This late-1930s Perry Mason novel is a tangle - too many characters, too little clarity. Gardner, usually so deft, lets them blur like faces in a crowd. Yes, he’s comfortable with his recurring cast by book eleven, but comfort isn’t the same as brilliance.
One bright spark: Mason proposes to Della Street. She
declines, and sensibly. Marriage would exile her from the quicksilver world she
loves - no more midnight conferences, no more conspiratorial glances over
evidence. Her argument is crisp and convincing, and Gardner gives her the
dignity of logic rather than sentiment.
The story begins with a flourish of oddity: a beautiful young woman arrives at Mason’s office carrying a canary in a cage. She wants him to handle her sister’s divorce. The husband is a scoundrel - embezzler, bully, and would-be killer. The canary? A precaution. She fears he might harm it. Mason, who disdains divorce work, refuses - until he notices the bird’s sore foot. That tiny detail hooks him, and us.
From there, Gardner scatters his charms. The minor characters gleam - Emil Scanlon, the coroner, is sketched in a paragraph so perfect it could hang in a gallery. Rita’s speech on choices and regrets, delivered while murder charges loom, strikes like a tuning fork. And Mason coaching Rosalind on what to say about divorce? Pure Gardner - taut, sly, and irresistible.
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