Race, Magic, and Identity in Harlan Ellison’s “Pennies, Off a Dead Man’s Eyes”

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The first thing that hit me about Harlan Ellison’s Pennies, Off a Dead Man’s Eyes was how charged the racial content felt—right from the start, no hiding it. The casual use of the n-word took me by surprise, which, frankly, is not uncommon while reading Ellison. I soon realized that race wasn’t just a backdrop—it was the beating heart of the story.

So What’s the Story About?

Let me break it down: Our guy, a shapeshifter of sorts, drops into town just in time for the funeral of Jed Parkman, an 82-year-old Black man who’s earned more than his fair share of battle scars from life. The protagonist can “go dark,” both metaphorically and physically, using it to avoid detection as he navigates this racially segregated world. He sneaks into the funeral, staying on the outskirts, only to witness a stunning, what-the-hell-did-I-just-see moment—a mysterious white woman walks up to the open casket and swipes the silver dollars off the dead man’s eyes, damning him in the afterlife. She takes off, and our guy? Well, he decides to follow her, and what happens next is both surreal and haunting, as he grapples with her motives, and, more importantly, his own tangled identity.

Ellison’s Story in Today’s World

It’s fascinating how Ellison, writing in 1969, managed to touch on ideas that feel so relevant to today’s discussions around race and identity. The protagonist’s ability to “go dark” makes you think of the way people navigate different identities, sometimes having to hide or adapt depending on the situation—a theme that echoes through modern conversations about racial dynamics and identity. There’s also the notion of “passing,” which is at the heart of this story. Both the protagonist and the woman he follows deal with this concept, raising questions about who they really are versus who they present themselves to be.

Even as a white author, Ellison was able to channel some of the tensions we still talk about today, especially around how race is a social construct and how people are forced to navigate those boundaries to survive. It’s a reminder that the struggles around race, identity, and societal expectations are ongoing, and Ellison’s story feels like it’s still part of that conversation.

Southern Gothic Vibes

This story is Southern Gothic, no doubt about it. It’s got the haunted landscapes, the decay—both literal and moral—and the ever-present tension between the living and the dead. Ellison brings us into a world where race and death are intertwined, and the characters live (and die) with the consequences of societal rot. It feels like Ellison could’ve hung out with Faulkner or Flannery O’Connor, swapping stories about how the South and its ghosts never really let go of anyone. Except here, instead of dilapidated mansions and creeping vines, we get funeral parlors, shifting identities, and a world where you can’t ever really escape the weight of history.

Ellison’s “Tangential” Magical Realism

What makes this story stand out in Ellison’s larger body of work is his use of magical realism that’s, well, off to the side—just lurking on the edges. You’ve got the protagonist’s strange, alien-like physiology, with his “gut sac” and ability to “go dark,” but it’s not the main focus. The fantastical elements don’t drive the plot; instead, they heighten the underlying themes, making everything feel a bit more surreal without turning it into a full-on sci-fi romp. It’s what I’d call “tangential” magical realism—just enough weirdness to remind you this world isn’t quite right, but never pulling you away from the central moral and racial dilemmas. Ellison doesn’t need to hit you over the head with aliens or supernatural powers to make his point. Instead, he lets the strangeness bleed in around the edges, creating a world that feels unsettling in its almost-normalcy.

Final Thoughts

At the end of the day, Pennies, Off a Dead Man’s Eyes is another one of those Harlan Ellison stories that sticks with you. It makes you question identity, morality, and how much of ourselves we lose when we try to survive in a system that doesn’t see us for who we are.

And it closes with a line that nails the story’s ambiguity: “After all, she’d paid the dues for me, hadn’t she?” What dues? Whose debt? That’s the haunting part. It’s a question that, like everything in this story, doesn’t have a clear answer.