The Key Word and Other Mysteries
A bookish boy, Larry, with his humane detective father, solves everyday New York City mysteries using quiet logic, language, and general knowledge, emphasizing clarity and attention to detail
Isaac Asimov's The Key Word and Other Mysteries presents a compact yet profound collection of five "Larry" puzzles, where a bright, unassuming boy consistently out-reasons the adults around him, including his New York–police-detective father. The stories are characterized by their fairness, crisp narrative, and humane tone, each commencing with a subtle uncertainty—perhaps a peculiar word, a habitual gesture, or a misplaced item—and concluding with a simple, yet logically derived key. Asimov's approach is steadfast throughout: he begins with ordinary facts, directs attention to a crucial detail overlooked by others, applies knowledge with precision, and allows understanding to gracefully unravel the mystery. This volume contains "The Key Word," "Santa Claus Gets a Coin," "Sarah Tops" (also known as "Try Sarah Tops"), "The Thirteenth Day of Christmas," and "A Case of Need".
In these narratives, we are introduced to Larry not as a theatrical master of deduction but as a diligent reader. His essential tools are remarkably simple: a pocket dictionary, an innate habit of careful listening, and a consistent respect for exact language. His father, a seasoned and decent police detective, is portrayed as experienced and somewhat tired, while Larry himself is polite and unassuming. Their relationship is not one of rivalry; instead, they form a functional partnership where the father’s age provides broad reach and authority, while the son’s youth contributes fresh attention and an unblemished curiosity. The settings for most scenes are recognizable Manhattan locations—ranging from museums and bustling December sidewalks to the imposing United Nations building—which firmly anchors the puzzles within the city's everyday noise and vibrant light.
The collection begins with "The Key Word," a story that serves as a miniature blueprint for Asimov’s entire design. Here, a hidden crime hinges on what appears to be a crossword gimmick. While adults may meticulously analyze the grid's structure, counting boxes and patterns, Larry instinctively searches for meaning rather than mere decoration. He perceives a particular phrase, notes a subtly repeated hint, and instinctively turns to his dictionary. The "key word" is not an elaborate embellishment; rather, it is the smallest lever capable of shifting the largest weight of the mystery. Asimov’s enjoyment in this particular narrative is twofold: he delights in the elegant neatness of a code cracked by a single definition, and he equally relishes demonstrating that careful reading is a profoundly practical power. Where others perceive an impenetrable puzzle, Larry discerns a common word used with uncommon precision. The solution, once revealed, appears deceptively simple, and the story’s strength lies in making the process of discovery feel earned, rather than purely lucky.
Following this, "Santa Claus Gets a Coin" subtly shifts Asimov's method into a bustling seasonal environment. The setting is charitable and public, yet the crucial detail is minutely tiny: a rare coin appears in an unexpected place, transforming a straightforward errand into a complex web of motives. In this scenario, the detective’s initial impulse is to broaden the investigation—seeking more witnesses, dedicating additional hours, and covering more ground. Larry, however, chooses to narrow his focus. He inquires into the meaning of such a coin within its specific context and considers how its rarity would influence a culprit's choices. Asimov masterfully balances sentimental holiday kindness with the realities of human fallibility, ensuring that the story’s resolution is tidy without being naive. The coin itself functions as both an object and a vital clue; Larry’s gift is his ability to maintain a clear distinction between these roles, allowing him to test each plausible path and ultimately select the single one that aligns with all the facts with the least strain.
Perhaps the most renowned entry in the collection is "Sarah Tops" (also known as "Try Sarah Tops"), which places Larry and his father within the iconic American Museum of Natural History. The atmosphere is thick with the presence of fossils and the murmur of guidebook chatter. A dying message—composed of just a few syllables—initially suggests a person’s name, sending the police down a human-centric investigative path. Larry, however, resists the temptation to force the words into that preconceived shape. Surrounded by ancient dinosaur bones, he perceives not a proper noun but an ordinary description, albeit one misdivided due to stress and panic. To accept Larry’s interpretation requires a willingness to break free from an immediate first impression and construct a new one. Asimov cleverly uses the museum’s exhibits as a kind of silent chorus, where the echoes of the deep past subtly influence the present, and the name of a long-extinct creature ironically becomes the undoing of a living criminal. The fairness of this puzzle is rooted in our own auditory perception; anyone could have heard what Larry heard, yet only he truly listened. The key difference, Asimov implies, is attention, not some magical ability.
The intricacies tighten further in "The Thirteenth Day of Christmas," with the stage once again set in a public space—a crowded seasonal program. The stakes are higher here, involving an international context and a ticking clock, where a mistaken inference could lead to significant consequences. Larry discerns the answer mid-story but is literally constrained from acting upon his insight immediately, stuck singing as the logic swiftly falls into place. Asimov skillfully allows the reader to experience the precise ache of delayed action that often accompanies sudden, crucial insight. While the story incorporates geographical and current affairs details that might have aged, its core remains robust: in moments of urgency, the greatest hope lies in clear thought and the precise use of language. Here, Larry’s methodical approach mirrors the book's overall design, and the very shape of the clue not only resolves the case but also vividly dramatizes the discipline of maintaining composure under pressure.
