Author: Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894) A Late Bloomer, he studied engineering and then law at his father’s urging, but his true passion was always writing. He only began publishing fiction in his late twenties. In his youth, Stevenson was an active member of London’s Savile Club, a gathering place for young writers and artists. He satirized the artificiality and posturing of such gentlemen’s clubs in The Suicide Club.
Summary: The Suicide Club is a collection of three interconnected short stories that together form a single thrilling narrative. They introduce the recurring characters of Prince Florizel of Bohemia and his loyal companion, Colonel Geraldine, who wander the streets of Victorian London in search of adventure.
The first story, “Story of the Young Man with the Cream Tarts,” begins when the prince and the colonel encounter a strange young man distributing free cream tarts. Intrigued, they follow him to a secret organization: the Suicide Club. This is a society for men who wish to end their lives but lack the courage, or do not wish to shock their families. In a perverse game, two members are selected each night by the drawing of cards: one to be killed, and one to do the killing. The president then arranges the “accident”. Horrified by this “wholesale trade in murder,” Florizel and Geraldine vow to destroy the club and its sinister president.
The following two stories, “Story of the Physician and the Saratoga Trunk” and “The Adventure of the Hansom Cab,” shift the action to Paris and back to London, respectively. They follow the consequences of the prince’s intervention and his relentless pursuit of the club’s president, leading to a final, deadly confrontation.
Personal Opinion: I read The Suicide Club with the pure, uncomplicated delight of a child discovering a master storyteller. The premise is so deliciously macabre—a club where men pay to gamble with their own lives—that it instantly hooks you. It feels like a ghost story you’d hear whispered around a campfire.
Stevenson’s language is a joy. It has a playful, almost theatrical quality that makes every page a pleasure to read. The dialogue crackles, and the descriptions of foggy London streets are so vivid you can almost smell the damp cobblestones. The characters, from the heroic Prince Florizel to the mysterious club members, are wonderfully drawn. Each one feels unique and alive, from the despairing young man with the cream tarts to the calculating president of the club.
What strikes me most is the moral ambiguity. The club’s premise is horrifying, yet Stevenson makes you understand the desperation of its members. You see the “slipperiness” of the entire situation . It’s also fascinating how Stevenson uses this gothic tale to explore anxieties of his time—questions of masculinity, empire, and the “convenience” of death in a modernizing world. There’s a depth here that rewards a second reading. It’s not just a thrilling yarn, it’s a clever, unsettling satire of Victorian society and its clubs. This blend of childlike adventure and sharp social commentary is, for me, Stevenson at his very best.
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