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A few weeks ago I eagerly purchased a copy of the new book Night of the Wolf, a collection of stories by the French writer Paul Halter. Halter writes mystery novels and short stories, and he follows in the grand tradition of John Dickson Carr, creating thorny "impossible crime" puzzles in modern settings fraught with surrealistic events and gothic-style tension.
What makes Halter popular in France and in translation in several other countries is what has probably held him back from achieving popularity in the United States thus far: his thorough and unapologetic devotion to plot-driven fiction.
This tradition of fiction writing—which animated authors as brilliant as Charles Dickens and the other great Victorian-era novelists, before the advent of Modernism placed character (and in particular amateur psychology, nearly always ineptly executed) above all other considerations — is my own preference in fiction, as it was for both G. K. Chesterton and C. S. Lewis, two of the most brilliant literary critics of the past century.
The publisher’s description aptly expresses why I am looking forward to reading Halter’s stories:
Coffins dancing in a hermetically sealed crypt, a tunnel that murders people, a werewolf killer who leaves no trace on the snow, a victim killed by an invisible hand at the top of a guarded tower, a homicidal snowman that kills in front of witnesses. . . . There cannot be a rational explanation for these and other hideous crimes; and yet there is. Each story is a glittering example of the brilliant plotting and atmosphere of foreboding that characterized the Golden Age of detective fiction.
Halter writes in his native French, and none of his novels has been released in an English translation yet. I have read a couple of his stories, in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine a year or so ago, and they are gems. I’m greatly looking forward to reading Night of the Wolf, but the press of business makes it unlikely that I’ll be able to do so soon.
However, a friend of ours, Bob Schneider, has written a review of Night of the Wolf and has kindly given us permission to use it. Here, with our sincere thanks to Bob Schneider, is his review of Paul Halter’s mystery story collection Night of the Wolf:
Night of the Wolf, by Paul Halter, reviewed by Bob Schneider
This is the first English Translation of Paul Halter’s short mystery fiction. The book consists of ten "Impossible Crime" stories written mostly in the 1990′s. Mr. Halter has received both popular
and critical acclaim in his native France for his atmospheric, plot driven stories written in the tradition of John Dickson Carr’s best work. Carr (1906-1977) was a prolific American mystery writer who lived for several years in England. He is considered the greatest practitioner of the "Locked Room" or "Impossible Crime" murder mystery. He specialized in stories that featured a crime (usually a murder) that occurred in a locked or watched room into which there was no apparent access. An "Impossible Crime" story would run along similar lines in that a murder would be committed without any apparent means by any of the possible suspects.
Halter deploys at least three different detectives to solve his crimes. Owen Burns (a sort of Sherlock Holmes/Oscar Wilde combination) for stories set at the turn of the 19th Century, Irving Farrell (an elderly man who has a knack of encountering unusual crimes in 1920′s England) and Dr. Alan Twist (a criminologist often called upon by the police to solve unusual crimes in mid to late 20th Century Europe).
Several of these stories take place during or just after a snowfall, which allows Halter to work his literary trickery with footprints (or the lack thereof) in the snow. Architecture plays an important role in his stories either by setting a mood or by playing a key role in the mystery itself. Though the stories often have supernatural overtones, most of the solutions to the crimes are logically explained and a careful reader might, by correctly interpreting Halter’s clues, be able to solve the mysteries before the detectives offer their explanations.
Whether Halter is describing a murderous snowman, a dancing corpse, a modern "Lorelei", an avenging ghost or a werewolf as seen from both the lupine and human perspectives he often evokes the best of not only John Dickson Carr but the mastery of Agatha Christie and the artistry of G. K. Chesterton.
By Bob Schneider, used with permission.
Additional Info:
For an excellent article on Paul Halter, by the astute mystery fiction expert John Pugmire (who co-translated Night of the Wolf with the justly acclaimed and admired impossible-crime-mystery expert Robert Adey), click here.
Dear Mr. Karnick:
I’m anxious to acquire THE NIGHT OF THE WOLF, having heard the favorable buzz about it for some time.
