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Posts Tagged ‘Golden Age Crime’

 

Things have continued to be pretty difficult here – and that’s an understatement. I am not expecting things to improve hugely in the next couple of weeks, so all I can do is battle on. All this has affected my blogging, not just because my hands are often too painful for typing, but because I have just completely lost my mojo. Today I wanted to get something pulled together in a bid to say hello to you all – so I thought a post about some of the books I have read might be in order. I have at least been able to read, though perhaps not as much as I would have liked. Only now I feel quite overwhelmed at the number of books I still have to write about (eight) so although several of these books I had really wanted to review in full, I think I shall have to compromise with mini reviews instead. 

Whatever reading I have been doing I have really enjoyed because I have stuck to going with my mood and not putting myself under pressure to read more than I have been able to cope with. It’s helped me appreciate just being able to sit and read even if it is just for a short time.  

If you follow me on Twitter, you might have seen me talking about the joy of kindle – my Rheumatoid Arthritis affects my hands and shoulders as well as my knees. So often holding a book is really difficult, kindles are easier (though not entirely without issue). It has allowed me to read when I have been in a lot of pain, and that is a comfort.  

Transcendent Kingdom – Yaa Gyasi (2020) – the author’s second novel though the first of them I have read. I thought it was absolutely outstanding, I shall definitely read more by Yaa Gyasi.  

It’s the story of an American-Ghanaian family and their life in Alabama. Gifty is doing a PhD in neuroscience, studying reward seeking behaviour in mice, determined to find an answer to the suffering she sees in people around her. Gifty’s mother is hugely depressed, suicidal and living in the bed in Gifty’s apartment. Gifty’s father had left the family when she was young, returning to Ghana, while her brother Nana had become a high school sports star but following an injury became addicted to painkillers and later heroin. The heroin finally killed him, and his death killed something in their mother. 

Despite having a life rooted in science, Gifty finds herself drawn to the memory of the faith she had had as a child. She wrestles with the evangelical church in which she was raised.  

This is a stunning, intelligent novel about family life, grief, addiction, science and faith. I hadn’t known to expect the vivisection stuff – it took me aback a bit and made me wince – but it’s not too gratuitous.  

An Elderly Lady is Up to no Good (2018) & An Elderly Lady Must Not be Crossed (2020) – Helen Tursten translated from Swedish by Marlaine Delargy. Read for #Witmonth two collections of quirky short stories about an elderly lady who has an interesting way of sorting out people who cause her difficulties. I didn’t read these back-to-back, but the second book was definitely calling to me after finishing the first, so they were read close together.  

Maud is 88 years old, though certainly not feeble (but she can act it when necessary). She lives alone in the large Gothenburg apartment, where she had grown up with her parents and older, disabled sister. She lives a contented life, now that she is retired from teaching, travelling widely – there aren’t many places in the world she hasn’t visited.  

Every now and then though, someone comes along intent on causing problems, or taking advantage. They are no match for Maud, as she is not averse to a little murder, where it’s necessary.  

These stories are laugh out loud at times, the second volume telling a couple of tales from Maud’s past.  

Things do get a little sticky for Maud when the police call to investigate a death in her apartment building, but Maud is sure she can evade suspicion, she is just a little old lady after all.  

Green For Danger – Christianna Brand (1944) – It was Jacqui’s recent enthusiasm for this that made me pull this from the shelf, a rare non kindle read. I wasn’t disappointed an absolutely enthralling wartime mystery, and it really kept me guessing.  

Set in a military hospital during wartime, this is an intriguingly plotted mystery with a smallish circle of suspects. A patient dies under anaesthetic and then later a nurse who was present on that occasion is murdered. Inspector Cockrill (a detective Brand wrote several novels about) is brought in to investigate – sure initially that the first death is nothing more than an unexplained tragedy. With the murder of the nurse and an attempt being made on another, Inspector Cockrill has quite a puzzle on his hands, and all his suspects are the nurses and doctors who were attendant when the patient died so unexpectedly.  

