My latest book is now available on Amazon Kindle and also via Kindle Unlimited.
A brilliantly dark and witty collection that reimagines cosmic forces with heart, humor, and humanity.
What happens when Death decides to take up haiku? When the Devil’s carefully laid plans go awry? When the Incarnation of War discovers that the only thing worse than war is when the dead don’t die?
In this delightfully inventive collection of short stories about Death, ancient cosmic entities find themselves navigating the absurdities of existence with the same confusion, determination, and occasional incompetence as the mortals they oversee. From poetry workshops to World War II, from speed dating disasters to bureaucratic nightmares that span millennia, these stories blend philosophical depth with unexpected humor.
Written in the tradition of Ingmar Bergman and Terry Pratchett, Death and the Devil offers a fresh and deeply human take on the forces we fear most. Each story is a clever exploration of mortality, duty, and identity as well as a genuinely touching reminder that even in a universe governed by cosmic constants, there’s always room for compassion, love, and the occasional well-crafted haiku.
Witty. Profound. Unexpectedly moving.
Perfect for readers who appreciate smart, character-driven fantasy that doesn’t shy away from life’s big questions—or death’s smaller ones.
The first review has already been posted:
This is a remarkable set of short stories, assembled with AI support, which include amusing, horrifying, and intriguing variations on Death – more exactly, how Death as a force of Nature might comport itself with beings both mortal and supernatural. Highly recommended for fans of macabre short stories, Pratchett, and Douglas Adams.
The style began in the mode of Terry Pratchett, but extended into darker and more startling situations. Death and his pet cat (that is a premise worthy of its own tale) must address problems with eternal bureaucracy and customer service. Several tales explore the ghastly humor of those who either try to cheat Death or are simply too obtuse to understand that Time Is Up. Particularly amusing were stories where other eternal presences encouraging Death to take up a hobby. Consider Death taking on a gig in stand-up comedy and learning to tell jokes. One favorite was Death undertaking to write poetry; in his case, disrupting a class on writing haiku, by reading verses which created an interdimensional rift.
One other theme establishes itself through the set of tales. This is a Bergman – type set of passages or encounters with Death, on a more personal and Romantic note. Read about bright and dim lights, joys, anticipation, and final lingering dregs regrets – but the regrets and anticipations may transform to a wine of unusual bouquet for one ephemeral sip.
If you enjoy Terry Pratchett’s or Douglas Adams’ comedic works, many of these stories will give you a good laugh in the same light. If you prefer something stronger, smoother, and darker, like Ingmar Bergman films, the rest will bring unexpected smiles, chills, and speculative thoughts to mind.
Now, obviously there are going to be those who will feel the need to posture about how they will never read a book that was written at the push of a button, just as there were those who vowed they would never read an ebook, or listen to a CD. This is fine, those people have always been irrelevant with regards to the success or failure of a new technology and they always will be. The process from early adopters to laggards has been well understood for decades, so whether you’re of the late majority or the laggards, you might as well spare us the traditional theatrics.
My suggestion is to read the book and see if your assumptions were correct or not. Because from my perspective, if you are under the impression that particular book was written with the push of a button, the results should absolutely terrify you.
Anyhow, as our publishing business changes, I’ve had a rethink about Amazon and Kindle Unlimited and I realized that while it is a very bad foundation for a publishing business, it’s now perfectly suitable as a form of advertising that pays for itself. So, in addition to DEATH AND THE DEVIL, a number of my other ebooks are now available again on Kindle Unlimited, including ARTS OF DARK AND LIGHT and THE LAWS OF SOCIAL JUSTICE.
And as pertains to the latter, the combination of a) AI writing and b) events of the past eight years, I’ve realized that the book I never felt any need to write is now both necessary and viable. So, after SIGMA GAME is published, hopefully next month, you can anticipate the publication of SJWS ALWAYS PROJECT: Surviving the Thought Police sometime in the new year.
Death Goes on a Date
It is a well-established fact across most of the known multiverse that death is, generally speaking, the end of life. What is considerably less well-established is that Death himself had what humans might call “relationship issues.”
This was entirely Love’s fault.
“You need to get out more,” Love had declared during one of her unannounced little drop-ins on Death. “All work and no play makes Death a dull cosmic force. Oh, I know! We should find you a girlfriend!”
