Steve,
I have both Gold Medal versions of Name of the Game is Death,
but I don't have the Black Lizard version to compare them to.
However, some time ago, I posted this comparison, so perhaps
you can tell us which BL used:
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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