Might as Well Be Dead

A FEW YEARS BACK, perhaps a decade or so, I first heard the phrase “psychological suspense” used to describe a genre of books that had greater pretenses than could be accommodated by the plebeian moniker “mystery.” Generally speaking, these books are notable for characters who carry angst and automatic pistols and serial killers of ever-increasing depravity and ingenuity.

The distinction between the two descriptions, I suppose, is that “psychological suspense” novels are exercises where good guys and bad guys are clearly delineated from the get-go, even if the good guy isn’t quite so good and the bad guy is a whole lot worse than one could have imagined in any current nightmare. The reader can always trust that the bad guy will transcend bad so far that any weaknesses on the part of his good counterpart are quickly ignored. These novels very rarely rely on the traditional “mystery” form, where the reader, following the intuitive trail of the detective, discovers in a more subtle and often surprising way where evil truly lies.

Personally, I’ve always thought this attempt to gentrify one type of novel at the expense of another, bunk. All good novels of crime should be mysterious. Questions of where, when, how, and ultimately whodunit, are only underscored when the further element of whydunit is added to the mix.

Which brings me, in a roundabout fashion, to Rex Stout and his famous character, Nero Wolfe. These titles, being reissued now, are “mysteries” in the traditional sense of the word. There is a crime, or series of crimes; it is unclear who has or is performing them, or why; there is a solution, which intrigues us readers because it is clever, chilling, and often a window onto the weaknesses and frailties of humankind.

The psychological acumen that Stout brings to Wolfe’s solutions is far more sophisticated than that which is displayed in today’s common “psychological suspense” novels. Maybe a bit less bloody (perhaps), but immensely more subtle. Wolfe probes personalities until he uncovers the nasty vein that pulses beneath the surface, regardless of how well hidden it might be. In actuality, almost all the real “action” of a Nero Wolfe novel is cerebral.