A thoroughly enjoyable Golden Age type mystery – with the kind of setting I find particularly pleasing.  

Elena Knows – Claudia Piñeiro (2007) translated by Frances Riddle – another excellent read for #WITmonth. Published by Charco Press who produce a range of literature from contemporary Latin American authors. Beautifully written, heartfelt and poignant I really loved this.  

Elena’s daughter Rita had been found dead in the bell tower of the church. The official investigation ruled it suicide and was quickly closed. Elena doesn’t believe that can possibly be true – but she is the only person who believes this. Elena is battling Parkinson’s she relies on medication to be able to leave the house.  

Elena sets out on a difficult journey across the city, to call in an old debt. Going in search of a woman she met only once many years earlier. Someone who will help her get at the truth.  

Slowly this enthralling narrative reveals hidden truths about the characters and shows painfully the reality of being at the mercy of an illness, needing care and contemplating greater deterioration.  

So that’s all for now, more soon, I hope.  

I have just downloaded the first Cazelet chronicle by Elizabeth Jane Howard to my kindle, only about 80 pages in, but I am wondering why it took me so long.  

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This plain little red hardback volume has been sat on my tbr pretty much forgotten for a few years now. His Master’s Voice by Ivy Litvinov a detective novel set in Moscow. It was the Librarything monthly themed read that made me take it off the shelves. I have been pretty useless with this challenge this year, only having joined in with January and February’s challenges so far. I was initially keen to join in most months but this has been my worst reading year ever, so it’s probably not surprising I’ve failed here too. For June’s challenge we had to read a book by a VMC author but that hadn’t been published as a VMC. I knew Ivy Litvinov’s collection of stories She Knew She was Right was an original VMC green spine – it’s one I have tbr – but was pretty sure this novel was never published as a VMC, so hopefully it does qualify.

I really enjoyed my first experience of Ivy Litvinov, I happened to start reading this on a very slow reading week (I think they are all pretty slow though at the moment) so it felt like a bit of a slow burn at the start, but once I got going with it I liked it a lot. The thing that pulled me in immediately was the stunning prose with which this novel opens – Litvinov introduces us to Moscow, on a bitterly cold night in February – and the sense of place is just incredible. It was enough for me to say, yes I really want to read this.

“The town seemed not so much asleep as strangled, locked in frost. The Kremlin palace and its numerous churches and spires looked down over toothed walls on silent squares, empty bridges, and abandoned streets. On summer evenings it looks down on its own reflection in the water, regally quiescent; on this bitter night in February,1926, when the frozen river refused to mirror its crude walls and fantastic buildings, it was more like a picture in a book for children than anything that had ever answered to the requirements of human beings.”

The novel doesn’t continue in quite such descriptive terms as the business of the story takes over, but Litvinov is a gifted writer, nevertheless. On this cold night a man is murdered. The dead man a resident of one of the countless yards in Moscow – the night watchman witness to the comings and goings, before in the early hours he too goes inside to his family to sleep.  It is the night watchman’s wife who discovers the dead man, early next morning, when taking him his breakfast. Arkady Petrovich Pavlov sat at his table, with a dagger sticking out of his neck, his head dropped forward on to his gramophone.

It falls to District Procurator Nikulin to investigate the crime – called to the telephone on a Sunday morning when he had been hoping for a lie in and time with the papers. He is aided by Detective Yanovitsky. Several items are recovered from the scene, including the dagger, a couple of gilded coins of tinfoil as if off some sort of garment or costume, a programme for the Bolshoi theatre dated the day of the murder, and a note signed with a letter s.

Investigations soon take the Procurator to the Bolshoi theatre and suspicion quickly falls on one of the ballerinas Tamara Geyorgyevna Dolidzey, who had been with the dead man on the evening he died, and whose dagger was found sticking out of his neck. 

