Martin Edwards's Blog, page 210
December 11, 2013
Yesterday's Papers Once More
This week sees the publication of Yesterday's Papers, my fourth Harry Devlin novel, as an Arcturus Crime Classic, not quite twenty years after its first appearance. Unusually, the book has been published by three different publishers as a mass market paperback over the years (there is also an ebook version with a wonderful intro by Peter Lovesey, as well as a paperback print on demand version.) Originally the publisher was Bantam. Later, when I moved publishers to Hodder, they reprinted the earlier titles including this one. It's also, in a way, a "cold case" story that anticipates elements of my Lake District Mysteries.
I'm especially gratified because this is a book for which I've always had a soft spot. If pushed, I'd say it's probably my personal favourite among the Devlin titles. I'm not one of those authors who disowns his earlier books, or feels unduly embarrassed about them - even though I'm the first to admit that I'd write them differently (in some respects) if I were writing them today. I must say that it's rare for me to re-read my earlier work, though I do have to do so occasionally (for instance, when checking proofs of new versions or checking facts for an article.) But the early books provide, in some ways, a snapshot of ideas and issues that were interesting me or concerning me at the time I wrote them. That's true of most novels, of course, and it's one of the reasons I find it so fascinating to investigate books of the past. They cast a light on the times when they were written, even if the author didn't intend to do so.
The story of my career as a writer is illustrated (or so I might think in darker moments0 by the story of Yesterday's Papers. I felt it was the most successful book I'd written to date, with lots of twists and quite a bit of humour, as well as a glance at the era of the Mersey Sound in Liverpool during the Sixties. Bantam had tried to promote me by pricing the books very competitively. But it didn't result in mega-sales, and a complication was that I had a separate hardback publisher, Piatkus. Yesterday's Papers, however, earned numerous glowing reviews in Britain and elsewhere, and was even one of only a couple or so of crime novels featured in The Sunday Times Paperbacks of the Year. I dreamed that this would boost sales - only to be told that Bantam had already decided not to publish me any more. A shame, because they are a top publisher, and I had a really nice editor, Francesca Liversidge. But these things happen in a writer's career, and one of the most corrosive emotions is self-pity. Frustrating as the writing life can be, it's also a great life. You have to get on and make the most of it. And before long, as I say, another good publisher, Hodder, and an excellent editor, Kate Lyall Grant, came along..
Against this background, the revival of Yesterday's Papers is really rather a Christmas treat for me. I still think the plot-lines are among the best I've managed to come up with. And I'm hoping that a new group of readers will enjoy discovering Harry Devlin, and will be entertained by a story that reaches back to a time when the songs of Liverpool were being sung the world over.
December 9, 2013
Why Re-Read a Detective Story?
What is the point of re-reading a detective story? After all, if you know whodunit, surely it's a waste of time? This is an argument I've come across a good many times over the years. And there are certainly plenty of detective stories that most readers may doubt were worth reading once, let alone twice. (Mind you, that's true of plenty of books outside the crime genre, as well.) But I think a great deal of pleasure may be gained from re-reading a good whodunit, even if you can still remember who committed the crime and why.
A case in point is Death Walks in Eastrepps by Francis Beeding. I first read this novel in my twenties, but it has stuck in my mind ever since, and its reappearance as an Arcturus Crime Classic prompted me to give it another go. I knew the identity of the surprise culprit, and the even more surprising motive, but I was interested to see how the two authors who co-wrote under the Beeding name handled their tricky plot.
In this book, as in their The Norwich Victims, which I also re-read recently, they shift scenes and viewpoints regularly, giving the story a filmic quality. (Unsurprisingly, Alfred Hitchcock adapted another of their novels, which became Spellbound.) Even by today's frenetic standards, the book does not lack pace. It's an early serial killer novel, and there are half a dozen victims, before the culprit (or apparent culprit) is finally tracked down - after the original prime suspect had turned out to be innocent, if deranged.
There is a good courtroom sequence before a series of short and snappy scenes lead up to the final dramatic revelation. I was impressed by the way Beeding orchestrated a complicated storyline, and admiration of authorial craft is in itself a good reason to give a book a second reading. There are so many books I'll never read even once that I suppose I ought to feel guilty about spending time on a story I remembered pretty well. But I don't regret it at all, because I found it just as enjoyable the second time around as the first.
