Friday, February 7, 2020

The Fan (1977)




- The Fan. Bob Randall. Broadway star Sally Ross is at the height of her career —some might suggest, about to start declining. As she’s getting ready for a new show, she keeps herself entertained with the antics of her lively secretary, her witty ex-husband, a new boy-toy… oh, yeah, and that really devoted fan who writes almost daily. This fan does seem to think he’s actually more intimate with Sally than he could possibly be. But surely that’s just exaggeration. He can’t possibly be one of those deranged fanatics you hear about on the news… right..?

Excellent epistolary thriller. While the story is something you have heard a million times, it’s all in the execution. Vivid characters, taut suspense, and the author’s talent for playing with the readers’ expectations all keep it afloat. Randall is no Ira Levin but boy, does he come close in the best moments. 

What stays with one about this book, reading it in 2020, is not only how the subject remains sadly relevant, but how this late 70’s book completely destroys certain clichés we have come to expect from the genre. But it’s not because of subversions: It’s because the story feels grounded in reality. Specifically, this stalker is no evil genius constantly out-smarting the police. He is an ordinary entitled, hateful man. Even his earlier letters already hint at the level of delusion he’s submerged in, and as the story advances he quickly reveals all of the prejudices one has come to expect from his type —he is violently homophobic, quite racist, the kind of young white man who is convinced he is owed everything by women, and flies off the handle every time he’s reminded that they do not. 

He does keep escaping —because the police, also like in real life, simply do not take threats (particularly against women and minorities) all that seriously until it is far too late and too much damage has already been done. It can be at once humorous and chilling to see how much time they spend combing New York for a “Douglas Green” when he signs his letters “Douglas Breen” and his early letters came with his full address!! 

But also like in a Levin thriller, the dark comedy of manners slowly becomes a chiller, all the way to the kind of brutal kick-in-the-gut twist ending that is so characteristic of 70’s genre fiction. 


This was Randall’s debut novel (it’s so well crafted, you really couldn’t tell), and hopefully the start of a good career (he has a few other genre titles, but I have yet to read any of them). Quite recommended. 

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