“‘Well now Tamara, I have something to say to you. This morning Pavlov was found dead with this dagger – your dagger, Tamara – in his neck. Nobody is known to have come to him but yourself and nobody was there but yourself, Tamara. Nobody played your accompaniments on a piano because there was no piano in the room. There were no other guests. You were alone with Pavlov between twelve and one, and between twelve and three Pavlov was killed – with your dagger Tamara’

The girl listened to him with distended eyes and rapidly paling cheeks. She became so ashen white that the procurator looked around for a glass of water…”

The young dancer is locked up while investigations continue – protesting her innocence, horrified at what has befallen her. The reader is sure of course that Tamara is innocent – and soon enough the Procurator begins to have some doubts himself. Everything points to Tamara and yet there is the possibility that she is innocent. The Procurator begins getting manicures from a woman who did Pavlov’s nails, in a bid to know his victim a little better but more and more all roads seem to lead to the theatre.

As investigations continue there is the suggestion that Pavlov was really someone else, someone who had belonged to a secret political society – who might have an enemy still out there looking for him. Another dancer from the Bolshoi is brought in for questioning, a young man who has been harbouring tender feelings for Tamara and may have acted out of jealousy. As the conflicting evidence and testimonies mount, a journalist Julius Caesarovich Itkin (a somewhat improbable name) begins to interest himself in the case – and he doesn’t believe in Tamara’s guilt at all.

This was a really clever mystery which really did keep me guessing – lots of little twists along the way, meant I couldn’t possibly guess the outcome. I must make time to read that collection of stories by Ivy Litvinov, clearly a sadly neglected writer.

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Thank you to the British Library and Virago for providing copies of these.

I’m back from a lovely couple of days spent with the family over Christmas – and I hope you all had a good, restive period too. I didn’t go away, but stayed at home, visiting my family on Christmas day and Boxing day – and that proved to be a really nice and stress free.

 I am reviewing very slightly out of order now; I feel very behind this month anyway. However, both of these books seemed just right for the festive period although only one of them is strictly speaking a Christmas book.

Murder After Christmas – Rupert Latimer (1944)

Murder After Christmas by Rupert Latimer – looked like the perfect book to settle in with, a couple of weekends before Christmas. It certainly has all the requirements of a cracking good festive mystery. A cantankerous wealthy old man arrives to spend Christmas, there is lots of snow, and a lot of jokes about how easy it would be to murder said guest. There are also some complex family relationships, a few secrets, a redrafted will, some poison, and a lot of humour. There is surprisingly little mention of the war, for a book published in 1944 – but I can see how people at the time might want an escape from the reality of life.

Old Uncle Willie has come to stay with the Redpath family for Christmas. He is very cantankerous and enjoys being so. He has a colourful past, and is of such interest to people that the Redpaths can expect lots of visitors all wanting to get a look at the old rascal. Aside from the expected visitors Rhoda and Frank Redpath who throughout the war have shared their home with Frank’s aunt Paulina are expecting their adult son John and his fiancé Margery home for Christmas. There is a big party planned for boxing day and lots of parcels piled up on the hall table – plenty of opportunity for a murderer to strike.

So, when poor old Uncle Willie is found dead in the snow, wearing his Santa costume there are a lot of questions to be answered. It appears that the old man was poisoned by his favourite chocolates, or was their something sinister in the mince pies that were later found concealed rather oddly in his room?

“A war’s on and a murder has been committed – and we sit here talking nonsense about almond whirls and mince pies.!”

The mystery is investigated by two very senior policemen – Superintendent Cully and the Chief Constable Major Smythe who knew the dead man slightly and was at the party at the Redpaths house the night before the body was found.

There’s a lot of figuring out who precisely had a motive – who benefitted from the will, who knew about the will etc. All this is satisfyingly complex – and I did find the solution to be very clever – I definitely didn’t guess.

However, something about this one didn’t quite hit the spot with me. I feel it’s a little long, and rather repetitive – the story really could have been a lot tighter. Still, if you really like your festive whodunnits, this one is another for the pile.

The Amazing Mr Blunden – Antonia Barber (1969)

Lovely Virago sent me this book in early December with some festive chocolate – and although I generally don’t read children’s fiction – unless it’s lout oud to actual children – I knew I really wanted to dive in. The Amazing Mr Blunden has been re-titled and reissued to tie in with a new film arriving on Sky soon I believe. This book for older children was originally published in 1969 under the title Ghosts – but as I can confirm is just as likely to be enjoyed by adults too.