A case in point is Death Walks in Eastrepps by Francis Beeding. I first read this novel in my twenties, but it has stuck in my mind ever since, and its reappearance as an Arcturus Crime Classic prompted me to give it another go. I knew the identity of the surprise culprit, and the even more surprising motive, but I was interested to see how the two authors who co-wrote under the Beeding name handled their tricky plot.
In this book, as in their The Norwich Victims, which I also re-read recently, they shift scenes and viewpoints regularly, giving the story a filmic quality. (Unsurprisingly, Alfred Hitchcock adapted another of their novels, which became Spellbound.) Even by today's frenetic standards, the book does not lack pace. It's an early serial killer novel, and there are half a dozen victims, before the culprit (or apparent culprit) is finally tracked down - after the original prime suspect had turned out to be innocent, if deranged.
There is a good courtroom sequence before a series of short and snappy scenes lead up to the final dramatic revelation. I was impressed by the way Beeding orchestrated a complicated storyline, and admiration of authorial craft is in itself a good reason to give a book a second reading. There are so many books I'll never read even once that I suppose I ought to feel guilty about spending time on a story I remembered pretty well. But I don't regret it at all, because I found it just as enjoyable the second time around as the first.
December 6, 2013
Forgotten Book - Accessory to Murder
Do you know the work of Pamela Barrington? I didn't until recently. But I have now read her 1968 novel Accessory to Murder, and really enjoyed it. What is more, I would not have come across either Barrington or her Forgotten Book had it not been for one of the knowledgeable readers of this blog. Kacper contacted me a while ago and suggested I might be interested in Barrington. He said he'd been impressed with some of her work and thought I might like it too. He was quite right, and I'm really grateful to him for pointing me in her direction.
This little anecdote is an example, of course, of one of the very happy consequences of blogging. As a result of my posts here, I've come into contact with a wide range of people - some of whom I've been able to meet in person, many of whom I haven't - who have certainly proved delightful to talk to, either face to face or via email. And I've learned a good deal from these contacts, as well as benefiting from many kindnesses. It never ceases to amaze me how wonderfully the internet - whatever people say about its shortcomings- has opened up new horizons for us all.
Anyway, back to Barrington - whose real name, Kacper tells me, was Muriel Vere Mant Barling. She wrote about two dozen novels, with this one coming at the end of her career. It's a fast moving story, which opens with a man called Henry Deek, who seizes the chance to blackmail a rich local woman when he discovers a missing will. A legal point cropped up concerning the will, which I thought would be relevant, but was never mentioned again - one of the few flaws in an otherwise neatly constructed story.
When Henry is found murdered, there are a number of potential suspects, and Barrington does a good job of switching suspicion around. The twist at the end was, I felt, a bit weak, but all in all this was a lively and entertaining book. It reminded me of some of Margaret Yorke's early stand-alone crime novels. Margaret, of course, went on to win the CWA Diamond Dagger, whereas Barrington is now neglected. But as Kacper rightly said, she does not deserve to be. Incidentally, just as I was about to post here, Kacper has emailed me again with fresh information about Barrington (including the fact that she was born in Cheshire,which gives me a certain fellow feeling for her), and I hope to feature her again in this blog before too long.
This little anecdote is an example, of course, of one of the very happy consequences of blogging. As a result of my posts here, I've come into contact with a wide range of people - some of whom I've been able to meet in person, many of whom I haven't - who have certainly proved delightful to talk to, either face to face or via email. And I've learned a good deal from these contacts, as well as benefiting from many kindnesses. It never ceases to amaze me how wonderfully the internet - whatever people say about its shortcomings- has opened up new horizons for us all.
Anyway, back to Barrington - whose real name, Kacper tells me, was Muriel Vere Mant Barling. She wrote about two dozen novels, with this one coming at the end of her career. It's a fast moving story, which opens with a man called Henry Deek, who seizes the chance to blackmail a rich local woman when he discovers a missing will. A legal point cropped up concerning the will, which I thought would be relevant, but was never mentioned again - one of the few flaws in an otherwise neatly constructed story.
When Henry is found murdered, there are a number of potential suspects, and Barrington does a good job of switching suspicion around. The twist at the end was, I felt, a bit weak, but all in all this was a lively and entertaining book. It reminded me of some of Margaret Yorke's early stand-alone crime novels. Margaret, of course, went on to win the CWA Diamond Dagger, whereas Barrington is now neglected. But as Kacper rightly said, she does not deserve to be. Incidentally, just as I was about to post here, Kacper has emailed me again with fresh information about Barrington (including the fact that she was born in Cheshire,which gives me a certain fellow feeling for her), and I hope to feature her again in this blog before too long.
