Reviews


Reviewed by
CAPTAIN FRANK CUNNINGHAM:


BERNARD CAPES – The Skeleton Key. Collins, UK, hardcover, 1919. US title: The Mystery of the Skeleton Key. Doran, hardcover, 1918. Also available in several current POD editions, and can be read online at archive.org.

   If Hugh had returned from hunting by another path, or if he had left his gun behind him, or if one could have told just when the shot was heard, perhaps the murder of beautiful Annie Evans might have been cleared up without so much effort on the part of the famous Sergeant Ridgeway from Scotland Yard, or so much mutual suspicion on the part of the various guests assembled at the Hall.

   Baron Le Sage of doubtful fame might have gone on playing chess, and pretty Audrey’s love affairs might not have become so tangled. But it’s just as well as it is, perhaps, for the result of all these complications is a thoroughly exciting detective story.

— Reprinted from Black Mask magazine, August 1920.


Biographic Note: From Capes’ Wikipedia page:

    “Capes was a prolific Victorian author, publishing more than forty volumes – romances, mysteries, poetry, history – together with many articles for the magazines of the day. His early writing career was as a journalist, later becoming editor of a paper called The Theatre, which was well known in late nineteenth century London. Other magazines for which Capes wrote included Blackwood’s, Butterfly, Cassell’s, Cornhill Magazine, Hutton’s Magazine, Illustrated London News, Lippincott’s, Macmillan’s Magazine, Literature, New Witness, Pall Mall Magazine, Pearson’s Magazine, The Idler, The New Weekly, and The Queen.”

REVIEWED BY DAN STUMPF:


CLEMENTS RIPLEY – Black Moon. Harcourt Brace & Co, hardcover, 1933.

BLACK MOON

BLACK MOON. Columbia, 1934. Jack Holt, Fay Wray, Dorothy Burgess, Cora Sue Collins, Arnold Korff, Clarence Muse. Based on the novel by Clements Ripley. Director: Roy William Neill.

   Clements Ripley’s Black Moon amounts to very little really, but it has its moments. Steven Lane is one of those wealthy, athletic, handsome and single young men who crop up regularly in adventure stories of that day, and as this one opens he’s on his way to an island somewhere south of Haiti to marry Amalia Perez, your typical fiery Latin beauty, who mysteriously returned to the tiny isle of her birth just as they were getting serious about each other back in New York.

   Lane is barely past the first page when he gets a bit of foreshadowing from a cagey servant — a black man named “Lunch” whose depiction is regrettably condescending — and it’s not much later that he encounters Amalia’s uncle, Dr. Perez, who owns the island (and the people on it, he presumes) and looks over his niece’s interests with a solicitude bordering on the pathological.

   Amalia herself appears not much later, but she seems so remote and disinterested that Lane wonders how serious they were about each other to begin with. Fortunately, there’s a perky level-headed young American girl around on the island and the veteran reader of this sort of thing can see their attraction coming several chapters before they do.

BLACK MOON

   The plot develops apace, with unrest among the natives, sinister drums, mysterious disappearances and even more mysterious antics from the sultry Amalia, who turns out to be a High Priestess of the local Voodoo cult, bent on human sacrifice.

   Well we’ve all dated girls like that from time to time, but oddly enough it is not Amalia who emerges as the villain of the piece but her uncle, the good doctor whose fine manners mask a control freak on the order of Count Zaroff, gradually spinning out of bounds as he countenances murder, cover-up and even cold-blooded savagery in the name of tradition and family pride—all with the suave graciousness one expects from baddies in pulp fiction.

   And even more surprising, the racially stereotyped Lunch starts taking on more and more of the heroics, performing handy bits of business like chewing through ropes and even a bit of convenient killing that our nominal hero is just too decent a chap to commit. Before we get to the end, Ripley has treated us to a fine panoply of thrills, including capture by natives, murder on the garden path, black magic rites and a running gun battle across the island by hero and villain with the natives in hot pursuit of them both. Possibly not the most intelligent book you could pick, but undeniably lively.

