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The Wench is Dead
“I’m called Howie, or The Professor. I’m on Skid Row in Los Angeles because I want to know what it’s like to be a bum, from the inside. But I didn’t know I’d fall for a part-time hustler named Billie the Kid. I didn’t know I’d get mixed up in two killings, and that the cops would pin them on me...” The Wench Is Dead is one of Fredric Brown’s wildest novels, flawlessly written and rarely reprinted. This edition features a new introduction by Bill Crider, a color cover by legendary cover artist Ron Lesser. There are also twelve bonus stories. Full color dustjacket with black Brillianta cloth, ribbon marker.
417 pages, Hardcover
First published July 1, 1953
6 people are currently reading
89 people want to read
About the author
Fredric Brown
810 books357 followersFredric Brown was an American science fiction and mystery writer. He was one of the boldest early writers in genre fiction in his use of narrative experimentation. While never in the front rank of popularity in his lifetime, Brown has developed a considerable cult following in the almost half century since he last wrote. His works have been periodically reprinted and he has a worldwide fan base, most notably in the U.S. and Europe, and especially in France, where there have been several recent movie adaptations of his work. He also remains popular in Japan.
Never financially secure, Brown - like many other pulp writers - often wrote at a furious pace in order to pay bills. This accounts, at least in part, for the uneven quality of his work. A newspaperman by profession, Brown was only able to devote 14 years of his life as a full-time fiction writer. Brown was also a heavy drinker, and this at times doubtless affected his productivity. A cultured man and omnivorous reader whose interests ranged far beyond those of most pulp writers, Brown had a lifelong interest in the flute, chess, poker, and the works of Lewis Carroll. Brown married twice and was the father of two sons.
Never financially secure, Brown - like many other pulp writers - often wrote at a furious pace in order to pay bills. This accounts, at least in part, for the uneven quality of his work. A newspaperman by profession, Brown was only able to devote 14 years of his life as a full-time fiction writer. Brown was also a heavy drinker, and this at times doubtless affected his productivity. A cultured man and omnivorous reader whose interests ranged far beyond those of most pulp writers, Brown had a lifelong interest in the flute, chess, poker, and the works of Lewis Carroll. Brown married twice and was the father of two sons.
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January 4, 2019"There are no rules. You can write a story, if you wish, with no conflict, no suspense, no beginning, middle or end. Of course, you have to be regarded as a genius to get away with it, and that's the hardest part -- convincing everybody you're a genius."
-- Fredric Brown
That is the trick isn’t it? Convincing everyone that we know what we are doing. Most of us are frauds, and those who think they aren’t are just fooling themselves. Those who try to play it straight get pulverized by someone else coming along who can stick a dirty thumb in the heart of their weaknesses. Few of us are geniuses, but all of us have to be good at something, and we have to convince others that what we are good at, we are actually great at.
Otherwise, some other shyster comes along with flashing white teeth and a twisted tongue with his spiel billowing out of him like the roll on a player piano. He is hip to the jive of the universal notes. He can spin a web of possibilities that spins your boss's head or turns your pious wife into a no good, dirty slut.
Next thing you know, you are on the street carrying an empty cardboard suitcase with two nickels playing faint music in your pocket as you navigate the grubby streets of skidrow.
Now that doesn’t happen to Howard Perry. He is a teacher on his way to being a professor of sociology. He convinces himself that the only way he will understand the people he is studying is to become one of them. Once classes let out, he hops a freight train and lands in Los Angeles. He finds a job as a dishwasher, about the lowest job anyone can take, even on skidrow. He likes it because, when he wipes his final dish or scrubs the last pan for the day, he walks away without another thought. The money is just enough to keep him in booze for the rest of the day and pay his rent. Food is always optional.
In a few short weeks, his priorities have completely changed.
People start calling him The Professor, which is sort of ironic. Howard is gone, and Howie has emerged.
I don’t know if you would call Billie, Billie the Kid, his girlfriend. She is a lady of the night, morning, and afternoon, depending on when a man is in need of release. Howie gets off work usually before she does, and so he has to pace his drinking. If he drinks too much too early, by the time he sees her, even in that black satin bikini he likes so much, his willie is inebriated, too, and lolls around on his stomach like a wino in a gutter.