December 4, 2013
The Wallace Case - Alan Hamilton's perspective
My blog about P.D. James' essay on the legendary Wallace case prompted some very interesting comments and emails. One of them came from Alan Hamilton, who has just written a novel, Stalemate, which draws on the case (and which I very much look forward to reading.) Alan's research has been impressive, and I invited him to contribute a guest blog setting out some of his thoughts, which I hope will also whet readers' appetites for his novel.
"James Agate, a critic famous in his day, wrote, ‘either the murderer was Wallace or it wasn’t. If it wasn’t, then here at last is the perfect murder.’
Let’s start with what we know.
We know that at the time of the murder Wallace was terminally ill. He’d spent a month as an in-patient in a Liverpool hospital in mid-1930 and had it made clear to him that his remaining kidney was diseased and malfunctioning and that nothing could be done to reverse or even arrest that. We also know he was a deeply introspective, introverted, and cerebral man. Wholly self-taught, his interests covered chemistry, science in general, philosophy, chess, music, and literature – interests that, together with his psychological traits, tended to cut him off from those among whom he lived and worked.
We know, and this knowledge is only about fifteen years old, that Julia Wallace was nearly twenty years older than her husband and yet had got away with claiming to be the same age as him. No one at the time suspected it. She did not look her age. She had lied persistently on official documents about her age, parentage, place of birth and even her first name, and did so too with her marriage certificate. We know she rented and did not own the house she lived in when she met Wallace. We know she had today’s equivalent of £2340 in her Post Office account and on the night she was killed about £40 in cash in a pocket applied to the inside of her corset. She would have had to undress to get at the money.
We know that when Wallace arrived home from his wasted trip to Mossley Hill in pursuit of business from Mr Qualtrough, he was able to enter his back yard through the door in the wall. He said he’d told his wife to bolt it after him. If she had, he wouldn’t have been able, or expected, to get in.
We know that Julia was killed around 8pm. Professor McFall wrote that in the first report he made to the CID. He later changed his mind although he had no better evidence than he had had when he made that first report.
And finally we know that, contrary to PD James’s theory, Wallace did not cost Parry his job by reporting him to the Pru for paying-in less than he collected. It was more than a year after Wallace caught Parry out that Parry left the Pru of his own accord. About a month before the murder, Parry gave Wallace a calendar from his new employer. It was Wallace’s supervisor who told him later that Parry’s father had made good shortages in his son’s accounts.
So, given what we know, what might have happened? Someone killed Julia and with a degree of violence of which Wallace, given his temperament and physical condition, was probably incapable. What’s more, whoever it was did it when Wallace was several miles from home. Someone who was let into the house by Julia; someone she either knew or thought she knew. Someone who intended from the start, or was provoked, to kill her. Someone from her distinctly strange past, perhaps, or someone who wanted her out of the way? Or someone who was persuaded, rewarded, or pressured to kill her so someone else could benefit? Someone else who might then feel that at the end of a lifetime of frustration and disappointment he (or she) had organised ‘the perfect murder’".
"James Agate, a critic famous in his day, wrote, ‘either the murderer was Wallace or it wasn’t. If it wasn’t, then here at last is the perfect murder.’
Let’s start with what we know.
We know that at the time of the murder Wallace was terminally ill. He’d spent a month as an in-patient in a Liverpool hospital in mid-1930 and had it made clear to him that his remaining kidney was diseased and malfunctioning and that nothing could be done to reverse or even arrest that. We also know he was a deeply introspective, introverted, and cerebral man. Wholly self-taught, his interests covered chemistry, science in general, philosophy, chess, music, and literature – interests that, together with his psychological traits, tended to cut him off from those among whom he lived and worked.
We know, and this knowledge is only about fifteen years old, that Julia Wallace was nearly twenty years older than her husband and yet had got away with claiming to be the same age as him. No one at the time suspected it. She did not look her age. She had lied persistently on official documents about her age, parentage, place of birth and even her first name, and did so too with her marriage certificate. We know she rented and did not own the house she lived in when she met Wallace. We know she had today’s equivalent of £2340 in her Post Office account and on the night she was killed about £40 in cash in a pocket applied to the inside of her corset. She would have had to undress to get at the money.
We know that when Wallace arrived home from his wasted trip to Mossley Hill in pursuit of business from Mr Qualtrough, he was able to enter his back yard through the door in the wall. He said he’d told his wife to bolt it after him. If she had, he wouldn’t have been able, or expected, to get in.