BLACK MOON

   Black Moon had the good fortune to be filmed by Roy William Neil at Columbia in 1934, and it’s really a crackerjack little film, handled by Neill – he of the Universal / Rathbone / Holmes movies — with his usual flair for atmosphere and pace. Dorothy Burgess plays the mysterious Latina, but as the film opens she’s already married to Lane, who has become a solid businessman, played by square-jawed and middle-aged Jack Holt.

   But Burgess is yearning to return to the Caribbean island of her birth, and Holt lets her take their daughter and his secretary (Faye Wray) down there while he wraps up some business stateside, and in his absence things in the tropics go quickly hellward as Dorothy recalls her upbringing and realizes she was raised to be the priestess of a local voodoo cult – a destiny she will embrace even if it becomes the spark of a bloody religious uprising.

   This has it all: steamy tropical suspense, bursts of action, and those incessant drums pounding-in-my-head-night-and-day-Oh-why-won’t-they-stop? Neill, who brought elegance to predestined piffle like Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman, directs with real feeling for the lurid essence of the material, and the result is a splendidly watchable little film I can highly recommend.

   And though there’s no way to segue smoothly into this, I should add that Clarence Muse, one of the few minority performers of his day to consistently invest his roles with intelligence and dignity, brings real depth and feeling to the role of “Lunch” lifting the character out of the rut most black-servants-in-the-movies found themselves stuck in.

BLACK MOON

“Two Poirot Stories That Never Made the Cut”
by Mike Tooney.


POIROT

   Previously on Mystery*File, Ray O’Leary did a fine review of John Curran’s Agatha Christie’s Secret Notebooks, and you’re urged to read it.

   In his book, Curran includes two previously unpublished short stories featuring Hercule Poirot and speculates about when and why these tales were never published. In his review, O’Leary suggests equally valid speculations.

       (1) “The Capture of Cerberus”

   Readers might like to compare this version dating from 1939 with the one that finally saw print in 1947. As Curran notes, this story has a “complicated history.”

   In Geneva, Poirot happens to encounter an old nemesis-turned-friend, Countess Vera Rossakoff. Predictably, there is a male admirer trailing in her wake, Herr Doktor Keiserbach; but it would seem that Keiserbach has been using the countess as a means of meeting the little Belgian.

   Keiserbach later tells Poirot his true identity, and entreats the detective to help clear his murdered son’s name for having assassinated a popular but controversial European politician, a double for Adolf Hitler.

   In true Christie fashion, doubles figure prominently in the plot, with Poirot contriving an intricate plan to find a dead man and convince him to come back to life, while at the same time vindicating Keiserbach’s son.

   Last time we checked, you could read a portion of “Cerberus” online here. Presumably Christie’s revised version, which differs radically from the original, has somehow recently been adapted for the television series, Agatha Christie’s Poirot.

       (2) “The Incident of the Dog’s Ball”

   Based on surer evidence than is available for “Cerberus,” Curran surmises that this story “was written in 1933 and never offered for publication but, instead, transformed, in 1935/36, into the novel Dumb Witness.” With the transformation, Christie changed both the murderer and the solution.

   Captain Hastings narrates the story. When Poirot receives an almost incoherent letter from an elderly woman, his little grey cells are set aquiver. It being hot and sultry in London, a dubious Hastings nevertheless welcomes the chance to quit the city for the more tolerable hinterlands when Poirot suggests they find out more about this woman.

   Not long after arriving in Little Hemel, Poirot is crestfallen to learn of the old lady’s death, and he finds it inexplicable that she should will her estate, not to her closest relatives, but to a paid companion who is, let’s be honest, a little flaky.

   The little grey cells inform the Belgian sleuth that all is not as it appears to be in this affair, and a series of seemingly unrelated clues — including a toy ball — lead him to conclude the elderly woman was murdered.

