Martin Edwards's Blog, page 204
March 14, 2014
Forgotten Book - Take My Life
Winston Graham is well remembered as the author of the Poldark series of historical romances set in Cornwall, but his excellent crime fiction is (with a few exceptions such as Marnie) often overlooked. My Forgotten Book for today is a mystery he published in 1947, which is now available as a Bello ebook. I think Take My Life began life as a screenplay, and this is evident in the visual quality of the story. Certainly, it was filmed, although I've never seen the movie version.
At the time he published this book, Graham had been writing novels for more than a decade, yet overall I think it's fair to say that it still formed part of his literary apprenticeship (and many of my fellow authors may well agree that one's apprenticeship sometimes feels as though it will never end!) I read this book on holiday in the Arctic, immediately before a second Graham novel written twenty years later, and there's no doubt that the later book is superior. I'll say more about that one on this blog before long. But Take My Life is a swift, easy read. He was a very accessible writer.
This is a "race against time" story, one of those where an innocent man faces execution for murder, and the one person who believes in him faces a desperate struggle to try to establish that he did not commit the crime. Everything in Philippa Talbot's life seems rosy. She is a young, pretty and talented singer, who has just returned to London with her new husband Nicholas. But her pleasure in success on the stage is marred when she sees him with a member of the orchestra who - it turns out - is a former lover. They have a row, he leaves the house, and at a time when he has no alibi, the lover is murdered.
So, whodunit? The answer is soon revealed, because Graham is more interested in the clock race than mystery. I have to say that I did not believe the evidence was strong enough to convict a man of murder, and the police's failure to follow up other leads, though perhaps necessary for the plot, was highly unconvincing. These are real flaws, yet it is a tribute to Graham's sheer readability that I raced through the story, keen to find out precisely what had happened, despite my reservations. Not a masterpiece, by a long chalk, but brisk and worthwhile entertainment.
At the time he published this book, Graham had been writing novels for more than a decade, yet overall I think it's fair to say that it still formed part of his literary apprenticeship (and many of my fellow authors may well agree that one's apprenticeship sometimes feels as though it will never end!) I read this book on holiday in the Arctic, immediately before a second Graham novel written twenty years later, and there's no doubt that the later book is superior. I'll say more about that one on this blog before long. But Take My Life is a swift, easy read. He was a very accessible writer.
This is a "race against time" story, one of those where an innocent man faces execution for murder, and the one person who believes in him faces a desperate struggle to try to establish that he did not commit the crime. Everything in Philippa Talbot's life seems rosy. She is a young, pretty and talented singer, who has just returned to London with her new husband Nicholas. But her pleasure in success on the stage is marred when she sees him with a member of the orchestra who - it turns out - is a former lover. They have a row, he leaves the house, and at a time when he has no alibi, the lover is murdered.
So, whodunit? The answer is soon revealed, because Graham is more interested in the clock race than mystery. I have to say that I did not believe the evidence was strong enough to convict a man of murder, and the police's failure to follow up other leads, though perhaps necessary for the plot, was highly unconvincing. These are real flaws, yet it is a tribute to Graham's sheer readability that I raced through the story, keen to find out precisely what had happened, despite my reservations. Not a masterpiece, by a long chalk, but brisk and worthwhile entertainment.
March 13, 2014
Mind the Gap - BBC 2 - Evan Davis and Crime fiction
The second of the two parts of Mind the Gap aired on BBC 2 this week. This thought-provoking programme was a documentary presented by Evan Davis analysing both the success of London and the challenges faced by the rest of Britain given the apparently relentless increase in the north-south divide, in terms of prosperity and much else. Crime fiction wasn't mentioned once, needless to say, but some of the issues discussed have genuine relevance (at least in my opinion) to contemporary crime fiction.
Economics is a subject which fascinates me, although I have long suspected that the main difference between different schools of economists may be not that some are right and some are wrong, but simply the often very distinct ways in which they are all ultimately proved wrong. Evan Davis is a very articulate, intelligent and likeable presenter indeed, and he argued not only that London's prosperity will continue to grow because it is a hub of excellence and a magnet for talented people who want to cluster together, but also that the only chance the rest of the country has of catching up is to create a super-city of its own. He proposed Manchester as this super-city, something that won't have pleased many Liverpudlians I know, for a start.
