I am writing this after at least my third reading of The Maltese Falcon. Some critics say the book is Hammett’s best; it’s undoubtedly his best-known and most popular, but I prefer Hammett’s next novel, The Glass Key. TMF sports flamboyant characters and an exciting plot that’s nearly a conspiracy theory. The Glass Key contains more realistic views of corruption and human frailty, which is more to my taste.
Nevertheless, I enjoyed TMF and recommend it. The book is about Samuel Spade, private detective. Raymond Chandler modeled Philip Marlowe on Spade, but Spade has a far different role. Marlowe is clearly an errant underdog knight in Los Angeles. Spade may be a knight, but he’s not an underdog. He declares that San Francisco is his town, and, at points, he’s the town fixer who pulls strings to guide political outcomes. Note also that Spade has a partner, Miles Archer. Marlowe never had a partner and never will. The closest Marlowe had to a partner was his stumbling buddy, Terry Lennox, in the Long Goodbye.
Hammett’s style rings oddly in my ear. Hammett was widely read, but he dropped out of school in his early teens to help support his family. He claimed to have developed his authorial skills writing reports for the Pinkertons. His word choice is dated. His sentences often feel to me like he was pushing himself into a more elevated style than was natural to him. For example, “The boy raised his eyes to Spade’s mouth and spoke in a strained voice of someone in physical pain…” is awkward and abstract for pulp magazine readers. Chandler, on the other hand, writes with the self-assuredness of a well-trained Oxfordian, which he was. Nevertheless, both have an ear for the best in language. Compare the near iambic pentameter a few paragraphs later in TMF: “’Come on,’ he [Spade] said. ‘This will put you in solid with your boss.’”
I divide the book into three parts. The key to this division is the “Flitcraft episode” in which Spade tells Bridgid the story of a man from Tacoma who leads an ordinary moderately prosperous life with a wife who enjoys new salad recipes. One day, a heavy beam drops from a construction site and lands next to Flitcraft, barely missing him, and leaving him with a scratch from a flying concrete chip that becomes a permanent scar. Flitcraft immediately vacates his ordinary life. His wife and children are well provided for and he disappears into a life of wandering. After a few years, Flitcraft turns up in Spokane, leading an ordinary and moderately prosperous existence with a wife who looks nothing like his first wife, but enjoys new salad recipes. The three parts of TMF correspond to Flitcraft’s Tacoma, wandering, and Spokane lives. The pursuit of the Maltese falcon is Spade’s wandering. That phase ends when the pursuers of the falcon exit and the final chapters are Spade’s return from the life interrupted by the falcon. This structure is like a fairy tale in which much of the action is in a dream that intertwines with the waking world.
I leave the book with a question: has Spade’s adventure in fairy land transformed his life and character? Or has Spade’s walk-about with the falcon only revealed what was previously hidden or latent? In Chapter 20, Spade says to Bridgid “Don’t be too sure I’m as crooked as I’m supposed to be.”
Has Hammett told us that Spade has not changed, but we have?
The decline in China’s economy has occupied the economic press lately. Fifty years ago, I studied more in classical Chinese than English. I was working on a PhD. thesis on China of the Confucian era. Many of the basic tenets of traditional Chinese government and economics go back to Confucius and his followers in the Yellow River Valley, like much of western tradition goes back to Athens and Jerusalem of classical antiquity, which was roughly contemporaneous with Confucius. Maybe sunspots or a burst of cosmic radiation spurred civilization onward, although that ignores the great civilizations of Africa and the Americas.
That bit of personal history has shaped my views of China. In the 1970s, China was in the bitter throes of the cultural revolution, but I concluded that China, if it could ever shake off its legacy of western colonial oppression and poverty, was a better platform for 20th century western market-driven capitalism than Max Weber’s characterization of the protestant ethic.
I wish I had published those views to refer to now, but I didn’t, so you will have to take my word for them. Herrlee Creel, my mentor at the University of Chicago, hinted at this view in his bestseller of 1949, Confucius: The Man and the Myth, in which he argued that Confucius held democratic ideals. I do not entirely agree with my mentor on that, but Joseph Needham’s encyclopedic Science and Civilization in China convinces most readers that traditional Chinese society fostered scientific and technical innovation. I assert that Confucian world view fostered individual initiative bolstered by a vigorous familial system. A budding entrepreneur in traditional China was more likely to receive encouragement and financial support than a western protestant in recent centuries.
The last decade of the 20th century and the first two decades of the 21st century have proved me right. Family support of entrepreneurship has helped the contemporary rise of the Chinese economy. It grieves me that I can’t say “I told you so,” to those who thought China would never get beyond the chaos of Mao because I didn’t tell anyone.