   Bob, the titular canine, comes by implication to be a murder suspect himself; and the fact that the village doctor can’t smell most odors will help the real murderer escape suspicion — but only for a while, because the indefatigable Hercule Poirot is on the case.

   Christie’s final version of this story was filmed for TV as “Dumb Witness” in 1996.

Reviewed by DAVID L. VINEYARD:         

STRYKER: FANFARE FOR A DEATH SCENE. Made-for-TV movie (busted pilot), 1964. Richard Egan, Viveca Lindfors, Burgess Meredith, Telly Savalas, J.D. Cannon, Tina Louise, Al Hirt, Edward Asner, King Deigh. Screenplay Marion Hargrove. Directed by Leslie Stevens.

   John Styker (Richard Egan) is a wealthy industrialist, but once upon a time he was an operative of the OSS, G2, and later the CIA, and when the white phone in his modern office rings he answers, sent off on another mission for the ultra secret Provisional Bureau of Intelligence.

   Professor George Bannerman (Burgess Meredith) holds all the knowledge of America’s most secret intelligence data in his head, and his head isn’t working right. When the staff at the sanitarium he is held in is poisoned using spotted hemlock, Bannerman escapes taking his beloved trumpet with him, and the hunt is on.

    “When nine people are murdered using a poison that nobody’s used for a thousand years — well, that’s rather gaudy.”

   J. D. Cannon and Edward Asner are agents of the PBI, but they don’t believe Stryker’s pet theory about the Golden Horde, a shadow government of descendants of the Mongol Khans led by the descendant of Genghis Khan himself, Ilchedai Khan (Telly Savalas) a jovial sadist, with his henchman Kingh Deigh and beautiful Circassian helper Tina Louise.

    “Anytime in the Arabian Nights you read about a beautiful fair haired Asian girl she’s a Circassian.”

   This jazzy spy pilot in the mode of Peter Gunn has a terrific score by Dominic Frontiere and is directed by Leslie Stevens, using many of the camera tricks of Stevens’ Outer Limits including a well shot karate battle between Egan and Deigh in a darkened room lighted only by slatted blinds.

   The plot gallops along as Ilchedai Khan uses Stryker to find Bannerman, and Stryker keeps tabs on a famous classical trumpeter Reynaldo Mendel (Al Hirt) whom Bannerman idolizes, but Styker knows he’s being set up and even allows himself to be captured so he can learn more of Ichedai Khan’s plot.

    “We have a saying. An intelligent enemy is better than a unintelligent friend.”

   The story is fairly silly but fun, and the outre elements from Telly Savalas’s latter day Fu Manchu to Viveca Lindfors as sadistic imperial princess of the Mongol and Russian blood are pure Sax Rohmer with a dash of James Bond thrown in the mix. The sets, like those of The Outer Limits, make ample use of shadows and open spaces to give the thing a unique look for television.

    “Your mind is so typically Occidental, capable of an infinite deviousness.”

   A fairly imaginative effort with some bright tongue-n-cheek elements.

    “Give him to me. I will have him stuck kicking into a velvet sack and trampled by wild horses.”

    “You will do no such thing. Until we absolutely have to …”

   It all builds to a fairly surprising ending as Styker tracks down Bannerman using a concert to lure his quarry and outwitting Ilchedai Khan — this time.

   Like many unsold pilots this one is a study in what might have been, but stands alone as a fairly ambitious example of high concept nonsense. Meredith does well with no dialogue, in portraying a psychotic breakdown and comes to a spectacular end.

STEVE ALLEN The Talk Show Murders

STEVE ALLEN – The Talk Show Murders. Delacorte Press, hardcover, 1982. Dell, paperback, 1983.

   It so happens that I think Steve Allen is an unrecognized genius. If you take a look at the ratings of his last few television ventures, I think you’ll agree on at least half of that statement.

   The fact remains that this is his twenty-fourth book, and some of them are a sight more serious than Bop Fables, which was his first. There was Ripoff: A Look at Corruption in America, for example, a factual expose of white collar crime in this country — not exactly what you’d expect to see as number one on the laugh parade.

