ELIZABETH PETERS – Crocodile on the Sandbank. Dodd, Mead & Co., hardcover, 1975. Paperback reprint: Fawcett Crest, 1976. Many other reprint editions, both hardcover and soft.

   Crocodile on the Sandbank is a wonderfully amusing romp in Egypt in the 1880s with all the trimmings — dahabeeyahs (houseboats), royal tombs, and mummies, both dead and walking. Into the world of archaeology blunders a self-proclaimed “middle-aged spinster” (age thirty-two) who has used her newly inherited fortune to leave England and her avaricious relatives.

   Sensing herself to be plain, Miss Amelia Peabody has decided against marriage, saying, “Why should any independent, intelligent female choose to subject herself to the whims and tyrannies of a husband? I assure you, I have yet to meet any man as sensible as myself.” But then she meets Radcliff Emerson, a voluble and single-minded sociologist. A Tracy-Hepburn relationship immediately develops.

   Where she meets Radcliff is at an archaeological dig he and his brother share on the Nile. Amelia and her companion, a young woman she befriended in Rome, have stopped there for a brief visit, but the short stay they envisioned is lengthened by a series of threatening events, endangering the artifacts and finally the lives of the four protagonists.

   The story is told from Amelia’s viewpoint. She is exceptionally well educated, full of endurance, and never, never forgoes her principles. Peters’s skill is in keeping the friction inherent in this situation amusing, yet making the characters just realistic enough to be credible and immensely likable. And though the reader realizes the outcome of the plot before Amelia does, it doesn’t matter, it is the interchange between the characters that is the delight of the book.

   In further adventures, presented in the form of Amelia’s memoirs — The Curse of the Pharaohs (1981) and The Mummy Case (1985) — she marries Emerson and returns to the Nile with an expanded cast of characters, including her precocious son, Ramses, and an Egyptian cat, Bastet.

   Peters (whose real name is Barbara Mertz, and who also writes as Barbara Michaels) has written such other entertaining novels as The Jackal’s Head (1968), Borrower of the Night (1973), The Copenhagen Connection (1982), and Die for Love (1984).

         ———
   Reprinted with permission from 1001 Midnights, edited by Bill Pronzini & Marcia Muller and published by The Battered Silicon Dispatch Box, 2007.   Copyright © 1986, 2007 by the Pronzini-Muller Family Trust.

HAKE TALBOT – The Hangman’s Handyman. Simon & Schuster, hardcover, 1942. Pulp magazine reprint: Two Complete Detective Books #24, January 1944. Trade paperback: Ramble House, 2005.

   Some peculiarities of construction prevent Hake Talbot’s first novel from attaining the first rank, but it remains an engaging curiosity with plenty of atmosphere. A few years down the pike, he would write Rim of the Pit, one of the great detective novels of the twentieth century, and while this is far from that, it has its moments.

   Rogan Kincaid makes a memorable entrance, dripping in oilskins, on the morning after an orgiastic dinner at The Kraken, the baronial stone mansion on its own island off the Carolina coast. Only Rogan could have braved the storm, Rogan Kincaid, the man’s man, dangerous gambler whose exploits around the world are legend in the underworld.

   But he’s not all bad, he’s sensitive and loves to give women a good time. As showgirl Nancy Garwood struggles to tell him what happened the night before, bits and shards of memory return to her until, with a scream, she recalls a repressed memory, that their host, Jackson Frant, the owner of The Kraken, had been cursed by his half brother Lord Tethryn of England, according to the old family curse, and he had instantly died.

   Laid up in his bed, he now awaits the police. When Rogan goes to see Frant, he can barely make out the features of his old friend: a seemingly supernatural power connected to the family curse (“”Od rot you!””) has caused decay to happen at super-fast rates — the body seems as if it has been dead for weeks instead of mere hours!

   Talbot drapes layers and layers of medieval and early American horror/folktale material on the bones of his fragile story. You can tell he really loved his research. As Rim of the Pit depends on the native American legend of the Windigo, The Hangman’s Handyman just drips and squelches with Undine trivia. You will believe that a heap of seaweed can stand up of its own volition, move across the room towards you, and strangle you to death!

