Q.E.D. (Annotated): A Private Detective Whodunit

by Lee Thayer, Sara E. Rosett (Introduction)

Annotated version with a new introduction that

a biography of Lee Thayer a literary criticism of the novel and its importance in Golden Age mystery fiction New York, 1920. A dead body is discovered in unmarred snow. The man has obviously been murdered . . . but that’s impossible because only the victim’s footprints are in the snow.

New York detective Peter Clancy left the city for a relaxing visit with a friend in the country, but the strange case of the murder in the snow puts an end to his vacation.

Who was the murdered man and how was he killed? Peter is sure the local police are on the wrong track, but until he can figure out how the man was killed, a murderer remains free.

Genres: Mystery

212 pages, Kindle Edition

First published January 1, 1922

About the author

Emma Redington Lee Thayer (1874-1973) was an American artist who published sixty mystery novels beginning with "The Mystery of the Thirteenth Floor" (1919) and ending, at the age of ninety-two, with "Dusty Death" (1966). All but one feature the red-headed detective Peter Clancy and his valet Wiggar.

Thayer was born in Pennsylvania and educated at Cooper Union and Pratt Institute, New York City. She married Henry W. Thayer in 1909. As an artist and illustrator, she had paintings displayed at Chicago World's Fair, and produced designs for book jackets.

Reviews

[Anissa · Rating 3 out of 5]

A Good Classic Crime Story

I bought this because I love snowy wintry reads at this time of year and if they're mysteries, it's even better. The murder is like a locked room but outside in the open. The victim has a broken neck, cutthroat and only one set of footprints in the vast expanse of snow in front of a New Jersey mansion. That is a great puzzle. The story played out in an interesting way but slowed a bit in the middle. The investigator here is a reluctant private investigator, who was just trying to take a much needed vacation and do some fishing. The solution to who the killer was wasn't a surprise but the how exactly and why were a neat revelation.

This is my first read by Lee Thayer and I'd read another. I haven't read much American Golden Age crime fiction (the British authors are usually what I read). The cover is what caught my eye initially and prompted me to pick up other books in this classic crime series.

As the book summary isn't posted to Goodreads, here it is:

A dead body is discovered in unmarred snow. The man has obviously been murdered . . . but that’s impossible because only the victim’s footprints are in the snow.

New York detective Peter Clancy left the city for a relaxing visit with a friend in the country, but the strange case of the murder in the snow puts an end to his vacation. Who was the murdered man and how was he killed? Peter is sure the local police are on the wrong track, but until he can figure out how the man was killed, a murderer remains free.

[Lisa Kucharski · Rating 4 out of 5]

So this is the 2nd Thayer story I've read and it is earlier in the Clancy series. Her writing style is found mostly in books between 1910 through the 1920's. She was born in like- 1894. Examples of what I mean are: stopping to describe internal thinking/conversations, or to render an appraisal upon a situation or even to pat her detective on the back. These elements do tend to slow down the pace of her stories.

However, her stories are very interesting and have really eccentric crimes that involve a wide variety of places and people. I know that Thayer, who wrote a lot of mysteries, is generally considered...merely ok. And I think, the main reason is that her writing style to current ears feels very stuffy. If you can move through this, you will find a woman who wrote stories that reflected crime and society of the time but through eyes that were a bit older than other Golden Age writers. Would say this is a 3 1/2 stars.

This story is quite quick to read and would probably be a good one to choose if you were interested in reading one of her stories. The other book I read was Dead Storage which was later in the series and also involved some really convoluted elements and complicated manners of death.

[Margaret · Rating 4 out of 5]

I liked the author's style of writing. While the murder seems "impossible," I felt it was pretty obvious how it was done as soon as they discover the first clue. So while it didn't 'keep me guessing' I still really enjoyed the book.