He has to pace himself. That black satin makes her pale flesh glow as if lit by moonlight. It keeps him sipping his drinks….slowly.
He meets philosophers in the bar. ”’But how’s about the filthy rich? Aren’t they free?’ ‘Not as free as we are. Spend more time and have more grief worrying about their money, their investments and their taxes than we do getting the pittance that satisfies our needs. We’re the leisure classes. The more you’ve got the more you want and the more you worry and the harder you struggle. If you’ve got nothing and want nothing then you don’t have to struggle at all. You’re free.’”
Amen, brother.
When one of Billie’s friends is murdered moments after Howie has been over to borrow some booze, things get a little too real. The cops are investigating. Howie is tailor made to fit the frame.
This might be the perfect time for the quote from Christopher Marlowe to come into play…”The Wench is Dead.” But not so fast... Fredric Brown will find another place to use it.
Howard knows it is time to quit playing make believe and head back to the real world before he starts pulling down three nickels in a California prison. Just as he is ready to leave, maybe it is the booze, maybe it is Billie, or maybe he is just ready to quit struggling and let the trap close over the top of him, but the truth of the matter is he can’t make himself leave this life to return to that life.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit http://www.jeffreykeeten.com I also have a Facebook blogger page at: https://www.facebook.com/JeffreyKeeten
-- Fredric Brown
That is the trick isn’t it? Convincing everyone that we know what we are doing. Most of us are frauds, and those who think they aren’t are just fooling themselves. Those who try to play it straight get pulverized by someone else coming along who can stick a dirty thumb in the heart of their weaknesses. Few of us are geniuses, but all of us have to be good at something, and we have to convince others that what we are good at, we are actually great at.
Otherwise, some other shyster comes along with flashing white teeth and a twisted tongue with his spiel billowing out of him like the roll on a player piano. He is hip to the jive of the universal notes. He can spin a web of possibilities that spins your boss's head or turns your pious wife into a no good, dirty slut.
Next thing you know, you are on the street carrying an empty cardboard suitcase with two nickels playing faint music in your pocket as you navigate the grubby streets of skidrow.
Now that doesn’t happen to Howard Perry. He is a teacher on his way to being a professor of sociology. He convinces himself that the only way he will understand the people he is studying is to become one of them. Once classes let out, he hops a freight train and lands in Los Angeles. He finds a job as a dishwasher, about the lowest job anyone can take, even on skidrow. He likes it because, when he wipes his final dish or scrubs the last pan for the day, he walks away without another thought. The money is just enough to keep him in booze for the rest of the day and pay his rent. Food is always optional.
In a few short weeks, his priorities have completely changed.
People start calling him The Professor, which is sort of ironic. Howard is gone, and Howie has emerged.
I don’t know if you would call Billie, Billie the Kid, his girlfriend. She is a lady of the night, morning, and afternoon, depending on when a man is in need of release. Howie gets off work usually before she does, and so he has to pace his drinking. If he drinks too much too early, by the time he sees her, even in that black satin bikini he likes so much, his willie is inebriated, too, and lolls around on his stomach like a wino in a gutter.
He has to pace himself. That black satin makes her pale flesh glow as if lit by moonlight. It keeps him sipping his drinks….slowly.
He meets philosophers in the bar. ”’But how’s about the filthy rich? Aren’t they free?’ ‘Not as free as we are. Spend more time and have more grief worrying about their money, their investments and their taxes than we do getting the pittance that satisfies our needs. We’re the leisure classes. The more you’ve got the more you want and the more you worry and the harder you struggle. If you’ve got nothing and want nothing then you don’t have to struggle at all. You’re free.’”
Amen, brother.
When one of Billie’s friends is murdered moments after Howie has been over to borrow some booze, things get a little too real. The cops are investigating. Howie is tailor made to fit the frame.
This might be the perfect time for the quote from Christopher Marlowe to come into play…”The Wench is Dead.” But not so fast... Fredric Brown will find another place to use it.
