CARROLL JOHN DALY “The Egyptian Lure.” Novelette. Race Williams #18. First published in Black Mask, March 1928. Reprinted in The Snarl of the Beast: The Collected Hard-Boiled Stories of Race Williams, Volume 2 (Altus Press, 2016).

   Race Williams doesn’t call himself a Private Eye. He’d rather be thought of as a Confidential Agent, and in fact that’s what it says in the lettering clients see on his office door. By the time this story appeared, Williams was already a long-time fixture at Black Mask magazine. Readers had been enjoying — and heartily approving — his adventures since the first June issue of 1923.

   In “The Egyptian Lane” he’s, well, lured to the dive / strip joint of the same name by an envelope stuffed with money, with no name attached to the brief note accompanying it. It’s a tawdry joint — the owner of the joint is a Greek by the name of Nick — and it takes Williams a short while to track down the beautiful dancing girl who once lived in a convent but who is now his new client.

   He takes her under his wing, but thanks to a clever ruse of the men who are after her, he loses her again. Calling himself a dunderhead, there’s no way in hell the thugs who’ve abducted her can escape his wrath. Nor do they! The hunt the follows, urged on by his anger and consuming desire for vengeance, is what readers of Black Mask were waiting for, and that’s exactly what they got.

   And so did I. Race Williams is correct is not thinking of himself as any kind of “detective.” His methods are crude but effective, and a gun is his constant companion. The story is well told, the settings (from the dirty streets of Manhattan to the barren wastes of New Jersey) are well described, and the pace? It never lets up.

BECKY CHAMBERS – The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet. Wayfarers #1. Hodder & Stoughton, UK, ebook, March 2015; hardcover/trade paperback, August 2015. Harper Vpyager, trade paperbark, July 2016.

   Space opera as a subgenre of science fiction is making a comeback, and I for one, am quite pleased about that. To tell you the truth, though, over the past 20 years, I’d all but given up on science fiction as a field that held any interest to me. The old-fashioned kind of reading material was still being written; it was simply too difficult for me to keep abreast of the field and, in particular, who was still writing it.

   I won’t bother you any further with my problems. I’ve finally caught up with this book, the first in a series of three so far, and I’m glad I did. It’s a longish book, nearly 450 pages, and it took me nearly forever to finish it, but since in many ways it is largely plotless, it didn’t seem to make any difference if I was only able to read 40 pages or so every night or so.

   There is an overall story, mind you, but The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet consists mostly as a series of adventures the crew of the Wayfarer undergo as they make their way to their next job, which is that of punching “wormholes” in space from one established station to another which has no outlet on the other end.

   All this is fine, and the climax comes when they discover what it waiting for them at the other end of their journey, but the pleasure in reading this long odyssey comes through the relationships beteen the various members of the crew:

   The newly hired clerk Rosemary Harper, to begin with (human), who has to be introduced to the others very early on: other humans Captain Ashby and grumpy algaeist Corbin; Sissix, the Aandrisk (lizard-like) co-pilot; Dr. Chef, the perpetually outgoing Grum doctor and cook; the reclusive navigators and Sianat pair named Ohan; Kizzy and Jenks, both human but living in their own world of mech tech; and last but not least, Lovelace (Lovey), the AI who has supervisory control of the whole ship.

   Even though the crew faces many obstacles on the voyage, including an intense encounter with pirates, the overall feeling of the crew is that these as nice people, aliens or not, and they can figure out how to fix any strained relationships that occur along the way. Not treacly nice, but people who can manage to get along in close quarters very nicely. There, I’ve said the word again!

JOHN DICKSON CARR – The Door to Doom and Other Detections. Edited by Douglas G. Greene. Harper & Row, hardcover, 1980. International Polygonics, paperback, 1991.

   For this audience it goes without saying that mystery author John Dickson Carr will be remembered longest for his many unmatchable novels of locked-room detection, published both under his name and as the easily identifiable Carter Dickson.

   In his work the greatest emphasis was most often on atmosphere – and what better magician’s device to thwart he mind and eye of the reader could there be than clouds of (figuratively) black swirling darkness and ominous threats f the supernatural?

   Such hints rarely extended beyond what was needed to trick the reader’s thoughts into taking yet another false trail, however. Carr’s conservative roots never allowed him to stay an iota from the credo of fair-play detection he so firmly believed in. To the discerning reader, the clues were always there, but if you missed them, you needn’t worry — you were far from being alone!

   In his introduction to this anthology of previously uncollected short work, Douglas Greene downplays Carr’s ability at characterization, but I demur. True, as with most of Carr’s contemporaries in what is fondly called “The Golden Age of Detection,” the story was the thing. I still suspect that few who have read any of the cases solved by Carr’s most famous character, Dr. Gideon Fell, will ever forget the picture they have in their minds of that jovial, triple-chinned detective with the shovel hat, bumbling manners, and the razor-sharp mind for the smallest false detail. Carr just did not happen to believe that the personal lives of his detectives were a matter of concern to the reader.

