The Canary Murder Case

The literate, intelligent, and almost insufferably smug at times creation of culturally influential art critic Willard Huntington Wright, amateur detective Philo Vance, was Wright incognito. Philo Vance could drone on about art, dogs, arcane historical facts and languages all while solving the most intricately designed murder puzzle. The Philo Vance mysteries made Wright, who eventually owned up to writing them and embraced the celebrity hoisted upon him by the masses who read mysteries — as he viewed them — a literary sensation. William Powell’s portrayal of the urbane know-it-all who helped DA Markham solve the unsolvable cases in the movie adaptation of the wildly popular books added glamour to the mix.

Van Dine’s detective show more was a sensation in print and in the movies. Wright’s creation would eventually become out of step with the genre as it gravitated to the hardboiled detective, but there’s no denying his impact on the genre; if you doubt it, read the Spenser series by Robert B. Parker sometime; you’ll run across several fun references to Philo Vance.

Today, Van Dine’s mystery novels and his creation Philo Vance seem more arcane than some of the tidbits about ancient history and art that would come out of the detective’s mouth while he was deciphering clues. But these mysteries are very nostalgic of another time — specifically the jazz age — and the murder puzzles are still top-notch, some of the best ever, in fact. But you as a reader will either loathe them, or love them. And in a strange irony many other reviewers have noted, the reason some readers loathe them is much the same reason others like myself love them. Vance is like escargot — there’s no middle ground; you either partake, or you don’t.

Canary is a very early Vance novel, with Vance the ultimate version of the urbane intellectual know-it-all. Trouble is, he seemingly does know it all, and expects the people around him to understand even the most arcane cultural reference he applies to working the Canary case. Markham usually does, but not everyone else, don’t y’ know?

The brutal strangulation of Broadway’s Margaret Odell is as sensational as she was to the opposite sex. But there seems no way possible for anyone to have been present with her at the time of her demise. But there’s a closet locked from the inside, and a steel box opened with a steel chisel; but only after someone tried to open it another way. An amateur? Did she interrupt a robbery? Was it one of her lovers? Or does it all point to blackmail?

What makes matters worse, is the more people Markham, his man Heath, and Vance talk to, the murkier it all gets. The more details they have, the more impossible the murder seems at all. This leads to Vance good-naturedly needling his old pal, DA Markham:

“Y’ know, Markham, it appears to me that the testimony in this case constitutes conclusive legal proof that no one could have been with the deceased at the hour of her passing, and that, ergo, she is presumably alive. The strangled body of the lady is, I take it, simply an irrelevant circumstance from the standpoint of legal procedure. I know that learned lawyers won’t admit a murder without a body; but how, in Heaven’s name, do you get around a corpus delicti without a murder?”

As one possible avenue of inquiry after another leads to solid alibis or no possibility of the suspect having anything to do with the murder, Vance jokes with the frustrated Markham:

“I say, if you keep up this elimination much longer,” observed Vance, “you won’t have anything left but the lady’s corpse.”

When there finally appears to be a break in the case regarding who the man hiding in the closet may have been, Vance turns the murder investigation upside down with an entirely new theory he’s been holding back:

“Markham,” said Vance quietly, but with unwonted seriousness, “if that’s what you really believe, you might as well drop the case now; for you’re foredoomed to failure. You think it’s an obvious crime. But let me tell you, it’s a subtle crime, if ever there was one. And it’s as clever as it is subtle. No common criminal committed it — believe me. It was done by a man of very superior intellect and astoundin’ ingenuity.”

Eventually when the case seems like a circular dead end, Vance, his lawyer Van Dine (our narrator) in tow, does a bit of sleuthing sans Markham and Heath, altering alibis and the suspects various connections to Odell and each other. But when he passes what he can on to Markham, all this info only creates new conundrums. That is until the person who was actually in the room when Odell was strangled makes arrangements to spill the beans. Only in an epiphany which arrives too late to Vance — his mind had been on Monet, don’t y’ know — does he realize the real reason for the call, and the imminent danger.

Despite the highfalutin banter and attitude, it’s a poker game with all the suspects who clues Vance into the real killer. But that alibi can’t be broken. Or can it?

Hidden beneath the erudite goings on, obscured by the two dollar words and the intellectual highhandedness, and veiled by the delicious murder puzzle of Canary, and every other Philo Vance novel penned by S.S. Van Dine, is pulp-style movement. Yes, you read that correctly. Philo Vance is/was touted as a mystery and detective series for the smarter and more intellectual members of the reading public; by design, it began as a lark by a man not dissimilar to his own creation. How ironic then that the thing which makes these so readable and enjoyable to those who’ve acquired an appreciation for them — and Philo Vance is undoubtedly an acquired taste — is the most basic staple of pulp writing: movement within the narrative.

You may feel like you’ve read 25 pages when you look up to discover that you’ve only read 10 in a Philo Vance novel; the reason is because it’s overflowing with dialog and actions that create movement in the story. Van Dine may have been a culture-centric snob, but my oh my could he write! There is a sweeping sense of being carried along somewhere by the highfalutin jargon flying between Vance and Markham in Canary. That’s no accident; it can’t be, because it’s an earmark of every Philo Vance novel. One has to surmise that somewhere in Heaven, Willard Huntington Wright, aka S.S. Van Dine, is probably smirking, because the masses finally figured it out, don’t y’ know, eh what?

