Jane Harper – The Lost Man

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Australia, Book Review, Jane Harper, The Lost Man

‘The man lay still in the centre of a dusty grave under a monstrous sky’

So many book bloggers and book reviewers whose opinions I value have praised Jane Harper from The Dry onwards. I resisted reading her only because some of those trusted reviewers are crime fiction aficionados, and I am not a devotee of any genre, though there are certainly writers in this field I adore such as Patricia Highsmith, and, in more modern vein, Tana French.

Offered the chance to read an advance copy of Harper’s next book, I thought I should see what the fuss was about. And…I see it, I absolutely see it, and am now spending my own money on The Dry and The Force of Nature. Late to the table, but I am there now.

The Lost Man is tremendous, absorbing, powerful. The vast inhospitable brooding Australian outback is a palpable, charismatic and terrifying presence, which loomed into my safe cityscape, through the power of Harper’s evocation. Several times I came back to my here and now world with a kind of shock at its littleness and confinement.

My only question on this book would be the one of genre itself. I would not describe this as crime fiction, or even a dark psychological thriller. It sits firmly lit ficcily. It reminded me (though very different) of Jane Smiley’s lit ficcy reworking of King Lear, Ten Thousand Acres, more than anything. Or some ancient and mythic tragedy from classical times. A vast landscape, powerful, dysfunctional family dynamics, etched through generations.

There is certainly a death, and in circumstances which don’t completely stack up, and there is a policeman, though as his territory patch covers hundreds of miles, he is not, by any means, the one who might be on hand to do any kind of solving

The Bright family cattle farm across a huge swathe of land, territory divided into three. Brothers Cameron, Nathan and Bub are each other’s nearest neighbours. A gravestone, round which local legends have grown up is a solitary orienting landmark in the shimmering, dry desert

Months, even a year even, could slip away without a single visitor passing by…the grave stood mostly alone next to a three wire cattle fence. The fence stretched a dozen kilometres east to a road and a few hundred west to the desert, where the horizon was so flat and far away it seemed possible to detect the curvature of the earth

There was a single homestead somewhere to the north of the fence, and another to the south. Next door neighbours , three hours apart

Cameron Bright is the most successful of the brothers. And, right at the start, it is clear he broke a cardinal rule outbackers know is crucial. Inexplicably, he left his car, in perfect working order, stocked with food and water, on his way to meet with one of his brothers to repair a mast on his territory, and just walked out into the desert and died in obvious agony, of heat exposure and dehydration.

Nathan, the oldest brother, and the one who makes the deepest journey into self and family awareness is the central character. Through him and his understanding, tangled family patterns are explored. Nathan is some kind of pariah, an infamous past history seems to have engulfed and isolated him – yet he is the one who appears to be the closest to being a man of integrity, steadfast. Popular, respected now-dead Cameron may not have been quite as seen. Youngest brother Bub, angry at not being valued by anyone as his brothers’ equal, is erratic and too fond of drink. However, there is a widespread consensus that Nathan is not stable, he has lived alone for far too long, after an acrimonious, bitter divorce. He can’t get people to work for him, and is barely able to make his part of the Bright cattle ranch pay. He had to sell some of his land to Cameron, years earlier.

This is such an absorbing read. It is full of credible twists, turns, revelations. The story – which is not fast paced, unfolds through character, and through landscape. Place is as powerful as psychology.

Highly recommended

I received it as a review copy from Amazon Vine.

And I must pay tribute to an evocative review of a previous novel by Harper from Jane, of Beyond Eden Rock. It was Jane’s praise of The Dry which made me think I should investigate Harper after all, when offered The Lost Man. And I have now devoured, and thoroughly been absorbed by, her earlier books

The Lost Man UK
The Lost Man USA

….for those earlier regular visitors to this blog. – I’m horrified to see I last came to my own blog in September. Blame intense work load (still continuing) Time to read, or time to blog, not time for both. Plus, rather sadly, I read a lot last year which did not make my ‘must be at least a clear and obvious 4 star, and preferably 5 star, to get reviewed on here’ rule. I do hope to post some reviews more frequently than once every 4 months!. Erm..Happy Earlyish February!