I agreed with some of Davis' arguments - for instance, a good example of a hub that he didn't mention is Hay-on-Wye, which has reinvented itself brilliantly as a book town and home of a major literary festival. But I did wonder if, in some respects, his arguments were a bit old-fashioned. Technology - Skype, the internet, and all the rest of it - surely makes geographical proximity between like-minded people less of a "must" than it once was. And there are various powerful human factors that complicate the discussion. I sense that younger people are more concerned about the "work-life balance" than was the case, say, thirty years ago, and I'm not sure that living and working in super-cities provides the best kind of balance for a lot of people. And what about the nightmare of commuting - something I used to hate when I was working full-time at some distance from my office, and which is becoming more stressful with every year that passes? Davis didn't say anything about the countryside, and I don't believe you can look at cities in isolation from the country as a whole.
Whatever one's views, however, we are all affected by economic realities, and therefore crime novels are inevitably affected by them too. And this is a subject which has lurked in the background of my fiction right from the outset. All the Lonely People presented a picture of Liverpool at quite a low point in its history, and later Harry Devlin books tackled the changes and improvements (and there have been many, which Mind the Gap didn't address, focusing instead on the boarded-up terraced houses) in the city in later years. The Lake District Mysteries have a sub-text about changes and challenges in rural society that are again driven by economic factors. Very few reviewers have commented on these aspects of the books, so perhaps they are not of widespread interest, but I prefer to think that it is because I don't address them in a didactic way. Like the economists, I don't have any easy solutions to offer to the economic challenges faced by places that I love, such as Liverpool and the Lakes. But I do think that those challenges provide a natural and relevant backdrop to the mysteries of character and motive that are my main concern as a crime writer..
Economics is a subject which fascinates me, although I have long suspected that the main difference between different schools of economists may be not that some are right and some are wrong, but simply the often very distinct ways in which they are all ultimately proved wrong. Evan Davis is a very articulate, intelligent and likeable presenter indeed, and he argued not only that London's prosperity will continue to grow because it is a hub of excellence and a magnet for talented people who want to cluster together, but also that the only chance the rest of the country has of catching up is to create a super-city of its own. He proposed Manchester as this super-city, something that won't have pleased many Liverpudlians I know, for a start.
I agreed with some of Davis' arguments - for instance, a good example of a hub that he didn't mention is Hay-on-Wye, which has reinvented itself brilliantly as a book town and home of a major literary festival. But I did wonder if, in some respects, his arguments were a bit old-fashioned. Technology - Skype, the internet, and all the rest of it - surely makes geographical proximity between like-minded people less of a "must" than it once was. And there are various powerful human factors that complicate the discussion. I sense that younger people are more concerned about the "work-life balance" than was the case, say, thirty years ago, and I'm not sure that living and working in super-cities provides the best kind of balance for a lot of people. And what about the nightmare of commuting - something I used to hate when I was working full-time at some distance from my office, and which is becoming more stressful with every year that passes? Davis didn't say anything about the countryside, and I don't believe you can look at cities in isolation from the country as a whole.
Whatever one's views, however, we are all affected by economic realities, and therefore crime novels are inevitably affected by them too. And this is a subject which has lurked in the background of my fiction right from the outset. All the Lonely People presented a picture of Liverpool at quite a low point in its history, and later Harry Devlin books tackled the changes and improvements (and there have been many, which Mind the Gap didn't address, focusing instead on the boarded-up terraced houses) in the city in later years. The Lake District Mysteries have a sub-text about changes and challenges in rural society that are again driven by economic factors. Very few reviewers have commented on these aspects of the books, so perhaps they are not of widespread interest, but I prefer to think that it is because I don't address them in a didactic way. Like the economists, I don't have any easy solutions to offer to the economic challenges faced by places that I love, such as Liverpool and the Lakes. But I do think that those challenges provide a natural and relevant backdrop to the mysteries of character and motive that are my main concern as a crime writer..
March 12, 2014
Shetland - BBC tv review - and DCI Banks
Shetland returned for a six-part run on BBC TV yesterday evening, the day after I'd finally caught up with the latest series of DCI Banks, another of those cop shows where novels are turned into two episodes of one hour each. It's become a fashionable format, although this seems a little surprising, given the success of the two-hour episodes of Inspector Morse, the pre-eminent classic British cop show of the past thirty years,let alone shows split into eight or ten or twelve parts like Broadchurch, The Tunnel and Salamander. However, it can work pretty well when the ingredients are right, as they are in these two shows. The original Shetland Quartet began with the Gold Dagger winning Raven Black, and this was the story that started last night..
