was lucky enough to read and blurb this. It's awesome! Here's my blurb:
William Boyle does for the small damaged towns of New York what Nelson Algren did for Chicago: he makes the streets sing with piss-pot poetry and gut-bucket blues. These are edgy stories about people who would have to pull themselves up to walk the line, people who spend so much time in bars, drunks and bartenders start to look like family. In here, hardship is a given, failure too, but Boyle's beautiful prose infuses his characters with a deep sense of knowledge and dignity and awareness, so hope is always present, no matter how dim the light. In DEATH DON'T HAVE NO MERCY, a shot of whiskey is rocket fuel, and the songs are all sung by dead folks and outlaws. Drunk working men look like dumptrucks, their mouths hanging open for booze. Boyle is a new breed of literary crime writer that knows to be alive is to be a criminal and the art of living is finding the best possible crime. Fans of James Cain and Vicki Hendricks, of Charles Bukowski and Larry Brown, saddle up to the bar and throw down your money for the excellent stories in DEATH DON'T HAVE NO MERCY. I guarantee you will fall in love with the neighborhoods, with the alleys, with the garages and one-bedroom apartments, because around the corner William Boyle is bartending and everything he has to say is the best thing you will read this year. An outstanding collection!
William Boyle does for the small damaged towns of New York what Nelson Algren did for Chicago: he makes the streets sing with piss-pot poetry and gut-bucket blues. These are edgy stories about people who would have to pull themselves up to walk the line, people who spend so much time in bars, drunks and bartenders start to look like family. In here, hardship is a given, failure too, but Boyle's beautiful prose infuses his characters with a deep sense of knowledge and dignity and awareness, so hope is always present, no matter how dim the light. In DEATH DON'T HAVE NO MERCY, a shot of whiskey is rocket fuel, and the songs are all sung by dead folks and outlaws. Drunk working men look like dumptrucks, their mouths hanging open for booze. Boyle is a new breed of literary crime writer that knows to be alive is to be a criminal and the art of living is finding the best possible crime. Fans of James Cain and Vicki Hendricks, of Charles Bukowski and Larry Brown, saddle up to the bar and throw down your money for the excellent stories in DEATH DON'T HAVE NO MERCY. I guarantee you will fall in love with the neighborhoods, with the alleys, with the garages and one-bedroom apartments, because around the corner William Boyle is bartending and everything he has to say is the best thing you will read this year. An outstanding collection!
October 6, 2015
The stories in this book bounce back and forth over the Mason Dixon line and the characters found within are usually bouncing back and forth themselves, sometimes over that same line and always over other lines: of happenstance, of judgement, of good taste.
I could see this book coming out on Black Sparrow Press sometime back in the 70s, but for as much as it owes to that lackadaisical, just-plainly-say-what-the-hell-happened sort of writing, there are other recognizable touch-points of minimalist/crime writing that give the book a lived-in sort of feeling. Kind of like the old country & western references that pop throughout the book, you get to write about your mama, drinking, and a hard-luck woman and that's it. I've seen all this before, but the trappings of comfortable tropes are outweighed by just how comfortable they really are.
Voice and style are the things that I really have a hard-on for in writing, sometimes at the expense of narrative (Gary Lutz fucked me up one winter) and sometimes at the expense of actually being good writing (Kerouac fucked me up one summer). Boyle's a Barry Hannah fan/former student, and it's Hannah's later work I see more than the Airships or Ray era of work. The heart is still big, but there's something that makes me think the life had been slowly leaking out of a pinhole long before I got there. Not necessarily a bad thing, but I wanted more of the wild thing instead of the wild thing struggling against the devices that are taming it.
Maybe's it's just the sad sacks of shit in these stories, but the sparseness of the language would have struck me more often--because it did strike me several times--if the stories had been chopped a bit, if some of the scenic description and exposition had been edited out. I wanted more Lish-era Carver and less Cathedral Carver.
In that way, I got a bit lost in the stories at different points. Things start to blend together, and one character's bad decisions, lustful gazes towards female bartenders, and schlepped drinks turn into those of another a little too easy. I figured I'd had my fill by the time I reached the last two stories in the collection, especially after the senseless violence and meandering desire of "Poughkeepsie" coupled with the aforementioned character details that had become harsh background noise at that point, but I kept going and got to read the two best stories in the whole collection.