   The stories in this collection are themselves a mixed bag. They range from the early stories of Carr’s first detective, Henri Bencolin of the Paris police, recently discovered in the pages of his college’s literary magazine, to a selection of radio plays from the famous CBS series Suspense, vintage early 1940s, to a trio of horror stores done a few years earlier for the pulp magazines. Needless to add, when Carr wrote a horror story, it was a horror story.

   Nor has Greene included (or more likely, could not find) a story, no matter its source, which does not reflect an obvious professional finesse in mixing plot with atmosphere.

   Also included are a pair of Sherlockian playlets, parodies for which the best one might say for them is that you had to be there. Closing out the book, just before the inclusive 26-page bibliography, is Carr’s famous essay on “The Grandest Game in the World,” the game he played with his readers for over forty years. The game of fool-them-if-you-can, but never at all costs.

   John Dickson Carr died in 1977. After finishing this book, the only regret one can have is that there are no more stories out there somewhere to be discovered someday to make up another such volume as this. There are more radio plays, to be sure, but so low is the state of dramatic radio in this country today, it seems highly unlikely that any publisher would consider a followup collection of more of these to have a chance for commercial success.

   But we have the novels, and the other stories, don’t we, a wealth of riches to read and enjoy, if not for the first time, why then, again and again.

BLACK LEGION. Warner Brothers, 1937. Humphrey Bogart, Ann Sheridan, Dick Foran, Erin O’Brien-Moore, Joe Sawyer and Henry Brandon. Screenplay by Abem Finkel and William Wister Haines, from a story by Robert Lord. Directed by Archie Mayo and Michael Curtiz.

   I hate it when a film like this becomes relevant again.

   In its day, Black Legion was merely topical, based on the true story of a splinter group spun off of the KKK. Topical yes, but sometimes News becomes History, and you know what they say about those who don’t remember the past—they fail History Exams.

   Humphrey Bogart was still an also-ran in 1937, with The Petrified Forest behind him, and Dead End coming up, but also plenty of things like Swing Your Lady and The Return of Dr X in his future. He seems to have realized early on that this was an important part and he gives it the most self-effacing performance of his career.

   When Bogie plays Frank Taylor, the gullible working stiff, there’s no glimmer of intelligence behind his eyes, no imagination beyond the American Dream of a nice house with a white picket fence and a wife and child waiting there. And when an émigré (Henry Brandon) gets the promotion Frank was expecting and the dream is snatched from him, his expression of hurt and bewilderment is more than convincing: It’s scary.

   Even more so when Taylor starts listening to radio commentators warning of the tide of foreigners flooding into our country, here to take our jobs and pollute our heritage. So when a co-worker (Joe Sawyer, masterfully cast here) tells him of a “group of guys” that aren’t going to stand for this anymore, we pretty much know where he’s headed—though I suspect few viewers will foresee the outcome.

   This is because the writers do a fine job of keeping the Black Legion at the edge of silliness, with their preposterously grim oath (Bogie nearly chokes on it.) passwords and fake piety. But when the silliness turns grim and deadly, the laughter dies quickly.

   It would be easy at this point to start drawing parallels. Damn night irresistible in fact. But I ain’t gonna do it. Nossir, not me. Over the years, Black Legion has drawn some criticism for not being explicit about the KKK and racism, but I find that lack of specificity brings us to universality.

   Thus Black Legion is about bigotry, xenophobia and mob mentality, but it’s also about the ignorance in which they grow and the venality that feeds on them. And to me the parallels are just too plain to point out.

   Nine weeks at Number One on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1981 and Grammy Award winner for Record of the Year and Song of the Year.

RICHARD S. PRATHER “Sinner’s Alley.” Shell Scott. First published in Have Gat — Will Travel. Reprinted in The Young Punks, edited by Leo Margulies (Pyramid G271, paperback original, 1957).

   This story takes LA-based PI Shell Scott out of his usual milieu of young blonde and busty Hollywood starlets into the much edgier world of juvenile delinquency, or hoodlums on the loose. Even though the latter come straight from standard casting, they sure give Shell Scott Scott all he can handle, if not more.

   His client is a man whose daughter has been found murdered and raped, her face so badly damaged that Shell is the one who has to identify her in the morgue. His boiling point is so over the top that he makes the bad mistake of trying to confront the young hoods in their den. Not a good idea.

   The resulting couple of melees are well choreographed, I can tell you that. You needn’t worry that the equally tough Shell Scott will come out on top in this one or not, though, but in the telling, there’s not much humor in this one. Prather plays it straight and tense until the very end, when — well, I won’t tell you, but the ending does fit the pattern of most of his fiction after all.

Postscript:   The subject matter of The Young Punks, the anthology n which I read this one should be obvious from the title. Most of the stories come from Manhunt, written by such authors as Gil Brewer, Evan Hunter, Richard Deming, Jonathan Craig and so on. It’s well wortht he small amount of money it would take to obtain a copy today, if JD fiction has any kind of appeal to you at all.

   One of the striking benefits of satellite [TV] is the quality of the transmissions with a picture that approaches the quality of a laser disc. Add to this the superior condition of many of the prints Turner [Classic Movies] screens, and the result can be extraordinary, as it was in The Kennel Murder Case (1933), one of a series of screenings of Philo Vance films.