It is described on the back cover as an enthralling ghost story with a time travelling twist. Now, I do think there is something about ghost stories that make them perfect reading for Christmas time.

Siblings Lucy and Jamie first meet Mr Blunden at their home in London, when he calls unexpectedly to offer their mother a job as caretaker to a large empty house in the country. The job offer is a lifeline to their mother, newly widowed and with two growing children and a young baby life has clearly been hard since her husband died. Before he leaves though Mr Blunden has a quiet word with the children.

“‘When you come to the house, you will hear strange tales. They will tell you in the village that it is haunted, but you must not be afraid. When the time comes… you will know what to do.’”

Settled happily in the country, Jamie and Lucy – wonder about the words of the strange old man. Soon though they meet the ghosts he was talking about – Sara and Georgie from a hundred years earlier. They urgently need help, and explain to the children about the wheel of time – and how they can actually help to change what happens to them. Jamie and his sister will have to be very brave and undertake to travel back to Sara and Georgie’s time – to a house ruled over by the sinister Mrs Wickens who plots against them and often locks Georgie in the cellar.

Lucy and Jamie want to help the children from the past – but after exploring the local graveyard and asking an old gravedigger about the people buried there – they hear the stories of the old house that are well known in the area. Can they really change what has already happened? There is a lot for them to try and understand – and in the end they must simply trust in what Mr Blunden has told them – and believe in what they are doing.

I don’t want to say too much about the plot – it’s a lovely story of ghostly time travel and friendship. There is a delightful twist at the end too. I must say I spent a very pleasant day with this one last week – just what I needed at the time.

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Two book reviews in one post today – partly in a bid to catch up a little. The Man who Died Twice by Richard Osman published to some anticipation this year – and The Invisible Host by the married writing duo Gwen Bristow and Bruce Manning – first published in 1930 – reissued recently by Dean Street Press. Two very different mystery styles – written more than ninety years apart – each of them very engaging in different ways.

Before I get to the books though, I wanted to explain why the blog feels a bit erratic and all over the place at the moment. I know I am posting on days I don’t usually post – (it used to be Mondays and Thursdays but…) and there have been a couple of posts featuring more than one review – not something I have done in the past. I know I have said it before but I am struggling to keep going at the moment – blogging takes some time and effort – and while I am not ready to give it up – I know I’m not able to pay it the attention I once did. So please bear with me – I am trying to get myself back on track. I have been ill quite a lot lately – the joys of immunosuppression – and have just started a new role at work. Anyway… on with the books.

The Man Who Died Twice – Richard Osman (2021)

I was ill the weekend I read this – and I hope it doesn’t take anything away from the book if I say it was the perfect ill book. Undemanding, a page turner with some chuckles thrown in – the four hundred pages or so zips along at such a pace, I found I flew through it. That’s not to say that this book is entirely cosy – there’s some pretty dark goings on here, liberally laced with Osman’s recognisable wit. There are bodies, several sticky endings dealt out to various ne’er-do-wells. Everyone who gets bumped off is pretty nasty – so that’s ok then – and Osman doesn’t get graphic so it all becomes a bit like Tom and Jerry. I think The Man Who Died Twice – is more cohesive than the first book – and less overly complicated in terms of plot.

“It is 3 p.m., and Elizabeth is carrying flowers for Marcus Carmichael. The dead man. That drowned body, suddenly alive as you like and living at 14 Ruskin Court. The man she saw lowered into a grave in a Hampshire churchyard, now unpacking boxes and struggling with his new Wi-Fi.”

Readers of Osman’s first book The Thursday Murder Club will already be familiar with the engaging cast of characters – four elderly friends at the Cooper’s Chase retirement village; Elizabeth, Joyce (whose diary entries form part of the narrative) Ibrahim and Ron – four more lovable characters it is hard to imagine. We also meet up again with police officers Chris and Donna – Chris is now all loved up, dating Donna’s mum, Donna is still single – and pretty grumpy about it. The marvellous Bogdan also returns – a fabulous creation, and a character I definitely want to know more about.