We know that Julia was killed around 8pm. Professor McFall wrote that in the first report he made to the CID. He later changed his mind although he had no better evidence than he had had when he made that first report.
And finally we know that, contrary to PD James’s theory, Wallace did not cost Parry his job by reporting him to the Pru for paying-in less than he collected. It was more than a year after Wallace caught Parry out that Parry left the Pru of his own accord. About a month before the murder, Parry gave Wallace a calendar from his new employer. It was Wallace’s supervisor who told him later that Parry’s father had made good shortages in his son’s accounts.
So, given what we know, what might have happened? Someone killed Julia and with a degree of violence of which Wallace, given his temperament and physical condition, was probably incapable. What’s more, whoever it was did it when Wallace was several miles from home. Someone who was let into the house by Julia; someone she either knew or thought she knew. Someone who intended from the start, or was provoked, to kill her. Someone from her distinctly strange past, perhaps, or someone who wanted her out of the way? Or someone who was persuaded, rewarded, or pressured to kill her so someone else could benefit? Someone else who might then feel that at the end of a lifetime of frustration and disappointment he (or she) had organised ‘the perfect murder’".
December 2, 2013
The Good Doctor - film review
In real life,and in fiction, doctors have a disturbing track record when it comes to homicide. My own favourite medical murderer (or was he simply unlucky and much misunderstood?) is Dr Crippen, while the terrible crimes of Harold Shipman undoubtedly rank among the most chilling murders Britain has ever experienced. Detective novelists have often featured doctors as culprits (as I myself have done.) Accountants and even rascally lawyers seem to get off relatively lightly in comparison.
Why is this? One reason, perhaps, is the trust that we place in members of the medical profession, and the fear we have that in certain circumstances that trust might be betrayed - though I hasten to add that every single doctor I've ever met in person has struck me as decent and caring. This mix of trust and fear underpins a 2011 movie, The Good Doctor.
Orlando Bloom plays Martin Blake, a young and rather lonely British guy who has moved to the States to pursue a medical career. He treats a very pretty young woman, and is soon tempted into behaving appallingly in order to maintain his connection with her. She is played by Riley Keough, who is the grand-daughter of Elvis Presley, no less. Needless to say, things do not turn out as Blake had planned, and there's some uncomfortable watching in the hospital scenes for any hypochondriac.
The prime requirement of a story of psychological suspense, though, is that it must be psychologically convincing. The script simply doesn't tell us enough about Blake's personal history to make us empathise with or really understand him, and I felt this was a major flaw. As a result, the film frustrated me. It had the potential to be gripping, but eventually I became not only queasy but restless, and the final scenes struck me as artistically unsatisfactory. In fairness, I should add that The Good Doctor has had some positive reviews, but there is something cold about it that I am afraid I found rather unappealing.
Why is this? One reason, perhaps, is the trust that we place in members of the medical profession, and the fear we have that in certain circumstances that trust might be betrayed - though I hasten to add that every single doctor I've ever met in person has struck me as decent and caring. This mix of trust and fear underpins a 2011 movie, The Good Doctor.
Orlando Bloom plays Martin Blake, a young and rather lonely British guy who has moved to the States to pursue a medical career. He treats a very pretty young woman, and is soon tempted into behaving appallingly in order to maintain his connection with her. She is played by Riley Keough, who is the grand-daughter of Elvis Presley, no less. Needless to say, things do not turn out as Blake had planned, and there's some uncomfortable watching in the hospital scenes for any hypochondriac.
The prime requirement of a story of psychological suspense, though, is that it must be psychologically convincing. The script simply doesn't tell us enough about Blake's personal history to make us empathise with or really understand him, and I felt this was a major flaw. As a result, the film frustrated me. It had the potential to be gripping, but eventually I became not only queasy but restless, and the final scenes struck me as artistically unsatisfactory. In fairness, I should add that The Good Doctor has had some positive reviews, but there is something cold about it that I am afraid I found rather unappealing.
December 1, 2013
What I Didn't Do On My Holidays
I've just returned from a week away - and a week away from internet access, other than a five minute window which just gave me the chance to publish the comments several of you had kindly made on posts I'd scheduled to appear in my absence. A week without emails - that's the first time I've been so out of touch (well, in terms of technology, anyway) since the mid 90s.
