4.5 stars
First Sentence: During his residence in London, the accomplished Prince Florizel of Bohemia gained the affection of all classes by the seduction of his manner and by a well-considered generosity.
Thoughts: Prince Florizel of Bohemia and his Master of the Horse, Colonel Geraldine are names straight out of Anne Shirley’s writing club. They are also visiting London, but not in any official capacity. They want to see what the town is really like. That’s why they’re in a pub pretending to be Ordinary Gents. And so their adventures with the Suicide Club began.
A young man comes into the pub and starts handing out cream tarts. He seemed a jovial sort, but a bit odd, so Florizel invited him to sit down with them. Why is he handing out all these tarts, he asked. Because, the young man answers, he’s ruined and in despair. All he has left in the world is £40 which is the entrance fee to the Suicide Club. He’s going to join tonight. Wanna come?
Florizel is intrigued, so he comes along. Geraldine follows to keep His Highness out of trouble. They go to the headquarters of the club where they all pay their £40 and come inside. The President of the club then interviews the new members individually to find out why they all want to die. They pass the test and are admitted into a club that looks pretty much like any other gentleman’s club at the time. Except this one is made up of ruined men, most of them young. Except that old guy over there. That’s Mr. Maltus. He explains the ins and outs of things to the Bohemians until the President calls them all to attention.
It’s time to deal the cards. He shuffles a deck of cards and begins passing one card to each member at the table. Whoever gets the ace of spades is the one who will die that night. Whoever gets the ace of clubs is the one who will kill him. So…this is more a murder club than a suicide club, isn’t it? I call both false advertising and shenanigans.
Anyway, Mr. Maltus gets the ace of spades and Mr. Cream Tart gets the ace of clubs. An article in the paper the next morning tells the sad story of how Mr. Maltus fell over a parapet and died later that night. Mr. Cream Tart is despondent. He may not wait until he gets the ace of spades to off himself. Then, at the next meeting, Florizel gets the ace of spades. Geraldine, like a good Master of the Horse, saves him from certain murder. Florizel declares eternal enmity against the President of the club. When next they meet, it will be a duel and Florizel will win.
Oh, and he also saved Mr. Cream Tart from himself and got him a good job and new life on the continent.
The next two stories are about how Prince Florizel carried out his threat against the President of the Increasingly Misnamed Suicide Club. The first story is about Mr. Silas Q. Scuddamore whose trip to Europe is hampered when he finds a dead man in his bed. The next story is about Lt. Brackenbury Rich who finds himself at a mysterious house where he’s selected to be Florizel’s second in his inevitable duel.
The Suicide Club is what The Wrong Box wanted to be. It’s thrilling and mysterious with none of the goofy over-plotted crap that marred the other book. The stories move quickly with no superfluous details. It’s Stevenson at his best and I highly recommend it.
The Eclectic Reviewer 