[Kim · Rating 4 out of 5]

Q. E. D. is a mystery novel by Lee Thayer published in 1922. Lee Thayer is really Emma Redington Lee Thayer, which surprises me every time I see that because my mind keeps telling me the author was a man and I doubt it was with that name. Thayer was an American author who published sixty mystery novels (something like that) the first is The Mystery of the 13th Floor , which if I read I have no memory of and will have to go and see if I have a review for it, the last she wrote at the age of ninety-two, was Dusty Death , I have got to read that one. All but one feature the red-headed detective Peter Clancy. Whatever one didn't feature Peter Clancy I haven't found yet. Oh, I just went and looked and I did read that first book, after reading the review, which is kind of rambling, but that's how I know I wrote it for sure, I even remember it, kind of anyway. In fact, according to goodreads I've read The Unlatched Door and Five Bullets too. Well that's good to know. According to what I said in one of these other reviews I just read again, is that Thayer was 45 years old when she published her first book. Other than wondering how I know that I'm also wondering what she was doing until then. One thing I find strange about the author, and about goodreads I guess, is that there seems to be two Lee Thayers, and some of my author's, the one writing mysteries, are ending up on the other guy's page, he writes nothing I would ever dream of reading. Anyway, I'm moving on to my book, the mystery one.

The first thing I did was look up what Q. E. D. meant, I should have just skipped it because this is what it means:

QED is an abbreviation of the Latin words "Quod Erat Demonstrandum" which loosely translated means "that which was to be demonstrated". It is usually placed at the end of a mathematical proof to indicate that the proof is complete.

I don't know why Miss Thayer felt the need to name her book after a Latin math word or words, but she did and I don't get it and never will. Luckily for me, that seems to be the end of the math in the book. It begins with our famous detective Peter Clancy visiting the home of his good friend Harrison Carlisle and his mother. He is there for a much needed vacation that they plan to spend fishing. I guess someone has to. The first thing that annoyed me, and it doesn't take much to annoy me is that Peter's hair is red. That shouldn't be annoying, but the first line in the book is:

"Well, it sure is good to have old Red-top playing around with us once more, isn't it, Mother?"

I gave up after awhile trying to count the amount of times Peter is called Red or Red-top, it made me wonder what I would think if every time I walked into a room someone would say, "Hi there Brown, it sure is nice to see you", or something like that. Of course if they don't soon start calling me that they will have to call me White instead of Brown. My dear sweet ten year old granddaughter told me a few weeks ago that she likes my white hair mixed in with my brown, it looks like I got my hair highlighted. Her nine year old brother then looked away from his video game long enough to tell me that it looks like the white and brown hair are having a battle and the white are winning. He's the same grandson who asked me on my birthday how old I was and when I said 57, he said he thought I was at least 70. I think I should get his sister more presents this year. Anyway, back to the book I promise.

Peter and Harrison are planning a trip to his cabin in the wilds of New Jersey, as I said before, Peter needs a break, he points that out more than once,

"Well, I am going to take a real rest this time, Mrs. Carlisle," replied the young man, leaning on the back of the chair which he had placed to his satisfaction. "I haven't been fishing with Harry for years and I can't imagine a greater rest than that, especially if we let him go down the stream first. We won't any of us have the bother of landing anything..."

"I don't want to remember for the next few days that there's a thief or defaulter or any other kind of a criminal in the world. That last case of mine nearly put me on the blink. I worked
on it for three days and two night without a wink of sleep, and hardly a thing to eat."

He'll keep saying things like that almost up to the time he solves the case. The "us" he is talking about is more than just him and Harrison, a good friend and neighbor of Harry's, Louis Hood is going along, and also Rob Kent, a stranger to Peter, but someone who had been asking Harry to take him fishing for quite some time, and finding out that he was planning a trip that weekend asked if he could go along. So, they are all ready to go, almost that is. Kent has finally shown up, but Louis Hood still isn't there, so they decide to drive over to the his house and pick him up. When they arrive, this happens:

"We ought to have a good day tomorrow," Harrison went on, hopefully, pressing the button of the front-door bell, which answered with a vibrant buzzing ring, far at the other end of the silent house.
"The wind's in the southwest, and it's warming up. The snow'll be gone by noon." He pressed the bell again, impatiently, and turned slightly on the doorstep, looking up at the sky.
"Clouds all breaking away," he added as the moon suddenly rode clear in all its shining beauty. "We'll have - Good heavens! What is it, Clancy?"
Peter Clancy had caught his arm in a vise-like grip and swung him about with his back to the door. He was pointing straight out across the terrace, where some steps led down to a broad, smooth, snow covered lawn.
"My God! Look at that!"
At the wild note of alarm in Clancy's voice Kent leaped from the car, and came running toward them on the inner side of the terrace.
"What is it? What has happened?" he shouted, breathlessly. "Is Hood ---"
At the same instant there was the sound of hurrying feet inside the house. Light flashed up in lanterns all along the terrace; the door swung open, and a tall man stood on the threshold.
"That you, Harrison?"
"Oh Louis, Louis! Thank God you're - Look! Look there!"