Your blog provokes some errant yet, I believe, relevant thoughts:
What’s with this “Postmodern” infatuation with plotlessness? Is it the product of decades of indoctrination in the secular worldview that existence is “absurd”? Or is it just a post-World War One fad that caught on?
Or perhaps both? Why is “literature” so thoroughly dominated by what you have called (blog of November 29, 2006) “philosophical relativists”? (Sidebar: My background was in English instruction, and I ran across more than one Marxist tinpot dictator wannabe–but don’t get me started.) In the same blog you made some unassailable points:
Most assuredly there is a certain something at the heart of all great literary works that cannot quite be identified, much less quantified. Rather like the human soul, we perceive it but cannot isolate it. However, just as the human soul is held in a body that makes identifiable and even quantifiable actions, this heart of a novel is contained in (and indeed suffuses) a book that has identifiable characteristics. These characteristics can even be usefully quantified in some cases, though I believe actual numerical quantification to be unnecessary for a valid literary analysis.
Specifically, it is possible to put individual tastes aside and discuss literature and the other arts in a rational and salubrious way.
We can observe, for example, that some books have deeper, more true, and more convincing characterizations than others. We can see that some have plots that are more interesting and diverting than others. Some have stories that are more plausible, convincing, and usefully reminiscent of reality than others. Some have descriptive passages that make the fictional world come alive more convincingly than others. Some have prose that is so beautiful and artful that it gives us distinct pleasure to contemplate. Some have moral implications that bring our human condition into greater focus and give us real insights into our position in the cosmos. And so on.
In the November 28, 2006 blog about Philip K. Dick, you observed “…how poor the mainstream American novel was during the previous century.” Yes! Plot, like the baby with the bathwater, was decisively defenestrated.
You further noted that “…the mainstream novelists were so often confused, self-important, and wrongheaded.” Again: Yes! Wrongheaded, I think, because they shared a view that was not only out of synch with mainstream American Judeo-Christian culture but also actively hostile to it: The best-seller lists, one should remember, were composed by people lodged firmly on both coasts and not by the folks inhabiting the “flyover states”. Self-important, it goes without saying. Confused: How could they be otherwise? Far too many authors were zonked out on drugs or booze, the result of which could be writing that might appeal or appall by turns. I recall a reformed alcoholic author musing on what a great writer Ernest Hemingway could have been if he hadn’t dived headfirst into a bottle nearly every day of his adult life; my son, born in the late 1970s, thinks Hunter S. Thompson is the bees knees: the apotheosis of Confusion incarnate. The Establishment likes to characterize Thompson as a “journalist”, which does irreparable damage to the word’s definition: When the journalist becomes the story, at best you’re now into autobiography and at worst fiction writing. You added in your blog that “Philip K. Dick was indeed a great pulp writer, if there can be such a thing…”; there can. I’d like for you to adduce more examples of “great pulp writers”, among whom I place John Dickson Carr/Carter Dickson. Today’s arrogant scribblers can still learn a thing or two from the pulpsters.
One last thought: In your August 1, 2006 blog you covered Perry Mason on DVD. Personally, I always enjoyed the Mason series, its virtues made manifest in your article; BUT I always felt slightly cheated out of that thrill that a fair-play mystery can provide in letting the reader/viewer go along with the detective in solving the problem. In the case of Perry Mason on television, it was a matter of us standing (or sitting) back and beholding, like a stage magician’s act, the lawyer/sleuth yanking one rabbit after another out of his seemingly empty hat, leaving us slack-jawed at his brilliance but deprived of the joy in participating in the resolution.
All of which brings us back to THE NIGHT OF THE WOLF: Here’s hoping Paul Halter will let me participate in the resolution once in a while.
Respectfully,
Mike (not Linda)
Thanks for your very thoughtful comments, Mike. I think that you have penetrated to the heart of what appears to me to be the main issue regarding contemporary American culture: the perverseness and confusion that were manifested in so much of the 20th century American culture are quite evidently the result of a philosophical problem. And we are still trying to resolve that problem.
The question is, what kind of culture do we want to build right now, on the ruins of 20th century madness, and how shall we best go about it?