Former spy Elizabeth gets a mysterious letter from a man from her past – he’s in trouble and needs her help. This ends up involving the gang in the hunt for twenty millions pounds worth of stolen diamonds – some very grumpy Organised crime boss types – MI5 officers and murder – but they all take it in their stride – and there’s usually a flask. Plenty of twists and turns and questions over who’s being genuine etc keep the reader guessing – though a lot is tongue in cheek too which I really appreciated.

“Revenge is not a straight line, it’s a circle. It’s a grenade that goes off while you’re still in the room, and you can’t help but be caught in the blast.”

Meanwhile poor Ibrahim is violently mugged while out one day – and is horribly affected by the incident – vowing never to leave the retirement village from now on. Bogdan and Ron – two men who are very good at getting things done hatch a plan to get justice for Ibrahim.

There are already so many reviews for this one out there – I didn’t see the point in replicating them all – if you enjoyed The Thursday Murder Club, then chances are you will enjoy this too.

The Invisible Host – Gwen Bristow & Bruce Manning (1930)

I don’t think I can say too much about the plot of The Invisible Host for fear of spoilers – but it is very readable indeed – a really quick read, and pleasantly baffling too.

One of the most interesting things about this novel though is the possibility that it may have inspired the queen of crime herself, Agatha Christie. First published in 1930 – the basic premise of The Invisible Host, bears a striking resemblance to And Then There were None – which was first published in 1939 under another title.

This novel is set in New Orleans – though we never really see outside the penthouse apartment where the action takes place. Eight people all receive invitations to a special dinner party at the said penthouse – each is told the party is to be held in their honour. Each of the eight guests easily believe they are deserving of such a party – none of them being especially modest. None of the guests are told who their host is – yet each have their suspicions who it could be. The guests are a mixed bag of society types, and include a famous doctor, a rather dodgy lawyer, an actress, and a respected society hostess. Once all eight people are assembled in the penthouse the doors are locked and electrified to prevent their escape. At which point, the radio springs to life with a rather sinister message from their invisible host.

“…I invite you to play a game with me, to pit your combined abilities against mine for suitable stakes. I warn you, however, it has long been my conviction that I should be able to outplay the most powerful intellects in our city, and to-night I shall work hard to prove myself – and you. For to-night, ladies and gentlemen, you are commanded to play an absorbing game a game with death.”

The mysterious host is confident they can out smart each of their guests – and as each one loses they will pay with their life. At first the eight guests can’t even be sure whether to take all this seriously – it’s too incredible – and yet soon enough the deadly seriousness of the situation is grimly revealed as the first party guest dies.

Throughout the evening the host communicates with their guests through the radio, the voice becoming ever more sinister to the assembled company. As the bodies are removed to the waiting coffins outside on the patio (from which escape is also impossible) the guests becoming increasingly suspicious and paranoid about who is behind the voice – and how this has all been achieved. The ending is very clever, and satisfying, and I didn’t guess the who – though I rarely do.

This is certainly a fun, page turner of a novel – though I do think that whatever the truth of where Agatha Christie got her ideas for that one particular novel – she is the better writer by some margin.

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With thanks to the British Library for providing a copy of the book

The British library have now published a number of E C R Lorac mysteries, and though I haven’t read them all, it’s clear she has become a very popular writer among lovers of Golden age mysteries. She was a prolific and popular author during the 1930s, 40s and 50s and also wrote under the name Carol Carmac. These Names Make Clues was first published in 1937, when Lorac was already establishing herself as a mystery writer. However, Martin Edwards in his introduction explains how this novel came to almost be completley forgotten. It is surprising given how popular Lorac has been, and what a good example of golden age fiction this is.

