Martin Edwards's Blog, page 168
December 23, 2015
Forgotten Book - Penhallow
There are two writers, long popular with many readers, for whose mystery novels I have always had a blind spot. One is Patricia Wentworth, the other is Georgette Heyer. I can't summon up much enthusiasm for Wentworth's Miss Silver, I'm sorry to say,, and I've stared Heyer novels more than once, only to give up at an early stage. But several people whose judgement I respect rate both these writers highly. I therefore resolved to try again, and so I read Heyer's Penhallow from start to finish.
It's a country house story. Old man Penhallow rules his family with a rod of iron, and what is worse,his extravagance means that the estate risks running out of money. He's a nasty piece of work, the old chap, someone who takes pleasure in hurting people, not least his much younger wife. He likes having staff and family members at his beck and call. A character who rejoices in the name of Jimmy the Bastard is both a servant and an illegitimate child; and it turns out that Jimmy is not the only person in the family whose lack of legitimacy means he has no claim on the estate when the old tyrant's life finally (and very belatedly) comes to an end.
Heyer was a very competent writer, who retains a following, mostly for her historical romances, but also for her forays into crime. She was never much interested in the plotting of a mystery - a task generally delegated to her husband, it seems. On this occasion, he did not bother to come up with any sort of puzzle - this is one of the least mysterious of books, and the detective work is perfunctory in the extreme. .
Every now and then, a member of the family tells the others how loathsome they all are, and each time I found myself agreeing. The awfulness of Penhallow and his tribe is established early on, but this doesn't stop Heyer spending another 400 pages or so ramming home the message. To me, it felt like a wearisome, never-ending soap opera, going on and on and on and on. There's an explanation for this, according to some sources, who suggest that Heyer wrote the book with a view to escaping from her contract with her then publishers. Yet her biographer, Jennifer Kloester, provides a rather more nuanced account of the writing of the book,which indicates that Heyer was actually pretty happy with it. For the time being at least, however, she remains one of my crime fiction blind spots..
It's a country house story. Old man Penhallow rules his family with a rod of iron, and what is worse,his extravagance means that the estate risks running out of money. He's a nasty piece of work, the old chap, someone who takes pleasure in hurting people, not least his much younger wife. He likes having staff and family members at his beck and call. A character who rejoices in the name of Jimmy the Bastard is both a servant and an illegitimate child; and it turns out that Jimmy is not the only person in the family whose lack of legitimacy means he has no claim on the estate when the old tyrant's life finally (and very belatedly) comes to an end.
Heyer was a very competent writer, who retains a following, mostly for her historical romances, but also for her forays into crime. She was never much interested in the plotting of a mystery - a task generally delegated to her husband, it seems. On this occasion, he did not bother to come up with any sort of puzzle - this is one of the least mysterious of books, and the detective work is perfunctory in the extreme. .
Every now and then, a member of the family tells the others how loathsome they all are, and each time I found myself agreeing. The awfulness of Penhallow and his tribe is established early on, but this doesn't stop Heyer spending another 400 pages or so ramming home the message. To me, it felt like a wearisome, never-ending soap opera, going on and on and on and on. There's an explanation for this, according to some sources, who suggest that Heyer wrote the book with a view to escaping from her contract with her then publishers. Yet her biographer, Jennifer Kloester, provides a rather more nuanced account of the writing of the book,which indicates that Heyer was actually pretty happy with it. For the time being at least, however, she remains one of my crime fiction blind spots..
December 22, 2015
Forgotten Book - Paul Temple and The Front Page Men
Paul Temple and the Front Page Men is an early thriller in the famous series by Francis Durbridge. The story began life as a radio serial which was then novelised by Durbridge It's an apprentice work, and although Durbridge never became a rival to Graham Greene as a prose stylist, his later stories naturally tend to display greater craftsmanship. But the tale is a very lively one, and it's easy to understand why pre-war audiences lapped up such unpretentious entertainment. Having heard the BBC audio version, I was delighted to come across a new reprint, part of a series being produced by Harper Collins.
