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.

This, of course, is necessary, because, after all, Nero Wolfe is the very definition of a man who relies on his head to fathom crime. He doesn’t venture out of doors. He resists the intrusions of modern life with a steadfastness that, in this day and age of fax machines, cellular telephones, and 112-station cable television sets, is admirable. He prefers his plants and his gourmet meals. No world-weary street-smarts for Wolfe. He employs people to develop those attributes. No, Wolfe exists solely for the chase, which takes place on a uniquely psychological landscape. He listens (a lost ability in these times). He assesses. He deduces. He intuits. He investigates with a draughtsman’s precision and a psychiatrist’s intellectual scalpel.