While it’s impossible to in good conscience make a general recommendation to readers on a book like this — because you may end up in the camp who just can’t take Philo Vance, rather than the camp who embrace the classic mystery novels — for those fans of Van Dine and his high-brow detective of the jazz age, this one is very fun. show less

Locked Room Puzzle
Review of the Felony & Mayhem Press Kindle eBook edition (January 15, 2019) of the Charles Scribner’s hardcover original (March 1927).

“Put that way, the idea does sound a bit supernatural. And yet: Certum est quia impossibile est*. I rather like that maxim, don’t y’ know; for, in the present case, the impossible is true."

I enjoyed my recent rediscovery of S.S. Van Dine's (the mystery writing pseudonym of art critic Willard Huntington Wright) Philo Vance series so much that I decided that it was worth pursuing as a series binge. The tales of the amateur sleuth assisting his district attorney friend Markham while accompanied by his personal lawyer and 'Watson' seemed to be the epitome of the Golden Age of Crime show more mysteries on the American side.

The Canary Murder Case uses one of the classic scenarios of the Golden Age, the 'locked room mystery.' A murder occurs in a situation where no apparent suspect has entered or left the room where a dead body is found. In this story a showgirl with the nickname of "The Canary" is found murdered in her apartment. Witnesses say that no one entered or left the apartment after she was last heard alive while speaking through the door.

See cover at https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/38/SSVanDine_TheCanaryMurderCas...
Front cover of the original Charles Scribner’s first edition (1927). Image sourced from Wikipedia.

The suspects are plentiful as it turns out that the lady in question had a inclination towards blackmailing her various paramours, several of whom were seen in the vicinity prior to her demise. The police and the district attorney are baffled of course until Philo Vance is able to determine the explanation for the various 'impossible' means by which the crime was committed.

For me, on the Berengaria Ease of Solving Scale® this was a 0 out of 10, i.e. "an immediate solve." That was just due to a guess that the most impossible suspect will be the actual culprit without having any other basis at first. Eventually the discovery of various clues proved it. I think that was due to my growing familiarity with S.S. Van Dine's plots. A newcomer would likely find it to be a very difficult solve as they wait for the various clues and reveals to appear.

Footnote
* Latin: It is certain that it is impossible.

Trivia and Links
See movie poster at https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/1/1e/Canary_Murder_Case_pos...
This novel was adapted for film as The Canary Murder Case (1929) directed by Malcolm St. Clair and starring William Powell as Philo Vance in his first performance as the character. You can see the entire movie on YouTube here.

Willard Huntington Wright aka S.S. Van Dine is also the author of the Twenty Rules for Writing Detective Stories. show less

This Golden Age mystery story was very well plotted. I liked the way Van Dine made himself a character in the book - one that is very self-effacing but nontheless present during Philo Vance's investigation. Basically he is Vance's Watson but I liked the fact that he used his own name.

I do have a quibble though - Van Dine violated his own first rule for detective stories:
"1. The reader must have equal opportunity with the detective for solving the mystery. All clues must be plainly stated and described."

There was one important clue that Vance (and apparently the police who disregard it) discovered that the reader isn't told about until Vance is doing his explanation.

The mystery part is not too bad. It is a locked door mystery and involves the search for the killer of a somewhat soiled dove nicknamed the Canary. The solution to the mystery is rather accidental and won’t really bowl anyone over today. The real problem with the story is the main character, Philo Vance. He is an insufferable irritating snob—imagine Frasier without the likable personality and the humor. He also seems to be unable to pronounce the final “g” on any word. I read this not long after reading Clouds of Witness and I must say that Vance makes Lord Percy seem like Sam Spade.

This Golden Age mystery story was very well plotted. I liked the way Van Dine made himself a character in the book - one that is very self-effacing but nontheless present during Philo Vance's investigation. Basically he is Vance's Watson but I liked the fact that he used his own name.

I do have a quibble though - Van Dine violated his own first rule for detective stories:
"1. The reader must have equal opportunity with the detective for solving the mystery. All clues must be plainly stated and described."

There was one important clue that Vance (and apparently the police who disregard it) discovered that the reader isn't told about until Vance is doing his explanation.

Rileggendo il commento all’altro romanzo di Van Dine noto che molti degli aspetti che qui non mi sono piaciuti erano comunque anche presenti già lì, solo che o mi avevano fatto un effetto diverso, oppure non mi avevano disturbato la lettura. Quindi i casi sono due: o questa volta ho approcciato il romanzo in maniera diversa e in un periodo diverso che ha mutato il mio giudizio, oppure questo romanzo è effettivamente meno avvincente del precedente. In ogni caso non mi sento particolarmente interessata a continuare con la serie, ma ovviamente non si sa mai.

http://www.naufragio.it/iltempodileggere/20481#canarina

The second in the Philo Vance series, this involves the unraveling of the mystery as to who strangled a well-known, and possibly notorious, ex-Follies girl. Vance uses a high-stakes poker game to figure out which of the last three suspects did the crime, based on psychology. More, I'm afraid, of hiding the ball -- Vance abstracts a key piece of evidence without telling the police (or the reader). Still the atmosphere is what counts, here, for whatever positives the story has. Incidentally, there is a hint as to the time frame of the story -- the crimes listed on page 7 of the original Scribner's edition put the case somewhere around 1923, and the dating is consistent with 1923's calendar.