Like so many of the best detective novels of this period, These Names Make Clues is set between the wars, April 1936 to be precise, and gathers a large number of people altogether in one place – at least to start with. The novel opens with Chief Inspector Macdonald at home, looking forward to settling down with a new book. He decides to open his post first though, and one of his letters is from Graham Coombe inviting him to a treasure hunt party. The treasure hunt is to have clues that are of literary, historical, or political nature, and those invited to play, Coombe explains, detectives of a literary, psychological, or practical bent. Would Macdonald consent to pit himself – and his skills – against Coombe’s invited guests of thriller writers and others? Initially, Macdonald is really not keen. He discusses the party and his possible attendance with his friend, the journalist Peter Vernon – but on the toss of a coin decides to go along after all.

The set up is all very Christie-esque, Macdonald arrives at Caroline House – the London residence of Graham Coombe and his sister – and is given a literary pseudonym, each of his fellow guests is similarly disguised. Various parts of the house have been given over to the treasure hunters in which to hunt for clues and make their investigations. The treasure hunt gets underway, and Macdonald likes to think he might know who one or two of his fellow hunters may be. Here the reader really needs to have their wits about them, because most of the people we meet at Caroline House during the treasure hunt have two names, the pseudonym given to them at the party, and their own name – confused? me? absolutely.

The fun stops rather abruptly when the lights all go out and ‘Samuel Pepys’ is found dead in the telephone room. ‘Samuel Pepys’ is revealed to be well-known detective writer Andrew Gardien.

“There was a desk by the window, on which stood the telephone. A large arm-chair stood in the middle of the small floor space, and against the wall facing the window was a fine mahogany bureau, whose heavy front was pulled out, though the flap was not let down. Pulling aside the chair a little, Macdonald said ‘I’m afraid he is here. Very much here.’”

Macdonald is on hand to look into the strange circumstances right away, and what initially appeared to have been natural causes is quickly suspected to be anything but. There’s quite a bit of who’s who to be sorted out, not to mention who was where, and who saw who in those places when the lights went out – all of which sets things up rather nicely for a very puzzling mystery.

Macdonald and his CID colleagues get to work, but the very next day, Gardien’s agent is also found dead, in very bizarre circumstances, but who died first, and was one responsible for the other?

Macdonald’s friend journalist Peter Vernon is drawn into the mystery when he gets talking to one of the treasure hunters at the inquest. Soon, he is chasing all over the countryside in a borrowed sports car, in the hope of landing himself a scoop into the bargain.

“The long straight stretch of road ahead was ideal for a chase. The M.G was new, and in tip-top order, and Vernon began to enjoy himself. He was soon near enough to read the registration number ahead and to realise that his luck was in.”

This is an enjoyable mystery, perfect for these autumnal evenings and lazy weekends, a little short on atmosphere perhaps, but plenty of twists and turns that keep the reader guessing.

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Murder by the Book – murder for bibliophiles; if there was ever going to be a perfect book for bookish fans of golden age crime then this must surly be it. The British Library are very good at bringing out these anthologies of stories from time to time, ably edited by Martin Edwards who always provides some useful background information to the stories and their writers. There have been some lovely, themed collections already – not that I have managed to read them all as yet – including stories featuring water, sporting stories, stories featuring mysterious creatures and Christmas stories. This time and perhaps most appealingly of all – we have stories featuring book collectors, libraries, ghost-writers, and authors. Again, we have a veritable who’s who of golden age writers collected here – including Nicholas Blake, A. A Milne, Julian Symons, Gladys Mitchell, and Ngaio Marsh – sixteen stories in all arranged chronologically by the date they were first published.  

Of course, I can’t possibly write about all sixteen stories – we’d be here all day – but in an attempt to give a flavour of the whole collection I have picked out a few to highlight. I have a feeling lots of other bloggers will be reviewing this one over the coming months.

The collection opens with an intriguing little tale – A lesson in Crime, written by GDH and M Cole a husband and wife writing duo (always interested in how that works). It is a very sharp little tale – in which a best selling crime novelist is given a particularly nasty little lesson in the crimes he writes about while travelling by train.