A crime novel called The Front Page Men has become a great success, but there is a mystery about its pseudonymous author - who has somehow managed to keep his or her real identity secret. Something very strange happens when a crime wave - initially a series of robberies, but then kidnapping, and eventually murder - takes place. The culprits leave a calling card marked 'The Front Page Men'.
There are several plot devices of the kind that became Dubridge's hallmark. For instance, a seemingly innocuous piano tuner keeps turning up in circumstances which suggest he may be connected to the gang's activities. Might he, just possibly, be the mastermind behind the crimes? Paul Temple and his devoted wife Steve are, needless to say, the people to find out.
One of the attractions of this series of reprints is that it is allowing readers an opportunity to see how Durbridge developed as a writer. Here, there are several of his customary cliffhangers, but the connection between the calling cards and the novel was, to my mind, pretty thin. Later, with the benefit of experience, he became more adept at making the interconnections between his numerous and essentially unlikely plot strands seem substantial, as well as plausible. But this is a fun book, great escapist reading for the Christmas season.
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A crime novel called The Front Page Men has become a great success, but there is a mystery about its pseudonymous author - who has somehow managed to keep his or her real identity secret. Something very strange happens when a crime wave - initially a series of robberies, but then kidnapping, and eventually murder - takes place. The culprits leave a calling card marked 'The Front Page Men'.
There are several plot devices of the kind that became Dubridge's hallmark. For instance, a seemingly innocuous piano tuner keeps turning up in circumstances which suggest he may be connected to the gang's activities. Might he, just possibly, be the mastermind behind the crimes? Paul Temple and his devoted wife Steve are, needless to say, the people to find out.
One of the attractions of this series of reprints is that it is allowing readers an opportunity to see how Durbridge developed as a writer. Here, there are several of his customary cliffhangers, but the connection between the calling cards and the novel was, to my mind, pretty thin. Later, with the benefit of experience, he became more adept at making the interconnections between his numerous and essentially unlikely plot strands seem substantial, as well as plausible. But this is a fun book, great escapist reading for the Christmas season.
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December 21, 2015
Forgotten Book - We Shot an Arrow
This has been a fantastic year for lovers of Forgotten Books; so many long-lost titles are now readily available, and I'm sure next year will see the return of many more. To celebrate, this week I'm going to highlight a Forgotten Book on each of the next four days in the run-up to Christmas, starting with one that's very obscure, but certainly of interest.
We Shot an Arrow, first published in 1939, is the work of writing duo George Goodchild and Carl Bechhofer Roberts. I have covered a couple of their books here previously, The Jury Disagree and Tidings of Joy,but I was particularly interested in this one, as it boasts one feature that is, as far as I know, unique. It's a book by two writers who play the detective - under their own names - in the story.
The story begins with Goodchild and Roberts debating the subject matter of their next novel, and taking a trip to a small town where a by-election is taking place. Roberts knows the Conservative candidate slightly, and is aware that he's a rather unpleasant character. His Labour rival seems little better. When the Tory is found dead in his bath, the death is determined to have been an accident, and the Labour man, Vansittart, becomes the town's M.P. But his success is short-lived. Soon he, too, dies in his bath....
This is an unusual novel with an odd confection of ingredients: archery, golf, politics and the by-play between the writer-protagonists. The events coincide with Neville Chamberlain's "peace pact" at Munich, and this provokes a lot of discussion. Rather too much to enable tension to be maintained, I'd say. The political background is certainly of interest,but the plot is relatively slight.
I was hoping to learn more about the authors from their self-portraits, and one poignant element of the story is that Carl Roberts talks about a near-fatal car accident in which he'd been involved in France, which provided plot material for Tidings of Joy. A scene involving a car plays an important part in the unravelling of the mystery - and these passages take on a very melancholy character once one learns that Roberts was killed in a car crash, at the age of 55 in 1949. A tragic end to a busy and fascinating life.
We Shot an Arrow, first published in 1939, is the work of writing duo George Goodchild and Carl Bechhofer Roberts. I have covered a couple of their books here previously, The Jury Disagree and Tidings of Joy,but I was particularly interested in this one, as it boasts one feature that is, as far as I know, unique. It's a book by two writers who play the detective - under their own names - in the story.