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Patricia Highsmith – Deep Water

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Book Review, Crime Fiction, Crime Thriller, Deep Water, Patricia Highsmith

A creepy, violent, witty tale of a marriage gone feral

I’m very fond of the dark precision of Patricia Highsmith’s writing, and particularly appreciate the discomfort she causes for her readers, in the character of Tom Ripley. Ripley is an amoral man, in fact, quite evil, but possessed of such charm that the reader, shamefully, wants the horrific man to succeed in his casually violent endeavours

Deep Water, originally published in ’57, after the first Ripley, but well before later outings, is a stand alone novel, a portrait of a chillingly dysfunctional marriage. Under the lens of Highsmith’s acerbic, mordant, cynical eye it is both addictively, compulsively tension building, extremely nasty …and very funny. Whilst neither protagonist – husband Vic, weirdly obsessive compulsive, wife Melinda, aggressive drunk, sexually voracious and irresistible to anyone she sets her sights on, despite her deep unpleasantness – is the kind of person with the flexibility, generosity of spirit or interest in ‘other’ to stand much of a chance to make a healthy relationship with anyone, their individual flaws create a nuclear wasteland of destructive fallout, once brought into contact with each other.

Highsmith sets her theatre of marital war in American Dream small town suburbia, a scene of neighbourliness, polite parties, small professional businesses and vaguely arty interests. Vic, whose main enthusiasm is for the rearing and studying of snails (!), is the owner of an independent publishing company, producing high quality niche work, beautifully presented, local history, poetry imprints and the like. He is very well liked by most of the long-term small-town residents, as though he is of a somewhat introspective disposition, he is helpful and community minded. The local community takes care of its own, and is a little parochial, not taking that kindly to incomers.

Melinda is viewed with less favour. Most of Vic’s friends are aware that Melinda likes incomers a lot – or at least, MALE incomers. Rather too much, in fact. Something she makes no effort to hide. Instead she flaunts her come-hither, blowsy seductiveness in public. Part of the pleasure she gets from this, is the public humiliation of her husband, the fact that everyone is pretty aware that Vic is cuckolded, again and again.

What puzzles and discomfits the community is the fact that Vic never challenges the lovers, nor appears to be jealous, or disturbed by his wife’s loud, rather crude flaunting of herself.

One of Melinda’s earlier public affairs was with a man, now returned to New York, who has been mysteriously murdered, perpetrator and motive unknown.

Seeing a chance to unsettle any future paramours Melinda might set her sights on, Vic tells one prospective lover that HE had been the man’s murderer, setting in train a series of deliciously dark, distastefully funny acts of Highsmithian violence and impending violence

Although neither Vic nor Melinda are the kind of characters to excite the reader’s empathy, disturbed, disturbing Vic is the one most readers will engage with, and even, with some discomfort, root for. Melinda is just too unpleasant, too competitive and dismissive of other women, too careless of her daughter’s happiness or wellbeing. Vic, whatever his rather cold fish, creepy weirdness, is liked, and is actually a kind man, especially towards those less well placed in society. His particular selfishness and self-obsession is really only problematic within his marriage. He could perhaps have made a ‘good enough’ partnership with someone else. It is unfortunate that he is a man of extremely low sexual drive, married to a woman whose libido is extremely high

…he had waited for fear to come, for panic, for guilt, regret at least….He had found himself thinking of a pleasant day in his childhood when he had won a prize in geography class for making the best model of an Eskimo igloo village using half eggshells for igloos and spun glass for snow. Without consciously realizing it he had felt absolutely secure. Secure from detection….He had such slow reactions to everything. Physical danger. Emotional blows. Sometimes his reactions were weeks late, so that he had a hard time attaching them to their causes.

I was steered towards this satisfying psychological thriller by Jacqui from Jacquiwine, who recommended this highly, and thought I would like it a lot. And she was right

…and as for American Pie, well, there are some odd resonances so that the song bobbed up, occasionally, in my consciousness, as I was thinking about the framing of my review….

IF you go on to read the book, or HAVE read it, maybe those resonances will have you nodding in recognition too

Finally…..much fun and queasy stuff goes on around Vic’s fascination with snails, and some of the marital discord too (I had my sympathies, a little, with Melinda here) I DID think of including a clip, even a video, of snails mating. Perhaps readers will be grateful that, feeling queasy after viewing, I desisted! Sorry, those of you enchanted by gastropods……..