"In the Neighborhood" is damn good, the sort of depravity Hannah himself could proudly hang his hat on. A rare, deserved pathos that blends nicely with the down-and-out (etc) guy found in every other story. "Here Come the Bells" is a real stunner, though. The book's worth it just to read this, and at 36 pages, it really makes me want to read Boyle's novel. I know I talked about editing the stories so that they're shorter, but maybe the opposite could have a positive effect to. As things get stretched out and added onto here, it makes the elements of the book I've grown tired of fall back into place. It also helps that there's considerably less drinking and hanging out in a bar in this story. And, full disclosure, I'm a goddamn sucked for any sort of story involving boxing or prize fighting, underground or otherwise.
Overall, a book that went quickly and with those last two stories, ended up being totally worth it. I'm looking forward to eventually reading Gravesend and being glad I don't work in a bar anymore.
I could see this book coming out on Black Sparrow Press sometime back in the 70s, but for as much as it owes to that lackadaisical, just-plainly-say-what-the-hell-happened sort of writing, there are other recognizable touch-points of minimalist/crime writing that give the book a lived-in sort of feeling. Kind of like the old country & western references that pop throughout the book, you get to write about your mama, drinking, and a hard-luck woman and that's it. I've seen all this before, but the trappings of comfortable tropes are outweighed by just how comfortable they really are.
Voice and style are the things that I really have a hard-on for in writing, sometimes at the expense of narrative (Gary Lutz fucked me up one winter) and sometimes at the expense of actually being good writing (Kerouac fucked me up one summer). Boyle's a Barry Hannah fan/former student, and it's Hannah's later work I see more than the Airships or Ray era of work. The heart is still big, but there's something that makes me think the life had been slowly leaking out of a pinhole long before I got there. Not necessarily a bad thing, but I wanted more of the wild thing instead of the wild thing struggling against the devices that are taming it.
Maybe's it's just the sad sacks of shit in these stories, but the sparseness of the language would have struck me more often--because it did strike me several times--if the stories had been chopped a bit, if some of the scenic description and exposition had been edited out. I wanted more Lish-era Carver and less Cathedral Carver.
In that way, I got a bit lost in the stories at different points. Things start to blend together, and one character's bad decisions, lustful gazes towards female bartenders, and schlepped drinks turn into those of another a little too easy. I figured I'd had my fill by the time I reached the last two stories in the collection, especially after the senseless violence and meandering desire of "Poughkeepsie" coupled with the aforementioned character details that had become harsh background noise at that point, but I kept going and got to read the two best stories in the whole collection.
"In the Neighborhood" is damn good, the sort of depravity Hannah himself could proudly hang his hat on. A rare, deserved pathos that blends nicely with the down-and-out (etc) guy found in every other story. "Here Come the Bells" is a real stunner, though. The book's worth it just to read this, and at 36 pages, it really makes me want to read Boyle's novel. I know I talked about editing the stories so that they're shorter, but maybe the opposite could have a positive effect to. As things get stretched out and added onto here, it makes the elements of the book I've grown tired of fall back into place. It also helps that there's considerably less drinking and hanging out in a bar in this story. And, full disclosure, I'm a goddamn sucked for any sort of story involving boxing or prize fighting, underground or otherwise.
Overall, a book that went quickly and with those last two stories, ended up being totally worth it. I'm looking forward to eventually reading Gravesend and being glad I don't work in a bar anymore.
April 26, 2015
A marvelous collection of eight stories about men who drink too much, have damaged souls, and whose lives, for all purposes, may already be over. None of the main characters is all that old - we're talking about men in their twenties and early thirties - but already they've made a lot of bad choices and continue to make bad choices. Still, you'll be hard-pressed to encounter more entertaining, compelling fiction about sad people than the fiction you'll find here. Boyle has a style of elegant simplicity that makes for compulsive reading, and his way of evoking place, Brooklyn around Coney Island, upstate New York, a hotel room in Montreal, is impeccable. Environment almost is a separate character in these stories. I could have read eight more of these beautifully told tales and look forward to what William Boyle will do next.
April 15, 2017
I wanted to pace myself with this collection, but couldn't stop myself from reading this in one sitting.
I hope some day we all get to read 'Sandra Dee, Your Princess Days Are Over.'
I hope some day we all get to read 'Sandra Dee, Your Princess Days Are Over.'
July 15, 2019
William Boyle is a unique voice and author. This collection is up there with my favourites short story collections. Bleak and unflinching, sometimes brutal, sometimes beautiful but always written in his sparse way. It's a quick read but one I could reread again and again. Stories that ring true with authenticity, characters that you know you could meet at any street corner but the types you probably ignore in the day to day.
