The Funeral

By Richard Matheson

The language of Funeral, by Richard Matheson, is gorgeous, and it has a witty prose style. Its overwrought quality seems almost perfumed by the scent of air freshener that one would expect to smell in a funeral parlor. Its ornate style matches the flowers and fancy rug in the Eternal Rest Room. Even the protagonist's name, Silkline, is reminiscent of the fabric inside a--wait for it--"silk-lined" coffin.

I love, "Blinking meditation from his liver-colored eyes, Silkline knit his fingers to a placid clasp, then settled back against the sable leather of his chair, a smile of funereal welcome on his lips." I also adored, "Rising as if caught in the midst of a tête-a-tête with death's bright angel…"

Rereading these passages and having dealt with a creepy funeral director myself (who greeted me for the first time with, "What's up?"), the thought strikes me that Silkline is, in his way, one of the monsters. That doesn't mean he's a bad guy. Neither is Mr. Asper, as far as we know. But he is given a seat in their midst--welcomed into the fold along with the crone with the hat and the pre-werewolf with his hairy hands. The crone makes lightning come out of her fingers (minor lightning, mind you), but Silkline puts gold trimmings on coffins for monsters.

What makes the story funny is Silkline's fake empathy and puffery as he is "getting down to the business of bereavement," only to fall on his face onto the rug when the fireworks begin.

The only thing that bothers me is the ending. I think it could have packed more of a punch or been more ironic. It's not enough for me that another monster entered Silkline's parlor. I wish it offered more of a twist beyond the blobby, tentacled thing.