That’s a question I’ll return to shortly in a variety of posts.
I’ll also identify some other great pulp writers. For now I offer up Fredric Brown, author of The Fabulous Clipjoint, The Screaming Mimi, Knock Three-One-Two, and numerous other brilliant novels, novellas, and short stories.
You’re right about the Mason TV show, and how frustrating it can be. But the puzzles in that program clearly weren’t meant to be solved. The appeal of the show was in the revelation of character and moral issues among the various suspects. That’s a good deal easier to accomplish than a solid puzzle, especially when you’re trying to do it 39 times a year.
And it is a perfectly good thing to do. That is surely why viewers loved it.
The show with the best puzzles ever on TV, the 1970s program Ellery Queen, lasted only one season. I think people want easy puzzles or just to see the magic trick performed; it can be just too darned hard to solve a puzzle while a filmed narrative moves inexorably on. Now that we have home video, which can easily be paused, the puzzles are getting better. In time, perhaps a great number of solid puzzle shows will arise and have a strong following. That would be a consummation devoutly to be wished.
Dear Mr. Karnick,
Thank you for publishing Bob Schneider’s review and also for your kind comment about my article. As the co-translator of “The Night of the Wolf” (with Bob Adey, author of the classic bibliography “Locked Room Murders”) I am pleased to tell you that, in view of the numerous positive reviews, we hope to get one of Paul Halter’s novels published in the not too distant future. Wish us luck!
John Pugmire
John, I’m delighted to hear from you. As I mentioned in my article above, your article on Halter is excellent, as is generally true of your writings on mysteries.
Readers, please visit John’s site, here.
John, I certainly deserve a kick in the pance for failing to mention that you are co-translator of Night of the Wolf. Mea maxima culpa, and in penance I have added that to my original post.
Dear Mr. Karnick:
I do look forward to your future comments about the great pulpsters.
Apropos of that, here’s my review of a book, Bill Pronzini’s GUN IN CHEEK, that appeared on the GADetection site; this book should serve as a warning to all that there were some not-so-great pulpsters back in the day:
GUN IN CHEEK (1982) is Bill Pronzini’s backhanded salute to the “Best
of the Worst”, books and stories that pushed the envelope of language
to the breaking point and beyond. The blurb on the back says it all:
“GUN IN CHEEK is…a delightful exploration of what the author refers
to as ‘alternative crime fiction.’ Less kindly put, it is a unique
crash course in the worst English and American crime fiction of the
twentieth century.
Every category of mystery fiction is represented: the private eye,
the stately home, the arch-villain, the gentleman sleuth, the amateur
spy, and many others who have blossomed from the genre. Within these
categories, in what can only be called a labor of love, Bill Pronzini
discusses, digests, and shares the best of the worst–adding a
wonderfully comprehensive bibliography for advanced and dedicated
devotees.
GUN IN CHEEK is an amusing and pleasurable reading experience as well
as an enlightening guide to hardboiled potboilers.”
But they’re not all hardboiled; Gladys Mitchell is Pronzini’s target
in Chapter Five: “…Mitchell’s prose is of the eccentric variety, to
put it mildly–something of a cross between Christie and P.G.
Wodehouse, with a dollop or two of Saki, or maybe John Collier,
thrown in–and, like garlic and rutabagas, is an acquired taste.” Of
course, Pronzini’s criticism is supported by only one example: THE
MYSTERY OF A BUTCHER’S SHOP. Nevertheless, as Ed McBain (Evan
Hunter) says of Pronzini in his Introduction, “He has obviously read
and digested everything ever written in the genre by anyone
anywhere”; so his judgment in these matters is to be respected.
Gothic mysteries are examined in Chapter Ten, which begins with a
famous Donald Westlake quote: “A gothic is a story about a girl who
gets a house”; but the variations rung in on the Gothic theme can go
far afield, as Pronzini demonstrates.
Ed McBain feigns injury in the Introduction, wounded by Pronzini’s
ignoring some of the bad writing McBain himself was guilty of, and
produces examples of his own as proof that even the best writers can
nod now and then over their typewriters–and what does this say about
editors?