Howard knows it is time to quit playing make believe and head back to the real world before he starts pulling down three nickels in a California prison. Just as he is ready to leave, maybe it is the booze, maybe it is Billie, or maybe he is just ready to quit struggling and let the trap close over the top of him, but the truth of the matter is he can’t make himself leave this life to return to that life.
If you wish to see more of my most recent book and movie reviews, visit http://www.jeffreykeeten.com I also have a Facebook blogger page at: https://www.facebook.com/JeffreyKeeten
Want to read
January 31, 2017This book is copy 40 of 200 hardcover copies printed and is signed and numbered by Bill Crider who wrote the introduction, Ron Lessor who did the artwork, and there is a facsimile signature of Fredric Brown.
In addition there are 12 additional short stories.
007 - Introduction - Bill Crider
015 - "The Wench Is Dead"
195 - "Etaoin Shrdlu"
223 - "Death Is Noise"
251 - "The Shaggy Dog Murders"
278 - "Life and Fire"
296 - "Teacup Trouble"
310 - "Good Night, Good Knight"
324 - "Beware of the Dog"
331 - "Little Boy Lost"
341 - "Whistlers Murder"
358 - "Satin One-and-a-Half"
381 - "Tell 'em Pagliaccio !"
400 - "Nothing Sinister"
In addition there are 12 additional short stories.
007 - Introduction - Bill Crider
015 - "The Wench Is Dead"
195 - "Etaoin Shrdlu"
223 - "Death Is Noise"
251 - "The Shaggy Dog Murders"
278 - "Life and Fire"
296 - "Teacup Trouble"
310 - "Good Night, Good Knight"
324 - "Beware of the Dog"
331 - "Little Boy Lost"
341 - "Whistlers Murder"
358 - "Satin One-and-a-Half"
381 - "Tell 'em Pagliaccio !"
400 - "Nothing Sinister"
August 22, 2024
Fredric Brown’s the Wench is Dead is set in the Skid Row of Los Angeles at Main and Fifth, which seventy years later is still a run-down skid-row with bums and drug addicts sprawled everywhere. It’s not set in Chicago as so many other of Brown’s novels are, but the connection is still there as the star of the book, Howard Perry, is a high school teacher back in Chicago, working on his Master’s in Sociology at night. Perry, or Professor, as the skid row denizens kindly refer to the man who uses big words, has decided to spend the summer doing on the site research for his Master’s thesis, traveling to LA’s Skid row with only enough to get by in order to be as realistic as possible.
Perry spends the summer becoming an alcoholic bum who washes dishes at a local diner and hangs around with Billy the Kid, a young lady prostitute who is his best friend forever (with benefits of course). So we sort of have a David Goodis type take of a man down on his luck – only here it is sort of an act and Perry has no intention of staying on skid row forever. He brags at one point about being so highly esteemed that one phone call will get him out of hot water with the police. Nevertheless, because his plight is feigned, we readers never get the sense that Perry is desperate or at the end of his rope, not even when he is a possible murder suspect and gets bored hanging out in a hotel so waltzes out to catch a movie and gave a drink and is even so bored he goes back to his old job as a dishwasher to hang out.
Perry is ostensibly connected to a series of murders and spotted by a milkman doing his rounds. Brown though, even though the protagonist is a skid row bum with a drinking problem, never has the reader believing Perry was the actual killer, not even in the sense that he was a misleading narrator who pretended innocence. That perhaps would have made it more interesting.
All in all, The Wench is Dead has some interesting points, but it fails on some level to fully engage the reader, particularly since the protagonist never fully seems absolutely desperate.
Perry spends the summer becoming an alcoholic bum who washes dishes at a local diner and hangs around with Billy the Kid, a young lady prostitute who is his best friend forever (with benefits of course). So we sort of have a David Goodis type take of a man down on his luck – only here it is sort of an act and Perry has no intention of staying on skid row forever. He brags at one point about being so highly esteemed that one phone call will get him out of hot water with the police. Nevertheless, because his plight is feigned, we readers never get the sense that Perry is desperate or at the end of his rope, not even when he is a possible murder suspect and gets bored hanging out in a hotel so waltzes out to catch a movie and gave a drink and is even so bored he goes back to his old job as a dishwasher to hang out.