If you want to look there along with all the others, you will see a dead body lying almost in the middle of the steps, half on them and half on the snow on the lawn.

A "sprawling, horrible, inert mass - a something that had once been human, sentient, alive in every pulse of pounding heart and throbbing brain, but which now lay still and awful, with head strangely twisted on one shoulder, with stark white face turned upward, a great blot of crimson beside it, staining the shining snow."

The next line tells us he is quite dead. No kidding. Although I still consider the guy human, dead or alive. Louis recognizes the man and tells them he "called himself" Walter Brown, and he knew him only slightly. I would keep that "called himself" in mind, it comes in handy later. Louis says he must have killed himself, he is the only other person there and he didn't kill the guy. But as Peter points out, while his throat had been cut, a way of killing yourself I suppose, his neck had also been broken, and according to Peter you can't break your neck by yourself. I don't know if that's true, but I'm not planning on trying it to see if he's right. And so we have:

"That means - " whispered Carlisle, speaking almost for the first time, and it was odd to see how strangely horror and awe strove for mastery in his humorous, careless face.
"It means," said Clancy, straightening and speaking with an air of authority, "it means - murder!"

There's a problem with this murder though, it remains a problem for most of the book, remember it had been snowing, why you would go fishing in the snow I don't know, but it had been snowing:

"One line - and only one. I can swear it. When the lights flashed up, it was as bright as day, and they were perfectly clear and distinct. There was no mark in the snow anywhere near the body except that one single line of footprints - and no sign of a struggle. And yet it was murder. It could be nothing else. It was murder, as I am a living soul!"

So how did the murderer manage to kill the guy without walking in the snow? I had no idea at the time, later I thought I knew, I was wrong, but I thought I knew. I got the right killer, just the wrong method. When Inspector Winkle arrives he eventually comes to have his own theory, it isn't right, but it's his own. Once the snow melts the next day conveniently, he finds a knife laying close to the body with the initials L.H. engraved on it, so of course he now thinks Louis Hood murdered the guy. Why he would murder the guy on his lawn with his knife and let it lay there I don't know, but he did. And when he broke his neck I don't know either and the Inspector doesn't seem to care, and as for the no footprints part, since there can be no explanation for that, the Inspector just jumps over that and decides that Louis is the killer. Now I think Louis may also be the killer, and making it look like he is so obvious you would think he is being set up, hopefully making you look for the person who is setting him up instead, but whether my theory is right or not, how did he get there without stepping on the snow? I may never know.

Another thing, Louis says he barely knows the guy, but tells us the man had come to him asking him for money, he is down on his luck, and Louis gives him $1000. That seems to everyone, including me, a large amount of money to give a person you barely know no matter how down and out he may be, so does he know him better than he is telling us he did? Is there some secret between the two? Here's one of the things that I thought of while reading the book, in the description of the dead guy:

Dressed in a loose, short, heavy coat, trousers tucked into high boots, he had the look of a Westerner, perhaps, or at least of a man unused to city life. The face was deadly pale, with an even sickly pallor which consorted strangely with his rough out-of-door garb. The features were spirited and fine,m the nose thin and aristocratic, but the mouth and chin indicated a passionate temperament coupled with a weak will.

