“Almost any man may be a murderer, but only a certain type of man can injure a dog the way Scottie was injured here the other night.” — Philo Vance: The Kennel Murder Case

Literate, incredibly intelligent, insufferably smug and deeply flawed, Philo Vance has endured more in part to the portrayal of him on film by William Powell (initially) than due to the books by Van Dyne. One has to wonder, with all that we know about culturally influential art critic Willard Huntington Wright in our day, whether Philo Vance was not the softened version of the writer himself; or perhaps the reflection Wright saw when he passed by a mirror.

Disgraced and abandoned by a few old friends for his Prussian sympathies during the first World War, and trying to recover from an addiction to cocaine, he began devouring mysteries; mostly as a lark, since such low-brow literature was beneath him. He finally approached the famous Maxwell Perkins about writing a detective series with a character very similar to himself. Because the highbrow Wright could not bear the thought of the friends he had left discovering he had sold out his intellectual ideals by dipping into the waters of detective fiction for the uneducated unenlightened masses, he initially used the pseudonym S.S. Van Dyne.

His meticulously plotted and literate detective fiction was firmly steeped in the Jazz Age, and immediately became so popular that Wright was soon unmasked as the author. While at the zenith of his fame and wealth brought to him by his creation, Philo Vance, he even wrote a self-deprecating article, “I Used to be a Highbrow and Look at Me Now.” Hardboiled detectives like Race Williams and Sam Spade eventually got a foothold on the reading public, however, and suddenly they wanted grit and guts and gats, not a sophisticated detective who could drone on about art, dogs, languages, and arcane history while solving the most elaborate and intricately conceived murder cases.

One of the better Philo Vance novels, such as the fun Kennel Murder Case, feels nostalgic when read today, while one of the more insufferable (but still fun) entries, such as The Scarab Murder Case, feels genuinely dated. For this reason Van Dyne’s Philo Vance novels have largely become viewed as somewhat archaic, difficult to read, and of historical interest only to document the evolution of the mystery and detective novel form. The person who has changed that, posthumously, is actor William Powell. When film buffs rediscovered the films where he portrayed the erudite detective the renaissance of S.S. Van Dyne began. It didn’t hurt that the best of the films, The Kennel Murder Case, filmed shortly before Powell began playing Hammett’s Nick Charles in all those wonderful Thin Man films, had fallen into Public Domain, making it easily accessible to — ironically for Wright — the masses. It also didn’t hurt that Michael Curtiz, the director of Casablanca, filmed it, turning it into a classic in the locked-room variety of drawing room mystery.

The book The Kennel Murder Case is based on, is a fun and nostalgic read with much to recommend it. It outshines The Scarab Murder Case, which, while having a fun setting in a private museum, some exciting moments, facts about Egypt, and a good puzzle, is a bit too talky. In The Scarab Murder Case, Vance comes off too insufferable at times. The solution to the mystery, while inventive, is also a bit far-fetched and maddening, considering actions taken early on by Vance that I can’t get into without spoiling everything for the reader. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still fun, but don’t judge the series by it. Instead, let’s consider how much fun The Kennel Murder Case is for the reader.

With the image of William Powell in the mind of the reader, the urbane and sophisticated Vance holds a certain charm that isn’t quite pulled off as well in Scarab. In conjunction with a story where the snobbery is softened, and less grating, The Kennel Murder Case becomes quite a fun read. In fact, solving the murder of Archer Coe, found dead in a room locked from the inside, with no other access but the door, is a blast for mystery lovers. The reader is virtually stepping into a time machine, traveling back to an era when Manhattan was glamorous rather than gauche, and when solving mysteries was a fun hobby for gentleman of means and imagination. This was a time in both books and film when sleuths led police around in circles as they picked up on one arcane or seemingly insignificant clue after another until they had figured it out — long before the cops. No one exemplified that style of mystery better than Van Dyne’s erudite creation, Philo Vance. It’s all an intellectual game, you see, even though it’s murder — a very serious business.

Coe’s shoes and a fountain pen lead Vance to believe he was murdered. Hilda Lake is one of the suspects, but so is the entire household. Then another murder occurs. A vase of no value is conspicuously placed among finer pieces, and there’s blood on it. A dagger is found, and a dog was attacked on the night in question. While Vance is helping District Attorney Markham with the case, we’re privy to Vance’s knowledge in regard to the proper breeding of the Scottish terrier. He does so in such a snobbish manner, it’ll make your eyes roll, yet there’s humor also, and more charm than in Scarab. You’ll hear some highfalutin jargon in both dialog and narrative on occasion in both books, yet it’s softened just enough in The Kennel Murder Case to give that one more nostalgic charm when read today.

The ending to The Kennel Murder Case is a good one, and it reads faster than you’d think with all the talk and the puzzling over this clue and that one. For a belligerent highbrow, Wright could, well, write. Terrific stuff in its own way, if you’re in the mood for something of this nature in the mystery genre. There’s a very late 1920s, early '30s feel of men-about-town in Manhattan to both these stories. Philo Vance was a frighteningly smart, dapper and erudite detective who enjoyed the challenge. Three and a half stars for The Scarab Murder Case, but Five for The Kennel Murder Case. Great old-fashioned stuff for when you’re in the mood. ( )