Martin Edwards's Blog, page 116

Forgotten Book - Here Comes a Candle

I've written before about my enthusiasm for the American post-war crime writer Fredric Brown, and I'm surprised his work in the crime field isn't better known - certainly in the UK, and perhaps even in his home country. He was a successful science fiction writer, and this may account for a tendency to under-estimate his mysteries, but they are intriguing and sometimes innovative.

A prime example is Here Comes a Candle. This is a book I'd been searching for over the years, with no success, until I came across a cheapish paperback edition while attending Bouchercon in Florida. It's described on the back cover as "Fredric Brown's BIG novel", and this is a reference to its ambition rather than its size - like all his books, it's not especially lengthy.

The story is interesting in itself.  We know that young, handsome Joe Bailey is destined to kill someone, and Brown cleverly ensures that we have empathy for Joe despite the fact that he's got himself mixed up with a gangster called Mitch who is grooming him to become a partner in crime. And we also know that something serious happened in Joe's youth. But at first the details aren't clear.

Brown offers an in-depth psychological portrait, and cunningly intersperses a straightforward narrative with a number of sections which take a variety of forms - a radio programme, a stage play, a sportscast, and so on. Yes, this is a gimmick, but he uses it to cast light on the events that took Joe down a path that seems likely to end in his doom. I found it highly readable, and the ironic finale is extremely poignant. Definitely worth a read - if you can find a copy!

Iceland Noir

I've returned from my first ever trip to Iceland. It's a country I've wanted to visit for years, but I never seemed to get round to it. Then a few months ago, I was invited to take part in the local crime festival, Iceland Noir, and the temptation proved irresistible. All the more so because I was asked to take part on a panel about Golden Age detective fiction moderated by the Prime Minister of Iceland, Katrin Jakobsdottir - see above: it was once in a lifetime opportunity!




My first glimpse of the country wasn't entirely encouraging, mind you. The drab weather was warmer and wetter than I'd anticipated - it seemed all too Mancunian, really. But I soon found my way around, and the weather gradually improved. The festival was held at Idno, which combines a theatre space with a nice cafe, just across the way from the City Hall, which like Idno is on the edge of the "pond", or "lake", a pleasing stretch of water right in the city centre.





Katrin Jakobsdottir proved to be charming and extremely knowledgeable about Golden Age fiction. She was an excellent moderator, and the panel was great fun. Also taking part was that terrific young writer Ragnar Jonasson, and Katrin's brother Armann Jakobsson, a prominent academic who is also a great fan of the genre's classics. Both Armann and Katrin had read The Golden Age of Murder, and had nice things to say about it, which of course I found hugely gratifying. I also reflected that the occasion was something else that I never dreamed might happen while I was labouring over the book...





I was also glad to be invited to take part in a very convivial dinner meeting with members of the AIEP/IACW international group of crime writers, and discuss future plans for the organisation. More about this in due course; meanwhile, thanks to Nina George for the photos. Then it was back to sight-seeing, and a "Golden Circle" tour, taking in a volcanic crater, shifting tectonic plates, the original geyser, a horse show, a tomato-focused meal in a greenhouse, and a close-up of a spectacular waterfall. It was a fantastic trip. That just left half a day to go to the top of the Lutheran church tower and survey Reykjavik, and then look round a fascinating exhibition of the island's archaeology. A great place, Iceland, and I'm so glad that I went there.

Lesley Horton R.I.P.

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I recently received a phone call from one of my predecessors as CWA Chair, Danuta Kot (also known as Danuta Reah). She gave me the sad news that another former CWA Chair, Lesley Horton, had just died, and today I'd like to pay a short tribute to Lesley by way of personal reminiscence.

I first met Lesley about sixteen years ago, shortly after publication of her first novel, Snares of Guilt. Lesley was a Yorkshirewoman, and she and her husband became regular attendees at CWA northern chapter lunches. In those days, when there were fewer literary festivals in the calendar, the northern chapter members, led by Peter Walker and Reginald Hill,  used to organise week-end breaks, which were highly convivial. Lesley and I had a number of chats at those get-togethers. I enjoyed her company, and on looking at her website when preparing this post, I was touched to see that it still links to my website, as well as that of our mutual friend, another Yorkshire writer, the late Stuart Pawson.

Lesley had been a schoolteacher for many years before becoming a full-time crime novelist, and she joined the CWA Committee, organising an annual conference at Ilkley, one of the highlights of which was a guided tour of Bronte Parsonage arranged by Robert Barnard.It was a terrific weekend.

My final memory of Lesley dates back to her time as Chair of the CWA in 2008. At an unforgettable dinner, she awarded me the CWA Short Story Dagger for "The Bookbinder's Apprentice". At that stage, I was still a full-time partner in a law firm, and I'd never won any literary award at all, although I'd made several shortlists. It was a fantastic moment. There's a wonderful account of that evening by Ali Karim on The Rap Sheet.



I certainly never imagined that night that Lesley's literary career had already come to an end. She'd published five novels, the last of them appearing in 2007, but for whatever reason, she dropped out of the crime writing world following her spell as CWA Chair. In recent times, she suffered a stroke, and lost touch with many of her author friends. But we'll miss her, and remember the good times in her company with affection. 

Forgotten Book - Vanish in an Instant

I've mentioned several times my admiration for the crime writing of Margaret Millar. She was, in my opinion, one of the best crime writers of the second half of the last century, and it's a shame that her reputation has faded somewhat, although that - sadly - is a fate common to many fine writers, as well as some who aren't quite so good. Happily, Pushkin Vertigo are reintroducing her work to readers of today, and when they asked me for a blurb, I was happy to oblige.

The book they sent to me for comment was Vanish in an Instant. It first appeared in 1952, at a time when she was moving away from her earlier, rather humorous stories, to crime novels which probed the well-springs of violence with subtlety and insight. The story starts at a point where Virginia Barkeley has been accused of murdering her lover, an unpleasant fellow called Margolis. Her mother brings in a young lawyer called Meecham, and he soon finds someone else confessing to the crime.

But Meecham isn't satisfied. The man who claims to have killed Margolis is seriously ill, and Meecham suspects he has an ulterior motive of some kind for making his confession. He begins to dig into the case, and starts to unravel a tangled web of multiple deceptions. As is often the case with Millar, there's a confusion about identity which plays a key part in the plot. It's a device I like, and she handles it very capably, time and again.

Meecham is in some ways a forerunner of her later protagonist, Tom Aragon. A cussed but likeable amateur sleuth, as he investigates, he also finds love. This isn't Millar at her absolute peak, but she was on her way up the ladder as she was writing this book, and there are plenty of good lines, as well as a plot pleasing enough to satisfy fans of the traditional mystery. Well worth reading. I'm glad Pushkin Vertigo have brought it back to the shelves.

Here, there, and everywhere

I'm back at home briefly in between various crime-writing trips. A few days in London proved highly enjoyable, and the first event on my list was a talk to the Oxford University Society in a rather special and memorable location. This was the highly atmospheric French Protestant Church in Soho Square. There was an excellent turn-out, and led to a couple of remarkable encounters which were a real bonus. One lady in the audience had actually attended the very same village fete in Great Budworth, Cheshire, which I discuss in the introduction to The Golden Age of Murder, the occasion which first introduced me to Agatha Christie and detective fiction. And I also met another lady whom I last talked to back at Oxford more years ago than either of us would care to remember. Amazing.

The next evening, there was a Detection Club dinner - and my very first time at the Ritz Hotel. It all went swimmingly, and having hosted two posh dinners in the space of a fortnight, I felt hugely relieved that everyone seemed happy and there were no hitches. Phew!

After that, it was time for a visit to Woking Library. As I explained to the audience, one particular place nearby will feature in my next novel...The event was part of a festival run by Surrey Libraries, and as so often I was impressed by the enthusiasm and efficiency of the staff. It was also particularly good to see Fiona, a loyal supporter of my books, though I wasn't able to give her a definite date for the appearance of the next Lake District Mystery!

A trip to the War Museum gave the chance to see the very striking cascade of poppies, a reminder of the different but very impressive display at the Tower of London a couple of years back. And when I left London, I hared back up north in order to catch the last hour and a half of the annual detective fiction book fair in Harrogate. I did wonder whether it would be worth it, but I was delighted to find some excellent books. One in particular was a quite irresistible gem, and I'll talk about it on another occasion.

Forgotten Book - The Shop Window Murders

Vernon Loder had been out of print for many years before Collins' Detective Story Club reissued The Mystery at Stowe, an engaging novel with an introduction by Nigel Moss, whose knowledge of Golden Age fiction is exceptional. I rather liked that book, and was pleased to see that Loder's 1930 novel The Shop Window Murders has been reprinted in the same series, again with a valuable introduction by Nigel.

The opening of the book is striking and memorable. Mander's Department Store (loosely based on Selfridge's) in the west end of London is renowned for its elaborate window displays. So much so that each Monday morning, crowds gather to watch the blinds being raised to reveal the latest display. Unfortunately, on this occasion, they see a human corpse nestling among the wax mannequins. To make matters worse, a second body is quickly discovered.

All this is enough to put a damper on any retail activity, and the store is closed while the investigation is conducted. Enter Devenish of the Yard, a shrewd and likeable fellow (I'm a little surprised that the prolific Loder did not turn him into a series character). As Nigel Moss says, Devenish is in the mould of Crofts' Inspector French, while one of the killings prefigures a crime in a later novel by two leading authors, published not long after Loder's death at the early age of 57.  Loder's real name, incidentally, was John George Hazlette Vahey, who wrote under other pen-names (including Henrietta Clandon - this was an unusual example of a male Golden Age author using a female pseudonym).

Nigel Moss points out the similarity between the opening situation of this book, and that in The French Powder Mystery, an Ellery Queen novel published in the very same year. A remarkable coincidence, as he says, and it may be one more example of the way certain story ideas seem to be "in the ether" at a particular time. I've been looking forward to having the chance to read this book since I read a laudatory review on John Norris' excellent blog four years ago. I'm not quite as much a fan of the story as are John and Nigel, because I found the solution frustratingly dependent on guesswork. The early chapters seem to me to be the best. But I'm delighted that this hitherto obscure novel is now readily available. 

See No Evil aka Blind Terror - 1971 film review

See No Evil is an unsettling film with a good cast led by Mia Farrow, who plays a young woman blinded in a riding accident. Like Audrey Hepburn in Wait Until Dark, she finds herself menaced by a bad person, and all in all, she has an absolutely rotten time. I have mixed feelings about the film, but at least it avoids the hoary plot twist in which all the lights go out and the blind person being victimised is at last put an even footing with the person menacing him or her.

The script was written by Brian Clemens, a very fine television writer (he was responsible for some of the best scripts for The Avengers, among much else) but not as successful with the movies. The story is full of tension, with a few genuinely terrifying scenes, but I felt that the need to focus on suspense meant that short cuts were taken with the characterisation. Only Farrow's character, Sarah, is presented in any depth, and even aspects of her life and personality remain enigmatic.

Having left hospital, Sarah returns home, or rather to the posh home of her uncle (the always watchable Robin Bailey), aunt, and cousin (Diane Grayson, whose career in acting seems not to have gone much further after this film), and tries to adapt to life without sight. The part of her boyfriend Steve, who still cares for her, is played by Norman Eshley, a good actor who was once a fixture on our television screens. Apparently Eshley suffered terrible injuries in a car crash in France in the 90s, but he continues to work, and can be seen on Youtube endorsing Talking Pictures TV, on which I found this film. The cast also includes Michael Elphick and Paul Nicholas.

We know from the start that a mysterious man, whose face is not revealed, seems to be stalking Sarah's uncle, and in due course murder is committed. The tension rises as we wonder how on earth the endlessly suffering Sarah can possibly survive, but the genuine suspense does not quite compensate for the plot holes (what on earth happened to the police when the alarm was raised?), or for the lack of interest in the villain's motivation. Farrow's performance is convincing, although the soundtrack, by the usually effective Elmer Bernstein, is at times obtrusive - John Barry would have done a much better job with material of this kind. Anyway, despite my reservations about the film, I kept watching and the scary bits were truly scary. 

The Christmas Card Crime

So much has been going on lately that I've not even blogged  until  now about my latest anthology in the British Library Crime Classics series. It's a seasonal compilation, The Christmas Card Crime and other stories, and it's my third anthology of this type, following Silent Nights and Crimson Snow. In all, I've edited eleven collections of short stories for the BL, and there's another to come in the first part of 2018, Deep Waters.

With this book, I wanted to concentrate on less familiar winter and Christmas stories. The three which I think dedicated crime fans are most likely to have encountered are those by Baroness Orczy, John Dickson Carr, and Cyril Hare, but there are some pretty rare tales, including the title story, written by Donald Stuart. Stuart was one of several pen-names written by the author best known as Gerald Verner, and whose real name was J.R.S. Pringle.

There's a relatively unfamiliar story by Ronald Knox, and also one by Francis Durbridge. John Bude and John Bingham, two very capable novelists who seldom wrote short stories, are also represented, while other contributors include E.C.R. Lorac and Julian Symons, both of whom are, like Bude, the authors of a number of novels in the Crime Classics series.

Apparently, this book shot into the independent bookseller bestseller lists, and last time I looked, it was also riding high in the Amazon crime anthology bestseller charts. Last week, the kindle version and the paperback featured at number one and number two respectively. Whatever one thinks of bestseller charts, that can't be bad.

So, here's hoping that this book will (along with Gallows Court, obviously....) help to solve your Christmas present buying dilemmas! And I'd also like to recommend another British Library title which is sure to be a highly popular stocking filler. This is Kate Jackson's The Pocket Detective, a compilation of puzzles for fans of the Crime Classics series. I'm working my way through it right now, and having a great deal of fun.

Forgotten Book - And Death Came Too

Richard Hull is known to crime fans as a follower in the footsteps of Francis Iles, an exponent of the ironic mystery in stories such as The Murder of My Aunt and Excellent Intentions, both of which have appeared in the British Library's Crime Classics series this year. So it is interesting to turn to And Death Came Too, one of his most obscure titles, first published in 1942. It's as close as he came to writing a conventional whodunit.

The main setting is the Welsh county of Treve, and many of the key moments take place in a house called Y Bryn. Although I'm not absolutely certain, I strongly suspect that here Hull was re-using the locale of The Murder of My Aunt, and in particular fictionalising his family home of Dysserth. Four young people are invited by a man called Arthur Yeldham to Y Bryn, but when they turn up, Yeldham is nowhere to be seen. Instead they encounter a sardonic fellow called Salter and a rather strange woman, who says very little. And then it turns out that Yeldham is in the house, after all. He has been stabbed to death.

The local police get involved, and they are rather nicely characterised, in particular the Chief Constable and a slow-moving but rather appealing cop called Scoresby. Hull shifts from one viewpoint to another as it emerges that Yeldham was a school teacher, and that quite a number of people had reason to wish him dead.

It's a rather meandering story, but although it's not one of those cunningly structured novels of psychological suspense in which Hull specialised, it is quite entertaining. Hull had a leisurely writing style, and as a result, the tension doesn't mount quite as much as one might hope; I have to say that I had a good idea of the culprit's identity early on, though the motive remained obscure for some time. A second murder occurs, and there is a classic gathering of the suspects before all is revealed. This is a novel with some good moments and several amusing lines, even if it doesn't rank with Hull's best work.

Birkenhead and Highgate

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Libraries have played a big part in my life, and after last week's happy news, about the Dagger in the Library, I've been reflecting on some of the wonderful times I've had in libraries large and small, and in all sorts of places.

A private tour of the Library of Congress, the chance to see the original Winnie-the-Pooh in New York City Library, a look round Coimbra's university library, with its famous colony of bats, kept to deal with book-eating pests. Book launches, and hosting Alibis in the Archives at Gladstone's Library. Designing a murder mystery for customers at a pop-up shop in the British Library. And the list of memories goes on.

Britain's public libraries, above all, have been important to me since I started borrowing Enid Blytons from the children's section of the local library in the Cheshire town where I grew up (and what a joy it was to return there a couple of years ago to give a talk about my own books). I seize any chance I can get to do library events, and since I ceased to be a full-time partner in a law firm, I've been able to grab more of those chances.

Two splendid opportunities actually came my way last week, on the evenings immediately before the award of the Dagger in the Library. First came another trip down memory lane, to Birkenhead Central Library, to give a talk about the making of Gallows Court. When I lived on Wirral, I was a member of Moreton Library, near to my flat, but also of Birkenhead, because it had a vast stock, including quite a lot of books that were otherwise hard to find. It was great to go back there, and also to meet up with a few old friends.

Then came something rather different, a talk at an independent library, the very historic Highgate Literary and Scientific Institute. Like Gladstone's Library and the Lit and Phil in Newcastle, among others, it's a very atmospheric place. They have a long-standing tradition of weekly lectures, and this time I was talking about the Golden Age of detective fiction. Again, it was so enjoyable.

And that's not all. Surrey Libraries are currently running a literary festival, and a week on Friday I'm talking at Woking Library. Very much looking forward to it.