   Much of the action of the book turns into an “origin story” explaining the true and romantic background of the hardened gambler who calls himself Rogan Kincaid. This part of the story: unbelievable to the point of being ridiculous, and I notice that Talbot discarded Kincaid’s aristocratic origins by the time he embarked on the superior work of Rim of the Pit, but Talbot completists won’t mind a little icing on their cake.

NATALIE SUMNER LINCOLN – The Red Seal. D. Appleton & Co., hardcover, 1920. Hardcover reprint: A. L. Burt, n.d. Trade paperback reprint: Dodo Press, 2007.

   Twins Helen and Barbara McIntyre arrive at court to give evidence against one John Smith, caught burgling the McIntyre mansion. Strange to relate, the sisters ask lawyer Philip Rochester, who happens to be present, to defend Smith, which task he undertakes.

   Smith is taken ill as he leaves the witness box and dies, whereupon he is discovered to be in disguise. He is James Turnbull, cashier of the Metropolis Trust Company, Helen’s fiance, and Rochester’s room mate. Incredibly, all three claim not to have recognised him. Turnbull’s angina pectoris is thought to have caused his death, but Helen insists on an autopsy.

   It transpires Turnbull was burgling the house because of a silly wager made with Barbara that he could not pull it off. Barbara asks her sweetheart Harry Kent, Rochester’s partner in a legal practice, to find out who murdered Turnbull, for she and her sister are convinced his death was the result of foul play.

   Soon the deceased Turnbull is suspected of forgery, Rochester goes missing, an eavesdropper lurks at a window, and a handkerchief is suspected as being the murder weapon. To further the busy plot, various characters play pass the red-sealed envelope, whose contents turn out to be the last thing most readers will expect.

My verdict: While the initial pace is slow, it picks up after a few chapters. The solution is complicated, not to say outrageous, so don’t try reading The Red Seal if there is anything to distract you from noting every nuance.

   Cleverly worked red herrings mislead, and the explanation of the characters’ roles in the tragedy and subsequent events features what must be the largest number of culprits-named-and-then-it’s-someone-else’s-turn-to-be-accused many readers will have read — and all in a single chapter!

   Or to put it another way, the plot features twists galore. I suspect not many readers will guess whodunnit.

Etext: http://onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu/webbin/gutbook/lookup?num=1747

      Bibliographic data (taken from Crime Fiction IV, by Allen J. Hubin) —

LINCOLN, NATALIE SUMNER. 1881-1935.

* The Trevor Case (n.) Appleton 1912 [Washington, D.C.]
* The Lost Despatch (n.) Appleton 1913 [Washington, D.C.; 1865]
* The Man Inside (n.) Appleton 1914 [Washington, D.C.]
* C.O.D. (n.) Appleton 1915
* The Official Chaperone (n.) Appleton 1915 [Washington, D.C.]
* I Spy (n.) Appleton 1916 [Insp. Mitchell; Washington, D.C.]

* The Nameless Man (n.) Appleton 1917 [Insp. Mitchell; Washington, D.C.]
* The Moving Finger (n.) Appleton 1918 [Insp. Mitchell; Virginia]
* The Three Strings (n.) Appleton 1918 [Insp. Mitchell; Washington, D.C.]
* The Red Seal (n.) Appleton 1920 [Detective Ferguson; Washington, D.C.]
* The Unseen Ear (n.) Appleton 1921 [Detective Ferguson; Washington, D.C.]
* The Cat’s Paw (n.) Appleton 1922 [Insp. Mitchell; Washington, D.C.]
* The Meredith Mystery (n.) Appleton 1923 [Insp. Mitchell; Virginia]
* The Thirteenth Letter (n.) Appleton 1924 [Maryland]
* The Missing Initial (n.) Appleton 1925 [Insp. Mitchell; Washington, D.C.]
* The Blue Car Mystery (n.) Appleton 1926 [Insp. Mitchell; Washington, D.C.]