Deep Water UK
Deep Water USA

 

Raymond Postgate – Verdict of Twelve

Tags

Book Review, British Library Crime Classics, Courtroom Drama, Martin Edwards, Raymond Postgate, Verdict of Twelve

“It is not the consciousness of men that determines their existence, but, on the contrary their social existence determines their consciousness” Marx

Raymond Postgate’s Verdict of Twelve is a fascinating and absorbing variant of the crime novel.

Published in 1940, and with the concerns of the times embedded – anti-Semitism within society, an entrenched class system, the effects of culture, economics, politics upon the lives and outlooks of individuals – this is courtroom drama

A crime, one which will lead to the death penalty if the accused is found guilty, has been committed.

The reader is not directly introduced to the crime itself, initially. Rather, we meet the jury. And are given insights into the backgrounds of each of them, which allows Postgate, a pacifist, socialist, journalist, and a founding member of the British Communist Party, to present differing internal narratives, to show across class and gender, how the lives of individuals have been shaped by personal events, but also, far wider, by politics, culture, and the structure of capitalist society.

Once any group, no matter what, is separated by a general suspicion or merely a general belief from the rest of society, it is by that mere fact made different, and develops at once marked characteristics of its own

So this becomes a very interesting and well written crime novel. Whilst a lot of the Golden Age writers of the 30s were writing about crime committed by, and within, the privileged classes, Postgate is doing something very different. This is not just an entertainment (though it is a very well structured and entertaining read in the genre) It is educative.

After meeting the jurors, the case itself (a complex one, though the list of suspects is small, and the reader might, from their own sympathies, have clear ideas of who-dunnit not to mention why-dunnit.

Having met the jurors, and received a view which shows us that subjective judgements will play a very large part in the ‘Guilty/Not Guilty’ decision, judgements moulded by character, which is moulded by external factors as much as internal factors, we might be also being drawn into what our own decisions might be, as to the innocence or guilt of the person on trial.

Like most men of past middle-age he habitually faintly disliked or distrusted handsome men, especially dark handsome men, If there was any excuse he would classify them as shiny or foreign looking

The book ends with a wonderful rug-pull, to topple the reader.

I received this as a well-done digital ARC. It is part of the British Library Crime Classics series, a marvellous treasure trove for those preferring less detailed spatter of blood, gore and other bodily fluids which much modern crime writing seems to dwell on, somewhat gratuitously.

Series editor Martin Edwards provides an interesting Introduction, which I read, as is my wont, after reading the book. And was pleasantly surprised to discover that it had contained no spoilers. Instead, it was an account of Postgate himself, in the context of his own life and placing this book within the genre of other crime writing.

And once again, I’m indebted to FictionFan for bringing this to my attention, after I read her excellent review, back when the leaves were still turning gold upon the trees, autumn in full glory, and the need for thermals not even given houseroom!

Verdict of Twelve Amazon UK
Verdict of Twelve Amazon USA

Anthony Horowitz – The Word Is Murder

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Anthony Horowitz, Book Review, Crime Fiction, The Word Is Murder

Goofy, spoofy, – and (sometimes) truthy, but sometimes…..not

Anthony Horowitz is a wonderfully tricksy, playful and mischievous writer. A very clever one, too. I have to admit that some writers who play tricksy, clever games on their readers can feel tiresome, especially if the reader senses this comes out of a feeling of over-intellectualised self-congratulation. It is very different when the writer encourages the reader to enjoy the game, as Horowitz assuredly does…….rather like an audience who come to watch a stage magician. We want to discover the ‘trick’ but, at a deeper level, hope we won’t.

Horowitz’s trick (well, one of them) in this dazzle of a crime investigation book ‘ Murder Is The Word’ is that he is actively involved in investigating the murder, in this book, in the guise of being a kind of ghost-author for Daniel Hawthorne, ex policeman now private investigator. The whole book comes as Hawthorne’s suggestion/commission. Hawthorne first met Horowitz when employed as a series advisor on the TV adaptation of Foyle’s War, which Horowitz wrote the screenplays for. Hawthorne has been kept as a kind of consultant by the police force, and gets called in to assist investigations when the murder investigation team are making no headway. As is the case here, in this account, which Horowitz, initially unwillingly, takes on, becoming a kind of Watson to Hawthorne’s maverick but Sherlockianly astute investigation.

Diana Cowper, a perfectly healthy, not to mention wealthy, late middle aged woman made funeral arrangements for herself – an increasingly popular practice – with an impeccable firm of undertakers. However, later that same day she is found murdered at her home.