The story begins with Goodchild and Roberts debating the subject matter of their next novel, and taking a trip to a small town where a by-election is taking place. Roberts knows the Conservative candidate slightly, and is aware that he's a rather unpleasant character. His Labour rival seems little better. When the Tory is found dead in his bath, the death is determined to have been an accident, and the Labour man, Vansittart, becomes the town's M.P. But his success is short-lived. Soon he, too, dies in his bath....
This is an unusual novel with an odd confection of ingredients: archery, golf, politics and the by-play between the writer-protagonists. The events coincide with Neville Chamberlain's "peace pact" at Munich, and this provokes a lot of discussion. Rather too much to enable tension to be maintained, I'd say. The political background is certainly of interest,but the plot is relatively slight.
I was hoping to learn more about the authors from their self-portraits, and one poignant element of the story is that Carl Roberts talks about a near-fatal car accident in which he'd been involved in France, which provided plot material for Tidings of Joy. A scene involving a car plays an important part in the unravelling of the mystery - and these passages take on a very melancholy character once one learns that Roberts was killed in a car crash, at the age of 55 in 1949. A tragic end to a busy and fascinating life.
December 19, 2015
Blue Serge
"Blue Serge" is a new short story of mine, which has just appeared in an anthology compiled by the tireless Maxim Jakubowski. The title of the collection, published by Robinson, is The Mammoth Book of Jack the Ripper Stories, and the numerous other contributors include Barbara Nadel, Peter Guttridge, and Michael Gregoriou.
My story has a connection with a real life case other than the Ripper murders - the almost equally famous case of Hawley Harvey Crippen, and features one of the leading characters from the Crippen case. I've long been intrigued by both cases, and I really enjoyed writing this particular story.
I tried to stick to the facts of the Ripper case so far as they are known, but in an afterword to the story, I explain that the part of it which pins villainy on a particular person is very much the product of my imagination. That individual is long gone, and I don't think anyone would have a moment's doubt that this is a work of fiction, solely intended to entertain. I'm conscious, however, that stories often represent long-dead people as misbehaving in all sorts of ways which have in fact been invented. To my mind, it's important to spell out the fact that they have been invented. Otherwise - especially in film screenplays which claim to be faithful to the facts, but which actually take liberties with them - reputations can be posthumously damaged without cause.
My thanks go to Maxim Jakubowski, who has edited a great many anthologies and included stories written by me in quite a number of them. Unless you've edited an anthology yourself, you tend to under-estimate how much hard work is involved. I take my hat off to the likes of Maxim and Mike Ashley, and in the US Otto Penzler, who have produced so many anthologies of such high calibre. Long may they continue to do so.
My story has a connection with a real life case other than the Ripper murders - the almost equally famous case of Hawley Harvey Crippen, and features one of the leading characters from the Crippen case. I've long been intrigued by both cases, and I really enjoyed writing this particular story.
I tried to stick to the facts of the Ripper case so far as they are known, but in an afterword to the story, I explain that the part of it which pins villainy on a particular person is very much the product of my imagination. That individual is long gone, and I don't think anyone would have a moment's doubt that this is a work of fiction, solely intended to entertain. I'm conscious, however, that stories often represent long-dead people as misbehaving in all sorts of ways which have in fact been invented. To my mind, it's important to spell out the fact that they have been invented. Otherwise - especially in film screenplays which claim to be faithful to the facts, but which actually take liberties with them - reputations can be posthumously damaged without cause.
My thanks go to Maxim Jakubowski, who has edited a great many anthologies and included stories written by me in quite a number of them. Unless you've edited an anthology yourself, you tend to under-estimate how much hard work is involved. I take my hat off to the likes of Maxim and Mike Ashley, and in the US Otto Penzler, who have produced so many anthologies of such high calibre. Long may they continue to do so.