* The Dancing Silhouette (n.) Appleton 1927 [Insp. Mitchell; Washington, D.C.]
* P.P.C. (n.) Appleton 1927 [Insp. Mitchell; Washington, D.C.]
* The Secret of Mohawk Pond (n.) Appleton 1928 [Connecticut]
* The Fifth Latchkey (n.) Appleton 1929 [Maryland]

* Marked “Cancelled” (n.) Appleton 1930 [Washington, D.C.]

* 13 Thirteenth Street (n.) Appleton 1932 [Washington, D.C.]

MARILYN TRACY – Cowboy Under Cover.

Silhouette Intimate Moments #1162; c.2002; SIM edn, July 2002.

   I’m not going to go back and scour through all of the previous 1161 to check them all out, but I’ve recently discovered that quite a few of the SIM books are criminous in nature (like this one), although usually not out-and-out detective novels (like this one). SIM, if you didn’t know, is a line of books published by Harlequin, known primarily for their romances.

   This one takes place near the Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico, where a young recently widowed woman, Jeannie McMunn, is trying to start a working ranch to house orphans and disadvantaged children. Opposing her is a villain straight from the lurid western pulps, El Patron. The US marshal working undercover for her as a ranch hand is Chance Salazar. She does not know his primary occupation, only that she seems to be depending more and more on him every day.

   Stock characters, in other words, but in a cozy setting that seems to blur the artificiality of the situation. The best characters are Jeannie’s two wards: the thorny young teen-aged girl named Dulce, multi-pierced and sullen, and José, an even younger Mexican boy, mute but cheerful. Being a romance novel, the growing sexual attraction between the two main protagonists is inevitable, and it eventually takes its natural course.

   The finale, though, is rather brutal and gory, in strong contrast to the warm, comfortable coziness of life on the ranch, but you don’t have to read too many novels like this to know that everything will turn out just about right.

[UPDATE] 11-04-08.  This book came out in 2002, too late to be included in Al Hubin’s Crime Fiction IV, which covers mystery fiction only through the year 2000. Here’s her current entry as given in the online Addenda:

TRACY, MARILYN. Pseudonym of Tracy LeCocq, ca.1954- , q.v. Under this pen name, the author of many series romances, some having criminous elements.
      Almost a Family. Silhouette, pb, 1997. [Eleven-year-old triplet boys scheme to get their choice of a father, a Texas Ranger, by inventing a murder.]
      Almost Perfect. Silhouette, pb, 1997. Setting: Texas. [A single mother’s bodyguard may be a murderer.]
      Blue Ice. Silhouette, pb, 1990. Setting: Russia. [Art dealer Aleksandra Shashkevich’s most trusted friend is killed just as she is to purchase a collection of rare items from him.]

      Code Name: Daddy. Silhouette, pb, 1996; Silhouette, UK, pb, 1997. [The aftermath of a hostage situation that ends with four dead.]

LeCOQ, TRACY (née HUBER). Ca.1954- . Pseudonym: Marilyn Tracy, q.v. Add maiden name. Lives in Roswell, NM. Under her married name and with her sister Holly Huber, the creator of the Santa Fe Tarot Deck. Their father, newspaper humor columnist Robert “Bob” E. Huber, was one of two hostages taken during a 1967 armed assault on the Rio Arriba County courthouse.

DOROTHY DANIELS – Affair in Marrakesh.

Pyramid X-1786; paperback original, 1968. Pyramid N3342, 2nd printing, 1974 (shown).

   Whether Dorothy Daniels actually wrote the gothics attributed to her, or if they were all written by her husband, long-time pulp writer Norman Daniels, has been the subject of some recent email discussion between long-time mystery bibliographer, Al Hubin, and myself. In the end, as I understand it, he decided to say something to the effect that some of her books (in particular, those copyright in Norman’s name) were likely to have been written by him.   [See UPDATE below.]

   This one’s billed as “a novel of gothic intrigue.” No castles shrouded in fog, in other words, but a Helen MacInnes sort of romantic adventure, with a naive young woman finding herself in the midst of an affair of international importance.

   More important to Margo Addison, however, are matters that are all personal: (1) on an around-the-world trip she has been followed everywhere she goes; (2) her father, who has been travelling with her since her mother’s strange death, suddenly disappears; (3) she seems to be falling in love with Gil Morley, a young American handicraft importer; and (4) no surprise, the possibility that her mother did not die after all.