Interspersed with Horowitz’s account of the tortuous, wriggly, herring filled solving of this crime, Horowitz includes a lot of material from his own personal and professional history.

Michael Kitchen, Honeysuckle Weeks and Anthony Howell from Foyle’s War, TV drama created and written by Horowitz

The reader would not have had half as much pleasure reading this book had it been written in a pre-internet, pre-Google search world. Indeed, it is unlikely Horowitz could or would have written such a book, Part of the lure and addiction of reading this is the constant desire to check facts, dates, people, places…..is this real?….a real event…..or is it invention?

Every time I checked something and it proved to be a ‘real Horowitz event’, I chortled appreciatively, and every time interest led me to look up something which turned out to be ‘invented Horowitz’, or at least slight-bending-of-the-truth-Horowitz I chortled with even more delight. Real luminaries stalk these pages, but entering into some real-ish situations are Horowitz characters a playing. Some other reviewers have mentioned the best of these, but I am staying mum, for your readerly delight – I’m sure that a particular encounter with luminaries will be a better high spot for not being revealed.

‘The Word Is Murder’ is not a book which Horowitz wrote without certain, difficult challenges to face. As he explains, comparing the writing of ‘The House of Silk’ his magnificent homage to, and ‘as if’ written by, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle :

It struck me from the very start that my job was to be invisible. I tried to hide myself in Doyle’s shadow, to imitate his literary tropes and mannerisms but never, as it were, to intrude. I wrote nothing that he might not have written himself. I mention this only because it worries me to be so very prominent in these pages. But this time round I have no choice; I’m writing exactly what happened

And here, Horowitz as Watson (so, still flirting with those tropes) is having to record the investigations which Hawthorne is intent on – not to mention, at times, a little sneaky investigation by Horowitz into the secretive, shadowy ex cop himself. Poor Horowitz also struggles to be allowed the task of writing this book, in his style. Hawthorne may be a brilliant, left-field investigator, but he is no writer, though he shows himself something of a control freak, fighting every attempt Horowitz makes to inject style and atmosphere into the telling of the story. Hawthorne would prefer Plod-the-Policeman dialogue, all ‘I was proceeding in a south-westerly direction’. Horowitz, understandably, wants to give the facts of the investigation and keep our interest going, and the reader, awake

If I had sat down to write an original murder mystery story I wouldn’t have chosen anyone like Hawthorne as its main protagonist. I think the world has had quite enough of white, middle-aged, grumpy detectives and I’d have tried to think up something more unusual

In case, by focusing on the meta-fiction aspects, I have put off any potential readers who just want a credible, difficult, sometimes gory murder investigation, sometimes spiced with real danger, twists and satisfying herrings aplenty, and an utterly credible denouement, expertly written by someone who utterly respects the genre, and is, moreover well versed in its history – rest assured Horowitz is, fabulously, that writer. Not to mention the fact that Hawthorne, despite, or perhaps, because of, his grumpy, secretive brilliance, is the investigator the reader is keen to be spending further time with.

John Nettles, Jason Hughes from Midsomer Murders – also written by the prolific Mr Horowitz

I sincerely hope that Hawthorne, finding a well deserved fan base for his criminal investigations, will decide to stick with Horowitz as his ‘Watson’ and that he does not decide to either go it alone and write his own books, or approach some other writer to record any future investigations he may be called on to solve.

Please, if you read this, Mr Hawthorne, let us have many more of your cases, but do stick with Anthony Horowitz as your ‘recorder’

I was delighted to receive this as a review copy. As should be obvious, highly, highly recommended

The Word Is Murder Amazon UK
The Word Is Murder Amazon USA

Ngaio Marsh – Death at the Bar

Tags

Book Review, Classic Crime Fiction, Crime Fiction, Death at the Bar, Golden-Age Crime Fiction, Inspector Alleyn Book 9, Ngaio Marsh

Murder In The Sticks

Ngaio Marsh’s 9th outing for Roderick Alleyn, Chief Detective Inspector of the C.I.D, originally published in 1939, sees him and the trusty Foxkin motoring down to deepest darkest Devon, called thither by an upper class rubicund shouty District Chief Constablle : Colonel The Honourable Maxwell Brammington. A murder (of course) has been committed and it has proved an effort too far for the local super – who also knows Alleyn, from yore – to solve

