Ellery Queen and the Passage of Time

A colleague of mine is a professionally published mystery writer. When I told that I had always wanted to write John Dickson Carr-style locked room mysteries, she was quick to inform me that times had changed. While Agatha Christie and Arthur Conan Doyle books are still in print and still widely admired, tastes have changed. Modern readers are not interested in English tea cozies or locked room puzzles or even hard-boiled detectives. If I was serious about being a mystery writer, I needed to read current authors to understand what the public wants (and what publishers are likely to take a chance on).

Well, I can't say I want to be a mystery writer -- a mystery reader is good enough for now. I never thought Carr and the other authors I read were necessarily old-hat, but rather timeless (like Doyle). But after reading an Ellery Queen novel, I think I understand what my author friend was trying to tell me.

Ellery Queen (actually cousins  Frederic Dannay and Manfred Lee) were wildly popular from their initial appearance in the 1930's. The books are admired for their "play fair" puzzles. That is, by the time you get to the reveal, you have had all the facts placed before you to make the right deduction yourself.

Great concept. But execution was something else. I suspect that when detective stories were new, there was a certain amount of shorthand involved. The reader knew  a large cast of characters were present just to give one many choices for the guilty party. Characters would do mysterious, suspicious and/or counter-productive things primarily to confuse the reader. And the puzzle was the thing.

In the hands of a talented writer (like John Dickson Carr), it's all woven into the narrative and you don't notice the seams. For Ellery Queen, though, it's different. The characters move about as directed with no natural or rational motivation. Worse yet, they don't behave consistently. All of which just calls attention to the rather pedestrian prose telling basically a word problem.

In the Chinese Orange Mystery , a man is killed in the waiting room of an office suite and then posed in a bizarre fashion. Two spears from the waiting room he was murdered in are thrust through the legs of his clothes, forming a brace. All of his clothes have been removed and put on backwards. Every chair, bookcase, and desk has been turned around. Every loose item that could has been placed upside down.

Now by the end of the mystery, there is an explanation for everything. The spears are necessary for a locked room illusion, while the backwards-turning of everything is there to hide a backwards-turned article of clothing that would have given everrything away.

(I'm being deliberately vague in case you actually want to read this mystery for yourself.)

Sure, all the clues are there -- but no rational person would ever put them together in the way the great detective did. Further, the turning everything backwards ruse was a last-minute improvisation that the killer came up with to hide a damning fact. Now really. The murderer has committed this crime in an office suite with people in other rooms across the hall, and even an attendant in the hall. Silent kill? No problem. But the whole of the killer's plan depends on only being absent from the others for a short while.

So what happens when you start moving furniture around? I don't know how it works in Ellery Queen land, but around here it's a noisy process. And a time-consuming one. And a very physical one. Yet the killer was neither out of breath (or had even worked up a sweat) when seen shortly after the murder, and no one heard a thing.

Back when the fashion was all about the puzzle, I'm sure this was a ripping yarn. But read in a different era, it just seems silly and contrived.

I guess fashions do change.

The literary Dick Tracy

The revamped Dick Tracy continues to impress me. Joe Staton's growing into his role as the official artist for Dick Tracy and really making the strip his own visually. And writer Mike Curtis keeps adding little Easter Eggs to the script that reward the careful reader.

Take Friday's continuity, for example (click on image to enlarge). Sam Ketchum apparently is a big Terry Pratchett fan, and his holding Wyrd Sisters, one of the novels from Pratchett's Discworld series.

But the real payoff is in the final panel, when Sam states that Tracy reads Max Allan Collins. Collins is a prolific and well-respected mystery and comics writer. He was also the first writer to take over scripting of Dick Tracy after creator Chester Gould retired. Nicely done, Mr. Curtis!

The Spanish Cape Mystery

I watched The Spanish Cape Mystery last night. This 1935 picture marked the first on-screen appearance of Ellery Queen, the king of deductive detectives. It was an interesting and entertaining enough film, although viewing it some 75 years after release gave it an added twist or two.