   This is his first mystery novel. [FOOTNOTE.] Being a celebrity of some renown, Steve Allen should expect to sell a few more copies of this book than would the author of your average whodunit detective story. I’m happy for Mr. Allen, but I’m caught in a quandary of mixed emotions, since the book is only marginally better than that same average whodunit detective story mentioned above.

STEVE ALLEN The Talk Show Murders

   Naturally, the subject matter [talk show murders] is an ideal one. The first death occurs on Toni Tennille’s show, the second on Johnny Carson. Phil Donahue is next, followed by Dick Cavett, then a grand finale on The Merv Griffin Show.

   Steve Allen no longer has a show to call his own — what a shame!- but he knows his way around backstage — and frontstage — and his capsule descriptions of the other hosts no longer his competition are the other reason you’ll read this book,

STEVE ALLEN The Talk Show Murders

   The first, of course, is the mystery. The sequence of killings quickly becomes a personal challenge aimed directly at Roger Dale, the private eye working on the case. Roger Dale is a PI with an eye for PR — public relations, that is. All of the victims are advance-guard members of the sexual revolution presumed to be sweeping the country, another clue for Dale to add to his PP of the killer — the psychological profile.

   In the end, just as they always used to do, all of the suspects are gathered together in one room — in this case, the nation’s living room!– live and direct, as they always say, to find out who the guilty one is. It is the talk show to end all talk shows- and if it hadn’t worked, it probably would have.

   As a detective-story writer, Allen does not play fair in the classical sense. Even Roger Dale himself is not sure whom he’ll name as the killer before he finally wrings a confession out of him/her while still on the air. There are no clues for the reader to eagerly snap up along the way.

   The book is still nothing less than a huge amount of fun to read, which in this case has to be the number one criterion.

Rating: B.

— Reprinted from The MYSTERY FANcier, Vol. 6, No. 3, May-June 1982 (slightly revised). This review first appeared in the Hartford Courant.


FOOTNOTE:   As it turns out (not too surprisingly, perhaps) Steve Allen did not actually write this book. The author responsible, in this case, was Walter J. Sheldon. The book must have been a success, saleswise, since there were nine more in the series, all written by Robert Westbrook.

   I see that I did not mention that Steve Allen is actually a character in The Talk Show Murders — perhaps as the narrator — as he was in all of the additional ones. I do not know if PI Roger Dale ever showed up again. I do not believe I ever read any of the later entries in the series.

REVIEWED BY DAN STUMPF:


PRISON FARM. Paramount, 1938. Shirley Ross, Lloyd Nolan, John Howard, J. Carrol Naish, Porter Hall, Esther Dale, May Boley, Marjorie Main, John Hart. Director: Louis King.

THE MAGNIFICENT FRAUD. Paramount, 1939. Akim Tamiroff, Lloyd Nolan, Mary Boland, Patricia Morison, George Zucco. Director: Robert Florey.

DANGEROUS TO KNOW. Paramount, 1938. Anna May Wong, Akim Tamiroff, Gail Patrick, Lloyd Nolan, Harvey Stephens, Anthony Quinn, Roscoe Karns, Porter Hall. Co-screenwriter: Horace McCoy, based on the novel On the Spot by Edgar Wallace. Director: Robert Florey.

LLOYD NOLAN

   Caught a few of those delightful little Paramount “B” movies from the late 30s last week, and enjoyed them quite a lot. The producers of these films were ready to try anything they thought they could get away with on any unused set handy, and as a result, they gave us studio-made ocean liners, city streets, plush B-movie penthouses, and in one movie, even a whole country, created on the Paramount back-lot. The result is some delightfully audacious and unpretentious entertainment.

    Prison Farm offers Lloyd Nolan cast unsympathetically for once as a brash no-good who makes off with the proceeds of a botched robbery, with his unknowing fiancee (Shirley Ross) in tow. When they run afoul of an off-duty backwoods prison guard (J. Carroll Naish) Nolan lets them get railroaded into a short sentence, rather than face some awkward questions about his background.