I must confess I enjoyed this a little less than most of my previous romps with Alleyn and his coterie. This might have been partly because, this time, the great man is only accompanied by Fox. The other regulars from his team are lacking, as is Nigel Bathgate, his sometimes a little foolish Watsonish foil, who can always be relied on to excitedly draw the wrong conclusions for the solving of the puzzle, and allow the witty, urbane and ferociously intelligent Alleyn to have some fun (with Fox) when true revelation is laid out before the reader. It might also be that on this one, I was a little more aware of the challenges offered by the prejudices of the times – primarily, class, and an automatic superiority of upper class Toryism, and the foolishness, not to mention, the somewhat distastefulness of those uppity working classes who get above themselves with a belief in socialism.

So…….to the fiendish and clever murder which Alleyn will solve, not to mention our cast of suspects, murderer and victim, already on the scene before the crime haps, and our trusty Alleyn and Fox arrive to shed light on darkness – it is thus (no spoilers)

Nothing whatsoever to do with Ngaio Marsh, but this 1949 Kitty Wells song has the same title, and the player looks suitably vintage

A group of impeccable uppercrusts, a KC, his cousin, a highly admired and well known actor, and their mutual friend, ditto hightly admired etc landscape and portrait painter always go away for a few days holiday, painting, walking, chatting et al to an absolutely out of the way Devonian hamlet. They stay in a particular hostelry, the landlord is a suitably forelock tugging, dialect speaking, rustic and loyal working class salt-of-the-earth Tory, However, being 1939, a well established ‘Left Movement’ has also been gaining sway. The landlord’s son is a member, it even employs a treasurer and secretary, has quite a few members, funds etc. There are no tugged forelocks and the members of the society who are regulars at the pub just might not take kindly to knowing their places. Also on the scene is a local femme fatale, so we might have several reasons for emotions to run high. Completing the cast are a couple of easy comedy types : a local Devonian oo-ar lush, complete with funny dialect, and a holidaying and eccentric Irishwoman, an impeccable Hon, but comedy turn Oirish, to be sure, to be sure, also. Local rustics of regions cue for comedy turns and slightly superior laughter.

The crime and its fiendish solving is ingenious as ever, but I missed the various developing relationships between Alleyn and his fellow professionals, and the incursion of Alleyn’s private life, and how his professional and private worlds relate to each other. There is a very enjoyable sequence where the good and warm friendship between Alleyn and Fox, and the understated respect and love they have for each other, is shown, but I did feel (perhaps wrongly) that this particular one was much more Marsh-by-numbers, written from the surface of her work, rather than inside her lovely creations. 4 stars, still, enjoyable, but not as MUCH as normal

Death at the Bar Amazon UK
Death at the Bar Amazon USA

Ngaio Marsh – Overture to Death

Tags

Book Review, Crime Fiction, Golden-Age Crime Fiction, Inspector Alleyn Book 8, Ngaio Marsh, Overture to Death

Theatrical Am-Drams, and a darkening mood in Marsh

As I continue on my sequential journey through ‘The Empress’ of the Golden Age of Crime, it is not surprising that with this one, published in 1939, a began to feel a darker and more sombre tone developing. Marsh’s own craft in writing is appreciable growing and, in this one, not only are characters becoming more layered, and more psychologically interesting, but there is also an occasional ‘stream of consciousness’, from inside the minds of some of the major characters – including those under suspicion

The longings of two friend-and-rival spinsters of the parish, female jealousy in general, not to mention the destructive talents of a femme fatale in a small community are brilliantly laid out in this. Yes, Marsh retains her usual style and her usual wit and light touch, but there is also pathos. This does not just come from Alleyn and his team, who are all refreshingly well-functioning individuals, but it also comes from some of those who may not like some of the other characters within the community (for good reason) but do come to appreciate the depth of suffering the unlikeable ones might be experiencing: they might be a little more than just figures of fun, mockery and irritation

Rachmaninov’s Prelude plays an important role in the story……..

The generally upper middle class denizens of a small community are engaged in some pleasurably entertaining ‘good works’ – am-drams to raise money for a cause close to their own hearts – a better piano in the village hall. Into the mix and another (of course) ingenious murder are thrown the spinsters, the object of their affections (the local high Anglican cleric) an affair which might damage the social standing of someone otherwise respected in the community, a pair of star crossed (or at least, minorly class crossed lovers) and the added complication that the local police surgeon and the local acting chief constable are not only witnesses but might themselves have motive for murder.