As I watched, I wondered how many of the detective story tropes I saw had descended into cliche even by 1935. The story (which varies from the original novel by the same name) involves a group of hangers-on in a mansion attempting to gain their share of a multi-million-dollar inheritance. Not only is everyone apparently capable of murder, but they dislike each other enough that they all have sufficient motive to bump off any of the others -- which of course begins to happen.

There's a significant red herring that draws everyone's attention (why does the murderer dress the victims in their bathing suits?) but only Queen can see the true reason. Which leads to the second cliche; the baffling solution. Ellery Queen provides the puzzled sheriff with a cryptic clue, "look for the man with black spots before his eyes," but never explains to the police exactly what that means -- or who he's referring to.

It's great for a story, but while he's being clever, two more people get killed.

I did enjoy watching it, but The Spanish Cape Mystery is in no way great art.

And, looking at it through the lens of time, part of my enjoyment came from the awareness of just how much storytelling has evolved in film. In this movie, scene changes are done by fading completely to black, and then slowly fading back in. Far too slow for today's tastes. And the dialogue, while moderately witty, was delivered at a very measured pace: line (pause) response (pause) next line (pause) next response.

As I watched the story unfold (slowly), I kept wondering if a little judicious editing wouldn't help pick up the pace.

There was one plus to this film, though, that modern franchise movie makers should take note of. The movie starts with Ellery Queen in mid-career. There's no long origin story. The movie starts with the ninth book in the series with Ellery Queen going on vacation to get a break from all that crime-solving!

So to all you comic-book movie auteurs, forget the scene one/day one mindset. Just start the story and go. The fans are already up to speed, and everyone else will be familiar enough with the character to stay with it.

Really.

The Suicide Squad - An Appreciation

As the sky dumped twenty-two inches of snow on my central Virginia home, I spent some time revisiting a collection of Emile C. Tepperman's "Suicide Squad" stories. Tepperman may not have been a very prominent author, but he certainly was a prolific one. He wrote over 260 short stories, novelettes and full-blown novels between 1933 and 1943.

Tepperman definitely captured the pulse of the time -- readers of pulp magazines wanted action and plenty of it. Tepperman didn't disappoint. His stories are fast-paced thrill rides that pull the reader along from chapter to chapter.

The Suicide Squad -- Johnny Kerrigan, Stephen Klaw, and Dan Murdoch -- were the subject of twenty-two 15,000 word novelettes that ran in "Ace G-Man" magazine between 1939 and 1942. As Tepperman describes them:

Kerrigan and Murdoch and Klaw. The three Black Sheep of the F.B.I.--three men who were never sent on a regular routine assignment, but who always rated the calls where death was almost a certainty. Not so long ago there had been five of them. Now there were only three. Tomorrow there might be only two--or one--or none.

The Suicide Squad was reckless, and often deliberately walked into traps just to spring them to get the villains to tip their hands. With Tepperman's break-neck pacing, once the Squad gets involved (usually about three paragraphs into the story), the villain's master plan starts to unravel.

But what plots they are! In the Adventure House collection of wartime adventures I just finished the Suicide Squad takes on a 9,000 man-strong Japanese Expeditionary Force hidden in rural Maryland, a gang-run city, a saboteur with a cadre of Korean fire-archers, and the Undertaker, who returns all who go after him in a casket -- embalmed!

What makes the stories interesting is the dynamic between the three lead characters. There's an easy camaraderie and byplay between them, and (within the world of the pulps) some differences between the three. It's suggested that Stephen Klaw overcompensates for his youthful looks and short stature by being overly aggressive (even by Squad standards). Dan Murdoch is more concerned about organization and planning, even when it has to be done on the fly. And Johnny Kerrigan is the glue that holds these two opposites together.

Often times one of the Squad take the lead in the adventure, and the story takes on the dynamic of his personality. But action is always the watchword of the day, and in the end, the Suicide Squad always gets their men -- if they're still standing.

Here's a sample from the 1940 story "Suicide Squad - Dead or Alive!" Stephen Klaw has allowed himself to be captured. And, according to plan, Kerrigan and Murdoch enter at just the right moment.