About twenty-five years ago, before my first novel was published, I wrote a short article called (as I remember) "Up the Garden Path". It discussed a number of recent novels with rural settings that I'd enjoyed, and which - I thought - suggested an increasing focus in the Britain of that time on rural mysteries. The article was rejected by the only magazine I sent it to, and so was never published (shame!) but it did highlight the first books written by Ann Cleeves and Peter Robinson, both of which I'd much enjoyed, and who are the creators, respectively, of Shetland's Jimmy Perez and Yorkshire's DCI Alan Banks. So perhaps I can at least claim to have been ahead of the game in spotting the excellence of those writers. I never dreamed that one day I would have the pleasure of getting to know both of them, or indeed that eventually I'd write a rural series of my own - for at that time, I was hard at work on Harry Devlin's debut, set in resolutely urban Liverpool.
The success of the books about Perez and Banks owe a great deal to the authors' shared ability to explore character, setting and storyline in an interesting way, and these attributes are reflected in the TV adaptations. There are, of course, some differences between Ann and Peter as writers, which are to some extent evident in the screenplays. Ann is fascinated by landscape, and the shots of Shetland are bound, I think, to boost tourism to this relatively remote island.. Peter is very keen on, and knowledgeable about, music, and this interest was central to Piece of My Heart, whereas music rarely plays a major part in Ann's work. But there are various similarities between Perez and Banks, two likeable characters with a touch of vulnerability in their make-up.
Both detectives are played by very good actors. Douglas Henshall is nothing like my mental picture of Perez, but he brings a sense of integrity to the part which is just right. Stephen Tompkinson plays Alan Banks with a kind of startled melancholy which again differs from my idea of the Eastvale cop, but which is growing on me. When I wrote that long ago article - perhaps I should disinter it - I had no idea that one day both writers would achieve so much success. But I was intrigued by the fact that they were people of my generation who had already shown that they could write mysteries of genuine quality while I was struggling to finish my debut. Over the years, they have shown great staying power, and today their mysteries entertain millions. And much as I enjoy seeing their work adapted for the small screen, I remain first and foremost a fan of the books.
About twenty-five years ago, before my first novel was published, I wrote a short article called (as I remember) "Up the Garden Path". It discussed a number of recent novels with rural settings that I'd enjoyed, and which - I thought - suggested an increasing focus in the Britain of that time on rural mysteries. The article was rejected by the only magazine I sent it to, and so was never published (shame!) but it did highlight the first books written by Ann Cleeves and Peter Robinson, both of which I'd much enjoyed, and who are the creators, respectively, of Shetland's Jimmy Perez and Yorkshire's DCI Alan Banks. So perhaps I can at least claim to have been ahead of the game in spotting the excellence of those writers. I never dreamed that one day I would have the pleasure of getting to know both of them, or indeed that eventually I'd write a rural series of my own - for at that time, I was hard at work on Harry Devlin's debut, set in resolutely urban Liverpool.
The success of the books about Perez and Banks owe a great deal to the authors' shared ability to explore character, setting and storyline in an interesting way, and these attributes are reflected in the TV adaptations. There are, of course, some differences between Ann and Peter as writers, which are to some extent evident in the screenplays. Ann is fascinated by landscape, and the shots of Shetland are bound, I think, to boost tourism to this relatively remote island.. Peter is very keen on, and knowledgeable about, music, and this interest was central to Piece of My Heart, whereas music rarely plays a major part in Ann's work. But there are various similarities between Perez and Banks, two likeable characters with a touch of vulnerability in their make-up.
Both detectives are played by very good actors. Douglas Henshall is nothing like my mental picture of Perez, but he brings a sense of integrity to the part which is just right. Stephen Tompkinson plays Alan Banks with a kind of startled melancholy which again differs from my idea of the Eastvale cop, but which is growing on me. When I wrote that long ago article - perhaps I should disinter it - I had no idea that one day both writers would achieve so much success. But I was intrigued by the fact that they were people of my generation who had already shown that they could write mysteries of genuine quality while I was struggling to finish my debut. Over the years, they have shown great staying power, and today their mysteries entertain millions. And much as I enjoy seeing their work adapted for the small screen, I remain first and foremost a fan of the books.