It was certainly an eventful week. The plan was to go on a cruise focusing on the Azores. I'd never been there, but a late impulse decision to give the little islands a go was thwarted within an hour of stepping on board ship. The weather forecast was appalling, and the news was that we would be unable to dock. Very sensibly, the captain changed the itinerary, and apart from one day of rough seas, the weather was fantastic. So despite the disappointment of missing out on the Azores, it all worked out for the best. And by a pleasing coincidence, the very first song in the first night's evening show was "Magical Mystery Tour".
Mind you, within hours of returning, I had a phone call from a crime writing friend, Eileen Dewhurst, who broke the news that she'd actually made it to the Azores a week earlier - and loved them. So I'll have to give them another try one day. And when I finally had the chance to skim through my emails, I was delighted to read one notifying me of acceptance of a new short story for a very interesting-sounding international crime anthology, commissioned as a result of my involvement in the international writers' conference at Oxford back in August.
During my unexpectedly Azores-less and internet-less week, I did find plenty of time both to read and to think about my new Lakes book. Work on this has been delayed for various reasons, but I enjoyed having the chance to think out my characters in more detail and I hope to get cracking again any day now. As for reading, the books were chosen for variety, and did not disappoint (except for one surprisingly weak Patrick Quentin.) More of them in future blog posts.
The revised itinerary took in La Palma, Madeira, Rabat and Lanzarote, and I became fascinated by the volcanic nature of the Canaries. This has prompted a new idea for a short story, although I only have the idea rather than the detail of the storyline at present. And among other things, I went for a ride on a camel. Photographic evidence of this does exist, but I don't think the internet is yet ready for the pictures! However, here are some of the other sights that I found so appealing.
La Palma - a pretty island, home to the biggest volcanic crater in the world, so it was said, but regardless of statistics, quite breathtaking
The Nuns' Valley in a remote corner of that wonderful island Madeira - perhaps the most stunning vista of the entire week
The kasbah in the imperial city of Rabat, a much more fascinating place, in my opinion, than the port where we landed, Casablanca. Morocco is a remarkable country, which I've now visited (although quite briefly) five times in the past couple of years, and one of the things that has impressed me most about it is the way that Muslims, Christians and Jews appear to live in harmony.
Camels in Lanzarote, ready for action....
The volcanic area of the national park in Lanzarote. The geysers of Fire Mountain, and the restaurant where food is cooked by the heat of the volcano are truly extraordinary.
And finally, the stunning lunar landscape near Mount Teide in Tenerife. The first Planet of the Apes movie was filmed here, and no wonder. The beach resorts of the island hold no great appeal for me, but Tenerife's dramatic scenery is worth travelling a long way to see.
It was certainly an eventful week. The plan was to go on a cruise focusing on the Azores. I'd never been there, but a late impulse decision to give the little islands a go was thwarted within an hour of stepping on board ship. The weather forecast was appalling, and the news was that we would be unable to dock. Very sensibly, the captain changed the itinerary, and apart from one day of rough seas, the weather was fantastic. So despite the disappointment of missing out on the Azores, it all worked out for the best. And by a pleasing coincidence, the very first song in the first night's evening show was "Magical Mystery Tour".
Mind you, within hours of returning, I had a phone call from a crime writing friend, Eileen Dewhurst, who broke the news that she'd actually made it to the Azores a week earlier - and loved them. So I'll have to give them another try one day. And when I finally had the chance to skim through my emails, I was delighted to read one notifying me of acceptance of a new short story for a very interesting-sounding international crime anthology, commissioned as a result of my involvement in the international writers' conference at Oxford back in August.
During my unexpectedly Azores-less and internet-less week, I did find plenty of time both to read and to think about my new Lakes book. Work on this has been delayed for various reasons, but I enjoyed having the chance to think out my characters in more detail and I hope to get cracking again any day now. As for reading, the books were chosen for variety, and did not disappoint (except for one surprisingly weak Patrick Quentin.) More of them in future blog posts.
The revised itinerary took in La Palma, Madeira, Rabat and Lanzarote, and I became fascinated by the volcanic nature of the Canaries. This has prompted a new idea for a short story, although I only have the idea rather than the detail of the storyline at present. And among other things, I went for a ride on a camel. Photographic evidence of this does exist, but I don't think the internet is yet ready for the pictures! However, here are some of the other sights that I found so appealing.
La Palma - a pretty island, home to the biggest volcanic crater in the world, so it was said, but regardless of statistics, quite breathtaking
The Nuns' Valley in a remote corner of that wonderful island Madeira - perhaps the most stunning vista of the entire week
The kasbah in the imperial city of Rabat, a much more fascinating place, in my opinion, than the port where we landed, Casablanca. Morocco is a remarkable country, which I've now visited (although quite briefly) five times in the past couple of years, and one of the things that has impressed me most about it is the way that Muslims, Christians and Jews appear to live in harmony.
