Tied Up In Tinsel
A review of Tied Up In Tinsel by Ngaio Marsh – 250204
Having been impressed by the previous couple of novels in Ngaio Marsh’s Roderick Alleyn series, this, the twenty-seventh and originally published in 1972 is back to what I have found to be her norm, sadly underwhelming. We are back on familiar ground, a Christmas gathering at a country house at which Alleyn’s wife, the painter Agatha Troy is in attendance, which ends up with a murder and Alleyn just back from an important assignment in Australia rides in to sort it all out.
The premise upon which the novel is set is promising enough. In order to deal with the shortage of domestic staff in the late 1960s, Hilary Bill-Tasman has hit upon the novel solution of employing former convicts, each of whom has been convicted of committing murder. Agatha has been commissioned to paint Hilary’s portrait and as her hubby is away as usual, she accepts an invitation to extend her stay to enjoy the Christmas celebrations.
A sense of unease descends upon the house when a series of pranks are played on and anonymous letters sent to the guests, each in their own way drawing attention to the way each of the members of staff had committed their murders. The highlight of the Christmas celebrations is the arrival of a Druid-like Father Christmas resplendent in a golden beard, a part intended to be played by Colonel Fleaton Forrester aka Uncle Flea, but due to him having one of his turns, his long-time servant Moult steps into the breach. Moult then disappears, never to be seen again.
It is convenient that on the lawn of the house is a structure made of snow and ice representing a tomb of one of the Bill-Tasman’s ancestors, inside of which is a case. There are no prizes for guessing where the body is hidden. Moult has had a stormy relationship with the rest of the domestic staff and Hilary’s fiancée, Cressida Tottenham, is openly concerned by being surrounded by former murderers – so much for rehabilitation of criminals – and is keen to get rid of them, two sets of motives that might conjoin to result in murder.
One of three photographs found in Moult’s possessions gives the game away and the culprit is easy to spot, although the motive, perhaps, less so. To be charitable, the story raises questions about birth, class, social acceptance, and what it is like to be a criminal and the issues someone seeking to follow the straight and narrow but I found the whole thing too one-paced, too lengthy in setting up the premise and once I had seen the solution to the puzzle, too leisurely in coming to its conclusion.
On the positive side, there are some excellent and eccentric characters, and Agatha Troy is given the opportunity to show her inner strength, her determination and her vulnerabilities. The narrative is enlivened with some set pieces including Agatha’s walk through the countryside, the description of the Christmas festivities – it is astonishing how children at the time were able to contain their excitement about receiving presents until well into the evening of Christmas Day, would that it were so today! – and the search in a storm. These were all well done but not enough, in my opinion, to rescue a book that seemed to me overlong, a good idea poorly executed.
I was surprised to learn that this was one of two Marsh’s books to be nominated for an Edgar award, perhaps testament to her longevity and the paucity of rivals in 1972. Perhaps Ngaio Marsh and I are simply ill-matched.