Roy Fenn ripped out an oath, and went for his gun. At the same time, the two gorillas who were holding Steve Klaw let go of him and swung their own weapons to shoot at Kerrigan and Murdoch.

Dan Murdoch, with that grim smile still upon his dark and handsome face, fired once. The big gun jumped in his hand, and the hoodlum on Stephen Klaw's right was hurled backward as if he had been struck by a ten-ton sledgehammer.

Simultaneously, an automatic appeared in Klaw's right hand, and somehow its muzzle was up and belching flame at the second thug. The shot caught the man in the left shoulder and spun him around like a weather-vane, with his arms outstretched. He went sliding across the floor and ended up against a desk, huddled on the carpet, and moaning. Klaw's gun and Murdoch's had barked almost in unison.

A split-second later, Johnny Kerrigan reached Rory Fenn in a flying leap. Fenn had his gun out of its holster. Johnny smashed down with his revolver, struck Fenn's wrist. The big bruiser let go of the gun, uttering a cry of pain. He stood disarmed, staring vindictively at Kerrigan.

Johnny chuckled, kicked the fallen gun over toward a corner. Then he looked at Klaw and said, "Hello, Shrimp. Looks like these lads aren't so tough after all."

If you enjoyed the non-stop action and retro feel of the first Indiana Jones film, you might like the Suicide Squad stories. They would have made a great series of B pictures.

Emile C. Tepperman remains somewhat of a cypher. There's no biography of him anywhere that has more than his professional life up through the late 1940's. Nevertheless, he left behind a body of work that, while not great literature by any definition, can still deliver entertaining thrills seventy years after its publication.

And that's not a small accomplishment.

- Ralph

Case of the Misunderstood Mason

Ask anyone what they know about Perry Mason, and they'll probably respond "Raymond Burr." And in a way, that's a shame. Because the Perry Mason of TV fame (and later made-for-TV movies) is only a shadow of Erle Stanley Gardner's original creation.

Over the years, I've been able to find about two-thirds of the 82 novels Gardner wrote. And of all the people I know that read mysteries, not one has read Gardner, nor has any desire to do so. That's a shame, because there's a lot of enjoyment in these books.

First off, forget the cliches of the TV show. The 40-minute four-act structure of TV meant shortcuts had to be taken. The Perry Mason stories adapted to TV usually had their cast of suspects stripped down. The investigation took fewer turns and twists, involved fewer clues, and the guilty party always, always, always confessed on the stand after some goofy trial shenanigans.

Now the Perry Mason novels are not great literature. Erle Stanley Gardner was a practicing attorney, who in the 1930's began cranking out stories for pulp magazines. As his output (and subsequent income) increased, he transitioned out of law into full-time writing, sometimes dictating two novels simultaneously.

So what makes the Perry Mason books worth reading?

1) Authenticity -- Gardner was an imaginative attorney, and many of the tricks Mason plays in court were used by Gardner himself. And his first-hand knowledge of trial procedures makes Mason's courtroom scenes read like actual transcripts. Anyone who likes the courtroom part of "Law and Order" should enjoy a Perry Mason novel.

2) Forensics -- Gardner was fascinated by the evolving field of forensics, and often worked the latest developments into his novels. The criminal science is rooted in reality. The tests that Gardner describes and what they can (and can't) prove are factual, even if used to solve fanciful crimes.

3) A large cast of characters -- The TV series was limited to a few characters. Perry Mason, along with his secretary Della Street, and private investigator Paul Drake matched wits against police Lieutenant Tragg and district attorney Hamilton Burger. But the books were much more interesting. In addition to Della Street, Mason's law offices also employed Gertie, the receptionist who was a character in her own right. And for a time Mason had Jackson as a law partner -- a man completely different than Mason. While Mason was daring and resourceful, Jackson was straight-laced and traditional, relying exclusively on precedent.

And on the other side, there was Sergeant Holcomb, who like to ensure the person he arrested was the culprit by planting evidence and trying the case in the papers. Lieutenant Tragg was more perceptive and methodical -- and someone who Perry Mason both respected and was a little afraid of.