Now, from that I thought when I read his face was pale, no kidding, he's dead, the same for the sickly pallor, and I wonder what an aristocratic nose looks like. I'll have to go look for one when I'm finished. Another important thing is that the husband and wife who are the servants in Louis Wood's home were out the night of the murder, they had received tickets to a show their daughter was starring in, they thought she had sent them to them, she hadn't. So, who did, and were they trying to get them out of the house on that particular night? Then there is the screaming woman that a few people heard, it can't be a real woman though, the scream went on and on without a break. And a woman wearing a veil was seen getting on a train at the local station that same night. Oh, and Walter Brown had a gun in his pocket that had bullets in it. So, if he had a gun and was going to kill himself, why didn't he just use the gun? And why did he borrow $1000 from Louis and then go outside and cut his own throat? Here are a few lines that stick with me:

"What thrill in the world could equal that with which he saw the first trout of the season flash upward with a gleam of silver and take the fly, felt the quick tug at the line, heard the sharp buzz of the reel as the fish, a good one, judged by its spirit and speed, made swiftly down the stream."

I wonder if I made a list of thrills that could not only equal but far surpass seeing the first trout of the season, how many things I would have on my list. Harrison and his mother have a servant by the name of Hoki who is Japanese, because of this we get these rather unusual (I hope) comments:

"Your clever young Jap doesn't look quite well this morning," he said, casually, when the butler had taken away the fruit. "Must have had too good a time on his day off, I should think."
"Oh, nonsense, Red-top," laughed Harry, "don't tell me that even a detective could detect any symptoms of illness or notice any particular kind of a change in a face as much like a yellow mask as Hoki's is, and all other Japs, for that matter - "All coons look alike to me," he hummed, cheerfully, as the butler returned bearing the coffee urn."

"Your butler isn't well, Mrs. Carlisle, you can take my word for it. I've had quite a lot of experience with Japs and Chinese, too, and I'd watch him a bit if I were you or he may quit without notice."

"Your mother's awfully pleased with that butler of yours, Harry," he said, "and I hate to make any trouble. But he's hitting the pipe on the quiet. I know the signs. It's a pet vice of the race, and, take it from me, you'd better watch him."

I wonder if there is a pet vice with my race. Anyway, I think I'll quit, the only spoiler I'm going to give you is that Peter never gets that vacation he came there for. On to the next book, happy reading.

[Gabriele Crescenzi · Rating 4 out of 5]

La storia del giallo classico è ricca e complessa, costituita da una pletora di autori e autrici che hanno contribuito in maniera più o meno significativa all'arricchimento e all'innovazione di questo grande genere. Si va dagli iniziatori, coloro che hanno posto le fondamenta, come Poe, Doyle e Chesterton, agli scrittori divenuti emblemi del giallo tradizionale ad enigma, le cui opere non devono mancare negli scaffali degli appassionati, quali Christie, Carr, Queen e Van Dine, ad altri autori meno conosciuti ma che hanno dato un enorme contributo al "più grande gioco del mondo", tra cui si possono menzionare Brand, Blake, Crispin e i più moderni Pronzini, Lovesey e Halter.
Accade spesso però che, per motivi totalmente casuali o per ragioni imperscrutabili, alcuni autori molto validi escano dal radar dell'editoria e cadano dunque nell'abisso della dimenticanza. È vero che molte delle loro opere non sono riuscite a passare il test degli anni perché realmente mediocri, ma vi sono altresì anche molti gioielli del giallo che sono stati ingiustamente condannati alla "damnatio memoriae".
Fortunatamente però, negli ultimi anni si sta assistendo ad una grande opera di riscoperta di opere dimenticate da parte di coraggiose case editrici nostrane e straniere: penso ai romanzi notevoli di Brian Flynn, rigorosi puzzle logici che farebbero invidia ad Ellery Queen, ristampati dalla Dean Street Press, o ai molteplici capolavori riportati alla luce qui in Italia da Polillo Editore, come i due Derek Smith, i Wynne, l'Alan Thomas, introvabile persino in Inghilterra.
Recentemente, proprio la Polillo, ora passata in mano al gruppo Rusconi, ha pubblicato per la prima volta un'opera della sconosciuta autrice americana di mystery Lee Thayer, "Il rompicapo" ("The Puzzle", 1922). Questo romanzo è l'ennesima prova di quanti meritevoli autori e autrici debbano essere recuperati da un insensato oblio.