A solo piano version of Ethelbert Nevin’s Venetian Suite is also much discussed

All the usual and expected formulas are in place, so murder ingeniously managed and the eventual ‘re-staging of the scene of the crime’ which will flush out the murder for the benefit of the reader and the innocent others, are present. Alleyn and his brothers in the Yard had already solved the case, but just are waiting to precipitate denouement/confession/evidence. Blessed Bathgate, of course, is as slow on the uptake (or, possibly, even slower) than Marsh’s devoted readers

Overture to Death Amazon UK
Overture to Death Amazon USA

Ngaio Marsh – Death in A White Tie

Tags

Book Review, Crime Fiction, Death in a White Tie, Golden-Age Crime Fiction, Inspector Alleyn Book 7, Ngaio Marsh

Duchesses, Dignitaries and Debutantes Dance with Death

No less a ‘hard boiled’ crime writer than Dashiell Hammett called Marsh’s 7th Alleyn outing, Death in A White Tie ‘the best detective story I have ever read’ And it is indeed magnificent, though Marsh is a very different kind of crime writer than the gritty Americans of the same period.

Published in 1938, and impeccably set in the upper-class world of debutantes coming out for the season, Alleyn gets swept into this particular investigation in part through his mother, who is chaperoning his niece and her ‘bestie’ into their first season. And coincidentally Alleyn is already beginning to hone his intellect and his team into an investigation of the society set, as it appears a blackmailer is moving amongst them. Our hero has to tread carefully, using his society credentials without alarming those who are running the racket.

Things get much darker and much nastier though, when a murder which touches Alleyn personally turns the desire to find the killer into far more than a dispassionate solving of a crime. Grief and anger, not to mention a sense of personal responsibility are in this mix.

Glorious!! Benedict Cumberbatch uploaded to You Tube in a 7 part Audible read of this. Perfect delivery! Perfect! I am rarely entranced by voiceovers of books but, this..!

Further complications, making this more than just the routine solving of a crime are also on the agenda. Alleyn has some unresolved business to sort out with the well-respected artist Agatha Troy, who was involved for a while as a potential suspect in the previous outing, ‘Artists in Crime’ She is certainly guilty of capturing Alleyn’s heart, although being a suspect in a murder investigation does not necessarily make the best way for a far from faint heart to win a fair lady.

Alleyn (as ever) is a very human, very real person, getting more and more three dimensional as the series progresses

Death in a White Tie Amazon UK
Death in a White Tie Amazon USA

Ngaio Marsh – Artists in Crime

Tags

Artists in Crime, Book Review, Crime Fiction, Golden-Age Crime Fiction, Inspector Alleyn Book 6, Ngaio Marsh

Love, Art and Murder

Travelling back from New Zealand, where he has been recuperating after an operation (and solving a theatrical crime) Chief Detective Inspector Roderick Alleyn meets a rather remarkable woman on board the ship. Agatha Troy, known to all as Troy, is a well-respected artist. She is completely uninterested in flirtatious, simpering feminine wiles, full of subterfuge, but is direct, driven, and motivated to excellence in her work. Some kind of almost unwelcome frisson occurs between Alleyn and Troy. Each is a little suspicious of their own feelings, and sure only of the indifference felt by the other.

Some time later, matters murderous happen in an artist’s retreat and painting school which Troy is running, for a group of strongly egotistic, often highly competitive and unconventional artists. Chance dictates that Troy’s studio is only a few miles away from the Alleyn family home and that Alleyn is visiting his adored and wonderful mother, Lady Alleyn. Location means that the local force are more than happy to draft in the famous, brilliant investigator to solve a case beyond their normal abilities. Alleyn, along with his trusty familiar crew, Inspector Fox, Bailey-the-fingerprints, Thompson-the-photographics are also joined by the journalist with an ear to the ground about exploits Alleyn – Nigel Bathgate, happily married to Angela North from Book 1 of the series, who is about to give birth.

