I had been looking forward to this book ever since I had finished the first one, Oscar Wilde and the Candlelight Murders.
At the risk of sound like Oscar, sadly, the journey is so often much more fun than the terminus. Where the first book captured me with with its sparkle this one bored me rather than entertained.
While Brandreth does a good job of taking one on a tour of fin de siecle London (with a map, no less, this time!) and introduces us to many interesting characters, real-life ones and invented, I felt this book simply didn’t hang together in the same way that the first book did. I was often confused and whole scenes would go by which turned out to entirely useless in furthering the plot in any way. I think that Brandreth was attempting, in a Christie fashion, to create red-herrings, but it wasn’t done with any conviction and I never once was led down any path. In fact, I went through the entire book not knowing, or indeed not even caring enough to suspect anyone at all.
What annoyed me particularly was that Oscar was not charismatic in this book, he was extraordinarily annoying. I am not enough of a Wilde fan to know whether the sayings he continually came out with were his own, or Brandreth’s, but I couldn’t help but think that most of the book was just Brandreth trying to be clever. Literally nothing happened for half the book, and nothing appeared to be happening for the other half.
The denouement was a complete surprise because other than the smallest of clues, there was literally no indication that this person was marked as the murderer. I like to be surprised, after all isn’t that part of the fun of reading a murder mystery? but I don’t like to go WTF? HIM? WHY? When the big moment comes. I was still boggling, even after Oscar Explained It All.
I know that the tradition in some murder stories is to have the amateur sleuth amazingly clever and the police incredibly dim, but in this book, EVERYONE, from the police to Conan Doyle to Robert Sherrad (the narrator) are thick as two short planks, and the only one with two brain cells to rub together is Wilde.
Not that I wanted a gay story, as the first book had a strong homosexual theme, but with Bosie on the scene and with their affair obviously in full swing, I would have expected a little more to be made of that. What did amuse me, though, was that Bosie’s older brother was also suspected of ‘unnaturallness’ with a politician.
I’d say that if you really really liked the first one, then get this from the library before shelling out any money on it. I have to say, also, that I don’t appreciate the first eight or so pages of any book I read to be filled with reviews of that particular book.