December 18, 2015
Forgotten Book - Something Like a Love Affair
Something Like a Love Affair was published in 1992, and not long after it came out, I seized the chance to ask its author, Julian Symons, to inscribe my copy. Under the inscription, in his tiny, immaculate handwriting, he wrote "A good title?" and then, under that, "A good book??" The title is not, I think, anything special, but the book is certainly a good one. It does, however, qualify for the description "forgotten". I've seen very little discussion of it anywhere.
In fact, I enjoyed re-reading Something Like a Love Affair even more than I enjoyed the story the first time around. One of the reasons is that now I can see more clearly than I saw then what he was aiming for, a fresh spin on a device introduced (unless there's an earlier example of which I'm unaware) by an author whom Julian and I both admired - Anthony Berkeley. It's a form of "whowasduni" story. There are a few poorish reviews of this book online, but I take a different view: it offers a nice example of storytelling technique from a very talented novelist.
We know from the outset that the police have discovered a body, but we don't know whose body it is. The action then goes back a short distance in time, and we are introduced to Judith Lassiter. On the surface she has a lot to be thankful for: she is attractive, well-off,and has a doting husband. But she isn't happy, and as the story unfolds, we begin to understand why.
As in a number of his books, Symons combines a portrayal of mental disintegration with a cunningly plotted mystery. Nowadays, his fiction is much less renowned than that of his friend Patricia Highsmith, but I see quite a few similarities between what they were trying to do with the post-war crime novel. Highsmith was the superior literary stylist, but Symons' plots were cleverer. I've always thought it a paradox that it was she and not he who wrote a book about plotting suspense fiction. But much as I relished Something Like a Love Affair, I was struck by a passage which quotes from the day's newspaper headlines: trouble in the Middle East and global warming were major concerns then, just as they are today. As for the question marks.after "A good book", they indicate the modesty of the man. He judged his own work by exacting standards, but I think he was pleased with this one and I'd be pleased to have written it too.
In fact, I enjoyed re-reading Something Like a Love Affair even more than I enjoyed the story the first time around. One of the reasons is that now I can see more clearly than I saw then what he was aiming for, a fresh spin on a device introduced (unless there's an earlier example of which I'm unaware) by an author whom Julian and I both admired - Anthony Berkeley. It's a form of "whowasduni" story. There are a few poorish reviews of this book online, but I take a different view: it offers a nice example of storytelling technique from a very talented novelist.
We know from the outset that the police have discovered a body, but we don't know whose body it is. The action then goes back a short distance in time, and we are introduced to Judith Lassiter. On the surface she has a lot to be thankful for: she is attractive, well-off,and has a doting husband. But she isn't happy, and as the story unfolds, we begin to understand why.
As in a number of his books, Symons combines a portrayal of mental disintegration with a cunningly plotted mystery. Nowadays, his fiction is much less renowned than that of his friend Patricia Highsmith, but I see quite a few similarities between what they were trying to do with the post-war crime novel. Highsmith was the superior literary stylist, but Symons' plots were cleverer. I've always thought it a paradox that it was she and not he who wrote a book about plotting suspense fiction. But much as I relished Something Like a Love Affair, I was struck by a passage which quotes from the day's newspaper headlines: trouble in the Middle East and global warming were major concerns then, just as they are today. As for the question marks.after "A good book", they indicate the modesty of the man. He judged his own work by exacting standards, but I think he was pleased with this one and I'd be pleased to have written it too.
December 17, 2015
Peter Dickinson R.I.P.
Peter Dickinson, who died yesterday on his 88tj birthday, has been a doyen of the crime writing world for decades. He was, for instance, elected to membership of the Detection Club as long ago as 1969. His literary achievements span a wide range, but I'm familiar with his crime stories, which achieved great distinction.
His first two crime novels, Skin Deep and A Pride of Heroes, both won the CWA Gold Dagger - a remarkable feat. These highly original stories introduced a cop called Jimmy Pibble, who became a series character, appearing in half a dozen novels. His stand-alone crime novels demonstrated the same inventiveness. I haven't read them all, but of those I do know, The Yellow Room Conspiracy (1992) is probably my favourite.
I heard Peter Dickinson speak about the genre once at a Bouchercon, and he was as erudite as you'd expect from an Eton and Cambridge man, but he was also extremely perceptive and interesting. The genre has lost a major talent.