There were also a number of judges who made recurring appearances. Any lawyer will tell you that the judge trying the case can be a major factor in its outcome. Gardiner had a rotated cast of judges, some who liked Mason, some who didn't. A few were out to get Mason and continually put up obstructions. Whoever presided over the trial often affected the direction it took -- and the tactics Mason used.

4) A look into the past -- One could almost read the Perry Mason novels as historical fiction. Most were written before Miranda, and no one's read their rights. And that's just for starters. Perry Mason often has to race against the police to save evidence before its destroyed, interview witnesses before they disappear, and sequester his client before the police have a chance to force out a confession.

5) Variety -- On TV, the murderer always confesses on the stand. Not so in the novels. It does happen occasionally, but not every case even makes it to trial. Sometimes Perry Mason is able to prove his clients innocent at the preliminary hearing. Sometimes it happens between trials. And not all of Mason's clients are innocent. There's one book (I won't spoil it by revealing the title) where the client's guilty!

Gardner's writing style is as direct as Hemingway (without the artistic part). The stories move along briskly, and never fail to provide plenty of twist and turns.

To say you know all about Perry Mason because you've seen Raymond Burr's portrayal is like saying you know about the Saint because you've seen the movie, or that you know all about Oz because you've seen the movie (I'm thinking I've just given myself some more post ideas).

Forget the TV show. If you're into mysteries, just pick up a novel and judge for yourself.

- Ralph

Day 68 of the WJMA Web Watch.

John Dickson Carr - Man of Media

I started this series about John Dickson Carr by sharing a conversation I had with a colleague. She didn't care much for Carr's "locked room" mysteries -- they're decidedly not au courant.

And it turns out that Carr can't get respect in any media.

In addition to being a prolific author, Carr also wrote a number of radio dramas in the 1940's. Some were adaptations of his short stories, and others original to the media -- and I've been hard pressed to find any recording of them.

In 1956, his series of short stories about Colonel March and Scotland Yard's Department of Queer Complaints (as in "unusual," OK?) became a syndicated TV show starring Boris Karloff. I shared the single episode available at Archiv.org with a friend who's a real video enthusiast. He didn't like it -- he prefers videos he can watch while doing other things. Mysteries that require some concentration aren't for him.

And that's too bad -- because "Colonel March" is a very entertaining show. And a darned good mystery that's true to Carr's love of impossible crimes.

The series makes Colonel March a little less serious than he is in Carr's stories. Here's the opening with an unusually jovial and friendly Boris Karloff.



And while March is an astute detective, he's not quite as suave as he likes to think. Here he tries to engage a gambler in conversation -- twice.



The crime is pure Carr. A young American wiped out at roulette in a French casino, is promised money if he goes to the address he's given. It's a doctor's house at the end of a blind alley. As he approaches, he sees his mysterious benefactor standing at the door. A fountain in the alley momentarily blocks his view (the "Silver Curtain" of the title) as he walks, during which time his mysterious friend is stabbed with a knife. The door is unlocked and opened when the man screams. Two policemen hurry down the alley. And another impossible crime has happened.

No one was behind the American -- the gendarmes who blocked the alley's entrance can attest to that. The door was locked, so the killer couldn't have stood in the doorway (and the woman who opened the door is not the murderer). So how was the man killed? And why?

As a favor to Garon, the inspector in charge of the case, March offers to go undercover to investigate. The results aren't quite as March anticipates.



As with Carr's books, I found the Colonel March program enjoyable, although for slightly different reasons (Karloff's performance slightly against type is really good). All the clues are presented to the viewer, who's challenged to solve the mystery.

So if you're interested in a story that requires a little engagement, Colonel March (in either print or video incarnation) might be your man. He's never let me down.

- Ralph


Day 14 of the WJMA Web Watch.

John Dickson Carr - Man of Mystery

In my last post about John Dickson Carr (one of my favorite mystery writers), I conceded that I didn't really do the author justice. The concept of the "locked room" mystery has somewhat fallen out of favor, and so many potential readers may not know quite what I'm talking about.

While almost all of Carr's novels center around some sort of impossible crime, I think his novella, "The Third Bullet" would be the one I'd suggest a prospective reader start with. Over the course of this 80-page story (in the paperback edition), Carr throws out a dizzying array of plot twists and curves that keep the reader guessing. And yet, in the end, all is explained in a logical, straightforward fashion.