   It is difficult to lose track of all of these plot-lines, as Margo seems to go over them in her mind often enough to keep even the most drowsy reader well on the right direction — sometimes, as indicated above, well before her.

   For those looking for entertainment, an evening’s enjoyment, no more, no less. For the more analytically minded, two rather obvious plot contrivances — “coincidences” as they’re called in the real world — make the taste not quite as savory as it might have been otherwise.

[UPDATE] 11-04-08.   All of the entries for Dorothy Daniels in Al Hubin’s Crime Fiction IV now state that they were ghost-written by Norman Daniels. Whether she had any input into the stories, and if so, how much, has not been established.

TONY HILLERMAN – Listening Woman. Harper & Row, hardcover, 1978. Paperback reprint: Avon, April 1979. Many other reprint editions, both hardcover and soft.

   Joe Leaphorn is assigned to a double homicide that has occurred on a remote plateau of the Navajo reservation. Hosteen Tso, an old man, had complained of illness and gone to Margaret Cigaret, known as Listening Woman, for a pollen-blessing ceremony. During a brief period when Listening Woman left him alone, both Hosteen Tso and her niece and assistant, Anna Atcitty, were bludgeoned to death.

   The old man, Listening Woman reports to Leaphorn, knew something about some sand paintings that had been desecrated, but refused to discuss it, saying cryptically that he had made a promise to someone long ago. Following this rather slender lead, Leaphorn travels across the barren mesas to that part of the Indian nation where the Navajo wolves and witches are said to dwell.

   As in Hillerman’s other novels, ancient tribal beliefs come into sharp conflict with the modern world – a conflict that is reflected in Leaphorn himself. And when he finally reaches the solution to the crimes, he sees how legend can be manipulated to suit the designs of evil men.

   Hillerman has put his knowledge of Navajo custom and mysticism to good use in this novel. His stark depiction of the New Mexico landscape is particularly fine, conveying a haunting sense of how insignificant one man is against the vastness of nature, and making this a compelling and often chilling book.

   Joe Leaphorn also appears in The Blessing Way (1970), Hillerman’s first novel. A nonseries novel, The Fly on the Wall (1971), is a political story set in the capital of an unnamed midwestern state. In addition, Hillerman has produced a juvenile novel and various works of nonfiction, including the hilarious The Great Taos Bank Robbery and Other Affairs of Indian Country (1970).

         ———
   Reprinted with permission from 1001 Midnights, edited by Bill Pronzini & Marcia Muller and published by The Battered Silicon Dispatch Box, 2007.   Copyright © 1986, 2007 by the Pronzini-Muller Family Trust.

WILLIAM P. McGIVERN – Police Special. Dodd Mead, hardcover, May 1962. Hardcover reprint: Mystery Guild, August 1962.

   McGivern had a rich and varied writing career ranging from newspaper work to pulp fiction to crime novels (five of which were made into feature films most notably Odds Against Tomorrow starring Robert Ryan and Harry Belafonte, 1959) to screenplays (the John Wayne film Brannigan, 1975) to TV series scriptwriting (Kojak).

   Like many once popular and respected mystery writers from the middle of the last century, McGivern is rarely read today. A review of Police Special (1962), a collection of three of his crime novels, may serve to re-kindle interest in this neglected writer.

Rogue Cop (1954), the first entry in this omnibus, tells the story of once honest but now corrupt Philadelphia cop Mike Carmody and his younger honest cop brother, Eddie. Mike spends the first half of the novel trying to protect Eddie from the murderous thugs who now bankroll his affluent lifestyle.

   It becomes clear early on that Mike will ultimately fail to prevent the murder of his brother. The second half of the story follows Mike’s efforts to avenge Eddie by bringing down the guilty criminals. Whether Mike succeeds or not and if so at what cost to himself and others is only revealed in the final chapters.

   This is a gripping morality tale filled with menacing scenes and dangerous confrontations worthy of Hammett himself. McGivern believes that we all make countless daily choices to be good or bad, to be brave or cowardly. The decisions we make have consequences and effects far beyond ourselves and the immediate present.