His first two crime novels, Skin Deep and A Pride of Heroes, both won the CWA Gold Dagger - a remarkable feat. These highly original stories introduced a cop called Jimmy Pibble, who became a series character, appearing in half a dozen novels. His stand-alone crime novels demonstrated the same inventiveness. I haven't read them all, but of those I do know, The Yellow Room Conspiracy (1992) is probably my favourite.
I heard Peter Dickinson speak about the genre once at a Bouchercon, and he was as erudite as you'd expect from an Eton and Cambridge man, but he was also extremely perceptive and interesting. The genre has lost a major talent.
December 16, 2015
Conspiracy Theory - film review
Just before I turn to today's review, some readers may like to know that Amazon UK are featuring no fewer than three of my Lake District mysteries as Daily Deals - got to be a snip at 99 p each!
Conspiracy[image error] Theory is a blockbuster of a thriller, first screened in 1997. I watched it not long after its release, and felt that its premise was brilliant, although the way it was developed was competent rather than outstanding. On a second viewing, I didn't revise that verdict. It's still very watchable, not least because it boasts Mel Gibson, Julia Roberts and Patrick Stewart in the lead roles. But perhaps it doesn't exploit to the full the potential of the concept at its heart.
Jerry Fletcher (Gibson) is a paranoid yellow cab driver who treats his passengers to an endless stream of conspiracy theories which suggest that he's deeply disturbed. He is obsessed with a lawyer who works for the Justice Department (Roberts), who treats him gently, but shares the general; view that he is deluded.
But then someone seems to become worried about what Jerry is saying. Could it be that he's stumbled on to something serious that the Establishment want to cover up? Well, the answer isn't too hard to deduce, especially when Stewart turns up, playing a rather nasty doctor.. The director, Richard Donner, has a long track record with action movies, and some of the dramatic scenes are quite thrilling.
The complicated truth about Jerry begins to emerge, but despite the pace of the screenplay, it emerges rather too slowly, so that we are left with a series of set pieces, and a developing but unlikely relationship between Gibson and Roberts rather than something subtle and more original. I feel the result is something of a missed opportunity, but nevertheless, Conspiracy Theory ranks as satisfying light entertainment,
Conspiracy[image error] Theory is a blockbuster of a thriller, first screened in 1997. I watched it not long after its release, and felt that its premise was brilliant, although the way it was developed was competent rather than outstanding. On a second viewing, I didn't revise that verdict. It's still very watchable, not least because it boasts Mel Gibson, Julia Roberts and Patrick Stewart in the lead roles. But perhaps it doesn't exploit to the full the potential of the concept at its heart.
Jerry Fletcher (Gibson) is a paranoid yellow cab driver who treats his passengers to an endless stream of conspiracy theories which suggest that he's deeply disturbed. He is obsessed with a lawyer who works for the Justice Department (Roberts), who treats him gently, but shares the general; view that he is deluded.
But then someone seems to become worried about what Jerry is saying. Could it be that he's stumbled on to something serious that the Establishment want to cover up? Well, the answer isn't too hard to deduce, especially when Stewart turns up, playing a rather nasty doctor.. The director, Richard Donner, has a long track record with action movies, and some of the dramatic scenes are quite thrilling.
The complicated truth about Jerry begins to emerge, but despite the pace of the screenplay, it emerges rather too slowly, so that we are left with a series of set pieces, and a developing but unlikely relationship between Gibson and Roberts rather than something subtle and more original. I feel the result is something of a missed opportunity, but nevertheless, Conspiracy Theory ranks as satisfying light entertainment,
December 14, 2015
Dead of Winter - 1987 film review
As seasonally chilly as its title suggests, Dead of Winter is a 1987 film directed by the capable Arthur Penn, who is best known for Bonnie and Clyde and Night Moves. It's a loose re-make of My Name is Julia Ross, which I reviewed back in January. Oddly, the earlier film is not credited. Nor is Anthony Gilbert, author of the book on which the screenplays were based. John Norris recommended the re-make, and he's a good judge of films, as he is of books Some of the Gothic touches in the later stages of the film are excessively melodramatic, but overall this is an entertaining film.