Gabriel White, recently released from prison, vows to kill Judge Mortlake who put him there. Since he used to date the judge's youngest daughter, there's a question of the judge's motivations in sentencing him. Inspector Page and another officer are called in and arrive at the estate mere minutes after White. He's seen charging towards the little two-room pavilion where the judge regularly retires to work on his memoirs.

Mortlake, hearing the commotion, comes to the window. White enters the room and shuts and locks the door. The policeman is right behind him, begins breaking down the door. Page makes for the open window. Two shots ring out seconds before he comes through the window.

The door gives way and the other officer rushes in. White stands in the middle of the room with a smoking gun. The judge lies dead, felled by a single bullet. There's only one door into the room (which the police came through). Two of the four windows are locked and shuttered, rusted shut and undisturbed. The other two face the front. Page came through one and had the other under observation the entire time.

The small room is immediately searched, and there's no one hiding anywhere (such as behind the door), nor are there any secret panels. With the only two ways out being physically blocked by police, the room is effectively sealed.

And yet the gun in White's hand didn't kill the judge. White says he heard a shot behind him, and a second recently fired gun is found in an urn next to one of the boarded up windows. A reenactment confirms for the police that someone could have stood in the corner unseen -- but how did they get out?

The coroner confirms that Mortlake died around the time of the shooting (so he couldn't have been murdered earlier -- besides, the officer saw him come to the window).

And then things get complicated.

The first bullet from White's gun is nowhere to be found. The second bullet from the discarded gun is buried in the wall. And then the topper -- the third bullet (of the title) that killed the judge came from the gun that Mortlake kept in his desk.

Who fired the second gun? And who killed Mortlake? And how did this impossible crime happen?

There's a lot more to this story then I've outlined (because I don't want to spoil it), but hopefully, you get the idea. The surprises and plot turns come fast and furious until the very end. And by the third page, you have all the information you really need to solve the crime yourself. If that is, you can find it amid everything else that's going on in the story.

With Carr, the puzzle's the thing.

Old-fashioned? Perhaps. But great fun, nonetheless.

To me, the real mystery is why any mystery lover wouldn't want to give Carr a try.

- Ralph


Day 13 of the WJMA Web Watch.

I Love a Mystery

A colleague (who has a master's in English lit) and I were discussing mystery writers. One of my favorite authors is John Dickson Carr, but my friend didn't share my enthusiasm. "He's somewhat old-fashioned," she sniffed, " Dickson writes puzzles. I prefer stories with fully-developed characters."

Ouch! I have to admit that John Dickson Carr is old-school. His first novel was published in 1932, and his final book came out in 1972, five years before his death.

Apparently, puzzle mysteries are far too quaint for today's readers -- although I suspect it's more a case of a change in reading habits.

In the 1920's and 1930's, the mystery was the thing. One had to read carefully, follow the provided maps and charts, and diligently work out the timetables to deduce the culprit before the end of the story.

Carr's specialty was the "locked room" murder. His "impossible" crimes took place in hermetically sealed rooms or other locations where the question of "how" was as important as "who." I have nothing against more modern mysteries, but Carr's work is (in my opinion) unsurpassed in ingenuity and logic.

Unlike other writers of the between-war years, Carr doesn't rely on complicated timetables or the reader knowing arcane bits of information. Instead, Carr simply uses his mastery of misdirection.

By the third chapter of a typical John Dickson Carr novel, the reader will have already been introduced to the killer(s) and have been presented with all the information they will later need to solve the crime. And in most cases (at least with me), they will have missed it all.

There's more to John Dickson Carr than I can cover in a single blog post. He was also a master at characterization (despite what my colleague said), often had wild comedic elements in otherwise serious stories, was an extremely knowledgeable historical fiction writer, and also was successful in other media.

I've always found his books worth a read -- and perhaps, if you enjoy a well-crafted tale or two -- you may, too.

- Ralph

(Give yourself some bonus points if you recognize the source of the post title).