   The rest of the film cheerfully avoids the usual “Big House” cliches, with Nolan scheming against the mildly sadistic Naish while on the other side of the fann, Ross contends with crypto-lesbian matron Marjorie Main. When John Howard, Paramount’s utility leading man, shows up as a sympathetic prison doctor, attracted to Ross in a decent, manly way, everything’s set for an unsurprising but fast-paced finale.

***

   The next year, Lloyd Nolan was playing a gangster again, this time a bit more sympathetically, as the chum of a Latin-American dictator (Akim Tamiroff) marked for assassination in The Magnificent Fraud. The title refers to another Akim Tamiroff in the cast — this one a cabaret performer who does impressions — and quicker than you can say “Danny Kaye” the actor is substituted for the mortally wounded dictator so as to be on hand to clinch a badly-needed loan from an American banker.

LLOYD NOLAN

   The wonder of this thing is that the plot spins out so much more believably than it has any right to, mainly because director Robert Florey pushes the story (centered on Nolan’s attempts to live up to his dead friend’s legacy and evade the machinations of local nasties in on the Big Switcheroo) along at breakneck speed, yet pauses meaningfully to flesh out the characters, producing an hour-long movie, in which no one is conveniently stereotyped.

   This is abetted also by a lot of nifty casting. Aside from Nolan and Tamiroff, who play off each other very nicely, George Zucco and Abrlcr Biberman milk their small parts, Mary Boland gets a surprisingly well-written role as a faded dowager. and lovely Patricia Morison stars as the sexy and Intelligent fiancee of the Banker who’s supposed to close the loan.

   Once again, you get producer, director and the Paramount “B” stock company putting their all into a solid sixty minutes entertainment.

***

LLOYD NOLAN

    Which is also the case with Dangerous to Know, which offers Lloyd Nolan, all the way on the side of the Law this time as a tough police detective out to get Akim Tamiroff (again) as a powerful gang boss just starting to go soft over socialite Gail Patrick. with Anthony Quinn and Anna May Wong for partners.

   Unlike most of its fast-paced Paramount ilk, Dangerous to Know is something of a mood piece, with only a few (very effective) action scenes set off against Tamiroff’s growing obsession. Unlike some other arty crime Hicks, however (The Gangster comes to mind) Dangerous has an elegantly gritty look to it, and the producers and players seem to have some idea what it is a Gangster really does for a living.

   In fact, Dangerous to Know has some very impressive credentials indeed. Directed by Robert Florey, who did Murders in the Rue Morgue, written by Horace (Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye) McCoy from a stage play by Edgar Wallace. It’s a film that knows how to be thoughtful without bogging down in it.

THE ARMCHAIR REVIEWER
Allen J. Hubin


ROBERT J. RAY – Merry Christmas, Murdock. Delacorte Press, hardcover, 1989. Dell, paperback, 1990.

ROBERT RAY Merry Christmas Murdock

   L. A. private eye Matt Murdock is back, celebrating a holiday in decidedly unfestive fashion in Merry Christmas, Murdock. Here the past rises up before Murdock in two ways.

   Cindy Duke, a teen-ager who had maybe saved his life a couple of years earlier by driving him out of a burning canyon, asks him to find her father. He teaches in Wisconsin and came to L. A. in response to Cindy’s cry for help, raged at his ex-wife, battered her brother’s car with a baseball bat, ranged through a shopping mall in a failing search for Cindy, and disappeared.

   Meanwhile, another teen-ager, Heather Blasingame, lies in a coma from a hit-and-run encounter with a vehicle at that same mall. She’s the daughter of Jane Blasingame, feisty Texas state senator, and the senator (though with considerable reluctance) hires Murdock to supplement what seems an inept police investigation.

   These two cases are of course related, and powerful interests — not only Cindy’s grandfather Wheeler Duke and Duke Construction — are willing to go to about any lengths to keep Matt’s nose out of these matters.