The Seven File (1956) describes a kidnapping from beginning to end. Two of the central characters, as in Rogue Cop, are brothers. Duke Farrell was once a golden boy — strong, smart, athletic but of flawed character.

   Hank Farrell, not quite as strong, smart or athletically gifted as his older brother has stayed clear of Duke for many years until the two are brought together by the meticulously planned kidnapping of a wealthy family’s child.

   McGivern shows that deeply flawed people are unlikely to carry out even the most perfect of schemes because they will inevitably deviate from the plan due to their own greed, cowardice and poor judgment. Despite numerous setbacks the kidnappers do manage to snatch the child and one must read through to the final chapter to learn of the ultimate outcome of the crime.

   McGivern alternates the story’s middle chapters between the kidnapper’s actions and the FBI’s efforts to solve the crime. The chapters featuring the criminals are grippingly menacing and expose their gradual loss of control over events. The FBI chapters painstakingly detail the procedures of a mid-twentieth century kidnapping investigation.

   A theme that emerges from McGivern’s storytelling is that most of us are capable of at least one act of courage or one act of mercy, no matter how costly to ourselves, which can turn around a seemingly lost situation. The action takes place mostly in New York City and Maine. The title of the story derives from a code name that the FBI gives to this kidnapping investigation.

The Darkest Hour (1955) shows how corruption on the New York City waterfront affects the lives of those who work on and live near the docks. Steve Retnick returns to Manhattan after serving time for manslaughter. He was a tough but honest cop who crossed the wrong people and was framed for his efforts by some union thugs.

   Retnick has seemingly lost everything; his job, his wife and five years of his life so he is hell bent for revenge no matter what the cost to himself or others. Though Retnick believes that all his former friends and co-workers have abandoned him, he still does have some allies and it is those allies who provide the framework for his ultimate salvation — should he choose to use them. As is typical in a McGivern story, there are many gritty confrontation scenes between the various characters.

   McGivern’s writing style, subject matter and themes are neither for the fainthearted nor for those seeking a high amount of classic detection. Whether tackling police corruption, political corruption, union corruption or civic corruption, he zeroed in on the weaknesses of society and created compelling crime stories that are still entertaining and meaningful half a century after they were written.

          — — —

            Additional bibliographic data:

Rogue Cop. Dodd Mead, hardcover, 1954. Paperback reprints: Pocket 1030, 1954; Pyramid M3188, 1973; Berkley, 1987.

The Seven File. Dodd Mead, 1956. Paperback reprint: Pocket 1156, 1957, as The #7 File. Also: Berkley, pb, 1989, under the original title.

The Darkest Hour. Dodd Mead, 1955. Also published as: Waterfront Cop, Pocket 1105, paperback, 1956. Also: Berkley, pb, 1988, under the original title.

   See this earlier post for a complete listing of all of William P. McGivern’s crime fiction. This review also appears on the Golden Age of Detection wiki, reprinted by permission.

MAX MURRAY – The Right Honourable Corpse.

Farrar Straus & Young, US, hardcover, 1951, as The Right Honorable Corpse. Hardcover reprint: Unicorn Mystery Book Club, 4-in-1 edition, April 1951. US paperback reprint: Collier, 1965, as The Right Honorable Corpse. British hardcover: Michael Joseph, 1952. British paperback reprint: Penguin #1203, 1957.

   Back when he was actively writing, which was up right up to his untimely death in 1956, Max Murray was never one of the big names in the field of mystery fiction. Even though he had a respectable string of detective novels in a ten year stretch between 1947 and 1957, he may not even have been in the second or third tier of big names, in spite of the fact that many of his books were reprinted in this country by Dell in paperback and either the Detective Book Club or the Unicorn Mystery Book Club in hardcover.

   The problem may have been that he never used a series detective. I’ve thought this of several mystery writers before, but I don’t believe I’ve ever quite come out and said it. I think it takes a steady focal point, a recurring detective character that the readers can feel comfortable with before they’ll take the author to heart as well.

