I am really curious about how prevalent these tropes were when Rex Stout was writing this book.
I don't know much about the history of the trope either; I'd be curious to learn. But I do get the sense that it must have been familiar by this time, if only because of the way the story subverts it. Chapin is introduced with such high suspense, with the way the League members build him up by talking about him in such awestruck/horrified tones and so forth, not to mention the super drama of his first appearance. It seems like he's going to be Wolfe's Moriarty-figure, the Super-Genius-turned-to-Eeeeebil who can meet him on a higher plane.
But no! It turns out the firing pin is filed off his gun, he's never killed anyone at all, he keeps a furtive secret box of used underwear, and basically his image is way bigger than any bite he actually has. In the end, he's reduced to saying, you know, "BEWARE, for I'm going to WRITE YOU INTO MY NEXT BOOK AND PRETEND-KILL YOU AAAHAHAHAHAHA," which is...no Moriarty, that's for sure.
(Not that he becomes a figure of fun, though. Wolfe, at least, always treats him with the same even tenor--neither fearing nor pitying him.)
Of course, we need to recognize the significance of Wolfe leaving the house to appreciate the scene where Archie has been drugged and is devastated at the thought that Wolfe might be murdered.
Oh, that whole SEQUENCE. I swoon. ♥ ♥ ♥ Archie crying. The way the realization that his cherished leather case is missing makes him cry again. The very symbolism of the leather case, with the orchids on one side (done from a real Cattleya) and pistols on the other, with their initials inside, given to him for his birthday--and it sounds like it might actually have been Wolfe's first birthday present to him ("and I didn't even know he knew when my birthday was."). How much he admits to valuing it. The way that, even still totally doped-up and grieving, he can see significance in Scott's missing taxi-driver jacket. His powerful and irrational desire just to go home, to "see for myself that Wolfe wasn't there, look at things..."
And then when he recognizes Wolfe's voice on the phone: first stiffening up and nearly dropping the phone, and then "I let the phone down and pressed it against one of my ribs for a moment, not wanting to make a fool of myself." Oh, the barely-managed REPRESSION.
I also really appreciate the subtle revelations of the other side of that sequence. Because at first it seems like it might've been an embarrassing anti-climax, with Archie so worked up and Wolfe seemingly calm and safe. However, Wolfe actually takes pains to give Archie (and us) some glimpses of the fear and danger he went through on his end--his concern for whether Archie should be up, the way he quotes back the note, something more beneath the surface about that birthday gift:
"What persuaded me that some sort of action was called for was the presence in the envelope of the leather case you had seemed to like."
He paused for a glass of beer. I grunted, and thought I ought to say something, but all I could think of was, "Yeah, I liked it. And you've still got it."
He nodded, and resumed.
Wolfe of course keeps underplaying the story--for instance, claiming that the really distressing thing was Dora Chapin's driving--but that's how Archie (and we) know it was truly serious. He talks slightingly of her knife, claiming it wouldn't have been long enough to kill him, but of course his throat could be slashed as easily as anyone's. And he admits that she had undeniable power over him, knife or no knife: "...and of course she had in reserve my anxiety as to the peril of your situation." So neither the narrative, nor Wolfe himself, leave Archie out on his limb with regard to the worry and care each has for the other, and what it can bring them to.
no subject
I don't know much about the history of the trope either; I'd be curious to learn. But I do get the sense that it must have been familiar by this time, if only because of the way the story subverts it. Chapin is introduced with such high suspense, with the way the League members build him up by talking about him in such awestruck/horrified tones and so forth, not to mention the super drama of his first appearance. It seems like he's going to be Wolfe's Moriarty-figure, the Super-Genius-turned-to-Eeeeebil who can meet him on a higher plane.
But no! It turns out the firing pin is filed off his gun, he's never killed anyone at all, he keeps a furtive secret box of used underwear, and basically his image is way bigger than any bite he actually has. In the end, he's reduced to saying, you know, "BEWARE, for I'm going to WRITE YOU INTO MY NEXT BOOK AND PRETEND-KILL YOU AAAHAHAHAHAHA," which is...no Moriarty, that's for sure.
(Not that he becomes a figure of fun, though. Wolfe, at least, always treats him with the same even tenor--neither fearing nor pitying him.)
Of course, we need to recognize the significance of Wolfe leaving the house to appreciate the scene where Archie has been drugged and is devastated at the thought that Wolfe might be murdered.
Oh, that whole SEQUENCE. I swoon. ♥ ♥ ♥ Archie crying. The way the realization that his cherished leather case is missing makes him cry again. The very symbolism of the leather case, with the orchids on one side (done from a real Cattleya) and pistols on the other, with their initials inside, given to him for his birthday--and it sounds like it might actually have been Wolfe's first birthday present to him ("and I didn't even know he knew when my birthday was."). How much he admits to valuing it. The way that, even still totally doped-up and grieving, he can see significance in Scott's missing taxi-driver jacket. His powerful and irrational desire just to go home, to "see for myself that Wolfe wasn't there, look at things..."
And then when he recognizes Wolfe's voice on the phone: first stiffening up and nearly dropping the phone, and then "I let the phone down and pressed it against one of my ribs for a moment, not wanting to make a fool of myself." Oh, the barely-managed REPRESSION.
I also really appreciate the subtle revelations of the other side of that sequence. Because at first it seems like it might've been an embarrassing anti-climax, with Archie so worked up and Wolfe seemingly calm and safe. However, Wolfe actually takes pains to give Archie (and us) some glimpses of the fear and danger he went through on his end--his concern for whether Archie should be up, the way he quotes back the note, something more beneath the surface about that birthday gift:
Wolfe of course keeps underplaying the story--for instance, claiming that the really distressing thing was Dora Chapin's driving--but that's how Archie (and we) know it was truly serious. He talks slightingly of her knife, claiming it wouldn't have been long enough to kill him, but of course his throat could be slashed as easily as anyone's. And he admits that she had undeniable power over him, knife or no knife: "...and of course she had in reserve my anxiety as to the peril of your situation." So neither the narrative, nor Wolfe himself, leave Archie out on his limb with regard to the worry and care each has for the other, and what it can bring them to.
...more later! :D