Here comes the bells was my highlight. There is always a light in the darkest of tales.
If you like borderline savage realism and a noir feel, you'll be hard pressed to beat it.
Here comes the bells was my highlight. There is always a light in the darkest of tales.
If you like borderline savage realism and a noir feel, you'll be hard pressed to beat it.
December 23, 2015
Outstanding book of stories. I blew through this one in two sittings because every story was better than be last. I just finished reading Richard Lange's Sweet Nothing and if you like that book I highly recommend Death Don't Have No Mercy. It's almost like an east coast companion read. Here Comes The Bells is definitely one of the best stories I have read this year, it will likely be a contender in my favorite story suggestions for a long time to come as well. I am a fan of Boyle's for sure now. I he has more books coming out soon! What can I say about Broken River Books that I haven't already said. Greatness.
April 24, 2015
I was hooked after thumbing through the first few pages. Without giving anything away, the title, and first, story in this collection is the perfect way to introduce you to this world of sadsack barflies and boxers, deadbeats and vagabonds. I swear I had Tom Wait's "9th & Hennepen" in my head the entire time I was reading this. True to that, every one of these stories has such sadness, but not muted, rather a vibrant, human sadness that reminds me so much of my childhood in Chicago (never mind that these stories take place in New York, if you've spent any time in a big, blue collar American city, you'll relate). I am immediately tracking down a copy of Gravesend, as should you.
April 21, 2015
A truly superb collection of intricately woven short stories by one of our most important up-and-coming writers of fiction. Unreservedly recommended.
August 1, 2021
I could be biased with this review since Bill Boyle is a friend and we’ve shared some beers together. But this was a damn fine crime fiction collection. I’m particularly impressed with how these stories stretch the crime genre - these aren’t typical crime stories. Yet they capture the feel and nature of noir and crime. The characters are down and out, hard-pressed, stuck deep between a rock and a hard place, desperate. And Bill writes them with enough nuance and heart that while some are hard to love, you still feel for them. The essence of good fiction. Biggest standout for me was POOR BOX. Excellent short stories.
July 18, 2022
God, William Boyle can write. So evocative in as few words as possible. A smoker’s haven. The down and outs of society with their moment in the sun. Every turn an Irish bar. Every glance a broad taking our protagonists’ heart away. Whether for good or bad, you’re never quite sure. Each crime only a few crumpled dollar bills away.
…Well, that was my poor attempt at his awesome style! For someone in the south of England, he sure brings the US to life! Can’t wait to get into the other two books of his I received for Christmas, although perhaps they should be savoured.
If you love noir, you can’t go wrong. Enjoy.
…Well, that was my poor attempt at his awesome style! For someone in the south of England, he sure brings the US to life! Can’t wait to get into the other two books of his I received for Christmas, although perhaps they should be savoured.
If you love noir, you can’t go wrong. Enjoy.
January 13, 2020
DNF at ~29%. This collection was about a bunch of sad drunk bums having sad lives and then dying, with most of the focus being on their times in and around Bronx bars. I read this hoping it'd be about Upstate NY, emphasis on the state, instead of Up NY as in 140th Street. I did not feel like this was worth my time to finish or pursue further.
July 27, 2022
Clear, concise, no nonsense, and no pulled punches. Picture a less poetic Bukowski, who haunts New York burrows. A down on his luck mick, who has a rap sheet, a love of booze, and carries around a big dumb heart.
"Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.” William Butler Yeats
"Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.” William Butler Yeats
September 28, 2018
Good stories about bad decisions...
October 29, 2019
I’m not a short story reader, but this was a great collection. He’s by far my newest favorite writer.
September 10, 2020
I liked this book. I did. But it isn’t for everyone. There’s some weird shit in here!
February 25, 2025
Nice set of short stories by Boyle. Down and out people trying to make it. All written in Boyle’s rat-a-tat style. He loves Brooklyn.
September 15, 2025
Excellent just like all of his books.
January 8, 2016
Pop Culture references can be fickle beasts regardless of medium. For some it provides a deep dive into creative influences, for others it becomes an obstacle allowing their hang-ups and taste (or lack there of) to take them out of the experience. William Boyle’s concept album by way of short prose fiction, Death Don’t Have No Mercy, is a loving road map to the cultural artifacts he holds dear made with the painstaking attention of a well-curated mix tape.
