1956 police procedural, first in the 87th Precinct series. When an
off-duty detective is murdered, it might have been for any number of
reasons. Then his partner is shot with the same gun…
It's not the first police procedural, of course; even if you
restrict the term to stories attempting an accurate depiction of
police work, there were examples scattered through the early twentieth
century, and of course Dragnet started in 1949 and moved to
television in 1951. In the year this book came out, Anthony Boucher
noted in the New York Times Book Review that such stories were
becoming so popular that they constituted a subgenre in their own
right, and coined the name.
But while it isn't the first, even without considering the rest of the
series, this book was clearly highly influential. All sorts of small
tropes, familiar to me from TV cop shows and later novels, are here in
primitive form. To take just one example, what's the concept of CSI
beyond an expansion of this paragraph?
The heelprint was instantly photographed, not because the boys liked
to play with cameras, but simply because they knew accidents
frequently occurred in the making of a cast. The heelprint was
placed on a black-stained cardboard scale, marked off in inches. The
camera, supported above the print by a reversible tripod, the lens
parallel to the print to avoid any false perspectives, clicked
merrily away. Satisfied that the heelprint was now preserved for
posterity—photographically, at least—the Lab boys turned to the less
antiseptic task of making the cast.
But I think the key novelty here is that the book is not about a
single heroic investigator. Yes, Detective Steve Carella is the
principal character and the guy who figures things out, but he's not a
genius; other detectives get their share of time on the page, and even
have useful things to contribute. Without the "Lab boys" he wouldn't
have a starting point. It's quite a difference from the lone
detective, with or without the sanction of the law, who's a key part
of the cosy template.
At the same time this is a very grim book, going out of its way to
make sure nobody is a flawless hero. This isn't helped by 1950s
culture; as always when I read a book written noticeably before the
present day I try to compensate, but when the first murdered man's
widow (talking about bedtimes when he was working on a late shift) can
say:
"Well, you know, we discussed it. Mike preferred staying up, but I
have two children, and I'm beat when it hits ten o'clock. So he
usually compromised on those nights, and we both got to bed early—at
about nine, I suppose."
it's hard to remember that it really wasn't considered a father's job
to have much to do with the day-to-day raising of children. And then
Carella takes his girlfriend out for an exotic Chinese meal, of which
the crowning glory is… a whole pineapple.
Considered as a mystery, the story fails slightly in that you can't
hope to identify the criminal before the police do; there's no neat
set of suspects to be eliminated, because the pool of suspects is
everyone in the city, and the killer will have to be caught by more
direct means. On the other hand, the experienced mystery reader will
be able to work out broadly what is going on.
For a book clearly written to be easy to read and appeal to the mass
market, there's some remarkable subtlety here. Carella's girlfriend is
both deaf and unable to speak, and this is introduced so
sympathetically through his eyes that when someone else refers to her
(in valid contemporary parlance) as a "dummy" it's a shock. While
people can pretty much be divided into good and bad, that doesn't
entirely align with which side of the law they're on. The heat of a
city summer is almost a character in its own right. There's banter and
bureaucracy, gangs of teen-agers (sic) and a troublesome reporter from
back when people could still say with a straight face that newspapers
didn't lie.
I took a look at this book because a friend's running a game in a
setting loosely inspired by the series, and I'm impressed. I certainly
plan to read more. Followed by The Mugger.
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