Camels in Lanzarote, ready for action....
The volcanic area of the national park in Lanzarote. The geysers of Fire Mountain, and the restaurant where food is cooked by the heat of the volcano are truly extraordinary.
And finally, the stunning lunar landscape near Mount Teide in Tenerife. The first Planet of the Apes movie was filmed here, and no wonder. The beach resorts of the island hold no great appeal for me, but Tenerife's dramatic scenery is worth travelling a long way to see.
November 29, 2013
Forgotten Book - Lonely Magdalen
I've expressed before my admiration for Henry Wade's Lonely Magdalen, but the publication by Arcturus of a new mass market paperback means that this previously rare book is now within reach of any Golden Age fan. The Arcturus Crime Classics series is eclectic and fascinating, and I'd be saying that even if it didn't include a couple of my own Harry Devlin titles!
Inspector John Poole, Wade's most regular detective, here investigates the strangling of a scarred prostitute on Hampstead Heath. An early suspect is a man called Varden, who acts suspiciously and acts as bodyguard and bullyboy for a dodgy bookmaker. But Poole needs to discover the victim's identity. When he does, he receives a shock - she is a woman from an upper class background whose recent past is a mystery.
The second section of the book goes back in time, 25 years. We are introduced to an amiable young man called Jim Widdington, and the two attractive sisters in whom he takes an interest. He dumps one and marries the other, but spends most of his time enduring the hellish conditions of the Western Front. Wade, who fought in the war, provides a very good picture of the nightmarish life of the soldiers,and the effect it had on their personal lives.
The third section brings us back to the present (1939). Wade pursues one hopeful lead after another and eventually pinpoints the culprit. We are treated to a frank description of police bullying as the suspect is put under pressure in breach of the Judge's Rules. And in the very last paragraph, there is a wholly unexpected twist - or is it a twist? This is writing of the highest order. It's not cosy or"humdrum" at all. The plotting and characterisation are first rate. But Wade was unlucky - the book came out after the war began, and as a result did not receive the acclaim it so richly deserved. I'm so pleased it's back in print, because I think it's one of the masterpieces of the Golden Age.
Inspector John Poole, Wade's most regular detective, here investigates the strangling of a scarred prostitute on Hampstead Heath. An early suspect is a man called Varden, who acts suspiciously and acts as bodyguard and bullyboy for a dodgy bookmaker. But Poole needs to discover the victim's identity. When he does, he receives a shock - she is a woman from an upper class background whose recent past is a mystery.
The second section of the book goes back in time, 25 years. We are introduced to an amiable young man called Jim Widdington, and the two attractive sisters in whom he takes an interest. He dumps one and marries the other, but spends most of his time enduring the hellish conditions of the Western Front. Wade, who fought in the war, provides a very good picture of the nightmarish life of the soldiers,and the effect it had on their personal lives.
The third section brings us back to the present (1939). Wade pursues one hopeful lead after another and eventually pinpoints the culprit. We are treated to a frank description of police bullying as the suspect is put under pressure in breach of the Judge's Rules. And in the very last paragraph, there is a wholly unexpected twist - or is it a twist? This is writing of the highest order. It's not cosy or"humdrum" at all. The plotting and characterisation are first rate. But Wade was unlucky - the book came out after the war began, and as a result did not receive the acclaim it so richly deserved. I'm so pleased it's back in print, because I think it's one of the masterpieces of the Golden Age.
Forgotten Book -Lonely Magdalen
I've expressed before my admiration for Henry Wade's Lonely Magdalen, but the publication by Arcturus of a new mass market paperback means that this previously rare book is now within reach of any Golden Age fan. The Arcturus Crime Classics series is eclectic and fascinating, and I'd be saying that even if it didn't include a couple of my own Harry Devlin titles!
Inspector John Poole, Wade's most regular detective, here investigates the strangling of a scarred prostitute on Hampstead Heath. An early suspect is a man called Varden, who acts suspiciously and acts as bodyguard and bullyboy for a dodgy bookmaker. But Poole needs to discover the victim's identity. When he does, he receives a shock - she is a woman from an upper class background whose recent past is a mystery.