   With obvious exceptions, of course. But authors like Andrew Garve and E. X. Ferrars, to take two rather disparate examples, were extremely prolific and presumably very popular in their day, are all but totally forgotten now. Ferrars did have a few recurring characters, but if you can name one without going and looking up her bibliography, you are the winner of today’s trivia contest, and truth be said, when Garve wrote as either Roger Bax or Paul Somers, he did have a couple of series characters. You’re this year’s trivia champion if you can name either.

   And I’m straying from the review of the book in hand, without making a very solid case for my conjecture, I’m afraid, but perhaps I’ll return to it some day.

   Here below is Murray’s entry in Crime Fiction IV, by Allen J. Hubin, along with a few facts about him, most of which I didn’t know, until I looked him up earlier today:

MURRAY, MAX(well). 1901-1956. Born in Australia; newspaper reporter in that country, the U.S., and England; scriptwriter and editor for BBC during WWII; married to author Maysie Greig.

      The Voice of the Corpse (Joseph, 1948, hc) [England] Farrar, 1947.

      The King and the Corpse (Joseph, 1949, hc) [France] Farrar, 1948.
      The Queen and the Corpse (Farrar, 1949, hc) [Ship] See: No Duty on a Corpse (Joseph 1950).
      The Neat Little Corpse (Joseph, 1951, hc) [Jamaica] Farrar, 1950. Film: Paramount, 1953, as Jamaica Run (scw & dir: Lewis R. Foster).

      The Right Honourable Corpse (Joseph, 1952, hc) [Australia] Farrar, 1951.
      The Doctor and the Corpse (Joseph, 1953, hc) [Singapore; Ship] Farrar, 1952.
      Good Luck to the Corpse (Joseph, 1953, hc) [France; Academia] Farrar, 1951.

      The Sunshine Corpse (Joseph, 1954, hc) [Florida]
      Royal Bed for a Corpse (Joseph, 1955, hc) [England] Washburn, 1955.
      Breakfast with a Corpse (Joseph, 1956, hc) [Nice, France] U.S. title: A Corpse for Breakfast. Washburn, 1957.
      Twilight at Dawn (Joseph, 1957, hc) [Australia]
      Wait for the Corpse (Joseph, 1957, hc) [England] Washburn, 1957.

   All of his books were published in the UK, but when they were published in the US, strangely enough they were often published here first. And as befitting his background as a world news correspondent for the BBC, his books take place all over the world, with only two of them in Australia, where he was born. (And as it turns out, where he died, while back on a visit.)

   The Right Honourable Corpse is one of the two, as it so happens, and from the description of (a) the closely knit circle of politicians, bureaucrats and diplomats in the small and isolated capital city of Canberra, and (b) life in the beautiful but desolate Australian out-of-doors, you’d think he’d lived there all his life. And, truth be guessed at, perhaps in his own mind, perhaps he did.

   Dead, but mourned only on the surface, is Rupert Flower, the powerful Minister for Internal Resources, poisoned to death during a piano concert going on in his home. Vain and vindictive — a dangerous combination — he was a man whose untimely passing was foreseen by many.

   Martin Gilbert, the pianist, turns out to be the central character, and I for one would have liked it immensely if he’d ever made a return appearance, which sad to say he did not. It turns out that he is a spy — a domestic one. He works undercover for the new Commonwealth Security Service, and it is not a job that he likes, and his extreme distaste only grows as the case goes on.

   Bitter, sarcastic and outwardly enigmatic in tone and behavior, Martin discovers that friendship with the people he is observing does not go hand-in-hand with reporting those observations on to his superior, Sir David Reynolds. Nor is falling in love consistent with the role he is playing, another problem being that one of the possible suspects is also his best friend and in love with the same girl.

   The plot is quite largely secondary to the players, but it’s a good one. At the end, it’s also fairly clear why Martin Gilbert was never brought back for an encore. As a character himself, he gave all he was capable of in this one. I don’t think he had another murder case to be solved in him. He is used up, worn out, but never thrown away. No sir or ma’am. Tears seldom come to my eyes at the end of detective stories, but I’m not unwilling to say they did this time.