I read a lot of popular American detective and mystery fiction written in the 1930s and 40s. A common trope is a Chinese gangster who starts firing a weapon and can’t stop until the magazine is empty. The trope is pure xenophobia and racism, but it reminds me of the Chinese official policies on Covid-19.
China’s initial reaction to Covid-19 was a crackdown: mandatory masks, draconian quarantines, workers locked in factories, and whole cities shutdown over scattered cases of the virus. The policy was successful. China kept their death toll down and their economy led the world in the early years of the pandemic.
But like the gangster with the machine gun, the CCP could not take its finger off the trigger until the gun was empty; the rest of the world was in recovery and Covid-19 restrictions were holding China back when Emperor Xi Jinping let up and abruptly tossed the zero-Covid weapon aside; Covid-19 roared back. Death tolls rose and China’s internal economy suffered.
Information on current events in China passes through many filters. Closest to the ground, reports are tailored for a favorable response from the next level up in the government. The Chinese government filters and massages published information to shore up their position. Then western agendas kick into gear and add their own layers of distortion. And finally, your lowly servant here is picking and choosing to tell a story that will keep your interest.
I won’t go into the details of China’s current economic woes. I suggest reading The Economist on the subject or any business publication for more information. Most are gloating over the inherent weakness of authoritarian governments.
I agree that authoritarians are weak, I won’t go into why I think that, but I haven’t seen that the commentators have taken into consideration the peculiar nature of traditional China’s authoritarian empire, which has failed, recovered, and triumphed over and over for the last two thousand years. A more resilient empire than the Romans or the British.
There’s an old Chinese saying: The mountains are high and the emperor is distant. (Shān gāo, huángdì yuǎn.) It’s used in many situations, but slow, unreliable communication in the empire frequently served as a buffer between alternate centers of power and culture and the sometimes inept central government located wherever the emperor happened to sit.
I am forced to wonder if the flattened mountains and shortened roads of twenty-first century communications and transportation have worsened China’s current economic woes. The west has a century of experience with rapid communications and a well-informed populace. China does not.
Periodically, I take a deep dive into the world of the mystery writer, Rex Stout, to re-experience the Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin stories. My PhD advisor and great mentor Herrlee Creel once told me my thesis was coming along okay, but I’d do better in life if I wrote it in readable English. He told me to read Rex Stout and write like him. I’ve been trying ever since.
The list of authors, literary critics, academics, and statesmen who have praised the Nero Wolfe-Archie Goodwin stories ranges from John Le Care to Jaques Barzun, all the way to Henry Kissinger. Stout is read on many levels: sheer escapism, social commentary, and the study of human nature are among the reasons. I read the stories to discover the sources of Stout’s greatness; not only to learn the tricks of his trade, but also to examine his insight into the world he lived in.
Stout and Hammett, Chandler, and Macdonald
Stout is not cynically realistic like Hammett, nor is he lyrical like Raymond Chandler, and he is certainly not deeply psychological like Ross Macdonald. Hammett, Chandler, and Macdonald are firmly rooted in the west coast, San Francisco and Los Angeles. Stout is a New Yorker from the Midwest. The west coast bunch surveys humanity with clear cold eyes; on the surface, Stout is only a short step above an “Oh Gosh Golly, how sophisticated” recent arrival to the big city.
Just when I think I have pushed a pin through Stout’s chest and mounted him under glass, I notice that Stout’s Inspector Cramer has more depth in his admiration-tainted frustration with Wolfe and Goodwin’s antics than any of the Dickensian caricatures who populate Chandler’s LA, or that Archie’s wise cracks have wheels within wheels.
In Chandler, Hammett, and Macdonald’s California the police and city governments are often venal and corrupt. In Stout’s New York, Wolfe revels in luxury. He connives for big fees and repeatedly skirts ethical boundaries. Murderers whom Wolfe thinks may get off in court are forced into suicide. He lies for his own purposes. He snatches the choice bits off the serving platter ahead of his dinner guests. Honest and stolid Inspector Cramer knows all this, yet he, and we poor readers, admire Wolfe, a force for justice that transcends quotidian ethics.
This Dive
My latest dive has been into three books: Target Practice, a compilation of pre-Nero short stories; Fer-de-Lance, the first Nero Wolfe novel, published in 1934; and And Be a Villain, a post WWII novel published in 1948.
I had a purpose in mind: the Nero Wolfe novels are often said to have sprung to life fully mature in Fer-de-Lance. Was that true? I set out to compare Wolfe’s debut with Stout before and after Wolfe.