The second section of the book goes back in time, 25 years. We are introduced to an amiable young man called Jim Widdington, and the two attractive sisters in whom he takes an interest. He dumps one and marries the other, but spends most of his time enduring the hellish conditions of the Western Front. Wade, who fought in the war, provides a very good picture of the nightmarish life of the soldiers,and the effect it had on their personal lives.
The third section brings us back to the present (1939). Wade pursues one hopeful lead after another and eventually pinpoints the culprit. We are treated to a frank description of police bullying as the suspect is put under pressure in breach of the Judge's Rules. And in the very last paragraph, there is a wholly unexpected twist - or is it a twist? This is writing of the highest order. It's not cosy or"humdrum" at all. The plotting and characterisation are first rate. But Wade was unlucky - the book came out after the war began, and as a result did not receive the acclaim it so richly deserved. I'm so pleased it's back in print, because I think it's one of the masterpieces of the Golden Age.
Inspector John Poole, Wade's most regular detective, here investigates the strangling of a scarred prostitute on Hampstead Heath. An early suspect is a man called Varden, who acts suspiciously and acts as bodyguard and bullyboy for a dodgy bookmaker. But Poole needs to discover the victim's identity. When he does, he receives a shock - she is a woman from an upper class background whose recent past is a mystery.
The second section of the book goes back in time, 25 years. We are introduced to an amiable young man called Jim Widdington, and the two attractive sisters in whom he takes an interest. He dumps one and marries the other, but spends most of his time enduring the hellish conditions of the Western Front. Wade, who fought in the war, provides a very good picture of the nightmarish life of the soldiers,and the effect it had on their personal lives.
The third section brings us back to the present (1939). Wade pursues one hopeful lead after another and eventually pinpoints the culprit. We are treated to a frank description of police bullying as the suspect is put under pressure in breach of the Judge's Rules. And in the very last paragraph, there is a wholly unexpected twist - or is it a twist? This is writing of the highest order. It's not cosy or"humdrum" at all. The plotting and characterisation are first rate. But Wade was unlucky - the book came out after the war began, and as a result did not receive the acclaim it so richly deserved. I'm so pleased it's back in print, because I think it's one of the masterpieces of the Golden Age.
November 27, 2013
Classic Taggart - Nest of Vipers
We often recall television programmes of long ago with great affection, only to be rather disappointed when we see them today, in an age when production values tend to be so much higher,and even very good shows are apt to look very dated. There's still, in my opinion, a great deal of nostalgic pleasure to be had from watching the best shows of the past, but I have to admit that sometimes they don't stand up to searching comparison with today's television.
I wondered if this would be the case with the shows in the Classic Taggart DVD set which I was delighted to receive as a present recently. I decided to start out by watching a story written by the show's creator, Glenn Chandler, which dates back to 1992. Nest of Vipers made a great impression on me when I first saw it - the storyline is creepy and complex,and you can never be sure where it is going. But would it stand the test of time?
The answer was a triumphant yes. Even now, the pace, complexity and sheer fascination of the story is as good as anything you will find on television today. In the course of the past year, I've watched plenty of enjoyable crime dramas, with cop shows ranging from Lewis, Endeavour, Vera, Shetland, and DCI Banks among the best. It remains to be seen if they will last as well as Nest of Vipers, but suffice to say that I've not seen anything better in the past year, even though this time I could remember some, at least, of the plot twists.
The success of the story owes a huge amount to Chandler's brilliant script, and also to Mark McManus's superb performance as Taggart. In this story, he becomes emotionally involved with a woman whose daughter has been missing for four years. When two skulls are discovered, reconstruction work suggests that the daughter has been found at last. But who was the other victim? And what is the link between the discovery of the skulls and the sinister killing - by means of snake venom - of people connected with a company involved in scientific research?
Dougray Scott, no less, made a great impression in this show, which was a stepping stone to a highly successful career. The cast as a whole was excellent. I admired again the skill with which Chandler scattered his red herrings, and how cleverly he built suspense and mystery. All in all, Nest of Vipers is a superb piece of television, and along with several other early Taggarts, one of the best crime shows I've ever seen.
I wondered if this would be the case with the shows in the Classic Taggart DVD set which I was delighted to receive as a present recently. I decided to start out by watching a story written by the show's creator, Glenn Chandler, which dates back to 1992. Nest of Vipers made a great impression on me when I first saw it - the storyline is creepy and complex,and you can never be sure where it is going. But would it stand the test of time?