The title story comes from a song of bluesman Rev. Gary Davis, centering on the petty theft of a kid’s Walkman. Calhoun, the degenerate in question, doesn’t know why he did it but becomes obsessed with the mix tape within. The tape’s seamless compilation of blues and classic country is a soundtrack for his aimless, lecherous days and nights and it provides an ominous tone for his end.
The Hank Williams song “Lost Highway” makes its second appearance in “Far From God” a fatalistic noir that comfortably wears its B-movie influences. Pete is hiding out in the sticks after a heist with unintended complications when an attractive married woman appears on his doorstep with a package. They hit it off and quickly fall into bed and just as rapidly decide to run off together while the package remains an unopened Chekhovian plot device. A straightforward story that doesn’t zig or zag yet maintains its narrative momentum in large part to Boyle’s prose as the knowing layers of homage and existential dread run through out.
Boyle’s brand of short story focuses more on neighborhood guys, perpetual screw ups feeling their best days are behind them, trying to rustle together a few bucks to get drunk, getting laid wherever they can, when they wander into situations beyond them. While many of the stories within this collection have similar protagonists in increasingly familiar situations, Boyle’s storytelling skills make up for any repetitions and showcase an emerging voice that will always keep reader engaged and pages turning.
From my review in Crimespree Magazine #61
The title story comes from a song of bluesman Rev. Gary Davis, centering on the petty theft of a kid’s Walkman. Calhoun, the degenerate in question, doesn’t know why he did it but becomes obsessed with the mix tape within. The tape’s seamless compilation of blues and classic country is a soundtrack for his aimless, lecherous days and nights and it provides an ominous tone for his end.
The Hank Williams song “Lost Highway” makes its second appearance in “Far From God” a fatalistic noir that comfortably wears its B-movie influences. Pete is hiding out in the sticks after a heist with unintended complications when an attractive married woman appears on his doorstep with a package. They hit it off and quickly fall into bed and just as rapidly decide to run off together while the package remains an unopened Chekhovian plot device. A straightforward story that doesn’t zig or zag yet maintains its narrative momentum in large part to Boyle’s prose as the knowing layers of homage and existential dread run through out.
Boyle’s brand of short story focuses more on neighborhood guys, perpetual screw ups feeling their best days are behind them, trying to rustle together a few bucks to get drunk, getting laid wherever they can, when they wander into situations beyond them. While many of the stories within this collection have similar protagonists in increasingly familiar situations, Boyle’s storytelling skills make up for any repetitions and showcase an emerging voice that will always keep reader engaged and pages turning.
From my review in Crimespree Magazine #61
May 11, 2016
“Death Don't Have No Mercy” es una colección de ocho historias de hombres que beben mucho, de espíritu doblegado y cuyas vidas parecieran estar por terminar prematuramente.
En general lo que destaca es la excelente prosa de Boyle, cada página gotea la desesperación del vacío que implica la ciudad que contiene los relatos. Cada uno de sus personajes pareciera estar al borde del abismo, con una indiferencia que se aferra a un instinto básico que les permita recorrer las calles de su infancia una vez más.
Probablemente una de las cosas que entorpece está colección de relatos es la similitud entre los personajes, no pareciera existir una frontera en la personalidad de nuestros protagonistas, lo que hace difícil distinguir el impacto de cada historia en particular. Menos de descripciones de las mismas calles hubiese sido bienvenido.
“In the Neighborhood” y “Here Comes The Bells” bien valen la lectura, especialmente este último, personas dañadas colisionan con consecuencias inolvidables.
En general lo que destaca es la excelente prosa de Boyle, cada página gotea la desesperación del vacío que implica la ciudad que contiene los relatos. Cada uno de sus personajes pareciera estar al borde del abismo, con una indiferencia que se aferra a un instinto básico que les permita recorrer las calles de su infancia una vez más.
Probablemente una de las cosas que entorpece está colección de relatos es la similitud entre los personajes, no pareciera existir una frontera en la personalidad de nuestros protagonistas, lo que hace difícil distinguir el impacto de cada historia en particular. Menos de descripciones de las mismas calles hubiese sido bienvenido.
“In the Neighborhood” y “Here Comes The Bells” bien valen la lectura, especialmente este último, personas dañadas colisionan con consecuencias inolvidables.
December 17, 2015
Incredible voice, these stories left me longing for more. 'Here Come The Bells' especially resonated, damaged people colliding with unforgettable consequences. Do whatever it takes to get your hands on this book and 'Gravesend', you'll be glad you did!
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