Lee Thayer è infatti una scrittrice americana che, nonostante la sua grande prolificità, conoscono in pochi.
Nata Emma Redington Lee, nacque in Pennsylvania nel 1874 e studiò a New York al Cooper Union and Pratt Institute. Divenne in seguito un'artista e un'interior designer. Nel 1909 sposò Henry W. Thayer e nel 1919 cominciò a scrivere romanzi gialli, esordendo con l'opera "The Mystery of the Thirteenth Floor", firmandosi con lo pseudonimo Lee Thayer (unione del suo cognome da nubile e di quello da sposata). Fu un'autrice molto produttiva, avendo pubblicato oltre sessanta romanzi nella sua vita, l'ultimo dei quali, "Dusty Death", all'età di 92 anni. Morì nel 1973.

"Il rompicapo" è un tipico giallo classico con delitto impossibile su neve, caratterizzato da uno stile piacevole, con una trama ben costruita, una soluzione ingegnosa e personaggi simpatici.

L'opera si apre con Peter Clancy, investigatore privato dal ciuffo rosso che tradisce le sue origini irlandesi, il quale, dopo un periodo di duro lavoro, decide di trascorrere una breve vacanza nel Jersey, a casa del suo amico Harrison Carlisle. I due hanno organizzato una battuta di pesca, sport a cui Carlisle è particolarmente portato. Clancy non vede l'ora di apprendere dal suo collega tutti i trucchi di quest'arte, volendo immergersi nell'oasi della campagna e dimenticare tutto ciò che ha a che vedere con il mondo criminale.
È sera e i due uomini attendono, insieme all'anziana ma arzilla Mrs Carlisle, l'arrivo di Robert Kent e di Louis Hood, due amici di Harrison, per recarsi assieme verso il Club della pesca. Kent arriva in tempo vestito di tutto punto, con abiti costosi che fanno sentire Harrison e Peter particolarmente malconci, mentre Hood continua a farsi aspettare. Ritarda tanto che alla fine i tre ragazzi decidono di prendere la macchina e di andargli incontro, pensando che stia arrivando a piedi, percorrendo il breve tragitto che separa le due case. Tuttavia non si imbattono in lui per strada come credevano e arrivano dunque sino alla sua grande e isolata dimora. La villa è buia, tutto è coperto di uno strato sottile di neve, che rende ancor più silenzioso il posto. Harrison e Peter scendono dalla macchina e si recano nell'ingresso per vedere cosa sia successo. Hanno appena bussato alla porta, quando Peter si accorge di qualcosa di sinistro sulla terrazza antistante la casa: sull'ultimo gradino delle scale frontali giace un ammasso informe, il corpo di un uomo. La porta intanto si apre e nel vano appare il signor Hood. Di chi è quella figura accasciata sulle scale? Clancy, il cui istinto da investigatore si è già ridestato, raggiunge insieme ad Harrison e Hood il corpo, non prima di aver ammonito i due compagni di evitare di calpestare l'unica fila di orme che conduceva all'uomo stesso.
Con una rapida occhiata, Clancy comprende che il suo soggiorno ozioso è ormai definitivamente terminato: l'uomo, infatti, è stato assassinato. Non c'è dubbio alcuno che sia stato un omicidio, in quanto nessuno avrebbe potuto spezzarsi il collo in quel modo da sé. Eppure un particolare disturba il giovane detective e sembra contrastare con questa sua conclusione: se era un assassinio, perché sul manto nevoso, su un raggio di diverse iarde, si trovano solo le impronte della vittima? Che l'omicida fosse un essere alato? Nel frattempo arriva la polizia, rappresentata dal burbero e pragmatico ispettore Winkle, che inizia le prime indagini. Si scopre che la vittima era un certo William Brown, un vecchio amico del signor Hood, il quale era venuto qualche ora prima nella sua villa per chiedergli un prestito, essendosi ridotto in misere condizioni economiche. Quella era stata dunque la motivazione del ritardo di Hood a casa Carlisle. Eppure questa spiegazione non convince appieno l'ispettore, il quale trova nelle tasche del cadavere un assegno di 1000 sterline. Perché Hood ha dato una cifra così consistente ad un uomo che non vedeva da anni? Molti dubbi rendono fitto il mistero di quella morte e Peter Clancy, mosso dalle caratteristiche bizzarre del caso, non riesce a resistere alla tentazione e si getta appieno nel caso. La prima cosa che lo sconcerta è la meccanica del delitto: come aveva fatto il colpevole a uccidere il signor Brown senza lasciare alcuna impronta? Inoltre nota una strana reticenza da parte di Hood, il quale sembra saperne più di quanto sia disposto ad ammettere. Cosa cela dietro il suo atteggiamento apparentemente rispettabile? Peter dovrà analizzare a fondo i vari indizi presenti sulla scena del delitto, tra cui alcune impronte di tacchi femminili e grida notturne attribuite alla terrorizzante banshee, per venire a fondo di un piano criminale diabolico.