In the opening scenes, a woman is murdered, and her finger cut off, just after she has collected a large sum of money. The action then switches to the life of Katie McGovern, a struggling actress, played by Mary Steenburgen. Katie auditions for a lucrative role and makes an immediate hit with the chap doing the casting, a Mr Murray (Roddy McDowall, in one of his more eccentric roles.) He explains that an actress called Julie Rose has had a breakdown in the middle of a film, and a lookalike needs to be cast to replace her so that the movie can be completed.
On getting the part,. she finds herself driven by Murray to a remote and spooky house in a pine forest. The place belongs to a Dr Lewis, who is wheelchair-bound, and - it soon becomes apparent - not a film director at all. Katie soon realises that Lewis and Murray are lying to her and that something unpleasant has happened to Julie Rose. Can she avoid a similar fate?
I enjoyed this one, largely because I am keen on storylines based on impersonations and doppelgangers. Although the screenplay is radically different from the original Gilbert story, it offers some creepy moments and genuine excitement, as well as plenty of hokum. Roddy hams it up rather to excess, but Mary Steenburgen tackles no fewer than three roles with a good deal of panache. Definitely worth watching..
In the opening scenes, a woman is murdered, and her finger cut off, just after she has collected a large sum of money. The action then switches to the life of Katie McGovern, a struggling actress, played by Mary Steenburgen. Katie auditions for a lucrative role and makes an immediate hit with the chap doing the casting, a Mr Murray (Roddy McDowall, in one of his more eccentric roles.) He explains that an actress called Julie Rose has had a breakdown in the middle of a film, and a lookalike needs to be cast to replace her so that the movie can be completed.
On getting the part,. she finds herself driven by Murray to a remote and spooky house in a pine forest. The place belongs to a Dr Lewis, who is wheelchair-bound, and - it soon becomes apparent - not a film director at all. Katie soon realises that Lewis and Murray are lying to her and that something unpleasant has happened to Julie Rose. Can she avoid a similar fate?
I enjoyed this one, largely because I am keen on storylines based on impersonations and doppelgangers. Although the screenplay is radically different from the original Gilbert story, it offers some creepy moments and genuine excitement, as well as plenty of hokum. Roddy hams it up rather to excess, but Mary Steenburgen tackles no fewer than three roles with a good deal of panache. Definitely worth watching..
December 11, 2015
Forgotten Book - The Nursing Home Murder
These are happy times for fans of Forgotten Books. There is much more interest in them now than there was a few years ago, no doubt due to the success of recent reprints. The media has cottoned on, and I've had the unfamiliar experience of talking about the Golden Age three times in the past week. Once for Channel 4 TV's Sunday Brunch - to be screened on 27 December - talking about The Golden Age of Murder, the Detection Club and Sherlock.. Once for a Japanese TV documentary, talking about Agatha Christie. And, yesterday, for Radio 4's Open Book, about Silent Nights and other Christmas mysteries. I shall never be a truly confident performer, yet these things really are fun to do - in small quantities, that is, as they are certainly time-consuming.
Now to Ngaio Marsh. She has long been regarded as one of the "Queens of Crime", and I started reading her in my teens, after I ran out of books by Christie and Sayers. I read and enjoyed quite a few of them, but a couple rather sagged in the middle,and in the last twenty-five years I've read little by Marsh. I decided it was time to give her another go, and The Nursing Home Murder, first published in 1935, is my Forgotten Book today.
According to Margaret Lewis, author of a superb biography of Marsh, this was her best-selling book, and although I've read mixed reports about this story, I enjoyed it. There was no mid-narrative sag, and on the contrary the story gained from brevity, and was crisp and uncluttered. Social conditions and preoccupations of the time feature strongly, and are integral to the plot, not mere window-dressing. Definitely a cut above most of the crime fiction being written in the mid-Thirties.