Perry is ostensibly connected to a series of murders and spotted by a milkman doing his rounds. Brown though, even though the protagonist is a skid row bum with a drinking problem, never has the reader believing Perry was the actual killer, not even in the sense that he was a misleading narrator who pretended innocence. That perhaps would have made it more interesting.
All in all, The Wench is Dead has some interesting points, but it fails on some level to fully engage the reader, particularly since the protagonist never fully seems absolutely desperate.
March 9, 2025
One of Brown's shorts
Not one of Fredric Brown's best. The plot is fine but the story is populated with various members of life's loser brigade on skid row. Alcoholic bums, B girls/prostitutes, drug addicts, criminals and other low lifes. No characters with whom I could relate. Instead they are all people for whom I feel sorrow and anguish.
Not one of Fredric Brown's best. The plot is fine but the story is populated with various members of life's loser brigade on skid row. Alcoholic bums, B girls/prostitutes, drug addicts, criminals and other low lifes. No characters with whom I could relate. Instead they are all people for whom I feel sorrow and anguish.
May 15, 2016
(The Goodreads blurb is hopelessly inaccurate.)
Howard "Howie" Perry is a Chicago schoolteacher and sociologist who, for his postgrad thesis, has decided to research LA's Skid Row and its denizens by becoming one of them, washing dishes for a living and staying boozed-up most of the time. Whore-with-a-heart-of-gold Billie the Kid has become his girlfriend and, alarmingly, he's beginning to find that all's right with this new world of his.
One day he borrows some booze from Billie's upstairs neighbor Mame, another hooker, and soon afterwards Mame is found brutally murdered, her apartment trashed. Since Howie was the last person except the killer to see her, and since their encounter was witnessed by a visiting milkman, it'd be no surprise if he became the cops' Suspect #1. Howie takes precautions, but he's not overly worried: he carries on washing dishes, joshing with short-order cook Ramon, meeting up with friends and not-so-friends in bars or gathered round gallons of muscatel ("muskie"), wondering how he's going to raise the money to go home to Chicago and that thesis . . .
Another body is found -- this time that of a spooked-out client Mame mentioned to Howie having brought home to her room the night before she herself was murdered. Howie begins to put two and two together about who the killer could be. The trouble is that it's so damned hard to get his head around anything when his bloodstream's full of Muskie . . .
I enjoyed this, but I didn't feel it was Brown at the peak of his powers. Something of the old snap wasn't there, and when he began Chapter Six with a page or three of impressionistic images it seemed a tad like self-parody: I could almost imagine the passage being produced as a lampoon by the I'm Sorry I'll Read That Again or Round the Horne teams. But the text kept my attention throughout, I felt a genuine immersion into Skid Row society, and the final unfolding of the mystery took me by complete surprise.
Not a great piece of '50s hardboiled pulp, then, but a perfectly acceptable one. It's a short book and well worth the reading.
=====
This is a contribution to Rich Westlake's 1957 Crimes of the Century meme on his fab Past Offences blog.
Howard "Howie" Perry is a Chicago schoolteacher and sociologist who, for his postgrad thesis, has decided to research LA's Skid Row and its denizens by becoming one of them, washing dishes for a living and staying boozed-up most of the time. Whore-with-a-heart-of-gold Billie the Kid has become his girlfriend and, alarmingly, he's beginning to find that all's right with this new world of his.
One day he borrows some booze from Billie's upstairs neighbor Mame, another hooker, and soon afterwards Mame is found brutally murdered, her apartment trashed. Since Howie was the last person except the killer to see her, and since their encounter was witnessed by a visiting milkman, it'd be no surprise if he became the cops' Suspect #1. Howie takes precautions, but he's not overly worried: he carries on washing dishes, joshing with short-order cook Ramon, meeting up with friends and not-so-friends in bars or gathered round gallons of muscatel ("muskie"), wondering how he's going to raise the money to go home to Chicago and that thesis . . .
Another body is found -- this time that of a spooked-out client Mame mentioned to Howie having brought home to her room the night before she herself was murdered. Howie begins to put two and two together about who the killer could be. The trouble is that it's so damned hard to get his head around anything when his bloodstream's full of Muskie . . .