The answer was a triumphant yes. Even now, the pace, complexity and sheer fascination of the story is as good as anything you will find on television today. In the course of the past year, I've watched plenty of enjoyable crime dramas, with cop shows ranging from Lewis, Endeavour, Vera, Shetland, and DCI Banks among the best. It remains to be seen if they will last as well as Nest of Vipers, but suffice to say that I've not seen anything better in the past year, even though this time I could remember some, at least, of the plot twists.
The success of the story owes a huge amount to Chandler's brilliant script, and also to Mark McManus's superb performance as Taggart. In this story, he becomes emotionally involved with a woman whose daughter has been missing for four years. When two skulls are discovered, reconstruction work suggests that the daughter has been found at last. But who was the other victim? And what is the link between the discovery of the skulls and the sinister killing - by means of snake venom - of people connected with a company involved in scientific research?
Dougray Scott, no less, made a great impression in this show, which was a stepping stone to a highly successful career. The cast as a whole was excellent. I admired again the skill with which Chandler scattered his red herrings, and how cleverly he built suspense and mystery. All in all, Nest of Vipers is a superb piece of television, and along with several other early Taggarts, one of the best crime shows I've ever seen.
November 25, 2013
Stay Close by Harlan Coben - review
Stay Close is a stand-alone best-seller by America's Harlan Coben that one laudatory review described as a "beach read". For my part, I started reading it on holiday as a bit of light entertainment while finding my way around the railway network of Northern Italy and was gripped straight away.. I've never met Coben, but I've read a number of his books over the years. He's a highly accomplished craftsman, and there's no doubt he's a highly intelligent writer. Despite the lightness of touch in his books, there's a cleverness about his work that possibly he likes to conceal, but even so, it is evident in many ways.
If I were to write a thriller myself (unlikely, but not impossible) I'd study the methods of the likes of Lee Child and Harlan Coben, because they have mastered a form that is much more difficult to handle than it looks. The late great Michael Gilbert always argued that writing thrillers was harder than writing detective stories and since he excelled at both forms, I am not about to argue the point. A great thriller, like a great pop song, demands a lot of artistry on the part of its author.
This story introduces us to Megan, a former stripper turned respectable suburban mom, a likeable cop called Broome, a washed-up photographer called Ray and a host of memorable minor characters including an unlikely but unforgettable pair of pscyho killers. When a rich man's son goes missing, a sequence of events is set in motion that brings Megan face to face with some unsavoury aspects of her secret past. One of the great strengths of the book is the humour - there are plenty of funny lines.
The plot is structured ingeniously so that the reader is distracted from seeing what is really going on. And what is that? Well, I suspected from an early stage a modern variant of one of Anthony Berkeley's favourite plot devices and this proved to be the case, but. I won't say any more as I don't want to give anything away. The book's worth reading for the plot alone, but it has more to offer than that - pace, wit and verve. My only reservation was that I felt the story was overloaded with sentimental set-piece situations - a wife on life support, a mother with Alzheimer's, a woman with cancer, and various other devices meant to tug on the heart-strings - but I bet Hollywood will love them. All the ingredients of a successful modern commercial thriller are here, and Coben mixes them with great assurance.
If I were to write a thriller myself (unlikely, but not impossible) I'd study the methods of the likes of Lee Child and Harlan Coben, because they have mastered a form that is much more difficult to handle than it looks. The late great Michael Gilbert always argued that writing thrillers was harder than writing detective stories and since he excelled at both forms, I am not about to argue the point. A great thriller, like a great pop song, demands a lot of artistry on the part of its author.
This story introduces us to Megan, a former stripper turned respectable suburban mom, a likeable cop called Broome, a washed-up photographer called Ray and a host of memorable minor characters including an unlikely but unforgettable pair of pscyho killers. When a rich man's son goes missing, a sequence of events is set in motion that brings Megan face to face with some unsavoury aspects of her secret past. One of the great strengths of the book is the humour - there are plenty of funny lines.
The plot is structured ingeniously so that the reader is distracted from seeing what is really going on. And what is that? Well, I suspected from an early stage a modern variant of one of Anthony Berkeley's favourite plot devices and this proved to be the case, but. I won't say any more as I don't want to give anything away. The book's worth reading for the plot alone, but it has more to offer than that - pace, wit and verve. My only reservation was that I felt the story was overloaded with sentimental set-piece situations - a wife on life support, a mother with Alzheimer's, a woman with cancer, and various other devices meant to tug on the heart-strings - but I bet Hollywood will love them. All the ingredients of a successful modern commercial thriller are here, and Coben mixes them with great assurance.