March 10, 2014
After I'm Gone by Laura Lippman
Baltimore is the setting for most of the work of Laura Lippman, who is one of the United States' crime wriiting elite. When Bouchercon was held in Baltimore a few years ago, I spent a hugely enjoyable few days in the city, and managed to avoid the crime that is apparently endemic to some of its districts. It has in one or two respects a resemblance to Liverpool,and that was part of its appeal for me. Lippman's latest, After I'm Gone, published in the UK by Faber, is a very interesting book that fits in well with the posts about the craft about crime writing that I've included here over the past few weeks.
Laura Lippman's confidence and expertise as a writer is demonstrated vividly by the way she tackles two tricky structural challenges. Those challenges arise from the premise of her story. Back in 1976, Felix Brewer, a wealthy villain who was on the point of being sent to prison, vanished mysteriously and has never been seen since. He left behind a wife, Bambi, three daughters, and a mistress, Julie. Julie herself went missing subsequently - but her body was later discovered. Who killed her, and why? Roberto "Sandy" Sanchez, a veteran cop now contracted to work on cold cases, wants to find out.
The story veers around for over 300 pages, with constant shifts of viewpoint and chronology over a span in excess of forty years. Only an experienced and talented writer could manage to tell a story in this way without, at the very least, giving an impression of jerkiness and risking the loss of the reader's attention. But Laura Lippman provides something of a masterclass in story-telling technique. Beginning writers are often told to avoid flashbacks, and there is some sense in that advice, but when done well, they can be effective, and the period details and insights into Jewish family life struck me as convincing. And I'm pleased to say that, though the set-up was nicely constructed, I didn't guess whodunit yet found the explanation satisfying.
There is a very good interview with the author, conducted by Oline H. Cogdill in the latest issue of that excellent magazine Mystery Scene, in which Lippman emphasises her interest in examining women's lives. This she does very well in the book, and I was glad to be reminded of my own trip to Baltimore. But oddly enough, the scenes which I found most gripping were those featuring Sandy's cold case investigation. Not because it was a cold case storyline (though, of course, that was bound to appeal to me, given that cold cases are at the heart of the Lake District Mysteries) but rather because he is such an empathetic character. There's a strong hint near the end of the book that Lippman is setting things up to allow him to return in future, and that's good news, since she clearly enjoys writing about him just as much as she enjoyed writing from the viewpoint of Bambi, her daughters, and her doomed rival.
March 7, 2014
Forgotten Book - The Anathema Stone
John Buxton Hilton (1921-1986) was a popular and fairly prolific crime writer, but I'd never got around to reading him until my recent trip to Norway. Those enterprising publishers Bello, an arm of Pan Macmillan, have produced ebook versions of many of his novels, and whilst I was away I read two entries in his series featuring the senior cop Simon Kenworthy, starting with The Anathema Stone, which is my Forgotten Book for today.
This is one of those stories where the series detective takes a holiday. Kenworthy and his wife Elspeth take a cottage in a Derbyshire village, and before long Kenworthy become embroiled in mysterious goings-on. He is targeted by a pretty teenage girl, whose behaviour ir rather disturbing, and also finds himself taking part (with her) in a rehearsal for a play written by the eccentric local vicar.
When the girl is found dead, her corpse draped over the legendary Anathema Stone, Kenworthy finds himself dragged into the inquiry in different ways. There are some suspicions about the nature of his relationship with the girl (and I did wonder if Hilton would have written this book in quite the same way today, when there is so much sensitivity about child abuse, following so many well-documented tragic stories) and also a good deal of mystery about the motive for the crime.
I felt this book was rather idiosyncratic in style, storyline, and structure, but I enjoyed it. Hilton was an above-average writer, and whilst I was expecting a rather conventional small village mystery, he delivered something more unusual than that. As a result, I was keen to sample his work again, and did just that a couple of days later - to find myself reading a very different sort of story.
This is one of those stories where the series detective takes a holiday. Kenworthy and his wife Elspeth take a cottage in a Derbyshire village, and before long Kenworthy become embroiled in mysterious goings-on. He is targeted by a pretty teenage girl, whose behaviour ir rather disturbing, and also finds himself taking part (with her) in a rehearsal for a play written by the eccentric local vicar.
When the girl is found dead, her corpse draped over the legendary Anathema Stone, Kenworthy finds himself dragged into the inquiry in different ways. There are some suspicions about the nature of his relationship with the girl (and I did wonder if Hilton would have written this book in quite the same way today, when there is so much sensitivity about child abuse, following so many well-documented tragic stories) and also a good deal of mystery about the motive for the crime.