While most of the stories are set firmly in England, a couple are set further afield. One of my favourite stories was Malice Domestic by Philip Macdonald. It has a fabulous twist – and like the best stories of this type builds slowly. Carl Borden and his wife live in El Morro Beach. Carl is a writer, married to Annette for nine years, apparently happily, though a few of their closest friends have been dimly aware that perhaps all may not be quite so ideal as it looks. So, when Carl begins to suffer terrible stomach pains and extreme sickness after only eating at home, his friend doctor Wingate is very concerned and determined to get to the bottom of what’s going on.

Another excellent story – this time set in India is Book of Honour by John Creasey. An Englishman working in India develops a long and deep friendship with an Indian man he first meets when he is absolutely destitute. Baburao works hard to become a successful bookseller – but a terrible resentment and enmity develops between this gentle man and his eldest son.

A Man and his Mother-in-law by Roy Vickers is a brilliant story -long enough to fully immerse the reader. When a man marries a sweet, docile ‘obedient’ little wife he comes to enjoy his easy predictable life. However, he really doesn’t much like the relationship between his wife and the woman who raised her after her parents died. It’s another of those stories where we know whodunnit straight away – the interest lies elsewhere and it’s a thoroughly compelling story.

“In a letter written on the eve of execution, Arthur Penfold seems to share the judge’s astonishment that a man of his calibre should turn to murder to extricate himself from a domestic difficulty. A student of criminology could have told Penfold – if not the learned judge himself – that murder eventuates, not from immediate circumstance, but from an antecedent state of mind.”

In A Question of Character, by Victor Canning, a man decides to murder his wife primarily because of his own vanity.

Geoffrey Gilroy is a mystery writer, and so is his wife Martha. The problem is that Martha’s success has now greatly outstripped his – relegating him to being merely Martha Gilroy’s husband. Geoffrey, who already has a mistress he would much rather be with anyway – has quite frankly had enough.

“…he just saw red, gulped down his martini and got out of the room as fast as he could. We walked all the way back to Sloane Street with his mind in a murderous fog. Martha Gilroy’s husband. The best selling novelist. He’d married Martha ten years before, when she had been a private secretary to an industrial consultant. Not a good secretary either.”

What Victor Canning does so well here is to let us get into the mind of this potential murderer – his thought processes and planning are laid before us. We know exactly what he plans to do, when he proposes to do it and see him begin to make the necessary preparations. Where the tension lies in this story – is in whether his plan will come of – and will he be caught. Canning’s character is a fairly methodical man – he has thought out every bit of his plan – he puts his plan into action chillingly, without a moments hesitation. I must say it is a very compelling story, superbly paced with gradually increasing tension, which I finished with my heart in my mouth.

As a reader of mainly women’s fiction, I would have liked to see more women writers represented in this collection. Still there are a few good stories by women too – a couple were new names to me including Murder in Advance by Marjorie Bremner. Dacre and his good friend Dr Allerton seek to solve the murder of a playwright Lewis Maynard. They come to the conclusion that the answer lies in the play he was planning on writing. I was also glad to see Ngaio Marsh in the collection, a writer who’s novels I have enjoyed immensely in the past. Chapter and Verse – comes at the end of the collection – and sees Alleyn’s wife Troy contacted by a man who knew her husband in New Zealand. The man describes himself as a bookman – and is doing some research into the names that appear in an old family bible he has in his possession. When he arrives to show Troy, she ends up getting drawn into an unexpected murder.

This is a brilliant collection of stories – some very inventive crimes and an absolute must for all you crime loving book obsessives out there. I predict that this one will do well at Christmas – if the c word is allowed in early September.

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With thanks to the British Library for the advance copy.

So, here I am on a Sunday afternoon writing my Monday morning blog post – a week since I even tried to write anything for the blog. I haven’t been well at all – I won’t bore you with the details, but I think I am on the mend, though not as well as I would like to be yet. I may even need to go back to the doctor again. So, last week I was really bad at getting through all the blogs I usually read – please bear with me – I am trying to catch up. I also need to catch up with my own reviewing – though there isn’t as much as there might be, as I have been reading very slowly during May so will have read fewer by the end of the month than usual. Ok, so on with the book.

