The Old Contemptible opens with a prologue: Superintendent Richard Jury thrift stall shopping with Carole-anne, a gorgeous neighbor who is all the things Richard Jury is not - young, petulant, new-agey and easy-come, easy-go with her many lovers. I personally could do without Carole-ann, but she's a recurring character, so there's no way out.
Being a Richard Jury mystery, it’s inevitable that just across the line of stalls another woman catches his eye as he lasciviously imagines her in the dress she’s admiring. She asks him to a pub and nearly as soon as they sit down, she stands up to leave, which seems a ploy to get him back to his apartment quicker. Jury (as usual) has stumbled, half-knowingly, into a relationship with someone who will likely break his heart, even though we (as usual) don’t see exactly what it is that attracts him to her, other than the non-stop sex.
To read the Jury mysteries you have to get over the fact that this reasonably intelligent and socially functioning detective is incapable of being happy on his own. He's constantly trying to fix the problem with the help of the multitude of good looking women he comes across. Sadly, as one of the characters says, he has a "hero complex". In other words, if you can’t be saved or don’t need help, he isn’t interested.
On top of his women issues, Jury can’t seem to solve a mystery without his friend Melrose Plant, an ex-Earl who lives on a country estate where he strategizes against his aunt and immerses himself in local dramas. Plant is like having a Watson or a Hastings who - when sent by the great detective to “observe” a drama - decides to just save time and solve the mystery while he’s there.
In fact, none of Martha Grimes’ bit players like to stay in the background, often hogging entire sections of the book with comedic, low-level plottings. Therefore, right after the prologue we visit Melrose Plant and his friend Marshall Trueblood, a flamboyant Antiques dealer, who have traveled to Italy to extricate their female friend from her upcoming marriage to her four year fiancee “Count Dracula”, and just after, we are involved in a minor incident involving Jury’s office cat, Cyril.
Grimes is masterful at creating well-defined characters quickly, mainly through dialogue and action, not personal description. Inspector Kamir, who is newly introduced in this book, has a soft-spoken, diffident voice. His eyes are brown and melting, and “might spill over at any moment with the tears… (that the victim’s child) didn’t shed.” The dialogue is what brings him to life: the tentative clarifications as though he will damage someone with an inaccurate word.
Few writers can maintain as many unique characters in a novel and keep them as sharply defined. The result is that her style can be frenetic and the dialogue itself dense and half-intelligible as though you’ve just sat down at a noisy pub with a bunch of people already halfway through a conversation.
An example (from a noisy pub): “...Mrs. Withersby, whose glass was as empty as the plate she passed at Sunday service (there’s some ain’t any more Chris’en than… she’d tell the vicar), came down the bar to utter her dark prognosis, which would become darker the longer she had to wait for a refill. ’Fam’bly allus ‘as been a bit, you-know -’ Here she made small circles round her temple with her finger and circles with her glass on the bar.” Discussions of cigarette butts ensue, and if you can follow it all, you know Mrs. Withersby’s waiting hopefully for a free drink and smoke, although she probably has some coins left that she stole from the church offerings, while commenting on Plant’s family’s mental stability, and cracking a gay joke at Trueblood.
Pubs, villages and countryside all figure strongly in her books (hence the pub name for each title), as well as children (usually independent and slightly loose from their foundations), the elderly, and often animals. There’s a mystical element to her world as well; cats and dogs show up just when needed, and complex and unseen ties trail from one life to another.
The protagonist in The Old Contemptibles is a schoolboy, sent down from the private school that is really out of his family’s reach financially, who lays by money earned through card game and horse race cons to plot an escape from England. Martha Grimes admires youth, intuition and self-reliance, and her stories weave a pattern of white roots through pain, muck and ashes to spring up as shoots of green. She can dip into the mawkish (elderly gumption and youthful pluck), but overall the narrative is probably livelier because she doesn’t overthink. (And more books for us to read.)
Frenetic, dense, funny and mystical, the books make up for some of their weaknesses by their energy and complexity. The plots often intertwine and you can’t ever fault Grimes for making her murderer too obvious, but if you want to be able to follow a trail of clues to the murderer, good luck with that. The end of the Old Contemptibles is completely implausible. Without giving anything away, there’s only one good clue as to the murderer, and the supposed motive seems completely untenable. The final scene involves cats, elderly and children conspiring, along with a final death, all right out of the author’s playbook.
Whether you enjoy the Old Contemptibles (or any of Martha Grimes books) will depend on how willing you are to completely suspend disbelief, turn off your analytical mind, and enjoy the ride. She is excellent at crafting a complex world - in this case of bottomless waters, precipitous cliffs, spirit-cats and lake poets - and creating characters that seem to live on their own.
Her plots are untidy, her dialogue rushed, but the writing and characterization are good - they are just books best read quickly. The inner critic has to be silenced, and afterwards you will have to avoid thinking too hard about the mystery itself (particularly in the case of this particular book.) If you are a slow, deliberate reader who expects your writers to work in the same way, then you might not enjoy these as much as I do.