Target Practice
Target Practice is a collection of short stories published between 1914 and 1917, roughly twenty years prior to Fer-de-Lance. Frankly, I didn’t enjoy them. The words on the page were good: clear, concise, to the point. But the plots felt contrived, disconnected from the characters, and almost all the endings were more like general social comments than the inevitable consequences of the stories themselves.
Stout’s switch to writing mysteries in the mid-1930s conveniently solved his story ending issues. Mystery writers have an advantage: the ending is set. When hidden truth is revealed, the mystery is resolved and the story is over. Mysteries can still fail in many ways, but finding a resolution is seldom a challenge.
The two stories in Target that I liked best were mysteries with strong endings: “Justice Ends At Home” and “Heels of Fate.”
“Justice” has been described as proto-Archie-Wolfe. An office boy and a lawyer who work together in the story are said to be prototypes for Archie Goodwin and Nero Wolfe. I see the similarity, but the duo in “Justice” are bland compared to Archie and Nero. However, Stout showed much of his later flair for the tension through carefully paced revelation of the truth of deception and crime at the heart of the story.
In “Heels of Fate,” I saw more of the future Nero Wolfe. In this story, a livery stable owner has the Nero role; a country lawyer plays the Archie-narrator. The lawyer has none of Archie’s panache. The livery stable owner is decidedly not an arrogant epicure like Nero, but he sizes up a situation and schemes to deal out justice without regard to conventional ethics. “Heels” is a tight and absorbing story and, unlike most of the other stories in Target, the ending is both startling and satisfying.
Fer-de-Lance
When I began to read Fer-de-Lance, I was surprised. Archie and Nero are there, but not fully formed. Archie’s wit and style show only rare hints of what is to come. Nero is crafty, claims to be an artist and a genius, but he is not the great man he becomes in the ensuing books.
The iconic brownstone house and office doesn’t have the rich texture that appears later. There’s no red chair for Wolfe’s client or the huge custom chair for Wolfe’s bulk. The giant globe is still to come. The Wolfe posse is present, but barely. Fred Durkin, Saul Panzer, and Orrie Cather appear, but no Inspector Cramer. Purley Stebbins is a name only. There’s a newspaperman, but he’s not Lon Cohen. The posse has few of the enduring characteristics they take on later. Saul Panzer, New York’s greatest freelance operative, is not a freelance. He’s on retainer with Wolfe.
Most surprising was the writing itself. Raymond Chandler is known for his startling similes. For example, “a face like a building superintendent was watching the work and looking as if it was breaking his heart,” from the first paragraph of The Lady in the Lake. Much of the humor in Archie and Nero comes from Archie’s apparent non-sequiturs that reflect deep knowledge.
The arch non-sequiturs are largely absent from Stout’s pre-Nero era, but appear in Fer-de-Lance. An example: “the house was brand-new, wood with panels and a high steep slate roof, one of the styles I lumped all together and called Queen William.” That’s Archie talking.
Both Stout’s Archie and Chandler’s Marlowe twist our sensibilities. Marlowe flaunts his jaded vision while Archie mocks his own knowledge and taste.
Many of Wolfe’s characteristics appear in Fer-de-Lance. Throughout the series, Archie is the detective who digs out evidence, passing on information, evidence, witnesses, and suspects to Wolfe, who is the active hunter, directing the search, manipulating evidence, setting traps, and, in many cases, meting out judgement and punishment. Ultimately, a Nero Wolfe novel is a recount of Wolfe’s quest for truth from evidence that Archie gathers.
To my taste, Stout’s word craft, characterization, and scene construction in Fer-de-Lance took a step back from the quality of the short stories, although the overall construction is better and Stout’s sure hand with dramatic tension moves the story on. Stout said he changed his entire approach to writing with Fer-de-Lance. Maybe he had to relearn some of his style.
And Be a Villain
I won’t say much about And Be a Villain. During WWII Stout vigorously supported the war effort on radio and the Writer’s War Board and devoted less time to writing mysteries. And Be a Villain is a product of Stout’s post-war burst of stories. It is the first of the Arnold Zeck trilogy in which Archie and Wolfe confront and eventually defeat Zeck, a coldly calculating gangster with a vast organization.
Villain has all the features of a fully realized Wolfe novel. Wolfe’s posse appears in full regalia. The brownstone is complete. Archie wise cracks his way through a mess of unpleasant characters and awkward situations. Wolfe is high-handed. He ignores Zeck’s threats; when the truth comes out, Wolfe sidesteps Zeck’s wrath.
Stout’s statement to Eleanor Roosevelt quoted above is a great insight into the success of the Wolfe-Archie mysteries. Stout’s relatable characters help, the wit and humor that touches almost every page contribute, but Wolfe’s intent pursuit of truth is the principal attraction.
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