"Monsieur Lecoq" by Emile Gaboriau: The history of detective fiction has its roots in the genius of Edgar Allan Poe, whose remarkable C. Auguste Dupin set the standard for all subsequent sleuths. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle lifted the genre to unprecedented heights of popularity with the legendary Sherlock Holmes. But in the 1860s, nearly halfway between the colossal creations of Poe and Doyle, there was Emile Gaboriau (1832-1873) and his own contribution to crime solving, the great Monsieur Lecoq.

A French journalist and aspiring novelist, M. Gaboriau's first literary success came in 1866 with the publication of "L'Affaire Lerouge," which introduced a young police officer named Lecoq in a supporting role but actually starred an amateur sleuth named Pere Tabaret, who would later mentor Lecoq. M. Gaboriau would place Lecoq at the center of three novels, "Le Crime d'Orcival" (1867), "Le Dossier no. 113" (1867), and "Monsieur Lecoq" (1868). While Poe's Dupin dominated three short stories, and detectives had appeared in other fiction, M. Gaboriau was the first to write full-length detective novels. His success blazed the trail for Doyle and all future mystery writers.

Despite being the last of the Lecoq novels, "Monsieur Lecoq" actually takes the reader back in time to the detective's early beginnings. Apparently M. Gaboriau gave Lecoq a few different histories, but this review will only concern itself with the version supplied in the text, which tells of Lecoq attending law school when he tragically loses both parents, not to mention the family's financial security. Suddenly left penniless and alone, Lecoq finds modest employment as an assistant to an astronomer. The menial tasks that fill his days do little to satisfy his impressive intellect, and his spare moments are soon spent devising illegal money-making schemes. One day, while feeling particularly proud of his fanciful feats of malfeasance, Lecoq boasts of his imagined plans to his employer. The plots are so devious, the young man is immediately discharged with the benefit of one month's pay and some words of advice. He's told to either become a great criminal or a great detective. He chooses the latter.

It's said M. Gaboriau based Lecoq on Fran‡ois Vidocq (1775-1857), who was a criminal before eventually becoming the first prefect of the Surete Nationale, the detective branch of the French police. Vidocq is considered the father of criminal investigation, pioneering the science of ballistics and numerous other advancements, from thorough record keeping to the preservation of footprints through the use of plaster. He also was the world's first private detective, founding his own agency, Le Bureau des Renseignments. In earlier accounts of Lecoq's history, the struggling youth follows through on his initial criminal aspirations, furthering his resemblance to Vidocq. In another interesting literary note, Vidocq was friends with Honore de Balzac, providing the inspiration for the memorable Vautrin in "Pere Goriot."

Lecoq's career with the Surete gets off to a dull start. He's beginning to wonder if he should have given crime a chance when he and his fellow detectives stumble into adventure while on a routine patrol of Paris' worst neighborhood. A woman's terrified screams first draw their attention, sending them racing to a nearby saloon. Two pistol shots are heard. The police barge through the front door to find a man brandishing a gun. He's standing in the doorway to another room, an upturned table in front of him serving as cover. Across the room lie three bodies, only one of which shows signs of life. On the stairs sits a hysterical old woman. The apparent murderer has a brief standoff with the police before dropping his gun and making a break for a rear exit. The enterprising young Lecoq was prepared for such an event, circling the building and tackling the perpetrator before he can make his escape. The man won't reveal his name or any other information beyond insisting he acted in self defense. The woman is the establishment's owner, and she supports the man's claims, although she is less than forthcoming with information. Before he succumbs, one of the men on the floor, dying of a severe blow to the back of his head, swears vengeance on someone named Lacheneur for leading him into such a trap.