Death, who had until her interruption been perfectly content with his routine of soul collection, paperwork, and the penning of a haiku, realized that he was at risk of one of the interventions to which Love occasionally subjected him when she was bored with her most recent companion.
I DO NOT REQUIRE COMPANIONSHIP, Death had protested. I AM A FUNDAMENTAL ASPECT OF THE UNIVERSE. COSMIC FORCES DO NOT HAVE GIRLFRIENDS.
“Nonsense,” Love replied, stirring her latte with a finger that left tiny heart-shaped foam patterns. “Even cosmic entities need connections. Look at Time—he’s been seeing that lovely mathematician from the Renaissance for centuries!”
TIME IS DIFFERENT. HE HAS ALWAYS BEEN UNPREDICTABLE.
“And War has something going with one of those Valkyries,” Love continued, ignoring Death’s protest that he was very busy. “Very passionate. Lots of dramatic sword fights followed by, you know, even more sword fights, if you know what I mean!”
Death had no response to this, partly because he had no idea what she meant and partly because he was realizing that he was going to have to redo next Thursday’s list of scheduled reapings because she jogged his elbow while he was writing when she elbowed him in the side.
“Besides,” Love added with a sensual smile that could have melted glaciers, “I’ve already signed you up.”
Which was how Death found himself, three days later, standing outside a trendy wine bar in San Francisco, wearing his most convincing mortal disguise and holding a name tag that read “HELLO, MY NAME IS: DEREK.”
Death had chosen his appearance carefully: tall, lean, pale but not unnaturally so, with dark hair and sharp cheekbones that suggested interesting genetics rather than a complete absence of flesh. He wore an expensive black suit that managed to look both formal and slightly dangerous. The effect was, according to Love’s assessment, “just like a sexy Neal Gaiman without that whole rapey vibe.”
Death had no idea who Neil Gaiman was, or why his vibe was rapey, but if it was good enough for Love, it was good enough for him.
The wine bar was a conventional arrangement of exposed brick walls, industrial lighting, and small tables arranged in a grid pattern that reminded Death rather inappropriately of a cemetery. Approximately thirty people milled about holding wine glasses and name tags, their nervous energy filling the space in a manner that made him feel as if there was something he was missing.
“Welcome to Singles Mingle Speed Dating!” announced a cheerful woman with a clipboard and the sort of aggressive enthusiasm that suggested she was either naturally optimistic or extremely well-medicated. “I’m Jessica, your host for tonight! The rules are simple—two minutes per conversation, then rotate clockwise when you hear the bell! Ladies, you’ll stay seated. Gentlemen, you’ll move around the room. Ready to find love?”
The assembled humans made various noises of agreement. Death remained silent, still not entirely sure how he had been talked into coming here.
“Wonderful! Gentlemen, find your starting positions!”
Death consulted the number on his name tag—seven—and located the corresponding table, where a woman in her thirties with blonde hair and a nervous smile was arranging her purse and smoothing her dress.
“Hi!” she said brightly as Death approached. “I’m Jennifer! Marketing executive, love hiking, hate sushi. You?”
Death settled into the chair across from her, which immediately became several degrees colder. DEREK, he replied. I WORK IN HUMAN RESOURCES.
“Oh, that’s great! What company?”
UNIVERSAL.
“Universal Studios? Wow! I bet you see a lot of stars.”
YES, I SEE THEM EVERY NIGHT.
Jennifer’s smile wavered slightly. “Um, okay… So, Derek, what do you do for fun?”
Death contemplated her question. His hobbies were reaping souls, filling out paperwork, and occasionally performing stand-up on open-mic nights in Slosh-on-Bunwick. None of these seemed appropriate for speed dating conversation.
I WRITE POETRY, he said finally.
“Oh, wow, you’re a poet!”
OF A SORT. I HAVEN’T MASTERED THE LIMERICK YET.
“You haven’t mastered… limericks? Like, there once was a man from Nantucket, that sort of thing?”
YES, MY CAT FEELS THEY’RE INAPPROPRIATE AND UNDIGNIFIED.
When the bell rang, Jennifer looked relieved.
“So, it was really nice meeting you, Derek!” she said with the artificial brightness of someone desperate to escape a particularly persistent street mime.