The collection concludes with "A Case of Need" (distinct from Michael Crichton’s novel of the same title), offering a pristine demonstration of Asimov’s fairness doctrine. The situation appears routine, and the phrase in question sounds entirely ordinary. Yet, it is this very ordinary word that acts as the critical hinge. Larry masterfully isolates a single assumption that everyone shares and steadfastly refuses to adopt it without question. He then rigorously checks this assumption against observable behavior, finding that it fails. Once this common assumption is disproven, every other piece of the puzzle naturally falls into its correct position. The joy of this story for the reader lies in the realization that nothing baroque or complex was ever required—no hidden compartments, no acrobatic mental leaps—only the courage to mistrust a comfortable habit of thought.
When read as a unified whole, The Key Word and Other Mysteries serves as a quiet yet powerful defense of general knowledge—the kind acquired through seemingly mundane sources like dictionaries, museum visits, calendars, holiday verses, coins, and even newspaper puzzles. Larry possesses no specialized training; his strength lies in his broad range of understanding. He is attuned to subtle shades of meaning, he deeply respects the literal sense of words, and he firmly believes that the world is coherent if one simply listens closely enough. These are exemplary boyish virtues: modest, readily teachable, and repeatable. They also mirror Asimov’s own writerly virtues, as he consistently refuses to confuse obscurity with true depth. He patiently demonstrates that clarity is not a lowering of standards, but rather the standard itself.
The prevailing tone throughout the collection is deeply humane. Criminals are depicted not as monstrous figures but as individuals caught in difficult circumstances, often exposed by small acts of vanity or hasty decisions. Policemen are not portrayed as fools but as competent professionals operating within the constraints of limited hours and heavy caseloads. Larry himself is not a prodigy, but a careful, observant boy whose particular strengths happen to align perfectly with the nature of these specific crimes. Asimov deliberately avoids melodrama, presenting us instead with familiar rooms, everyday errands, and crowded public halls. The true glory of each solution lies in its very ordinariness: the truth was always accessible, and seeing it does not make one heroic; it simply makes one useful.
Given that several of these tales first appeared in publications for younger readers, the prose is notably direct and accessible. The puzzles themselves are "clean," meaning that all necessary information for their solution is squarely presented within the story’s narrative frame. When Asimov does incorporate external facts—such as a coin’s rarity, a proper name, or a geopolitical term—he provides sufficient scaffolding to allow the reader a fair attempt at solving the mystery. This fairness is not merely structural; it is deeply ethical, as Asimov inherently believes that the reader deserves a genuine opportunity to engage with the puzzle. This promise of fairness is a unifying thread that holds the entire collection together.
Moreover, beneath the surface of the intricate puzzles, a gentle and affectionate portrait of New York City emerges. We are led through its museums, past charity kettles, into crowded December programs, and within international halls. The city is more than just a backdrop; it acts as a tutor, constantly exposing Larry to a diverse array of languages, customs, and artifacts. Larry’s consistent habit of consulting his dictionary becomes a microcosm of city life itself: when in doubt, one should look it up, learn, and then proceed. This concept of knowledge as a social connector enhances partnerships—from father to son, citizen to city, and reader to writer.
For those seeking grand, sweeping narratives, this collection may not satisfy. What one finds instead is masterful craft. The stories, though modest in scope, are like sturdy, well-engineered machines. Each one operates on a singular, well-honed insight and generously rewards the reader’s patience. Reading them individually allows one to appreciate the deliberate rhythm of Asimov’s design: presentation, initial confusion, keen observation, a tightening of the logical net, and finally, a satisfying release. When read consecutively, a larger, more profound picture comes into view: this is fundamentally a book about how we use our minds, rather than how impressive our minds might appear. The true hero of these tales is attention itself.
Asimov's The Key Word and Other Mysteries fits within a larger family of his puzzle tales, which includes the well-known Black Widowers and Union Club stories. However, the "Larry" pieces possess a distinct and unique flavor. They are noticeably warmer in tone, largely due to the softening influence of the father-and-son bond. The stakes often involve public rituals and shared spaces, making the mysteries feel more universally relatable. Crucially, the decisive clue in these stories, more often than not, is a word. In this deliberate choice, Asimov the scientist and logician seamlessly merges with Asimov the teacher. He presents mysteries that yield not to brute force or complex schemes, but to precise definition and clarity. This emphasis on language is his signature here, explaining why this slim volume, though originally intended for younger readers, remains a faithful microcosm of his broader, lifelong method: respect facts, honor language, and allow simple clarity to perform its quiet, powerful work.