[UPDATE.] 10-28-08. Taken from a couple of emails sent by Jamie Sturgeon:

   Enjoyed your piece on Max Murray, a quick e-mail to point out correct title Wait for a Corpse. There’s a note on Crimefictioniv.com (Part 7) to say Twilight at Dawn was rewritten by his widow Maysie Greig (it says wife but should be widow) and published as Doctor Ted’s Clinic. It is possible that Twilight at Dawn is not criminous or only marginally at best.

   Also: In the entry for Maysie Greig in ADB (Australian Dictionary of Biography) Max Murray’s middle name is Alexander and year of birth as 1900. No separate entry for Max Murray.

TONY HILLERMAN – Dance Hall of the Dead. Harper & Row, hardcover, 1973. Paperback: Avon, 1975. Many reprint editions, both hardcover and soft.

   Tony Hillerman is a master storyteller, the kind who can spin you a yarn that will keep you on the edge of your chair replete with ghosts, evil spirits, sinister happenings, legends, and all the other ingredients that make up the culture of a people.

   The people he writes of are the Navajo and Zuni Indians of the American Southwest. His books are full of Indian lore. (Hillerman himself went to an Indian boarding school for eight years, and knows the culture as few Anglos do.)

   Set against the vast and often desolate expanse of the great reservations near Four Corners (where the states of Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado abut one another), they re-create the loneliness of the high mesas.

   If life is hard for those who live there, it is also hard for Hillerman’s heroes – tribal policemen Joe Leaphorn and, in more recent books, Jim Chee. There are no instant backup systems on the mesas, no quick computerized information resources, indeed few methods of communication.

   Alone, the protagonists must rely on their own intelligence, good judgment, and instincts that have been passed down in a society almost as old as the ancient land where it sprang up.

   Dance Hall of the Dead (which won the MWA Edgar for Best Novel of 1973) opens, as a number of Hillerman’s books do, with a scene from the life of a resident of the reservation, in this case a Zuni.

   And immediately we are confronted with one of the numerous contrasts between modern and an ancient culture that are a trademark of Hillerman’s work: “Shulawitsi, the Little Fire God, member of the Council of the Gods and Deputy to the Sun, had taped his track shoes to his feet.”

   The Little Fire God is a young Zuni man in training not for a track meet but for a religious ceremony. As he rests, thinking of many things that disturb him (but not allowing himself to become angry because at this time in the Zuni religious calendar, anger is not permitted), a strange figure appears from behind a boulder….

   Now that we have been drawn into the Indian consciousness, the scene switches to Zuni tribal-police headquarters where Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn is being briefed on a jurisdictional problem. The Little Fire God, in ordinary life Ernesto Cata, and his Navajo friend, George Bowlegs, are missing, and there are indications that one of them has been knifed. While Cata’s disappearance is in Zuni jurisdiction, Leaphorn is asked to find Bowlegs.

   Cata is presumed dead, and the police suspect Bowlegs is his killer. But there are also rumors that a kachina – a Zuni ancestor spirit – got Cata and frightened Bowlegs. When Cata’s body is found, Leaphorn’s search intensifies; and as he crosses the rugged reservation, fact becomes mixed with legend, and Leaphorn, an outsider to the Zuni culture, must sort out the reality of the situation.

   Dance Hall of the Dead is a fascinating study in the conflicts between two Indian cultures, as well as a fine mystery, the scenes and characters of which will haunt you for a long time after you reach its conclusion.

         ———
   Reprinted with permission from 1001 Midnights, edited by Bill Pronzini & Marcia Muller and published by The Battered Silicon Dispatch Box, 2007.   Copyright © 1986, 2007 by the Pronzini-Muller Family Trust.

TONY HILLERMAN, R.I.P. The much loved author of the Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee mysteries died October 26 of pulmonary failure. He was 83. See the The Rap Sheet online for more details and many remembrances.

   Previously on this blog:

PART I. THE NOVELS.

PART II. THE STORY COLLECTIONS.

Part III. LETTERS, A CARD AND A MEETING.

   Boucher wrote Woolrich for the first time in the late spring of 1944, requesting permission to reprint a story in his anthology Great American Detective Stories (World, 1945). Replying on June 5, Woolrich recommended that Boucher use the 1938 “Endicott’s Girl,” which he called “my favorite among all the stories I’ve ever written.”