Still Life by Marsh

The solving of yet another ingenious and horrid crime is of course the thrust of the book, but, as always, there are other delights along the way. Not least of which is getting to know more about Alleyn’s family background. He must be a particularly unusual detective in a series, – certainly unlike most detectives in more modern series – as not only is he neither a drug or drink abusing maverick with tendency to serial bed-hopping who comes from a dysfunctional family, but he has, instead, a particularly warm relationship with his lovely, intelligent, well liked, charming mother. Mother and son clearly love, like, respect and appreciate each other, with good reasons for doing so, on both sides. Lady Alleyn, like her son, is a thoroughly good egg, with spirit, wit and individuality. She is also keenly and intelligently interested in her son’s profession. And would dearly like him to find the kind of exceptional woman who would be a fine and fitting match for him.

Unfortunately, matters of the heart are bound to be a little difficult when Alleyn is bound to consider Troy as one of the potential suspects in the artists’ murder mystery. She is someone who appears to have both motive and opportunity, as of course do the usual gathering of others in this painterly version of the classic country house murder.

This is book 6 of the series, and as enjoyable as the previous 5

Artists in Crime Amazon UK
Artists in Crime Amazon USA

Ngaio Marsh – Vintage Murder

Tags

Book Review, Crime Fiction, Golden Age Crime, Inspector Alleyn, Inspector Alleyn Book 5, Ngaio Marsh, Vintage Murder

Murder by bubbly………..

Vintage Murder, Marsh’s 5th book in her Inspector Alleyn series, published in 1937 is, like the second one, Enter A Murderer, given a theatrical setting. This was of course the author’s true home anyway. As is the slightly surprising location of this one – New Zealand which is, again, Ngaio Marsh’s home. Just as the reader is getting used to Alleyn’s regular companions – ‘Brer’ Fox, Bailey and Thompson from the Yard and the bumptiously enthusiastic journalist Nigel Bathgate, we have to journey with Alleyn sans regulars, though assiduous readers will be pleased to see that the sensible character actress Susan Max, from book 2, is also ‘down under’ as one of the members of The Carolyn Dacres English Comedy Company, touring New Zealand. Alleyn, on extended recuperation leave from Scotland Yard following some kind of major operation (we are not party to his medical records) encounters the company and renews his acquaintance with Max on the train travelling to their first New Zealand performance in North Island. The urbane Alleyn gets to meet the company, and is invited to a celebratory back stage party.

Unfortunately as a death occurs, and is, of course, murder most horrid, and Alleyn was present at the scene of the crime, he begins as a witness and potential suspect, as the local police investigate. Quickly realising his impressive credentials – he is the author of the major manual for young Police Investigators in cop school – the locals are happy to have him join the investigating team. Far from viewing the locals as ‘hicks’ and crashing in with offensive superiority, there is a nice give and take between the New Zealand professionals and the Brit, with respect shown on both sides. Something I particularly like about Marsh is her relative freedom from the class and race attitudes which are rather prevalent in ‘Golden Age’ To be sure, prejudice does show, in attitudes towards another person present at the murder scene – a Maori physician – but Alleyn is interested to gain knowledge about a culture so very far from his own.

 

                               Maori tiki

Ngaio Marsh continues to delight me with her wonderful crafted writing, depth characterisation, fiendish by believable plotting. She gets better, so far, book on book, and has effortless wit and style in the person of the marvellous Alleyn.

I was particularly enchanted, in this book, by the inclusion of various sketches from Alleyn’s notebook – the ingenious mechanism by which murder most horrid was done, and the methodical method by which Alleyn records the precise sequence of events, movements of suspects, locations, motives, alibis and all

Alleyn continues to be a romantic at heart, rather susceptible on the inside to the charms of strong-minded, intelligent, sophisticated and vibrant artistic types. Here, leading lady Carolyn Dacres causes his heart to flutter, and he is susceptible. As in the second book, he is remarkably chivalrous, neither taking his position of power or his own allure for granted. Marsh allows him no bedroom scenes, his behaviour is proper, but he does feel he could easily fall under the spell of a woman of charisma, beauty and intelligence, even if, as he half suspects, he might be being played. I assume susceptibility to alluring actresses will not trouble him much longer, because Marsh is getting to the point in the series where Alleyn will soon meet his match and well-deserved destiny…………

What good fun she has. Unlike modern crime novels, there is a lack of grisly detail on the very bloody way violent death happens, which suits me fine, having a somewhat vivid imagination and delicate stomach!