I felt this book was rather idiosyncratic in style, storyline, and structure, but I enjoyed it. Hilton was an above-average writer, and whilst I was expecting a rather conventional small village mystery, he delivered something more unusual than that. As a result, I was keen to sample his work again, and did just that a couple of days later - to find myself reading a very different sort of story.
March 5, 2014
Hunting the Northern Lights
Although the theme of last week's boat trip up the coast of north Norway was "hunting the lights", the first thing for me to say is that my camera and photographic skills proved not to be up to the challenge of capturing the Northern Lights when, finally, I did see them. Though there were plenty of moments during the trip when the quality of light over the coastline before darkness fell was absolutely mesmerising. The above shot was taken as the sun went down over Vardo. Landing there gave an opportunity to fellow passengers more intrepid than me to bathe in the Arctic Ocean - at least for about thirty seconds...
Well, it takes all sorts, I suppose! During that brief stop in Vardo, (safely encased in many layers of warm clothing!) I visited the most northerly fortress in the world. In the twilight it had an especially eerie charm.
Other ports of call included Hammerfest, one of many small towns in Norway which seems to be benefiting from the exploitation of the country's massive natural resources. I was interested in the lifestyle of people who come to this very cold region from warmer countries - some clearly love it, and there is plenty to love, I can see that, even though personally I'd find the total absence of sunlight between late November and late January very hard to take.
The quality of the light on snowy mountains and sea just below Hammerfest was magical - my photos really don't do it justice. As for the Northern Lights, there were two cloudy and blank nights before the first message came that they were visible. I'd been surprised to learn that many Norwegians, even, have never seen with the naked eye the green lights that are often portrayed in dramatic photographs, and I didn't either, though a charming fellow traveller - a Turkish brain surgeon, yes, it's a cosmopolitan world up there - has captured them in a photograph as stunning as any you see in the books and I[m planning to retweet it..
My own first sighting of the Northern Lights was truly memorable - out on deck in an Arctic gale so powerful it was almost impossible to stand - but there were the legendary lights, a pinkish red glow. Later that evening, there were two further displays - more elaborate and longer-lasting this time, strange shapes in the sky of a ghostly white hue. All in all, it was a remarkable experience. It was only a short break, but I've never had a holiday like this one. I much prefer to be warm rather than cold but I'm really very glad I returned to this fantastic country.
And there's one bonus of life in that part of the world, when it gets dark early. You have plenty of time to read, and I rattled through a number of enjoyable books, by authors as diverse as John Buxton Hilton, Joyce Porter, Winston Graham, and Margaret Millar. I'll be featuring all of them in this blog before long.
March 4, 2014
The End of the World
My trip to Norway took me to the end of the world, more or less, as the ship docked on an island a forty minute coach ride away from the stunning landscape of the North Cape. This was certainly the coldest place I have ever experienced, and the journey was memorable,not least because the convoy of buses was led by a snow plough. Even the reindeer had deserted the area in search of (relatively) warmer climes.
I've read and enjoyed a number of books by Norwegian writers in recent years. Jo Nesbo and Karin Fossum are immensely successful, but I particularly like Gunnar Staalesen's books about the private eye Varg Veum. He's a quietly accomplished author, and books like Yours Until Death are well worth seeking out. I can't, without checking, recall reading any books set in the most northerly parts of the country, but I'm sure there must be a number, and the Norwegian landscape does play an important part in creating the bleak atmosphere of books like Fossum's He Who Fears the Wolf. I'll have to consult Barry Forshaw, whose expertise on Scandinavian crime fiction is unmatched (his books, such as Nordic Noir, are a mine of information.)
Norway is an affluent country, with very low unemployment levels, yet the population density, especially in the large northern province of Finnmark is very low - the total coastline of Finnmark is almost 7000 km in length, and the province is bigger than Denmark, but it's home to a mere 75,000 people. There is something eerie, as well as compelling, about Finnmark's lonely mountains, lakes and tiny villages. Lots of scope here for closed communities and dark deeds in isolated settings.
The seas around the North Cape look daunting, but saw a good deal of action during the Second World War and stories with their roots in war-time do crop up from time to time in "Nordic Noir" - a Swedish example that sticks in my mind is Henning Mankell's Return of the Dancing Master . And a trip to the border with Russia the following day provided a reminder of Norway's intriguing geographical position, right next to a country which (as the current alarming news from Ukraine reminds us) is not always the cosiest of neighbours.