   Vivid, active tale.

— Reprinted from The MYSTERY FANcier,
       Vol. 12, No. 4, Fall 1990.


        The Matt Murdock series —

1. Bloody Murdock (St. Martin’s, 1986)
2. Murdock for Hire (St. Martin’s, 1987)
3. Dial ‘M’ For Murdock (St. Martin’s, 1988)
4. Merry Christmas, Murdock (Delacorte, 1989)
5. Murdock Cracks Ice (Delacorte, 1992)
6. Murdock Tackles Taos (Camel Press, 2013)

Bibliographic Notes: For more on the author and this last book in the series, published after a gap of 21 years, go here. For more on Matt Murdock himself. check out Kevin Burton Smith’s essay on him here.

THE BACKWARD REVIEWER
William F. Deeck


H. C. BRANSON The Leaden Bubble

H. C. BRANSON – The Leaden Bubble. Simon and Schuster, hardcover, 1949. Unicorn Mystery Book Club, hardcover reprint, 4-in-1 edition. Mercury Mystery #153, digest-sized paperback, no date [1950].

   The title of this novel comes from a line of a poem by Henry Treece: “Taste the black leaden bubble of despair.” This may provide the answer to whodunit and why to those who read each page of a book, including the copyright page. Those who start with the first page of chapter one will probably discover the answer without that information, although the solution would appear too improbable.

   John Bent, a mysterious man about whom all that is known is that he once was a practicing M.D., has a beard, and investigates murder, blackmail, and conspiracy and fraud — “the seamy side of life in general” — is asked to visit an elderly man who merely says in his note that he is “greatly disturbed.” Before Bent arrives, his possible client has a stroke and dies unable to communicate why he sought Bent’s services.

   Thus Bent has to find out why the man was greatly disturbed before he can begin investigating what had disturbed him. When the lawyer for the estranged wife of the elderly man’s son, the same lawyer who had maligned members of the extended family earlier on in a case in which a man had shot his wife whom he found in bed with another man, is murdered, there is reason to assume this had something to do with the elderly man’s being disturbed. Perhaps it has to do with the visit of the elderly man to a boarding house? Bent thinks it’s possible and becomes a roomer himself.

   The publishers say that this novel “is not a book to be told; it needs to be read…” I agree. Discover, if you haven’t already, John Bent, quiet, careful, compassionate, mysterious, and the people with whom he deals.

— From The MYSTERY FANcier, Vol. 10, No. 1, Winter 1988.


       The John Bent series —

I’ll Eat You Last (n.) Simon & Schuster, 1941.
The Pricking Thumb (n.) Simon & Schuster, 1942.
Case of the Giant Killer (n.) Simon & Schuster, 1944.
The Fearful Passage (n.) Simon & Schuster, 1945.
Last Year’s Blood (n.) Simon & Schuster, 1947.
The Leaden Bubble (n.) Simon & Schuster, 1949.
Beggar’s Choice (n.) Simon & Schuster, 1953.

JAMES ELLROY – Brown’s Requiem. Avon 78741, paperback original, 1981, $2.50.

JAMES ELLROY Brown's Requiem

   It took me a while to track this book down — Avon’s distribution system did not seem to reach the Northeast too effectively for a while last fall — but I’m glad I finally did. In recent months Avon has been doing some of the best mysteries to be published in paperback, particularly in the realm of first edition originals, and this is one of them.

   I’m almost tempted to say it’s also a private eye story for people who hate private eye stories, but there are also some people whom I’m sure would rather die than admit to liking the things, even if they did, and so I won’t.

   Fritz Brown is the P.I., and his client is a crazy caddy named Fat Dog who flashes hundred-dollar bills and wants Brown to keep an eye on his sister, an aspiring cello player living with an elderly Jew named Kupferman who is now in the fur business.

