[I]t’s possible that you’ve inherited some psychic tradition. There are families, for instance, that hand down from generation to generation the clairvoyant tendency we know by the name of second sight.
This speculative diagnosis is made by Dr. Philip Fosdick in Louis Joseph Vance’s 1920 novel The Dark Mirror. Fosdick is almost a minor character, working in the background as the reader follows the strange story of his patient/client much more closely. Fosdick pops in now and again, and is granted “the big reveal” at the end, but the novel is not a step-by-step account of the investigation itself.
Nonetheless, the doctor fits my definition of an occult detective. He accepts the reality of clairvoyance and, specifically, teleæsthetia. The latter is perceiving things without the usual sense organs, such as seeing something going on miles and miles away. Think of having a television inside your head. Fosdick, a psychoanalyst, is a solid member of the doctor-detective tradition that includes such key occult detective figures as Drs. Taverner, Silence, Van Helsing, and Hesselius. He also uses fairly standard detective methods — including hiring a professional private detective to assist — in order to successfully solve the novel’s central mystery.
That mystery involves Priscilla Maine, the real focus of the book. She’s a painter living a double life through frighteningly real dreams. Vance does quite well at complicating things, having Maine’s waking life cross paths with her more dangerous yet very romantic dream life. He’s not afraid to kill off characters, preventing a conventional happy ending, too. At least at the beginning, one wonders if the artistic Priscilla might be having artistic delusions. All good stuff.
That said, there are some plot holes. For example, how did Inez just happen to know where Mario was living? Some parts of the final solution are very predictable and show up in similar novels from well into the previous century. And there’s Vance’s overwrought language. Here’s an example of the thick wordage a reader must slash with a machete: “And insidiously the tranquil surface of that contentment was flawed by apprehensions of nameless danger, of peril latent, stealthy and implacable; as though the swimmer surmised some monstrous shape of evil skulking unseen in those opaque deeps — or felt herself subtly ensnared by a current whose irresistible set was altogether toward destruction.” Remember, this is 1920. Granted, the spare prose of, say, Ernest Hemingway hadn’t quite arrived yet, but Vance’s countrymen Mark Twain, Frank Norris, and other writers had been battling against such florid narrative style for decades.
Despite those flaws, I enjoyed the novel. It’s hokey, and it’s melodramatic — but it’s also goofy fun. It’s always a pleasure to meet criminal characters named Charlie the Coke, Harry the Nut, and English Addie and to hear them talk the talk that Vance imagines New York street folks talk. Meanwhile, Priscilla, the uptown star of the show, is resourceful, daring, smart, and not at all a lackluster damsel in distress. There are narrow escapes aplenty, and poor Priscilla is usually the one escaping.
In fact, The Dark Mirror feels much like a Perils of Pauline-style silent-movie thriller, and it was quickly adapted to exactly that medium. (I wonder if Vance had this in mind when he was writing it.) The film still exists according to this and this source, but I haven’t found an online or a DVD copy of it. In the end, The Dark Mirror is far from top-notch occult detective fiction, but it would be interesting to see what the early movies did with this cross-genre.