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INTRODUCTION
Mystery fiction encompasses a broad spectrum of sub-genres, although it is common for casual aficionados to focus on the detective story as the only “true” mystery. As I have often defined it, and, quite naturally, I regard it as a good and fair definition, a mystery is any work of prose fiction in which a crime or the threat of a crime is central to the theme or plot.
On a football field, the pure detective story may go from the end zone to the twenty-five yard line. The crime story, in which the central figure is a criminal of some kind, whether rogue or villain (and I’ll get to that shortly), may move the ball another twenty yards. The novel of suspense, which includes women or children in jeopardy, the everyday gone wrong, as well as tales of psychological unease and irrational behavior, whether of sociopathy or fear, will produce a long gain well past midfield, and espionage/international intrigue, will cross the goal-line. The killing of a large number of people is, of course, part of the same horrific game as the killing of an individual.
There are numerous sub-sub genres (historical mysteries, police procedurals, comedies, etc.) but they fall within the prime sub-genres, many of which also overlap: all forms may (one might say should) create suspense, spies may work as detectives to catch moles, psychopaths tend to be criminals, and their actions may well create suspense and a detective is probably hunting them, so the lines blur.
The preponderance of anthologies published in the nearly century-and-a-quarter since the first legitimate mystery anthology, the anonymously edited The Long Arm and Other Detective Tales was released in 1895, have featured detectives as the central characters. This collection has reversed that common practice to focus on criminals. The title, The Big Book of Rogues and Villains, very specifically divides the protagonists into two groups, mostly quite different from each other, although those lines also blur from time to time.
Roguery must be distinguished from villainy. The latter is the creature of evil and malice, if not of outright pathology. It is bad behavior carried to an unpleasant extreme—generally murder. The former tends not to be vicious, prefers no serious physical injury to others, and defines itself as rascality soaked in humor or explained as the result of an unfortunate social environment. Again, the lines may blur from time to time, as a rogue may cause severe hardship or fear in others, while the villain may have a tender heart for a dog or a child, even if he has murdered someone.
While we may normally be easily able to perceive the distinction between roguery and villainy, the contrast may hinge less upon the venality or atrocity of the deed perpetrated than upon the character’s and the author’s point of view.
The typical crime of the rogue is theft, whether by burglary, swindling, forgery, blackmail, or other physically non-violent transgressions. If his escapades lead to serious physical violence, that action will generally end his career as a rascal and places him into the category of villain. Most rogues prefer to win by guile or dexterity that which others have earned by labor or inherited. He may create a phony business with worthless stock, forge a will or a check, cheat at cards, scheme for marriage to an heiress, crack a safe in the dark of night, or replace a genuine Old Master with a fake. History and literature have shown there is no end to the nefarious schemes of which the amoral mind is incapable of devising.
The typical crime of the villain is murder, for which there is seldom an acceptable excuse. Although one of the protagonists in this book excuses his action by saying, “He needed killing,” not everyone would agree. Still, there are myriad reasons that not only excuse killing but applaud it. Not all killing, it may be said, is murder. Self-defense is the easiest to justify, and there are two sides vehemently opposed to other examples of taking a human life. The most frequently posited is: “Given the chance to go back in time, would you kill (pick your real villain—Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Idi Amin—it’s a long list) given the opportunity?” And would it make you a villain if you did?
I’m in danger of asking next how many angels could dance around the head of a pin, while this large gathering of fictional rogues and villains is designed merely to give pleasure. It’s a giant shelf-filler of what was once known as escapist fiction before the term fell into disfavor. Is any fiction not escapist?
It is thoughtfully but impossibly divided into sections, though as I compiled the Table of Contents I realized that there are many stories that easily could fall into more than one category, so please don’t take the divisions too seriously.
The heyday of the gentleman thief was the end of the Victorian era and the Edwardian era, and many of the stories have a similarity that’s hard to avoid with a book of this kind. The crooks often have good standing in the community and they dress well. It’s a game to them, even if a dangerous one, and they carry off their roles with insouciance and verve. Many of them are brilliant and have nerves of steel. They are seemingly infallible, rarely getting caught but, if they do, they always find a way out through their wit, a bogus alibi, or a flummoxed witness.
As a grammatical aside, I’ve been using the pronoun “he” because “they” is just flat-out wrong and “he or she” is cumbersome, so no offense to anybody. But women have their roles here, too, and you will undoubtedly find them as charming as their “gangs” do. You will find Fidelity Dove and Four Square Jane very similar, but there was never a thought of omitting either. Almost all the female rogues (and villains) are young and beautiful—all the better to fool their victims as well as the police.
Other similarities of style and performance occur in the stories about the morally-challenged lawyers Randolph Mason and Ehrengraf, the adventures of hit men Quarry and Keller, the modus operandi of con men Wallingford and Colonel Clay, the conscienceless actions of “Yellow Peril” monsters Quong Lung and Fu Manchu, and the rogues of Erle Stanley Gardner. Then again, there are not many differences between the methods of such iconic detectives as Philip Marlowe, Sam Spade, and Lew Archer. What matters is how creatively and beautifully the authors tell the stories.
The genre has its rules and restrictions, just as symphonies and sonnets have theirs. One raspberry has its similarities to another, but the point is not to seek a major variation, merely to enjoy it. I hope you enjoy these stories and their variations.
And remember: Crime may pay in fiction but it’s not a good choice in real life. Sherlock Holmes is still alive and will catch you!
—Otto Penzler
