S.S. Van Dine was the pen name of Willard Huntington Wright (1888–1939), an art critic, editor, and novelist from the US who created Philo Vance, apparently one of the defining amateur detectives of the Golden Age of detective fiction. The Vance series ran to twelve novels between 1926 and 1939 and it became a major publishing, so I thought I’d give it a shot.
The result?
I’ve rarely been so bored by something with dead people and Egyptian gods. Every chapter starts with the detective explaining at length that we’re witnessing something vicious (we’re not) and there’s something devilish at work (there isn’t), then they discuss at length something, either amongst themselves or with one of the witnesses, and by the end we make a small progress towards the resolution. Then another chapter starts and we repeat. It’s exhausting. And what to say of the detective? It’s my first Philo Vance novel, and I can undoubtedly say it’s going to be the last, as everything about him is boring with unnerving on the side: his affected languor, his extensive knowledge of everything (his ancient Egyptian is better than the actual, professional Egyptologists in the room), his carelessness in treating evidence, his decisions and the way no one ever holds him responsible for them, are simply the childish description of a character the author has a crush on. And the author, who’s also the narrator, seems to confirm this impression by needlessly self-inserting himself into the narrative, as a statue that doesn’t do anything significant but remarking how extraordinary Vance’s intellect and willpower are.
The plot is also thin and stretched, made believable only by the fact that the Inspector and the District Attorney allow Vance to string them along. I appreciate a mystery that takes place in one place only but just the ending, that keeps up pace at last, was slightly worth my time.
No Comments