Six short stories about Henry Kane’s private detective character Peter Chambers. Anthony Boucher blurbed it as “A phenomenally generous volume of tales neatly plotted and blithely told.” Fair enough.
It’s of interest because it represents Chambers’ early career. This is a 1968 edition, but the book dates back to 1957. All of the stories were originally published in 1953 and ’54 except for one from 1947, the year in which the first Chambers novel was released. Kane’s style was already in full flower.
Kane is obsessed with description—of women, of course, but also of rooms. Every room Chambers steps into gets a paragraph of inventory; some of them get half a page. And his description of things is insistently clever:
“Her eyes were blue and shining, her lips red and shining, her hair gold and shining.”
A fellow who talks to himself that way makes an amusing first-person narrator. But when he keeps this ironic attitude in descriptions of dead bodies, fistfights, and races against time, it puts events at a distance. The performance of the raconteur is what gets attention.
So, other than being a chatterbox, Chambers has little presence on the page. But he moves quickly from one thing to the next with a minimum of explanation. And Kane ingeniously uses the sex interludes, drinking bouts, and critiques of interior design as misdirection to sustain the mystery plot. The plotting is fair-play—the reader gets all the clues—but the clues don’t stand out amid all the inventories of furniture and body parts.
This is smart writing.
Apparently devotees of private eye fiction look down on Kane a bit. Maybe his use of an urban American milieu—a world of gambling houses, showgirls, cigar-chewing police detectives, and gangsters with tommy guns—makes readers think that Kane is working the same tough streets as Hammett, Chandler, Ross MacDonald, and so on. But if he constructs his crime stories to function primarily as a game, then he is working in an older vein, Conan Doyle and John Dickson Carr, which was elaborated by Agatha Christie et al into a sort of melodrama of manners. Don’t think of him as a follower of Chandler or the guy who wrote THE GLASS KEY. He’s more like the Hammett who wrote THE THIN MAN.