"Il rompicapo" è un giallo classico che mescola elementi tradizionali e spunti originali, in una trama gradevole e fresca.
Infatti l'opera, pubblicata nel 1922, all'inizio dunque della cosiddetta Golden Age, quando molti temi dovevano ancora essere sviscerati, mostra delle innegabili qualità che precorrono i tempi, in particolare la focalizzazione della trama sul delitto impossibile su neve. Benché questo sottogenere del giallo fosse già apparso in alcuni racconti (come in " The Flying Death" di Samuel Hopkins Adams, del 1905), esso non aveva avuto larga diffusione e difatti diverrà espediente narrativo sfruttato da molti altri scrittori solamente dopo l'uscita del grandissimo romanzo di Carr "Assassinio nell'abbazia" (1934).
Il fatto che Thayer abbia utilizzato un crimine impossibile su neve come fulcro di un romanzo, incentrando quindi l'indagine sulla ricerca non solo del "chi" ma anche del "come", rende quest'opera degna di menzione.
Accanto all'innovazione, in quest'opera si notano chari agganci alla tradizione del genere: innanzitutto nella costruzione dell'intreccio, in cui a sezioni interamente dedicate alle indagini si contrappongono parti più frenetiche, in cui domina l'azione, ricollegandosi ai romanzi poliziesco-avventurosi del tardo ottocento; poi il metodo d'indagine utilizzato dal simpatico Peter Clancy, basato sulla corretta interpretazione degli indizi materiali presenti sulla scena del crimine, sull'utilizzo di tecniche scientifiche per trarre deduzioni dalle tracce lasciate dal colpevole, con particolare rilievo alle orme, non può non far pensare all'investigazione analitica di Holmes (Clancy è chiaramente modellato sul celeberrimo detective di Baker Street, come si evince anche dalla sua indole riflessiva e intraprendente al tempo stesso, anche se non ne condivide le manie e il genio "sui generis"); in ultima analisi, il romanzo si lega alle prime produzione ottocentesche del genere per quanto riguarda la descrizione dei personaggi, i quali presentano comportamenti tipicamente vittoriani, benché la storia sia ambientata nella moderna e frenetica New York. Alcuni di questi sono infatti contraddistinti da una personalità uniforme, troppo macchiettistica, in stile dickensiano: penso ad esempio ad Harrison Carlisle, giovane buono e sempre disposto ad aiutare i suoi amici o a Mrs Carlisle, di cui viene messa sempre in risalto l'indole generosa e vitale. Insomma, l'universo in cui sono ambientate le azioni è descritto in maniera manichea e dualista per certi aspetti, dove si è connotati o in positivo o in negativo, senza via di mezzo.
Sfuggono però a questa categorizzazione troppo semplicistica alcuni personaggi, ai quali la Thayer ha saputo conferire maggiore profondità, come l'ombroso Louis Hood, figura indefinita che sembra celare qualcosa sotto i suoi modi apparentemente galanti.
Dunque "Il rompicapo" si mostra come un'opera in bilico tra i primi romanzi gialli del tardo Ottocento, in cui all'indagine si mescolavano l'azione e l'avventura, e i mystery classici della Golden Age.