I say this even though Marsh dips a toe into politics, which is so often a mistake (although one quite often made by authors then and now.) Her treatment of political issues is extremely superficial, but not as inept as is sometimes found in Golden Age novels. Sir Derek O'Callaghan is the Home Secretary, tasked with piloting through Parliament some anti-anarchist legislation, making him a target for political assassins. He collapses with peritonitis and is rushed into a nursing home for an operation. Here he has the peculiar misfortune to be surrounded by members of a medical team who wish him ill. He meets his end as a result of a lethal dose of hyoscine.
Suspicions switches briskly from one suspect to another. This is one of those classic crime novels which focus on a single crime, but Marsh's handling of the material is assured, and my interest never flagged. Incidentally, the book was originally published under her name and that of Henry Jellett,a medical man who advised her on the technicalities of the storyline. Sad to say, my paperback edition of the novel contains no mention whatsoever of Henry. Rather a shame - he deserves credit for contributing to an enjoyable traditional mystery.
Now to Ngaio Marsh. She has long been regarded as one of the "Queens of Crime", and I started reading her in my teens, after I ran out of books by Christie and Sayers. I read and enjoyed quite a few of them, but a couple rather sagged in the middle,and in the last twenty-five years I've read little by Marsh. I decided it was time to give her another go, and The Nursing Home Murder, first published in 1935, is my Forgotten Book today.
According to Margaret Lewis, author of a superb biography of Marsh, this was her best-selling book, and although I've read mixed reports about this story, I enjoyed it. There was no mid-narrative sag, and on the contrary the story gained from brevity, and was crisp and uncluttered. Social conditions and preoccupations of the time feature strongly, and are integral to the plot, not mere window-dressing. Definitely a cut above most of the crime fiction being written in the mid-Thirties.
I say this even though Marsh dips a toe into politics, which is so often a mistake (although one quite often made by authors then and now.) Her treatment of political issues is extremely superficial, but not as inept as is sometimes found in Golden Age novels. Sir Derek O'Callaghan is the Home Secretary, tasked with piloting through Parliament some anti-anarchist legislation, making him a target for political assassins. He collapses with peritonitis and is rushed into a nursing home for an operation. Here he has the peculiar misfortune to be surrounded by members of a medical team who wish him ill. He meets his end as a result of a lethal dose of hyoscine.
Suspicions switches briskly from one suspect to another. This is one of those classic crime novels which focus on a single crime, but Marsh's handling of the material is assured, and my interest never flagged. Incidentally, the book was originally published under her name and that of Henry Jellett,a medical man who advised her on the technicalities of the storyline. Sad to say, my paperback edition of the novel contains no mention whatsoever of Henry. Rather a shame - he deserves credit for contributing to an enjoyable traditional mystery.
December 9, 2015
Discovering Norman Berrow
One of the happy results of publishing The Golden Age of Murder has been that I've received many fascinating messages from people with interesting stories to tell about Golden Age books and writers. Among these have been emails from Prue Mercer in New Zealand, who contacted me about Norman Berrow. I'm delighted that she has agreed to contribute a guest post telling us more about this long-neglected author:
"I have been exploring my step grandfather Norman Berrow's writing life. Norman Berrow was a writer of the Golden Age of detective fiction. Between 1934 and 1957 he published 20 books. (There was a rewrite of The Ghost House in 1978, a retirement project.) It is remarkable that he established himself in the English crime fiction market from Christchurch, New Zealand, at a time when authorship was not a vocation widely followed in New Zealand. He achieved this through his books, his agent, the well-known Leonard Moore, and his publisher. All but his first novel were published by Ward, Lock in London.
Berrow was born in Eastbourne, Sussex, 1 September 1902, into a British military family. His father was Garrison Adjutant in Gibraltar and the family lived there from 1920 to 1922 when his father retired and they moved to Christchurch. He lived in Sydney from 1949 to 1975, when he retired to Christchurch. He died there in 1986.
Berrow started writing short stories in his 20s, probably about 1924 or 1925. In them he is experimenting - murders in rooms locked on the inside, and crooks disappearing in not so clever disguises. His first novel The Smokers of Hashish (published by Eldon Press) was advertised in the Sunday Times (14 October 1934:12) asbeing about "Tangier! City of Thrills, Danger and even Death. Meet here Hafiz 'The Purveyor of Delights,' leader of an immense dope organisation, and Chiller, who smashed the power of the dope runners."