Inspector Gevrol, the officer in charge, considers it to be a common bar room quarrel turned deadly. Lecoq isn't so certain. He believes there is more to the murders than meets the eye. Something the shooter said when he was taken into custody -- "Lost! It is the Prussians who are coming!" -- piques the young detective's curiosity. He asks permission to stay behind and investigate things further. The Inspector laughs at Lecoq's youthful initiative, but he needs someone to remain with the bodies until the coroner and magistrate can be summoned, so he grants his wish, providing Lecoq his first opportunity at being a real detective.

The highlight of the book is Lecoq's inspection of the crime scene. Leaving the bodies relatively untouched out of respect for the doctors who would arrive later, Lecoq occupies himself with the discovery of two sets of footprints leading from the rear exit of the bar. The amount of information uncovered about the people who left these tracks, including their age, sex, physical description, and even their very thought processes, is positively staggering.

And since every brilliant detective needs a sidekick, Lecoq is assisted in his pursuit by Father Absinthe, an older, somewhat slow officer whose nickname was earned at the bottom of a bottle. While the older man is only interested in catching some sleep in the Inspector's absence, Lecoq's uncanny deductions and unique reasoning soon wins him over and he becomes a devoted follower. Unlike Poe and Doyle who used their everyman surrogates to narrate their tales, M. Gaboriau employs the third person narrative, leaving Father Absinthe as a sidekick only.

"Monsieur Lecoq" is kind of a tricky book to rate. At first, I really wasn't all that impressed. I mean, the stuff with Lecoq at the crime scene is sensational, but the subsequent investigation, as Lecoq and the authorities attempt to unravel the true identity of the shooter and the motives for his crime, can get rather tedious. For all his supposed genius, Lecoq commits plenty of mistakes, repeatedly ignoring avenues of investigation that could easily lead to the mystery's solution. The result is a needlessly long and frustrating experience. In short, I was forced to agree with the opinion Sherlock Holmes expressed in "A Study in Scarlet," that Lecoq was a "miserable bungler." And there's no relief in the writing itself, as M. Gaboriau's prose, while solid, is more workmanlike than spectacular.

Yet, at the same time, there's no denying the historical significance of Lecoq. His analytical approach to crime, his being able to extrapolate the smallest of clues into the most significant evidence, and his use of disguise to infiltrate the ranks of criminals, are all found in the person of Sherlock Holmes. Actually, the more one reads Dupin and Lecoq, it's amazing Doyle was never convicted of theft. He stole everything.

So, as I was closing in on the end of the book and debating whether or not to give it two or three shots, along comes Pere Tabaret in Chapter 22 to save the day. Completely at his wit's end, Lecoq goes to visit his mentor in search of advice. Tabaret was a humble office clerk before he received an unexpected inheritance, allowing him to retire and undertake the hobby of detection. Known for constantly saying "That must be brought to light," he earned the moniker of Pere Tirauclair, or "Father Bring-to-Light." Since he isn't an official member of the Surete, and is only consulted on particularly complex cases, Tabaret is yet another clear influence on Sherlock Holmes.

When Lecoq conveys the details of the case to Tabaret, the elder detective commends his prot‚g‚ on his enthusiasm and dogged determination, but quickly points out all the errors he made along the way. Tabaret then makes short work of the mystery, revealing the shooter's identity and providing leads that could result in uncovering the motive behind the murders.

And that's where the book ends. Lecoq never brings the criminal to justice, nor is the crime itself ever fully explained. Needless to say, this is kind of unusual for a detective novel. It all makes more sense, though, when one realizes "Monsieur Lecoq" was the last book of the series and the characters had already been established in previous works. Because had this been a stand-alone novel, there would simply be no defense for having such an amazing character as Tabaret wasted until so late in the book, and then to have him appear out of nowhere to solve all problems. Tabaret's presence also confirms M. Gaboriau's skill as a mystery writer. Had the old detective not shown up to enumerate Lecoq's many mistakes, one would wonder if the author had any idea what he was doing in earlier chapters. As it is, M. Gaboriau intended all flaws, not to prolong the reader's frustration, but to illustrate the growth and development of a young detective. In that light, it's all rather impressive.

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