I wonder if, after sampling my third Perry Mason book in the series by prolific writer Erle Stanley Gardner, these might not fall under the heading of "guilty pleasures". I suspect that they also operate for me as something one "loves to hate", although I fall far from either extreme on the Perry Mason Gratification Scale. The following critique may step on long-standing fans' toes, but after exposure to Gardner's first Mason caper, 1933's The Case of the Velvet Claws, I am still trying to assess just what my final (admittedly subjective) verdict should be.
Typically, a reading experience isn't this complicated. I read a book, I react to the book, I determine if the book gave satisfaction and how or why it did or did not. But analysis of a Gardner story, at least of the few I have read, doesn't seem that simple. This is because some very enjoyable and inventive strengths – including morally specious but highly clever defense attorney tactics like witness manipulation and sleight-of-hand evidence reveals – share space with a story weakened by unconvincing, superficial characterization and dialogue. Of course the Mason novels are meant to entertain and never pretend to be more than they are, which is in itself a point in their favor. But that odd combination of impressively good and amateurishly bad is something I haven't encountered often in mystery fiction, and it brings me back to the "guilty pleasure" label.
This mix of strengths and weaknesses is already fully formed and on display in The Case of the Velvet Claws, Mason's début case. What's singular about this story is that it doesn't end in a dramatic and contentious court trial like the great majority do: Mason keeps his client, an attractive femme fatale accused of shooting her husband, out of a courtroom despite the fact that Eva Belter has lied to the lawyer (and has even tried to frame him for murder!) every step of the way. George Belter is/was the publisher of Spicy Bits, a gossip tabloid largely existing as a vehicle to squeeze the rich and famous out of some money through business-legitimized blackmail. Because of this, there is a surplus of suspects who might want to see Belter dead, but Mason focuses on one in particular: Congressman Harrison Burke, last seen at a night club with a woman who was not his wife, a woman who happens to be Eva Belter herself.
So we arrive at one of Gardner's strongest qualities as an author, and the greatest personal argument for my continuing with the series. The man is quite brilliant at establishing the plotline (the hook, essentially) and guiding it along through multiple turns and reversals, escalating to a breathless climax. Such literary planning and plotting is not easy or effortless to pull off, and the three titles I have read to date – the others are The Case of the Howling Dog (1934) and The Case of the Counterfeit Eye (1935) – show no slack in their pacing or ingenuity.
Closely connected with pacing is the quality of the twists and tactics themselves. In these early adventures, Perry Mason's maneuvering would be risky in the extreme if it wasn't safely confined to Gardner's artificially created world. Gambits like altering evidence to fluster prosecution witnesses, manufacturing a fake confession to muddy the waters, and manipulating police investigation would result in disbarment many times over. Yet the cleverness of these actions and Mason's ostensibly justified motivations keep the reader flipping pages while suspending judgment. It's an impressive tightrope to walk: Mason is bending the rules, but he argues that he is just trying to even up the odds which are already stacked against his accused client.
This mix of strengths and weaknesses is already fully formed and on display in The Case of the Velvet Claws, Mason's début case. What's singular about this story is that it doesn't end in a dramatic and contentious court trial like the great majority do: Mason keeps his client, an attractive femme fatale accused of shooting her husband, out of a courtroom despite the fact that Eva Belter has lied to the lawyer (and has even tried to frame him for murder!) every step of the way. George Belter is/was the publisher of Spicy Bits, a gossip tabloid largely existing as a vehicle to squeeze the rich and famous out of some money through business-legitimized blackmail. Because of this, there is a surplus of suspects who might want to see Belter dead, but Mason focuses on one in particular: Congressman Harrison Burke, last seen at a night club with a woman who was not his wife, a woman who happens to be Eva Belter herself.
So we arrive at one of Gardner's strongest qualities as an author, and the greatest personal argument for my continuing with the series. The man is quite brilliant at establishing the plotline (the hook, essentially) and guiding it along through multiple turns and reversals, escalating to a breathless climax. Such literary planning and plotting is not easy or effortless to pull off, and the three titles I have read to date – the others are The Case of the Howling Dog (1934) and The Case of the Counterfeit Eye (1935) – show no slack in their pacing or ingenuity.
Closely connected with pacing is the quality of the twists and tactics themselves. In these early adventures, Perry Mason's maneuvering would be risky in the extreme if it wasn't safely confined to Gardner's artificially created world. Gambits like altering evidence to fluster prosecution witnesses, manufacturing a fake confession to muddy the waters, and manipulating police investigation would result in disbarment many times over. Yet the cleverness of these actions and Mason's ostensibly justified motivations keep the reader flipping pages while suspending judgment. It's an impressive tightrope to walk: Mason is bending the rules, but he argues that he is just trying to even up the odds which are already stacked against his accused client.
For example, in Velvet Claws Gardner has his hero conspire with a friendly pawnbroker to force an admission from a suspect. All Mason needs from Sol Steinburg (a benign but still stereotypical Jewish figure typical of pulp stories of the time) is to "recognize" whichever man Mason brings into the shop with a "That's him, that's the one" declaration. (In other words, lie.) He explains that he will never need Sol to testify in court, but rather he's trying to make the man think he can tie him to a gun purchase. It's a clever ruse, and Gardner gets extra points for the suspect smelling the set-up and pushing back just as hard as Mason is pushing him.
While the plotting and legal legerdemain in Gardner's books are highly enjoyable, characterization, description, and dialogue are (for me) another story. Some reviewers have connected the toughness of the tales with roots from hardboiled detective fiction, and I think that's accurate. But Erle Stanley Gardner is no Dashiell Hammett or Raymond Chandler, and the Perry Mason books substitute pedestrian prose for the moody metaphors and flawed figures populating the Hammett and Chandler worlds. In particular, Gardner's overuse/abuse of countless "Mason said" and "asked Paul Drake"-type dialogue tags really slow down the rhythm, especially as they are so often unnecessary in two-person exchanges. Yet they are peppered throughout every single conversation, and these books are filled with two-person dialogue runs.
There's also a stilted quality to the scenes, which is due in part to the rather flat characterization (this cop is combative; that cop is friendly; Mason is always gruff and in command) and in part due to the sensationalist, hard-to-believe plotlines that Gardner favors. In Howling Dog, for example, I was wearying of a bellicose police chief who seemed to have little depth when he surprised me by saying in response, "I'm commencing to think so." I grabbed onto that word choice and thought it was a nicely observant touch to have a character use a word outside of his presumed vocabulary; I thought it revealed something of the chief's personality, that he was the type of person who prided himself on showing an education even though he had little. But then a few chapters later private investigator Paul Drake also says "I'm commencing to think so," and after that the author lets Mason use the phrase. Perry Mason's fictional world is one where characters speak on the surface (whether lying or telling the truth) rather than engaging in subtlety or subtext, and that's due to the preferences and literary limitations of his creator.
In spite of these traits, Gardner's books are still great fun and easy to digest, and I expect to sample many more of Mason's cases, especially when I'm looking for a fast and light mystery book in between more literary fare. And one can't help but admire an author concerned with providing both flashy entertainment and calculated promotion: at the end pages of Velvet Claws, the loyal Della Street reminds Mason that a new client is waiting in the outer office for him. Says Della:
"It's a girl expensively dressed, good looking. Seems well bred. She's in trouble, but she won't open up."
"Sulky, eh?"
"Sulky? Well, perhaps I'd call her sort of trapped."
"That's because you like her looks," Mason grinned. "If you didn't, you'd call her sulky."
…"Well, maybe she is just sulky."
It may be no surprise to note that the next book in the series happens to be The Case of the Sulky Girl.
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