I enjoyed this, but I didn't feel it was Brown at the peak of his powers. Something of the old snap wasn't there, and when he began Chapter Six with a page or three of impressionistic images it seemed a tad like self-parody: I could almost imagine the passage being produced as a lampoon by the I'm Sorry I'll Read That Again or Round the Horne teams. But the text kept my attention throughout, I felt a genuine immersion into Skid Row society, and the final unfolding of the mystery took me by complete surprise.
Not a great piece of '50s hardboiled pulp, then, but a perfectly acceptable one. It's a short book and well worth the reading.
=====
This is a contribution to Rich Westlake's 1957 Crimes of the Century meme on his fab Past Offences blog.
September 23, 2016
I love Fredric Brown's unique mysteries - both the short stories and the books. I've bought every one I could find and read them all at least once. Brown was a fine writer and his stuff is filled with wonderful characters and delightful humor. But this one is my least favorite of the bunch and I'm not really sure why. It's not because it's a short story instead of book-length. I cut my teeth on Sherlock Holmes and still love short stories. And I generally prefer mysteries written in first person, as this one is. So what's missing?
It's the classic story of a man from a "good family" (the English would say "a gentleman") who has left respectable society behind. He's an alcoholic, but then many of Brown's male characters are alcoholics by today's standards. The term "functional alcoholic" hadn't been invented then and the ones who just get pie-eyed every night, but still get to work the next morning aren't considered drunks. But when a college graduate is working as a hash-house dish-washer (and that infrequently) he qualifies as a drunk even by Brown's loose definition.
His friends, neighbors, and co-workers are prostitutes and junkies and there's the constant threat of violence that's a given in that world. When one of them turns up dead and Perry is the main suspect, his vague plans to sober up and return home begin to take on real urgency. But is it that simple? Is he the same man who left Chicago on a bender and somehow never got back? He sees himself as a higher life form than the human flotsam and jetsam that he lives among, but is he?
It's unusual, but almost totally lacking in the humor that I love in Brown's work. It's grim, but so is THE LENIENT BEAST and I love that one. It's well-written and better than most writers could hope to achieve, but don't read it as your first Fredric Brown. It's just not his best.
It's the classic story of a man from a "good family" (the English would say "a gentleman") who has left respectable society behind. He's an alcoholic, but then many of Brown's male characters are alcoholics by today's standards. The term "functional alcoholic" hadn't been invented then and the ones who just get pie-eyed every night, but still get to work the next morning aren't considered drunks. But when a college graduate is working as a hash-house dish-washer (and that infrequently) he qualifies as a drunk even by Brown's loose definition.
His friends, neighbors, and co-workers are prostitutes and junkies and there's the constant threat of violence that's a given in that world. When one of them turns up dead and Perry is the main suspect, his vague plans to sober up and return home begin to take on real urgency. But is it that simple? Is he the same man who left Chicago on a bender and somehow never got back? He sees himself as a higher life form than the human flotsam and jetsam that he lives among, but is he?
It's unusual, but almost totally lacking in the humor that I love in Brown's work. It's grim, but so is THE LENIENT BEAST and I love that one. It's well-written and better than most writers could hope to achieve, but don't read it as your first Fredric Brown. It's just not his best.
August 6, 2017
Another excursion into the noirish world created by Fredric Brown. As I followed the day to day exploits of Howie and his pal "Billie the Kid" (B as in B-girl) in the underbelly of L.A. I initially found myself underwhelmed. But as is usually the case (for me, anyway) Brown sloooowly pulls me into the bleak lives of his characters as I wonder: "Where is this going?".
Another aspect of this book - of which I, truthfully, didn't totally get at first - was Howie's subtle adaptation to his surroundings. Reflecting upon it after completing the book some things became abundantly clear. The title of the book is, in fact, a clue!
"What destroys us most effectively is not a malign fate but our own capacity for self-deception and for degrading our own best self." George Elliot
Another aspect of this book - of which I, truthfully, didn't totally get at first - was Howie's subtle adaptation to his surroundings. Reflecting upon it after completing the book some things became abundantly clear. The title of the book is, in fact, a clue!