   The taut, swift direction by Michael Curtiz and the acting of the first-rate cast [William Powell as Philo Vance, Mary Astor, Eugene Pallette, Ralph Morgan, Robert McWade as District Attorney Markham, Robert Barrat] have probably not been displayed to better advantage in years.

   Turner is not, however, always able to produce pristine prints, and the dark print of The Bishop Murder Case (1930; dir. Nick Grindé), coupled with an almost funereal pace, made this painful to watch. Basil Rathbone was a stiff Vance in a Lenore J. Coffee adaptation, and only dependable Roland Young brought a spark to his few scenes. Would a better print have altered my opinion?

   The film opens with a striking overhead shot of a New York mansion, but much of the action takes place inside the house, where any efforts of artful lighting are undermined by the print.

   Much better and something of a return to the glossy form that marked the best of the MGM Vances was The Casino Murder Case (1935; dir. Edwin L. Marin) with Vance played by Paul Lucas. Maltin doesn’t like Lucas, whom he calls stolid with a thick accent. Stolid certainly describes Rathbone’s performance, but I found Lucas to be charming and polished, with only a slight accent.

   Rosalind Russell has one of her early roles here as Vance’s unofficial sidekick. The supporting cast includes: Alison Skipworth, Eric Blore, Ted Healy, Donald Cook, Leo G. Carroll and William Demarest, and I enjoyed this even though the mystery was resolved with a not-very-convincing nutty murder confrontation.

THE NEW ADVENTURES OF NERO WOLFE “The Case of the Disappearing Diamonds.” NBC, 30 minutes. March 9, 1951. Sydney Greenstreet, Harry Bartell. Story: Mindret Lord.

   As a radio series The New Adventures of Nero Wolfe was heard for one short season on NBC, running from October 20, 1950, to April 27, 1951. There had been two earlier versions: The Adventures of Nero Wolfe, a 1943–44 series on ABC starring Santos Ortega and Luis van Rooten, and The Amazing Nero Wolfe, a 1945 series on Mutual starring Francis X. Bushman, but there’s no denying that Sydney Greenstreet was well nigh perfectly cast for the role.

   For a season of only 26 shows, though, the series went though quite a few people playing Archie. Besides Harry Bartell, they included such well known radio voices as Gerald Mohr, Herb Ellis, Lawrence Dobkin, Lamont Johnson and Wally Maher. It probably didn’t matter to radio audiences all that much who played the part back then, however. The combo of Nero Wolfe and Sydney Greenstreet was, I’m sure, all they needed.

   I’m not so sure about the stories, though, not if this is an example. It begins with a sneak thief named Willie Inch asking Wolfe to help him prove he didn’t kill the lady of the house after he’d burgled it, and quite successfully, too. It’s too bad he left fingerprints behind, as well as the body of the lady.

   And oh, yes, a small fortune in diamonds is also missing, but Willie Inch did not take them. Someone else had larceny on his (or her) mind the very same evening. There is also a beautiful young woman involved. She claims to be a writer and wants to do a story about Wolfe. Archie demurs, saying that a fellow named Rex Stout is already writing up his adventures. After Wolfe proves she’s a fraud, that doesn’t stop Archie for making a play for her — to his regret.

   But the ending is very weak and terribly rushed. Something could have made of the gimmick involved, but as it was, that’s all is was, only a gimmick. The trappings of the Wolfean stories are there, but there’s not solid enough in this episode to make me want to listen to another. I’ll stick to the books, and the Maury Chaykin-Timothy Hutton TV show that was how on A&E a while back. As an adaption of one of my favorite detective series, it was most satisfactory.

ERLE STANLEY GARDNER – The Case of the Shapely Shadow. Perry Mason #63. William Morrow, hardcover, 1960. Pocket 4507, paperback, 1962. Ballantine, paperback, 1982. Reprinted many times.

   This one begins at Della’s strong suggestion. She notices that the woman who asking for Mason’s advice is deliberately toning down her appearance, making herself as unattractive as possible. Why? She’s the secretary of a successful businessman, and Della assumes (correctly) that she’s in love with him, and she doesn’t want his current wife to have any reason to have her fired.

   What attracts Perry’s attention, though, is the suitcase full of money she has with her. She thinks that her employer is being blackmailed, and this is the money she’s to put into a train locker, with the key to be sent to an address he’s given her.

   When the man ends up dead, however, Perry’s client is the number one suspect, along with the other two women in his life: his wife and his ex-wife, who it is obvious would like nothing nothing better than to win him back.

   The case is so deliciously complicated that Perry figuratively throws up his hands. The evidence points directly to his client, but she is adamant that she didn’t do it. The fireworks in court is really what makes this book really sizzle, though. When the odds are so far against you, maybe the only thing to do, Mason decides, is to take a chance.

   He does, he succeeds, and Hamilton Burger fails again. This one has what every Perry Mason reads Perry Mason books for.

   I bought this LP when it first came out in December 1968, and it knocked my socks off. I played so often I think I wore the grooves down to nubbins. I wasn’t the only one. It won the 1970 Grammy Award for Album of the Year.

   Here’s my favorite track from it: