Martin Edwards's Blog, page 122
July 5, 2018
Forgotten Book - Game for Three Losers
Edgar Lustgarten was once a familiar face on British TV screens. A barrister from Manchester, he became a successful broadcaster, specialising in programmes about crime. The Scotland Yard TV series that he fronted (and which was very good) has recently been resurrected on the Talking Pictures channel, and this has reignited my interest in a writer who wrote occasional novels as well as numerous true crime books. His first novel, A Case to Answer, was especially well-regarded, not least by Julian Symons.
Game for Three Losers was first published in 1952; later, it was adapted for TV as part of the Edgar Wallace Mysteries series which has again resurfaced thanks to Talking Pictures. The novel is written in Lustgarten's rather distinctive style, with rather more "tell" than "show"; today, this isn't a fashionable method, but he handles it pretty well.
Robert Hilary is a rising star in the political world, a Conservative MP in his late forties. When his trusty secretary leaves work to have a baby, her replacement is a stunningly beautiful young woman and Hilary finds her irresistible. He soon finds himself in a compromising position, and open to blackmail by the woman's rascally lover, who poses as her outraged brother.
I rather expected Hilary to decide that the only solution to his dilemma was murder, but Lustgarten's main focus is on charting the consequences of crime. This is a book roughly in the Francis Iles tradition that focuses on the way the legal system operates - not very justly, in some cases. The story is downbeat in mood, but Lustgarten's crisp writing kept me interested from start to finish.
Game for Three Losers was first published in 1952; later, it was adapted for TV as part of the Edgar Wallace Mysteries series which has again resurfaced thanks to Talking Pictures. The novel is written in Lustgarten's rather distinctive style, with rather more "tell" than "show"; today, this isn't a fashionable method, but he handles it pretty well.
Robert Hilary is a rising star in the political world, a Conservative MP in his late forties. When his trusty secretary leaves work to have a baby, her replacement is a stunningly beautiful young woman and Hilary finds her irresistible. He soon finds himself in a compromising position, and open to blackmail by the woman's rascally lover, who poses as her outraged brother.
I rather expected Hilary to decide that the only solution to his dilemma was murder, but Lustgarten's main focus is on charting the consequences of crime. This is a book roughly in the Francis Iles tradition that focuses on the way the legal system operates - not very justly, in some cases. The story is downbeat in mood, but Lustgarten's crisp writing kept me interested from start to finish.
July 4, 2018
Night Was Our Friend - 1951 film review
Night Was Our Friend is a rather good British B-movie which dates from 1951. The script was based on a play, though the film isn't as irritatingly stagey as so many movies based on plays tend to be. And despite the fact that most of the story is told via an extended flashback, that isn't as unsatisfactory as is so often the case. Both play and screenplay were written by Michael Pertwee, brother of Jon and uncle of Sean, and he did a good job.
The story begins with a young woman on trial for murder. The case is a sensation, and when we see the jury debating their verdict, it's clear that the outcome is far from straightforward. In the end, however, the result is decided - and the woman is acquitted. She is then immediately confronted by the unhappy mother of her dead husband, who clearly believes her to be guilty. And then the man she really loves proposes to her, only for her to tell him that she did, in fact, murder her husband.
This is where the flashback begins. Sally (Elizabeth Sellars) is in love with Dr Harper (Ronald Howard) when unexpected news arrives. Her husband Martin (Michael Gough), who two years ago went missing presumed dead after a plane crash in South America has turned up alive! The couple are clearly not thrilled, and it's apparent that Martin was a difficult man to live with. But they do the decent thing, and Sally welcomes Martin back with open arms.
Alas, all is not well with Martin. His two years in the jungle didn't agree with him, and he's mentally disturbed, but refuses to undergo any treatment. He develops a habit of going on nocturnal prowls, and when he's involved in a serious incident, matters come to a head....
This is a well-made film, unpretentious and watchable to this day. Gough, as you'd expect, does a very good job in an unsavoury role. I enjoyed it.
The story begins with a young woman on trial for murder. The case is a sensation, and when we see the jury debating their verdict, it's clear that the outcome is far from straightforward. In the end, however, the result is decided - and the woman is acquitted. She is then immediately confronted by the unhappy mother of her dead husband, who clearly believes her to be guilty. And then the man she really loves proposes to her, only for her to tell him that she did, in fact, murder her husband.
This is where the flashback begins. Sally (Elizabeth Sellars) is in love with Dr Harper (Ronald Howard) when unexpected news arrives. Her husband Martin (Michael Gough), who two years ago went missing presumed dead after a plane crash in South America has turned up alive! The couple are clearly not thrilled, and it's apparent that Martin was a difficult man to live with. But they do the decent thing, and Sally welcomes Martin back with open arms.
Alas, all is not well with Martin. His two years in the jungle didn't agree with him, and he's mentally disturbed, but refuses to undergo any treatment. He develops a habit of going on nocturnal prowls, and when he's involved in a serious incident, matters come to a head....
This is a well-made film, unpretentious and watchable to this day. Gough, as you'd expect, does a very good job in an unsavoury role. I enjoyed it.
July 2, 2018
The Dark Man - 1951 film review
The Dark Man is an enjoyable, lightweight British thriller written and directed by Jeffrey Dell, whose first crime screenplay was an adaptation of C.S. Forester's classic chiller, Payment Deferred, in which Charles Laughton starred. The producer was Julian Wintle, famed for his work on The Avengers in the Sixties. This movie has a good cast, with the likes of Barbara Murray, William Hartnell, and the ubiquitous Sam Kydd in minor roles. The mysterious villain who gives the film its title is Maxwell Reed, who was apparently the first husband of Joan Collins.
Reed's character takes a taxi to a lonely house where he seeks to rob a petty criminal. When the criminal retaliates, he is murdered. And then the taxi driver is murdered, for good measure. The Dark Man is evidently a psychopath, although we never get to find out much about him. But we fear for Molly Lester (Natasha Perry) when, cycling past the scene of the crime, she catches sight of him.
This fleeting identification drives the plot, since the dark man becomes determined to eliminate Molly as a witness. Frankly, I'd have thought he'd have been much better off making a run for it. But no, he hangs around the coastal resort where Molly is working as an actress, now under the protection of Scotland Yard's DI Jack Viner (Edward Underdown). Molly is attractive and charismatic, if foolhardy, so we care about her fate; she falls in love with Viner, who is very much of the stiff upper lip school. I felt, however, underwhelmed by Underdown's performance.
The coastal setting is in many ways the star turn of The Dark Man. It's rather bleak, with a military firing range, derelict castle, and old lighthouse, but highly atmospheric. I don't know south east England well enough to recognise the location, but I thought it very well chosen.
Reed's character takes a taxi to a lonely house where he seeks to rob a petty criminal. When the criminal retaliates, he is murdered. And then the taxi driver is murdered, for good measure. The Dark Man is evidently a psychopath, although we never get to find out much about him. But we fear for Molly Lester (Natasha Perry) when, cycling past the scene of the crime, she catches sight of him.
This fleeting identification drives the plot, since the dark man becomes determined to eliminate Molly as a witness. Frankly, I'd have thought he'd have been much better off making a run for it. But no, he hangs around the coastal resort where Molly is working as an actress, now under the protection of Scotland Yard's DI Jack Viner (Edward Underdown). Molly is attractive and charismatic, if foolhardy, so we care about her fate; she falls in love with Viner, who is very much of the stiff upper lip school. I felt, however, underwhelmed by Underdown's performance.
The coastal setting is in many ways the star turn of The Dark Man. It's rather bleak, with a military firing range, derelict castle, and old lighthouse, but highly atmospheric. I don't know south east England well enough to recognise the location, but I thought it very well chosen.
June 28, 2018
Forgotten Book - The Pit-Prop Syndicate
Freeman Wills Crofts has enjoyed quite a revival during the last couple of years. The British Library has reissued several of his best novels, and Harper Collins have reprinted others, both in paperback editions and in some cases as hardbacks under the Detective Story Club imprint. The latter include his third book, The Pit-Prop Syndicate, which first appeared in 1922.
Crofts was still learning his trade at that time. Inspector French was yet to be created, and he'd followed up the success of The Cask with the slightly disappointing The Ponson Case. Here, he experiments rather interestingly. The first half of the book follows an amateur investigation into a suspected criminal conspiracy. The second half sees the professionals take over, in the form of Inspector Willis. It's a tricky blend, but I found it appealing.
Seymour Merriman (great name!) is cycling in France when he chances upon a strange puzzle. Why would a lorry change its number plate? He comes across a pit-prop exporting business (one of those enterprises that presumably died out long ago) and also a pretty girl. Back in England, he tells a friend, and they decide to return to France to investigate (and Seymour also wants to get to know the pretty girl better). The plot thickens from there.
This is a classic Crofts story, meticulously planned and written. And I can't think of many Golden Age stories featuring Goole and Hull, but this is one! In the second half of the book, the investigation dragged a bit, and I found some of the detail a bit dull, much like Seymour's romance. All the same, it's an enjoyable story, and there's also a bonus in the dust jacket artwork, as well as the inclusion of an intro by John Curran and a little-known short story with a railway setting, "Danger in Shroude Valley".
Crofts was still learning his trade at that time. Inspector French was yet to be created, and he'd followed up the success of The Cask with the slightly disappointing The Ponson Case. Here, he experiments rather interestingly. The first half of the book follows an amateur investigation into a suspected criminal conspiracy. The second half sees the professionals take over, in the form of Inspector Willis. It's a tricky blend, but I found it appealing.
Seymour Merriman (great name!) is cycling in France when he chances upon a strange puzzle. Why would a lorry change its number plate? He comes across a pit-prop exporting business (one of those enterprises that presumably died out long ago) and also a pretty girl. Back in England, he tells a friend, and they decide to return to France to investigate (and Seymour also wants to get to know the pretty girl better). The plot thickens from there.
This is a classic Crofts story, meticulously planned and written. And I can't think of many Golden Age stories featuring Goole and Hull, but this is one! In the second half of the book, the investigation dragged a bit, and I found some of the detail a bit dull, much like Seymour's romance. All the same, it's an enjoyable story, and there's also a bonus in the dust jacket artwork, as well as the inclusion of an intro by John Curran and a little-known short story with a railway setting, "Danger in Shroude Valley".
June 25, 2018
Gallows Court
Today, I'm truly delighted to be able to talk about a book that has meant a great deal to me over the past three years. After many years of striving, I've finally managed to realise an ambition I've long held as a crime novelist - simply, to write a story that a major publisher loved enough to get behind in a significant way.
The book is Gallows Court, publication date is September 2018, and it will be the lead crime fiction title of Head of Zeus (whose other authors range from Ben Okri to Jim Naughtie) this coming autumn. For me, then, a thrilling development.
During the recent past, I've combined the writing of the novel with various other ventures, notably The Story of Classic Crime in 100 Books, and another non-fiction project which is still ongoing, and will be for some time. But I've always seen myself first and foremost as a novelist, and I've always tried to develop and progress as a writer of fiction. Writing this novel was an attempt to do something very different, in all sorts of ways, from my previous work.
Gallows Court is set in 1930, and it builds on my fascination with that period in our history, and my love of Golden Age detective fiction. But it's not a pastiche whodunit. Rather, it's a novel of psychological suspense, fast-paced, with plenty of plot twists.
In writing the book, I deliberately adopted a different approach from that of my other novels. Rather than planning out "whodunnit", I began with a character, and a scenario, and took things from there. This was a bold move, for me, which often felt as though it might prove foolhardy. But as I kept working on the story, it began to come together, and I found myself increasingly gripped by its potential.
I wrote the book without the comfort blanket of a contract or expression of interest from a publisher, because I wanted to set my agent the task of trying to finding a really good, fresh home for the book. In many ways, this was a real risk, because it's so easy to become typecast as a writer, and publishers do not necessarily want writers to change direction. Thankfully, Nic Cheetham of Head of Zeus "got" exactly what I was trying to do - an incredibly lucky break for me. I've worked with many lovely publishers over the years, and I must say that I'm exceptionally excited by this relationship. And I'm keeping my fingers crossed that readers will love the book as much as Nic did. The book cover image is subject to change, but I think it captures the period setting.
I'll be telling you more about the novel in the run-up to publication. Suffice to say at this stage that it concerns Rachel Savernake, an attractive and fabulously wealthy - but ruthless and mysterious - woman who comes to London and becomes embroiled in a sequence of bizarre murders. A young journalist, Jacob Flint, determines to find out her secret...
At the British Library the other day, I did a podcast with two splendid bloggers and locked room enthusiasts, Jim and Dan, and towards the end I talked a bit about the new book. Here's a link to the whole podcast - and do check out their blogs, The Invisible Event and The Reader is Warned, both of which are excellent.
June 22, 2018
Forgotten Book - Go, Lovely Rose
The late Robert Barnard was a great admirer of Jean Potts' novels. As well as being a novelist of renown, Bob was a savvy critic; over the years, he recommended quite a few writers to me, and I don't think any of them have ever disappointed. But it's taken me a long time to get round to reading Jean Potts. When I did, I decided to start with her debut novel, Go, Lovely Rose.
The novel was first published in 1954, but it's a very mature piece of writing for a beginner; no doubt this is due to the fact that Potts had served a literary apprenticeship as a writer of short stories before trying her hand at a full-length story. It proved to be a good move: Go, Lovely Rose won an Edgar Allan Poe award from the Mystery Writers of America.
Rachel Buckmaster returns to the small town of Coreyville, where she and her brother Hartley grew up, following the death of Rose Henshaw. Rose had been living in Rachel's family home, thanks to a mystifying provision in the will of Rachel's late father. Mystifying because Rose was a nasty piece of work. Rachel had been glad to escape her influence, and she fears that Rose's spiteful nature may have driven Hartley to pushing the old woman down the cellar stairs. For Rose's death means that the siblings can now cash in by selling the house.
Soon it becomes apparent that Hartley was not the only person with good cause to wish Rose ill. Rachel finds herself caught up in a teasing mystery, and Potts builds the suspense with an expertise remarkable in a first time novelist. When she died in 1999, Ed Hoch (who was, like Bob Barnard, a very perceptive judge of these things) praised her gifts of characterisation, and her ability to evoke authentic small-town middle-America settings. These qualities are on display in her impressive debut novel. I'm not sure if she ever surpassed it in her later work, but I have more of her books, and I enjoyed this one enough to be determined to give them a try.
The novel was first published in 1954, but it's a very mature piece of writing for a beginner; no doubt this is due to the fact that Potts had served a literary apprenticeship as a writer of short stories before trying her hand at a full-length story. It proved to be a good move: Go, Lovely Rose won an Edgar Allan Poe award from the Mystery Writers of America.
Rachel Buckmaster returns to the small town of Coreyville, where she and her brother Hartley grew up, following the death of Rose Henshaw. Rose had been living in Rachel's family home, thanks to a mystifying provision in the will of Rachel's late father. Mystifying because Rose was a nasty piece of work. Rachel had been glad to escape her influence, and she fears that Rose's spiteful nature may have driven Hartley to pushing the old woman down the cellar stairs. For Rose's death means that the siblings can now cash in by selling the house.
Soon it becomes apparent that Hartley was not the only person with good cause to wish Rose ill. Rachel finds herself caught up in a teasing mystery, and Potts builds the suspense with an expertise remarkable in a first time novelist. When she died in 1999, Ed Hoch (who was, like Bob Barnard, a very perceptive judge of these things) praised her gifts of characterisation, and her ability to evoke authentic small-town middle-America settings. These qualities are on display in her impressive debut novel. I'm not sure if she ever surpassed it in her later work, but I have more of her books, and I enjoyed this one enough to be determined to give them a try.
June 20, 2018
The Bird with the Crystal Plumage - film review
The Bird with the Crystal Plumage marked the debut in 1970 of Daniel Argento as a film director. The movie was a big success, and he proceeded to become known as "the Italian Hitchcock", although as he has himself admitted, his output differs from Hitchcock's in many respects - even if both men are Catholics, with an acute sense of sin that is relevant to their work.
I find it interesting that Argento was inspired to write the film in part by Fredric Brown's excellent thriller The Screaming Mimi, and in part by the film The Spiral Staircase, based on a novel by Ethel Lina White. The connection between these works isn't obvious, but it is there for those who want to look for it - rather like well-hidden clues in a mystery.
Tony Musante plays Sam Dalmas, an American holidaying in Rome with his girlfriend Julia (Suzy Kendall). Walking past an art gallery, he sees a bizarre sight - a woman is stabbed after grappling with a leather-clad assailant. His attempt to save her is thwarted, but even so, she survives. The Rome police are investigating a series of killings of women in the city, and Sam forms a bond with the chief detective, while pursuing an investigation of his own.
There are some gripping set piece scenes - for instance when a brutal hitman in a yellow jacket hunts Sam down in a coach park. Some of them are set in darkened rooms, with lights and telephone lines cut - yes, Argento plays around with cliches, but he does so in an arresting way. A soundtrack by Ennio Morricone offers a jaunty bonus to the action, and although the psychological explanation put forward for the crimes struck me as dodgy to say the least, I thought this film - which launched the "giallo" movement of lurid Italian crime films - was very watchable.
I find it interesting that Argento was inspired to write the film in part by Fredric Brown's excellent thriller The Screaming Mimi, and in part by the film The Spiral Staircase, based on a novel by Ethel Lina White. The connection between these works isn't obvious, but it is there for those who want to look for it - rather like well-hidden clues in a mystery.
Tony Musante plays Sam Dalmas, an American holidaying in Rome with his girlfriend Julia (Suzy Kendall). Walking past an art gallery, he sees a bizarre sight - a woman is stabbed after grappling with a leather-clad assailant. His attempt to save her is thwarted, but even so, she survives. The Rome police are investigating a series of killings of women in the city, and Sam forms a bond with the chief detective, while pursuing an investigation of his own.
There are some gripping set piece scenes - for instance when a brutal hitman in a yellow jacket hunts Sam down in a coach park. Some of them are set in darkened rooms, with lights and telephone lines cut - yes, Argento plays around with cliches, but he does so in an arresting way. A soundtrack by Ennio Morricone offers a jaunty bonus to the action, and although the psychological explanation put forward for the crimes struck me as dodgy to say the least, I thought this film - which launched the "giallo" movement of lurid Italian crime films - was very watchable.
June 18, 2018
A very brief breather...
I've arrived home after an action-packed few days in London. Whilst I was in the capital, I received the delightful news that The Story of Classic Crime in 100 Books has been shortlisted for a Macavity award by Mystery Readers International. The book has now received five major award nominations, three in the US, two in the UK, something I never dreamed of a few years ago when I first became involved with the British Library.
My trip included a variety of CWA events, notably hosting the annual lunch for former CWA chairs, an extremely convivial occasion in Covent Garden, a CWA board meeting, and the Detection Club's summer dinner at the Garrick Club. There was also a meeting with publishers to discuss marketing my new novel - more news about that very soon. I caught up with a number of old friends, including Tim Benson, with whom I went to school; among other things, he's now a guide at the Royal Academy, and he took me around the Summer Exhibition. If you like art, it's really a must-see.
Saturday saw the fourth Bodies from the Library conference at the British Library, and it proved to be another enjoyable occasion. The only downside is that because the programme is so full of things to do, there's never enough time to chat to all the people with whom one would like to catch up. But you can't have everything, and I'm delighted that Bodies is to return next year.
Christine Poulson hosted a conversation between Tony Medawar and myself about Golden Age anthologies, and it was good to see Tony again. We first met at, of all things, a Mastermind crime quiz at Bouchercon 1990, in London, before I was a published novelist. A lot of water under the bridge since then...Later in the morning I gave a talk about Richard Hull, and the various sessions included a panel about Francis Durbridge, a talk about Christianna Brand, one about crime dossiers, and a slightly bizarre Ellery Queen radio mystery from the 1940s. The final panel event, pictured, saw us discussing "Desert Island Detectives". Just to be quirky, I chose Ambrose Chitterwick...
There are detailed reports of the day on two of my favourite classic crime blogs, In Search of the Classic Mystery, from which I've taken the photo (well, crime is our shared enthusiasm...), and Cross Examining Crime. I was also delighted to chat to two more excellent bloggers, Jim and Dan, with whom I recorded a podcast about impossible crimes. More about this another day.
It was good to meet Melvyn Barnes, and I hope to review his book about Durbridge, as well as Tony's new anthology, on this blog before long. In the meantime, I'm enjoying a breather today. Only two meetings, and a whole 24 hours of catch-up time before my next library talk tomorrow evening, which will be followed by a trip to the Lake District for a charity event...
June 15, 2018
Forgotten Book - The Tube
Regular readers of this blog will know of my admiration for the books that Pierre Boileau wrote in tandem with Thomas Narcejac. Their excellent crime stories were by no means limited to the books that were brilliantly filmed as Vertigo and Les Diaboliques. They were, like Hitchcock, masters of suspense. They were also very clever plotsmiths, and The Tube is a case in point.
The book was originally published in France in 1958, under the title L'ingenieur aimait trop les chiffres, and was translated into English in 1960 by Robert Eglesfield. It continues to surprise me, by the way, that some of the duo's work remains untranslated. You'd think that their success would make their work very much in demand.
In this novel they set out to update the locked room mystery. We are presented with a classic impossible crime scenario, but in what was then a highly topical and controversial setting - a nuclear laboratory. The story opens with a shooting. The victim is a scientist who has been working on a nuclear device, misuse of which could kill millions. Not only is it impossible to figure out how the killer escaped detection - the tube containing the lethal material has gone missing. Yes, I'm afraid that health and safety systems at the lab were astonishingly lax.
The story is told with characteristic pace, and assurance - Boileau and Narcejac really were very skilled writers. They were also pleasingly ingenious. Their taste of the macabre is not quite so much in evidence here as in some of their mysteries; then again, the threat of the exploding tube will be potent even for most readers' tastes. It's a quick, light read, and I'm surprised that nobody has seen fit to reprint the story in English for almost sixty years.
The book was originally published in France in 1958, under the title L'ingenieur aimait trop les chiffres, and was translated into English in 1960 by Robert Eglesfield. It continues to surprise me, by the way, that some of the duo's work remains untranslated. You'd think that their success would make their work very much in demand.
In this novel they set out to update the locked room mystery. We are presented with a classic impossible crime scenario, but in what was then a highly topical and controversial setting - a nuclear laboratory. The story opens with a shooting. The victim is a scientist who has been working on a nuclear device, misuse of which could kill millions. Not only is it impossible to figure out how the killer escaped detection - the tube containing the lethal material has gone missing. Yes, I'm afraid that health and safety systems at the lab were astonishingly lax.
The story is told with characteristic pace, and assurance - Boileau and Narcejac really were very skilled writers. They were also pleasingly ingenious. Their taste of the macabre is not quite so much in evidence here as in some of their mysteries; then again, the threat of the exploding tube will be potent even for most readers' tastes. It's a quick, light read, and I'm surprised that nobody has seen fit to reprint the story in English for almost sixty years.
June 14, 2018
Forgotten Book - The Crack in the Teacup
Michael Gilbert's The Crack in the Teacup, first published in 1966, was a book I borrowed from the library when I was about thirteen or so, and discovering what an entertaining writer he was. In those days, of course, he also seemed very contemporary in comparison to Christie and Sayers, for instance, and this element of his writing also appealed to the young Martin Edwards. I remember really enjoying this book in my youth, and wondered how it would hold up now that I'm so much older. To my delight, it gripped me from start to finish. And because I've now had a lifetime in the legal profession, I appreciated Gilbert's wry observations about legal life much more than I could have done all those years ago.
And that is despite the fact that this is in many ways a low-key book, quite close (as was The Dust and the Heat) in style to a mainstream novel, and not quite what you'd expect from a conventional thriller or detective story. Anthony Brydon, the hero, is a young solicitor. He's 23, and already a partner in his firm (blimey; wouldn't happen today) and has no experience with women (blimey again) despite his eagerness to put that right - something he achieves over the course of the story.
The setting is a pleasant, well-heeled coastal town. The place seems almost idyllic, but something unpleasant is going on beneath the surface. Anthony becomes convinced of the existence of some form of corrupt conspiracy, and delves into local politics and planning law in the course of his unlikely investigation. And along the way, The Crack in the Teacup turns into a sort of genteel British counterpart to Dashiell Hammett's Red Harvest, but with much less bloodshed, as Gilbert presents a compelling picture of the way that a society that can be ruined by corruption. And, Gilbert being a pragmatist with a cynical turn of mind, the result of Anthony's investigations is not quite what one might expect.
A book as under-stated as this won't appeal to everyone. There isn't even a killing until very near the end. But if you like cool, exceptionally readable and slyly humorous writing, and if you're interested in a picture of English provincial life in the 60s, you'll find a lot to please you in The Crack in the Teacup. It's one of the best books Gilbert ever wrote. The title, by the way, comes from W.H. Auden.
And that is despite the fact that this is in many ways a low-key book, quite close (as was The Dust and the Heat) in style to a mainstream novel, and not quite what you'd expect from a conventional thriller or detective story. Anthony Brydon, the hero, is a young solicitor. He's 23, and already a partner in his firm (blimey; wouldn't happen today) and has no experience with women (blimey again) despite his eagerness to put that right - something he achieves over the course of the story.
The setting is a pleasant, well-heeled coastal town. The place seems almost idyllic, but something unpleasant is going on beneath the surface. Anthony becomes convinced of the existence of some form of corrupt conspiracy, and delves into local politics and planning law in the course of his unlikely investigation. And along the way, The Crack in the Teacup turns into a sort of genteel British counterpart to Dashiell Hammett's Red Harvest, but with much less bloodshed, as Gilbert presents a compelling picture of the way that a society that can be ruined by corruption. And, Gilbert being a pragmatist with a cynical turn of mind, the result of Anthony's investigations is not quite what one might expect.
A book as under-stated as this won't appeal to everyone. There isn't even a killing until very near the end. But if you like cool, exceptionally readable and slyly humorous writing, and if you're interested in a picture of English provincial life in the 60s, you'll find a lot to please you in The Crack in the Teacup. It's one of the best books Gilbert ever wrote. The title, by the way, comes from W.H. Auden.