Vintage Murder Amazon UK
Vintage Murder Amazon USA

Ngaio Marsh – Death in Ecstasy

Tags

Book Review, Crime Fiction, Death in Ecstasy, Golden Age Crime, Inspector Alleyn, Ngaio Marsh

The odour of not-quite-sanctity: Church as Country House Murder

So, continuing with my pleasant journey through Ngaio Marsh’s 33 Inspector Alleyn books, some of which I read in any old order back in the dim and distant days when my library carried a far wider range of books than they currently do. (Moans disconsolately that the Crime Fiction shelves seem to be filled with 50 Shades of Girls on Trains, and any number of the latest dismemberment of beautiful women by serial killers)

Back to Marsh, a much, much happier encounter, by a writer with her own clear voice, travelling her own journey, and not clonally copying

Death In Ecstasy is number 4 in the journey. It is a rare one, in that I am more aware of some of the mores and prejudices of the times – this one published in 1936 – which can be a little disturbing, unsettling or even, offensive to a reader of today. Though I do find Marsh, coming from outside the Establishment, and, moreover, from outside this country, has probably had a far wider exposure to more diverse humanity than some of the other ‘Golden Agers’ whom she is bracketed with. The specific discomfort in this one, a mild degree of homophobia – some of it passes as a kind of mildly spiteful camp humour, even delivered consciously by the gay guys – dancers, of course, but, a little more unsettling is Alleyn himself, Inspector Fox and Nigel Bathgate making disparaging comments – Bathgate describing one of the men as ‘loathly, nauseating, unspeakable little dollop’ – though I suppose that, as at that time, homosexuality was illegal, it would be a rare popular book (as perhaps, compared to more literary fare) who would positively present homosexual minor characters. At least Alleyn is less deliberate in his assessment, merely riposting ‘Horrid, wasn’t it?’ agreed Alleyn absently, – clearly thinking more fruitful thoughts about the crime investigation

There is, as is the case fairly often with Marsh, more than one investigation going on. The initial case concerns a murder taking place in a fringe, cult religious organisation. The journalist, Nigel Bathgate, a sometimes self-styled Watson to Alleyn’s Holmes, lives close by the mysterious charismatic church, and, on a bored whim, wonders what goes on in the building. He happens to witness a totally unexpected death, and quickly summons his friends from the Yard. And what a tangled web begins to unravel. With some nice nods to occultic quasi mysticism and unpleasant ideologies arising in Germany (as was indeed the case) the crime investigation begins to involve the usual suspects in murder cases – lust, sexual jealousy, greed, but there are various twists involved.

As ever, Marsh’s clear enjoyment of language, and her lovely, sometimes quite spiteful character drawing – as much down to her visual, artistic abilities as her writerly ones, plus her theatrical skills in crafting tight scenes are a delight :

Mrs Candour had wept and her tears had blotted her make-up again. Her face was an unlovely mess of mascara, powder and rouge. It hung in flabby pockets from the bone of her skull. She looked bewildered, frightened and vindictive. Her hands were tremulous. She was a large woman born to be embarrassingly ineffectual. In answer to Alleyn’s suggestion that she should sit on one of the chairs, she twitched her loose lips, whispered something and walked towards them with that precarious gait induced by excessive flesh mounted on French heels. She moved in a thick aura of essence of violet

Wonderful, cruel scalpel work, and I fear I shall be unable to view anyone whose girth really should have them avoiding heels, without inner snickering

To be fair, where Marsh assassinates, there is often good reason, and the reader is aware of characters who are unlovely at core. Though, as I work my way through her oeuvre, I am beginning to be a little more suspicious of some of the suspects Alleyn initially warms to

Meanwhile, for readers who share my liking of enthusiastic Nigel Bathgate, and his admiration of Angela North, enjoy him while you can, as his days are numbered as the series progresses. The in the Yard relationships are deepening, and also, as the series goes on, we learn more about Alleyn’s rather admirable personal life, and his close colleagues within the Police Force, not to mention relatives and others will mean that others will serve the purpose of foils, sources of alternative deductions, and a kind of sparring partner of wit and repartee. Shame I love all the developing friendships and other relationships, but will be sorry when Nigel is less central

Meanwhile given Marsh’s theatre history, I am more than sure that ‘Mrs Candour’ is a kind of nod towards Restoration Comedy, where often a character’s name will alert the audience to qualities that character does NOT possess, as is certainly the case here.

Death in Ecstasy Amazon UK
Death in Ecstasy Amazon USA