The book introduces plot devices and techniques Berrow repeated: locked rooms, secret passages, disguises, vanishings and vanishers, a love interest, secret agents, and a reflective narrator keen to play amateur detective with a professional. Its atmosphere drew on Gibraltar and autobiographical elements become part of his style and inspiration. Setting is always significant for Berrow and the influence of Gibraltar is strong in his first novels, as is Christchurch and Sydney in the later ones.
In Don't Jump Mr Boland (1954) the character Montague Belmore captures the impact of Sydney's beguiling harbour.
The blanket of fog that always lay on the harbour these mornings had cleared away, the water was as calm and clean and blue as the sky. The oppressive humidity of summer had gone and the clear warm autumn sun was a caress. Behind him now, on the other side of the harbour, the city basked in sunshine.He loved the city. It had it's faults, too many of them; it was cramped, dirty, overcrowded; it was avaricious, discourteous, rough and tough and graft-ridden; but he loved it. He loved the world. He loved life.
Ramble House has been publishing Berrow's work for over ten years. In 2007 The Footprints of Satan (originally published 1950) was number one on the Honkaku Mystery Best 10, an annual mystery fiction guide to books published in Japan in the previous year."
My thanks go to Prue, and I hope to have more to say about Norman Berrow in the future.
"I have been exploring my step grandfather Norman Berrow's writing life. Norman Berrow was a writer of the Golden Age of detective fiction. Between 1934 and 1957 he published 20 books. (There was a rewrite of The Ghost House in 1978, a retirement project.) It is remarkable that he established himself in the English crime fiction market from Christchurch, New Zealand, at a time when authorship was not a vocation widely followed in New Zealand. He achieved this through his books, his agent, the well-known Leonard Moore, and his publisher. All but his first novel were published by Ward, Lock in London.
Berrow was born in Eastbourne, Sussex, 1 September 1902, into a British military family. His father was Garrison Adjutant in Gibraltar and the family lived there from 1920 to 1922 when his father retired and they moved to Christchurch. He lived in Sydney from 1949 to 1975, when he retired to Christchurch. He died there in 1986.
Berrow started writing short stories in his 20s, probably about 1924 or 1925. In them he is experimenting - murders in rooms locked on the inside, and crooks disappearing in not so clever disguises. His first novel The Smokers of Hashish (published by Eldon Press) was advertised in the Sunday Times (14 October 1934:12) asbeing about "Tangier! City of Thrills, Danger and even Death. Meet here Hafiz 'The Purveyor of Delights,' leader of an immense dope organisation, and Chiller, who smashed the power of the dope runners."
The book introduces plot devices and techniques Berrow repeated: locked rooms, secret passages, disguises, vanishings and vanishers, a love interest, secret agents, and a reflective narrator keen to play amateur detective with a professional. Its atmosphere drew on Gibraltar and autobiographical elements become part of his style and inspiration. Setting is always significant for Berrow and the influence of Gibraltar is strong in his first novels, as is Christchurch and Sydney in the later ones.
In Don't Jump Mr Boland (1954) the character Montague Belmore captures the impact of Sydney's beguiling harbour.
The blanket of fog that always lay on the harbour these mornings had cleared away, the water was as calm and clean and blue as the sky. The oppressive humidity of summer had gone and the clear warm autumn sun was a caress. Behind him now, on the other side of the harbour, the city basked in sunshine.He loved the city. It had it's faults, too many of them; it was cramped, dirty, overcrowded; it was avaricious, discourteous, rough and tough and graft-ridden; but he loved it. He loved the world. He loved life.
Ramble House has been publishing Berrow's work for over ten years. In 2007 The Footprints of Satan (originally published 1950) was number one on the Honkaku Mystery Best 10, an annual mystery fiction guide to books published in Japan in the previous year."
My thanks go to Prue, and I hope to have more to say about Norman Berrow in the future.