   Boucher didn’t care for that one, as he explained in a July 19 letter to World editor William Targ: “It has in extreme measure the frequent Woolrich flaw – a fine emotional story which ends with loose ends all over the place and nothing really explained.”

   Instead Boucher opted for “Finger of Doom” (1940), which he retitled “I Won’t Take a Minute.” The new title was retained when the story was included in The Ten Faces of Cornell Woolrich (1965). “Endicott’s Girl” remained uncollected until I put it in Night and Fear (2004).

   On July 20, one day after his letter to Targ, Boucher wrote Woolrich again: “In the past month or two I’ve read over 30 [of your] pulp stories. And even from such a dose as that I still feel no indigestion; which means, I take it, that you are (as I have suspected all along) the goods. Keep ’em coming!”

   Woolrich’s reply, dated July 23, solved a puzzle for me. I had long suspected that his “The Penny-a-Worder” (1958; first collected in Nightwebs, 1971), which is about a pulp writer who has to hack out a story overnight to go with an already completed front cover illustration, was based on personal experience.

   After finding the July 23 letter among Boucher’s papers at the Lilly Library I knew it for a fact. In it Woolrich mentioned that he particularly remembers his story “Guns, Gentlemen” (1937; collected as “The Lamp of Memory” in Beyond the Night, 1959) “because I wrote it to match up with the cover of the magazine, which they sent me.” This doesn’t mean, of course, that he wrote the story in a single night!

   On a file card dating from 1950 or early 1951, when he was co-editing The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, Boucher set down his reaction to the idea of reprinting Woolrich’s novella “Jane Brown’s Body” (1938). “This brilliantly macabre concept spoiled for me by 2 things: a.) My pet irritation of writing exclusively in present tense; b.) A pulp plot so formulaly obvious that each step can be accurately forecast. Inept, for Woolrich, but because of his name let’s include.”

   It was reprinted in the magazine’s October 1951 issue and collected in The Fantastic Stories of Cornell Woolrich (1981).

   Boucher finally met Woolrich while on a visit to New York in April 1965. He died without writing about the encounter but his widow, Phyllis White, was present and described it for me before her own death:

    “[W]e were in a restaurant with some MWA members after a private viewing of a film…. Clayton Rawson [then managing editor of EQMM] told us that before going home he was going to drop in on Cornell Woolrich, who was convalescing from surgery, and he suggested that we come along.

    “Of course Tony was thrilled at the prospect. We went to the hotel room where Woolrich was temporarily quartered. One eye had been operated on and he was to go back after an interval for an operation on the other. [Saint Mystery Magazine editor] Hans Santesson was there trying to look after him. He was supposed to go easy on drinking so he was sticking to wine. Santesson kept suggesting pleasantly but ineffectively that he slow down.

    “The room had until recently been used for storage of furniture. It was in good enough condition except for lacerated wallpaper. Woolrich complained that the hotel staff was sneering and laughing at him behind his back. Rawson asked Woolrich whether he had anything lying around that would be suitable for reprint in EQMM.

    “Woolrich rummaged around and turned up something. There was a bit of comic pantomime in which Rawson started to look at the story and then tried to hide it from rival editor Santesson peering over his shoulder.

    “The only dramatic incident of the evening was missed by Rawson, who had to leave to catch his train. The door opened suddenly and a crowing man burst in with a girl and a bottle. The hotel had mistakenly sent him to that room and he was indignant on finding us there…

    “The intruder withdrew, leaving Woolrich convinced that this was another part of the conspiracy against him. Eventually we left but it wasn’t easy. Woolrich thought that people who went away, no matter how long they had stayed, were leaving because they didn’t like him. Tony was delighted that he had finally met Woolrich, and at the same time thought that it wouldn’t do his own nerves any good to see too much of him… ”

   He needn’t have worried. They never met again. Boucher died of lung cancer on April 29, 1968, at the unbearably early age of 56; Woolrich of a stroke on September 25, a little more than two months before his 65th birthday. Just a few months apart. Forty years ago this year. May they rest in peace.