A Suspension of Mercy

A Suspension of Mercy

Patricia Highsmith

Language: English

Pages: 235

ISBN: 0393321975

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


A major new reissue of the work of a classic noir novelist.

With the acclaim for The Talented Mr. Ripley, more film projects in production, and two biographies forthcoming, expatriate legend Patricia Highsmith would be shocked to see that she has finally arrived in her homeland. Throughout her career, Highsmith brought a keen literary eye and a genius for plumbing the psychopathic mind to more than thirty works of fiction, unparalleled in their placid deviousness and sardonic humor. With deadpan accuracy, she delighted in creating true sociopaths in the guise of the everyday man or woman. Now, one of her finest works is again in print: A Suspension of Mercy, a masterpiece of noir fantasy. With this novel, Highsmith revels in eliciting the unsettling psychological forces that lurk beneath the surface of everyday contemporary life. "For eliciting the menace that lurks in familiar surroundings, there's no one like Patricia Highsmith."―Time "Highsmith's novels are peerlessly disturbing ....bad dreams that keep us thrashing for the rest of the night."―The New Yorker

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tell her the news. But she’d hear about The Whip through their friends, if they sold it. Nonsense, she was dead and underground, he reminded himself, and smiling, he ran up the stairs back to his study. 12 Mrs. Edward Ponsonby—otherwise Alicia—had installed herself in Brighton at a larger and more comfortable hostelry than the bed-and-breakfast place she had been in before where the curfew, or the landlady’s retiring time, had been 10 P.M. according to a sign inside the front door. She

means there’s got to be a post-mortem and an inquest. It means that Dr. Thwaite thinks Mrs. Lilybanks’ death might not have been due to entirely natural causes.” “Oh. She died of a heart attack—from what I could see.” “The doctor thinks you might have scared her. Inadvertently, perhaps, but . . . What do you think?” Sydney knew what the Inspector was driving at, and also knew the police probably hadn’t finished looking for a body in the woods. The policemen were probably digging

fantasies. I’ve just seen your notebook—which I will assume is a notebook of ideas—not truths.” Truths? Ideas? Sydney passed a hand across his forehead. “The narrative—description in the notebook is not true. You might say the ideas in it are true. I mean, it’s not a diary of facts.” “It’s a dangerous kind of thing to write just now—for you.” “I had no idea anyone but me would see it. That’s why I carried the notebook with me. I pulled it out by mistake with my wallet.” A

their silver-topped mustard pot, one of the few valuable items they possessed in the way of table equipment. Sydney was feeling very merry now, singing in quite good voice, though not loudly, one of his parodies on popular songs. “Sh-h!” Alicia warned him, pointing with a frown in the direction of the living room and Mrs. Lilybanks, because some of Sydney’s words were rather dirty. “Pickeled peppers then?” he asked. “I picked a peck of peppers in the briny—dew! I picked a peck

pocket to leave for the call. Carpie started down the stairs. “I’m off to Scotland Yard now,” Sydney said. “Thanks so much, Carpie. And for the razor, too.” Sydney had shaved with soap and Inez’s or Carpie’s safety razor. “Will you come by later and see Inez? Ring us anyway.” “I’ll ring you,” Sydney promised. He wasn’t sure what Inspector Hill had in store for him, and if he were quite free, he wanted to get back home immediately, and think what to do about the house, his

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