Recent years have seen a thawing (sorry, couldn't resist that!) of relations between the two countries, and one can only hope that events in the Ukraine don't lead to increased tension elsewhere. Again, I've not read any "Nordic noir" books set in the borderland, but I'm sure there must be some. Borderlands, as Ellis Peters among others has demonstrated, often provide excellent backgrounds for fiction because of the potential for conflict between cultures. And this particular border country is as fascinating as any I've ever visited.
March 3, 2014
Death in a Cold Climate
I returned last week from a short but amazing trip to the Arctic Circle, of all places, and have now just about thawed out enough to blog about it. The plan was to fly to Tromso in northern Norway, and then take a short cruise on a ship delightfully called the Trollfjord in search of the often elusive Northern Lights and the special character of places like the North Cape.
All I really knew about Tromso before I arrived was that it is home to a major university at which my much-missed friend Bob Barnard was professor of English literature for a number of years. Bob wrote a book set in Tromso, and I dug out the paperback copy of Death in a Cold Climate that he inscribed for me a good many years ago, and re-read it. With great enjoyment, I may add. It's a crisp story, told with the economy of style that I discussed here a couple of weeks ago. The plot, concerning Inspector Fagermo's hunt for the killer of a mysterious young Englishman, is quite different from Nordic noir, but there are a number of scenes, notably the final one, that pack a punch. Bob hit on a very clever way of concealing the culprit. And there is plenty of that trademark Barnard humour, especially in his portrayal of a disreputable English professor...
As for Tromso, it was bathed in sunshine when the plane touched down. The city occupies an island, and I found the landscape quite magical. A windy walk on a long bridge took me to the modern and architecturally dramatic Arctic Cathedral, which is mentioned in Bob's book, and then to the cable car which reaches up to the top of the snowy mountain overlooking the city. Standing outside at the top in a gale did take some doing (but was preferable to the alternative of plunging a few hundred feet) but was made worthwhile by some stunning vistas.
It's more than twenty years since I was last in Norway, and then I kept to the south, places like Bergen, Oslo and some of the fjords. But I was impressed with Tromso and could see why Bob and Louise enjoyed their time there. The atmosphere of the frozen North is quite inspirational, and although unlike Bob I won't be writing a Norwegian novel, I did come up with an idea for a short story influenced by something I came across during my visit to the "gateway to the Arctic". Just need to find time to write it...
February 28, 2014
Jonathan Creek - The Letters of Septimus Noone - BBC One TV review
Jonathan Creek returned tonight, and joy of joys, The Letters of Septimus Noone is not a one-off, but the first episode of a short series. Jonathan Creek's investigations, devised by the witty and clever David Renwick, revived interest in the locked room/impossible crime story in the nineties, a remarkable as well as welcome feat, at a time when the form seemed long past its sell-by date. It's a marvellous example of how a gifted writer can breathe fresh life into a traditional and apparently old-fashioned form, making it seem topical and great fun all over again.
Renwick has - wisely, I think - decided that he simply could not ignore the passage of time since Jonathan Creek first appeared on our screens. So Alan Davies, as Creek, still has a female "Dr Watson", but this time he's married to her: and the dynamic is very different to the tantalising relationship he had with Caroline Quentin in the early shows. Polly Creek is the most glamorous of Watsons, played by Sarah Alexander. The job as magician's assistant, the duffel coat and the windmill-house have gone too.
Renwick's sharp humour, and love of classic detective fiction, were very much in evidence. So we had a musical based on Gaston Leroux's once-celebrated locked room mystery, The Mystery of the Yellow Room (an excellent choice bearing in mind that Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera was immortalised by Andrew Lloyd Webber) and there were several neat word games, as well as sly nods to the success of Sherlock, a show written with the same appealing blend of playfulness and intelligence.
It's very, very difficult to write a locked room mystery that translates well to television, a point which I think some of those who have criticised recent one-off Creek stories tend to overlook. Here, Renwick offered a handful of small puzzles, rather than an over-arching mystery. This meant the story felt a little fragmentary, but it didn't matter too much. Jonathan Creek remains a show that has great appeal to all fans of classic detective fiction..
