The Voice Of The Corpse
A review of The Voice Of The Corpse by Max Murray – 240606
The Voice of the Corpse, originally published in 1948 and reissued by Galileo Publishers, is the first of eleven murder mysteries written by the Australian-born writer, Max Murray, each of which has Corpse in the title. This is the second of his books that I have read, The King and the Corpse being the other, and it is memorable for its opening image and an extremely funny first chapter. However, rather as L P Hartley demonstrated, having a stunning beginning is no guarantee that the rest of the book will be remembered.
There are plenty of positives, though. Angela Pewsey is sitting by the window singing while working at her spinning wheel making wool from the hair of a chow, described as the smelliest dog in the neighbourhood, when she is killed by a blow to the back of the head. It is a wonderfully bizarre murder, worthy of Ngaio Marsh at her best, and perhaps outré deaths is an Antipodean trait. By common consent of the residents of the village of Inching Round, and, even grudgingly, by the Yard detective, Inspector Fowler, the murderer has done a public service and there is a remarkable reluctance to bring the culprit to justice.
Angela Pewsey is one of those stock characters in detective fiction, the writer of poison letters, whose life work is to collect tittle tattle about her neighbours and holding them in her power by threatening to expose their guilty secrets. Inevitably, there are several villagers who have received missives form her and have motive enough, if pressed, to want to do away with her. Among the credible suspects are Graham Ward, who has an on and off engagement with Celia Sim, Major Torrens, a bluff military man who is not all that he seems, and an overworked doctor, Dr Daw, who is on the edge of a breakdown and is in love with a woman married to an alcoholic and abusive farmer.
There are a wonderful array of characters and Murray writes with no little humour and verve, but the book rather stalls after the set-up and the introduction of the major characters, with too much time spent on the local police’s belief that it was a tramp that did it, even Fowler quickly dismisses that theory, and the amateur detective, Firth Prentice, playing hard to get over whether to indulge Mrs Sim, Celia’s mother, and investigate the crime. Mrs Sim is a study of a larger than life village personality who, unlike the murder victim, employs her omniscience for the good of the community.
It is another book where the inquisitiveness of small boys leads to discoveries that have eluded their seniors. Not only have they a vantage point from a tree, but they are experts at identifying people by the sound of their walk, demonstrating their ability to the discomfort of Inspector Fowler. While honing their poaching skills, they come across a bloodied handkerchief and the murder weapon hidden in the garden of a suspect. This is enough to convict and hang the culprit.
In a surprising twist, though, Firth is convinced that although the condemned person had murdered, his victim was not Angela Pewsey. He, Mrs Sim and one other take justice into their own hands and the book ends with the reader feeling that a form of justice, albeit rough, has been done and as well as his man Firth catches a bride.
Murray’s tone leaves little room for the reader to sympathise with the fate of Angela Pewsey, choosing to emphasise the terrible dilemmas her actions have created. She got what she deserved and with her removal, most, but not all, of the villagers to live their lives in peace. It is not fairly clued and there is little in the way of deductive detection, but it is not that kind of book. It is a bit of a roller coaster, a novel that does not take itself too seriously, and great fun.
All credit to Galileo Publishers for bringing his work back to the attention of Golden Age detective fiction fans.