Pronzini discusses some works at great length, such as (in Chapter
Seven) THE DRAGON STRIKES BACK (1936), an extravaganza that is so
over the top that it leaves Pronzini wishing its author had produced
more of the same. (If Ian Fleming ever denied having cribbed from
THE DRAGON STRIKES BACK when he wrote DR. NO, he must have been
lying, especially with its element of a renegade group trying to
initiate a world war among the superpowers–how many times have those
drearily formulaic Bond films used that very notion?)
Chapter Four affectionately deals with Phoenix Press, whose stable
of “alternative” authors boggles the mind, and among whom was Harry
Stephen Keeler, “the once-popular ‘wild man’ of the mystery, who
seems to have been cheerfully daft and whose plots defy logic and the
suspension of ANYONE’S disbelief.” (Sidebar: Keeler offered his
plotting schemes for sale to the public. That’s a lot like you
teaching your cat Tiddles to play Chopin’s Piano Concerto in F Minor:
No matter how good he gets at chording, his feet will never reach the
foot pedals–and Keeler’s “feet” never did.)
You’ll probably enjoy GUN IN CHEEK, but three cautions:
One (for parents): There is coarse language and even coarser ideas;
Two: Spoiler Alerts, for Pronzini gladly reveals the endings in a few
cases;
Three: Don’t try to read this book in one sitting because it just
might make you dizzy–with laughter.
GUN IN CHEEK (1982)
Bill Pronzini
The Mysterious Press
Trade Paperback (1987 reprint)
Mystery Genre Criticism
264 pages
Contents:
Introduction by Ed McBain (Evan Hunter) (3 pages)
“Without Malice, A Forethought” (3 pages)
1. “‘Wanna Woo-Woo?’”
“‘Someone standing inside the body of the black cat would be able to
fire a revolver through its mouth!’”
2. “The Eyes Have It”
“He was dead, all right. He had been shot, poisoned, stabbed, and
strangled. Either somebody had really had it in for him or four
people had killed him. Or else it was the cleverest suicide I’d ever
heard of.”
3. “Cheez It, the Cops!”
“‘Since when did you get around to using all those two-syllable
words?’”
4. “The Saga of the Risen Phoenix”
“A sudden thought bounced her heart to her larynx.”
5. “The Goonbarrow and Other Jolly Old Corpses”
“‘In plain English, Patterson,’ said Pye, ‘nix on the gats!’”
6. “Dogs, Swine, Skunks, and Assorted Asses”
“‘And here I slave over a hot tommygun all day!’”
7. “‘C-H-I-N-K-S!’”
“‘Think of it! A pretty girl to cuddle up to on cold nights and her
shirt-tail to keep your feet warm. Bully, my boy, bully! Maybe a
couple of little dingy-dingies coming along to call you “papa.”‘”
8. “The Vanishing Cracksman, the Norman Conquest, and the Death
Merchant”
“The vicissitudes of a capricious fate are indeed inconsistent and
incommensurable!”
9. “‘In the Name of God–WHOSE HAND?’”
“‘Your TOE went up the staircase?’”
10. “The Idiot Heroine in the Attic”
“In the warm glow of happiness that enveloped her, the caption on the
billboard did not strike her as even faintly ominous. It said, ‘Fly
Now–Pay Later.’”
11. “‘Don’t Tell Me You’ve Got a Heater in Your Girdle, Madam!’”
“My jaw bounced off the back of my skull and I wallowed in the
softness of a cloud. I groped around for my brain and after a couple
of years it came back from San Francisco and said ‘Get up!’”
12. “Ante-Bellem Days; or, ‘My Roscoe Sneezed: Ka-chee!’”
“‘Drop that corpse, you fool!’”
“A Postmortem” (2 pages)
Bibliography (10 pages)
Index (8 pages)
Respectfully,
Mike (not Linda)
Thanks for the excellent review of an excellent book, Mike. Pronzini also wrote an amusing sequel, appropriately called Son of Gun in Cheek. Both are well worth reading.
i love your site
thanks
onyeze