This book is a record of Charles Wertenbaker's death of cancer from its diagnosis in September, 1954, to the fulfillment of that diagnosis three months later. It is a memorial- both to the man and the way in which he died. It is also something of an ordeal- for none of the details of cancer in this form which is not only the most painful but also the most physically offensive have been omitted. From the first frank consideration of what might be ahead, to the insistence that he be told the whole truth- and nothing but, Wertenbaker would not permit the fact of death to change him and insisted on meeting it casually, naturally, serenely- and these last weeks, while lived within the perspective of death, did not interrupt the pattern of his life. He returned, from an exploratory operation in New York in which nothing could be done, to France, to his children, to writing- whenever he could. And finally, when he could no longer function in any way, to the drugs- the fatal dosage was not fatal enough- and finally the razor when the time had come..... If without the dignity of John Gunther's Death Be Not Proud, and without the inspirational quality- Wertenbaker's refusal to concede to the disease gives it a certain stature. It is also an intimate, intense and immediate record which has a commanding hold on the reader- whether in sympathy and/or recoil. There will be magazine serialization, strong publisher promotion, and a very probable, vulnerable audience in view.