Per quanto concerne la struttura, l'opera parte con un ritmo serrato, con l'omicidio che arriva ai primi capitoli, per poi proseguire con una buona dose di suspence, scaturita da un'indagine meticolosa che mette in luce particolari bizzarri e contrastanti. La prima parte dell'opera è decisamente la migliore, la Thayer sa tenere desto l'interesse del lettore, sia con uno stile gradevole e a tratti lirico, sia con una parte investigativa accattivante. Questa tensione, che viene acuita dalla sapiente costruzione di un'atmosfera cupa e desolata, in cui si avverte la presenza di eventi stranianti che evocano il pensiero del sovrannaturale, però si stempera sempre di più nella seconda parte. Infatti l'autrice gioca lealmente, troppo lealmente: se all'inizio la trama appare intricata e molti sono i punti oscuri nella dinamica dei fatti, i quali accrescono il pathos della vicenda, nella seconda sezione del romanzo ciò che è avvenuto diviene quasi palese, in quanto l'autrice non riesce a nascondere gli indizi con grande maestria.
Nonostante ciò, il romanzo è estremamente godibile, specialmente per la grande capacità descrittiva della scrittrice. L'atmosfera sinistra e solitaria che riesce a conferire alla dimora di Hood è grandiosa ed inquietante, riuscendo a pennellare quel luogo desolato con tocchi quasi decadenti.

L'enigma è decisamente ben strutturato e, se fosse sorretto da una misdirection più abile, avrebbe potuto figurare tra i capolavori del delitto impossibile. La soluzione a quest'ultimo è semplice e ingegnosa per il tempo in cui fu scritto, assolutamente non scontata, sebbene si possa intuire parte della dinamica per via dell'insistenza dell'autrice su un certo aspetto. L'identità della persona colpevole è invece lampante, sia perché sono pochi i sospetti, sia perché l'autrice non riesce del tutto a creare false piste che possano indurre il lettore ad imboccare una pista errata.

Tutto sommato, dunque, "Il rompicapo" è un ingegnoso giallo con delitto impossibile, scritto con uno stile piacevole ed evocativo pur con una soluzione parzialmente prevedibile.

[Sandra · Rating 2 out of 5]

Romanzo classico del filone delitto impossibile. Si, tra uomini morti nella neve senza impronte intorno, mosse di jujutsu, bellissime attrici forse un po’ sciocche, dettagli sulla pesca e geniali investigatori, scommesse improbabili e improbabili giapponesi che fumano oppio…. Tutto è troppo forzato. E neanche imprevedibile, perché a pagina 54 avevo già capito la traccia.
Come possono dei passi avere in sé una ammissione di colpevolezza totale e inconfutabile? Tutto troppo ingenuo per i miei gusti.
Ma, al di là della prevedibilità, la scrittura è scorrevole, le descrizioni dei paesaggi sono suggestive se non addirittura evocative, c’è un freschezza di fondo che allevia il giudizio finale. Ingenuo, si, ma senza dimenticare che è stato scritto nel 1922!

[Chiara Reba · Rating 3 out of 5]

Recensione di “Il rompicapo” di Lee Thayer edito Polillo editore

Il famoso investigatore Peter Clancy ha bisogno di un meritato riposo dopo le ultime fatiche lavorative, così accetta volentieri l’invito di alcuni amici nella loro tenuta in campagna. Qui si imbatte in un caso di omicidio misterioso dove nulla e nessuno è ciò che sembra.

Adoro la collana “I bassotti” della Polillo: gialli classici sempre intriganti e coinvolgenti. Anche “Il rompicapo” mi ha coinvolto molto fino al finale che mi ha lasciato un po’ l’amaro in bocca.
L’idea è affascinante e la parte investigativa è incalzante e strutturata molto bene. Deduzioni logiche, dubbi, ipotesi: tutto quello che occorre per un giallo appassionante.
Quando però viene fatto il nome dell’assassino tutto precipita: la narrazione diventa troppo veloce, i personaggi perdono le caratteristiche che ci li hanno fatti amare. Il movente è terribilmente scontato e il come è, francamente, tirato per i capelli.

Da leggere? Ni. Se non ci si aspetta molto si può passare un piacevole pomeriggio.

[Katherine · Rating 3 out of 5]

A serviceable adventure/mystery of its time, which means it is occasionally overwrought, depends on lots of guesswork, and goes out of its way to show Peter Clancy's cleverness. That said, the main hingepoint of the mystery--how did the man die?--was clever and I didn't guess it!

[Hana · Rating 4 out of 5]

Lettura piacevole (ma chi sia il colpevole lo si capisce praticamente da subito).