   In a way, the whole book is just as slightly looney as this may sound, which is part of its cockeyed charm. What is meant for dialogue often consists of long, one-sided monologues, and if you let it it could easily drive you nuts. Ellroy’s version of Los Angeles is a sad, seedy one, described by someone who knows, brightened only by the green oases of its many available golf courses.

   Brown’s life story, a lonely one, whether he admits it or not, naturally becomes interwoven with the one he gradually unravels and inexorably ties back together. Like a “literary” novel of more recognizable form, bits of philosophy and the deeper implication of things like the perquisites of power and the demands of those who pursue it, are integral ingredients of the story Ellroy tells, and he takes the time and space to tell it well.

   What I find strange, however, is how much more I seem to be appreciating the book now — two weeks later- than I remember that I did while I was actually reading it. I don’t want to push the musical comparison too greatly, but the fact remains — profane as it may seem at times, this book sings.

Rating:   A minus.

— Reprinted from The MYSTERY FANcier,
       Vol. 6, No. 3, May-June 1982.


[UPDATE] 10-27-13.   This was Ellroy’s first book, and while you can pay to $300 for a unsigned copy in nice shape, you can also find others in VG condition for $15. (It is hard to tell, though, on the less pricey ones. Booksellers on ABE no longer are very good in providing bibliographic details.) Nonetheless, I am wondering if perhaps I should have purchased as many copies as I could have, back when the book first came out.

Reviewed by JOSEF HFFMANN :         

RITA ELIZABETH RIPPETOE – Booze and the Private Eye: Alcohol in the Hard-Boiled Novel. McFarland & Co., softcover, 2004.

BOOZE AND THE PRIVATE EYE

“The hard-bitten PI with a bottle of bourbon in his desk drawer – it’s an image as old as the genre of hard-boiled detective fiction itself.” Thus begins the blurb for Rippetoe’s book.

The frequent and often excessive consumption of alcohol by detectives in hard-boiled crime fiction is a notable phenomenon. What significance does this have in the novels? In her introductory chapter, Rippetoe emphasises that the permissive attitude towards alcohol was by no means a matter of course in the history of the USA, as demonstrated in particular by the Prohibition era, which plays an important role in crime literature.

Whenever detectives or other persons drink alcohol during this period, they flout the legal order just as it pleases them. Drinking behaviour, including that which is permitted, makes a statement, especially in the case of male investigators, about how controlled and tough they are if they can absorb alcohol without malfunctioning so they drink whisky or wine they can get from QKAWine online.

The circumstances and consequences of drinking behaviour indicate whether the detective is acting responsibly and has moral integrity. His particular and individually differentiated moral code becomes clear as a result. Furthermore, society’s changing attitude to alcohol consumption is also illustrated in crime novels, which reveals something of the social mores of the time.

Rippetoe addresses these aspects of the detective novels of Hammett, Chandler, Spillane, Robert B. Parker and Lawrence Block, devoting one chapter to each author. Hammett is accused of abandoning his realistic representation of the effects of alcohol consumption in the Op novels in favour of a reality-denying attitude to Nick and Nora Charles’ boozing in his last novel. Even the criminal acts of doing business with alcohol are palliated in the book. Rippetoe attributes this change to Hammett’s alcoholism.

A characteristic of Chandler’s Philip Marlowe is the fact that it is described repeatedly which alcoholic drinks he consumes where and when. His precisely controlled social behaviour serves to present him as a hero, who preserves his self-respect by means of his moral codes.

There are three types of situation in which alcohol consumption fulfils a specific function and which are described in detail: hospitality, manipulation of the drinker and self-medication. Rippetoe explains the keen eye for the social state of drinking with the help of Chandler’s life story, including his career as a drinker.

Mickey Spillane’s detective Mike Hammer differs from Philip Marlowe in two respects as far as alcohol consumption is concerned. First, Hammer usually doesn’t drink anything stronger than beer. In the later novels he prefers Miller Lite, which Spillane was contracted to advertise. Hammer thus demonstrates his connection with the majority of his readers, blue collar workers.