(By the way, there have been some excellent comments on this post but you may wish to avoid them until you have seen the show as they include observations on the plot.)
Renwick has - wisely, I think - decided that he simply could not ignore the passage of time since Jonathan Creek first appeared on our screens. So Alan Davies, as Creek, still has a female "Dr Watson", but this time he's married to her: and the dynamic is very different to the tantalising relationship he had with Caroline Quentin in the early shows. Polly Creek is the most glamorous of Watsons, played by Sarah Alexander. The job as magician's assistant, the duffel coat and the windmill-house have gone too.
Renwick's sharp humour, and love of classic detective fiction, were very much in evidence. So we had a musical based on Gaston Leroux's once-celebrated locked room mystery, The Mystery of the Yellow Room (an excellent choice bearing in mind that Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera was immortalised by Andrew Lloyd Webber) and there were several neat word games, as well as sly nods to the success of Sherlock, a show written with the same appealing blend of playfulness and intelligence.
It's very, very difficult to write a locked room mystery that translates well to television, a point which I think some of those who have criticised recent one-off Creek stories tend to overlook. Here, Renwick offered a handful of small puzzles, rather than an over-arching mystery. This meant the story felt a little fragmentary, but it didn't matter too much. Jonathan Creek remains a show that has great appeal to all fans of classic detective fiction..
(By the way, there have been some excellent comments on this post but you may wish to avoid them until you have seen the show as they include observations on the plot.)
Forgotten Book - Case with Four Clowns
Leo Bruce was a prolific writer whose career began in, but comfortably outlasted, the Golden Age. I've never got round to reading him, but I heard that his 1939 book Case with 4 Clowns was an interesting "whowasdunin" so I decided to give it a go. And I'm glad I did. It's almost a very fine book. Unfortunately,it falls short of excellence, because it's rather padded out. But there are some good ingredients, which make me want to read more of Bruce (whose real name was Rupert Croft-Cooke).
This is the fourth of the novels featuring Sergeant Beef, and is narrated by a detective novelist called Townsend. Much of the strength of the book derives from the comedy inherent in the relationship between Townsend and Beef. Townsend is insufferably smug, and constantly patronises the detective whose cases he chronicles. And at the start of the book we are told that Beef recently left the police because of a debacle in his last investigation. But he's a smart guy. All the way through, the reader roots for Beef and is pleased when Townsend gets his come-uppance.
Beef gets word from a relative who is involved with a circus travelling around Yorkshire that a gypsy fortune teller has predicted that a murder will take place in connection with the circus. But who will be the killer and who the victim? On this (rather slender, it must be said) basis, Beef and Townsend journey up North and join the people of the circus - who treat them with remarkable tolerance.
The story struck me as rather thin, although I rather admired the way that Bruce tried to compensate for this, and the finale (which explains the title - which had puzzled me) is very good. The story is really a variant on the idea of a "whowasdunin", and not a bad one, but too protracted, with too many characters whom I didn't find quite as fascinating as Bruce did. This sounds negative, but only because I'm frustrated that an evidently talented writer didn't fully realise the potential of the concept he came up with. Perhaps the problem was that it was a concept better suited to a short story or a novella than a full length novel.
This is the fourth of the novels featuring Sergeant Beef, and is narrated by a detective novelist called Townsend. Much of the strength of the book derives from the comedy inherent in the relationship between Townsend and Beef. Townsend is insufferably smug, and constantly patronises the detective whose cases he chronicles. And at the start of the book we are told that Beef recently left the police because of a debacle in his last investigation. But he's a smart guy. All the way through, the reader roots for Beef and is pleased when Townsend gets his come-uppance.
Beef gets word from a relative who is involved with a circus travelling around Yorkshire that a gypsy fortune teller has predicted that a murder will take place in connection with the circus. But who will be the killer and who the victim? On this (rather slender, it must be said) basis, Beef and Townsend journey up North and join the people of the circus - who treat them with remarkable tolerance.
The story struck me as rather thin, although I rather admired the way that Bruce tried to compensate for this, and the finale (which explains the title - which had puzzled me) is very good. The story is really a variant on the idea of a "whowasdunin", and not a bad one, but too protracted, with too many characters whom I didn't find quite as fascinating as Bruce did. This sounds negative, but only because I'm frustrated that an evidently talented writer didn't fully realise the potential of the concept he came up with. Perhaps the problem was that it was a concept better suited to a short story or a novella than a full length novel.