"What destroys us most effectively is not a malign fate but our own capacity for self-deception and for degrading our own best self." George Elliot
March 1, 2024
Amazon, and some of the free access library sites, offer digital editions of a number of Brown's short fiction pieces - Mystery and SciFi. Of course nothing like the hundreds he published, but still, about a dozen. So you can get a taste of what they are like.
The SciFi is rather typical of that genre in the '50's.
This is one of the better mystery titles.
Luckily Dennis McMillan did reprint his 19 volumes of Brown's collected short mystery stories as paperback editions, and they (not sure if all of them) can be purchased at a somewhat reasonable price online.
This, BTW, is the original short story, at about 28 pp. Brown later expanded it into a full novel (pulpster that he is, that means it is probably a bit over 100 pp long).
The SciFi is rather typical of that genre in the '50's.
This is one of the better mystery titles.
Luckily Dennis McMillan did reprint his 19 volumes of Brown's collected short mystery stories as paperback editions, and they (not sure if all of them) can be purchased at a somewhat reasonable price online.
This, BTW, is the original short story, at about 28 pp. Brown later expanded it into a full novel (pulpster that he is, that means it is probably a bit over 100 pp long).
March 9, 2024
There is a lot of good writing of this book of an alcoholic, that doesn't know he is an alcoholic. Hard for the reader to miss the endless drinking. By the way, an AA member should not get anywhere near this book.
In between the nearly 85% of the book involving drinking, a murder or 2 occurs. I really didn't care due to my dislike of the main characters and the rest of the alcoholics.
It's hard for me to write there is even a story here. The murders fall way in the background, so 'Mystery' doesn't apply to this book. This book has a rambling narrative of a drinker his drinking pals and his drinking girlfriend.
Makes on thirsty.
Best to get a drink than this book.
Bottom line: I don't recommend this book. 3 out of ten points.
In between the nearly 85% of the book involving drinking, a murder or 2 occurs. I really didn't care due to my dislike of the main characters and the rest of the alcoholics.
It's hard for me to write there is even a story here. The murders fall way in the background, so 'Mystery' doesn't apply to this book. This book has a rambling narrative of a drinker his drinking pals and his drinking girlfriend.
Makes on thirsty.
Best to get a drink than this book.
Bottom line: I don't recommend this book. 3 out of ten points.
February 23, 2021
Interesting story. The ending left me thinking....did he? Could he have? Will he? Hmmmmm.
August 1, 2021
Slight story about a guy who is accused of murdering the wench upstairs when he goes up from his girlfriend's apartment to pick up a bottle of booze. Good ending, but some unpleasant lowlifes.
December 17, 2021
Brown’s books are better than they have any right to be. Even a lesser mystery as this one. Great ending.
February 11, 2023
The Wench is Dead, Fredric Brown
“.. I poured myself another.” I have read much of his sci-fi, this is the first mystery tale I have read of his. Fun. ***
“.. I poured myself another.” I have read much of his sci-fi, this is the first mystery tale I have read of his. Fun. ***
August 24, 2024
“You know, Howie, guys like us, we’re as free as they come these days. Look at most people, scrabbling like hell to get somewhere—as though there’s anywhere for them to get. Work hard all their lives and what’s it get them?”
Sociology graduate student Howard Perry took a few months off from his real life to live as a dishwashing bum on L.A.’s Skid Row in the 1950s. The purpose of the exercise was to help lay the foundation for a larger thesis. Frederic Brown’s narrative is very compelling. The story has many memorable characters (Billie, Ramon, Ike) and scenes. A nice read - just kick back while Perry falls further into Skid Row’s inescapable clutches.
Sociology graduate student Howard Perry took a few months off from his real life to live as a dishwashing bum on L.A.’s Skid Row in the 1950s. The purpose of the exercise was to help lay the foundation for a larger thesis. Frederic Brown’s narrative is very compelling. The story has many memorable characters (Billie, Ramon, Ike) and scenes. A nice read - just kick back while Perry falls further into Skid Row’s inescapable clutches.
Displaying 1 - 15 of 15 reviews