Second, Hammer usually remains stone-cold sober when required by his job as a detective. He adapts his drinking behaviour to the professional moral code. The fact that he can hold his liquor when necessary is due to his status as a male superhero. Yet, like Chandler, Spillane also tends to trivialise the damage caused by alcoholism in some protagonists. However, the cause for this cannot be found in Spillane’s biography.

Robert B. Parker’s detective Spenser has more in common with Mike Hammer than most readers and critics realise. This relates to acts of violence as much as to drinking behaviour. Spenser also tends to drink beer. He drinks Heineken, Amstel or Rolling Rock. At meals he drinks the appropriate wine. At times he drinks bourbon, in later novels Irish whiskey. But he always makes sure that he does not drink alcohol to excess. He owes that to his professional ethos.

Rippetoe considers the effects of excessive alcohol consumption and alcoholism to be presented most realistically in the Matthew Scudder series by Lawrence Block, who himself had a drinking problem, which he has since overcome. The occasional investigator Scudder is an alcoholic, who over the course of the series undergoes a development from a self-endangering, uncontrolled drunk to a responsible, sober member of Alcoholics Anonymous. He has an ethical code that he follows tenaciously. The AA takes over the function of self-medication in Scudder’s life.

The penultimate chapter is dedicated to the drinking behaviour of the hardened female detectives in the works of Marcia Muller, Sue Grafton and Karen Kijewski. Because society likes to judge the alcohol consumption of women differently to that of men, the question arises as to how successful the transformation from the male to the female private detective has been in terms of alcohol consumption.

The detectives Sharon McCone, Kinsey Milhone and Kat Colorado drink alcohol, generally in moderate quantities and, in line with the drinking customs of the 1980s and 1990s, often white wine. Each of the protagonists consumes alcohol at least occasionally for the purpose of self-medication, in order to be able to deal with the stress of the case.

Each has personal dealings with someone who regularly drinks to excess. Kijewski shows most clearly the negative aspects of alcohol consumption, which is not surprising from a former bartender, who also furnishes her detective with this professional background.

The final chapter contains a summary of the conclusions of the study. It is inexplicable to me why the novels of Sara Paretsky have not been treated in any detail, as V. I. Warshawski sometimes drinks too much alcohol. Moreover, surely the particularly bibulous investigators in the stories by Jonathan Latimer and Craig Rice should have received at least a mention, as is the case with the detectives of James Lee Burke and James Crumley, for example, in the final chapter.

What is problematic about Rippetoe’s approach is that she only addresses critical-realistic presentations of alcohol consumption, thus excluding any humorous treatment in the manner of a screwball comedy. In this respect, her morality curtails literary freedom.

“All writers are drunks, you know. Would-be, borderline, confirmed, sodden, reformed; one stage or another. All drunks, every damned one of us,” says pulp veteran Russell Dancer in Bill Pronzini’s detective novel Hoodwink. Alcohol abuse by crime writers is such a regrettable affliction. Some of the best were dependent on alcohol, at least during certain phases of their lives: Edgar Allan Poe, Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler, Cornell Woolrich, Jim Thompson, Georges Simenon, Patricia Highsmith, Ted Lewis, James Ellroy and so on.

Somehow, alcohol, at the right dose, appears to have an inspirational effect on the work of crime writers. And it relaxes the body and mind, which are exhausted from the act of writing, relatively quickly and easily. On the other hand the addiction has cast some authors such as Gil Brewer, Craig Rice and James Crumley into social squalor. Lawrence Block is of the opinion (according to Rippetoe) that alcohol abuse among writers leads to inhibited development and prevents them from breaking new ground.

Rippetoe is an “independent scholar” of genre fiction, who has specialised in detective fiction. She lives in Orangevale, California. Her study is informative and worthy, albeit at times somewhat heavy going due to its academic style. But the topic has by no means been addressed comprehensively. Further examinations would be desirable.

— Translated by Carolyn Kelly.

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