Due To A Death is a book I read at the end of April – and it suddenly seems such a long time since I read it. A novel which again proves that the variety of mysteries put out by The British Library is actually quite wide – not all country house murders by a long shot. Mary Kelly, the author of Due To A Death, won the Gold Dagger award for her previous novel The Spoilt Kill also published by the British Library. Later she was nominated again for this one, a novel quite unlike many vintage mysteries reissued in the last few years. There is a lot more depth to this one, the mystery is really only a small part of the whole, the psychology of the characters, the daily tensions, secrets and the raw beauty of the landscape combine to raise this just a little bit above the ordinary mystery novel.

“Quarter past five. Thirty minutes since I’d run away. Fifteen miles of twisting lanes, five of Roman road. A last mile of eighty-five with the police closing up behind, impatient, menacing.”

The novel opens ambiguously, and immediately the reader is captivated. A young woman sits in the passenger seat of a car speeding along a road between the marshes. The young woman is Agnes, she has just made some kind of horrifying discovery – though we don’t know what. She is covered in cuts her stockings are ruined. She is being driven by an unnamed man who until recently was a stranger – we later discover he is Hedley Nicholson, the hero of that well received earlier novel. There are sounds of police car sirens close by, yet it isn’t Agnes and her companion who are being chased. They arrive in Gunfleet – the tiny village on the estuary where Agnes lives with her husband Tom, and where Nicholson has been staying for several weeks. Mary Kelly’s descriptions of Gunfleet, the estuary and the surrounding marshes are just perfect, it is a place swamped in claustrophobia, where everyone knows everyone else it has an air of early 1960s, post war decrepitude – and it certainly isn’t cosy at all. The moment they arrive back they find out that the body of a young girl has been found in the marsh – and panic is already starting to set in. Overwhelmed by all that has happened, and what she has arrived home to, Agnes takes herself off quietly to the church to contemplate all that has happened during the summer weeks that have brought her to this moment. The rest of the novel therefore is told in flashback, building up to where we started.

“I had to think, examine the summer, sift the past for fragments of memory, sharp, coloured, dimensional, like cubes of mosaic, which separately seemed insignificant; put together they took on meaning, formed a picture itself demanding to be explained, like a dream; or rather a nightmare so dreadful I couldn’t bear to explain it. That was weakness, evasion; it had to be faced.

They could be tied together after all, my own troubles and the girl on the marsh, one horror, worse than anything I’d ever known, the worse that could be. It was possible; I had to think whether it were true.

I had to go back to the beginning; though there is never a beginning, only a point when you wake up.”

The inhabitants of Gunfleet seem rather dysfunctional, Agnes’s husband Tom works for the university – his friends Tubby and Ian (who is in fact Tom’s step-brother) have some connection with the marsh and the work carried out in the area. Tubby is married to Carole they have a bunch of lively children and Ian, married to Helen has one son. Helen appears to have a particular dislike for Agnes – and is forever watching her with apparent disapproval. The three families are frequently together – evenings in the pub, picnics with the children – and yet Agnes is quite definitely the outsider – she carries her isolation into the midst of this group. Another outsider, Hedley Nicholson has his own reasons for coming to Gunfleet. He has latched himself onto this group, becoming already an almost accepted figure in the tiny community. He started to give Agnes driving lessons, as she bought a car that she cannot yet drive.

It seems Mary Kelly was pushing the boundaries of the mystery genre with this novel – and for me it is very successful. It is a very intelligent novel with rather a lot going on. The portrayal of a community is superbly done, a strong sense of place is always a big hit with me, but we have more than just a strong sense of place here – the sense of a community, flattened and forgotten and a million miles away from all that was happening in the British cities of the 1960s. That, and some astute character studies make this a novel that is much more than a mystery, in fact some crime fans might find this one a bit too light on the mystery side of things. For me though Due to A Death gave me lots of what I love, social history, a great sense of place, good characterisation, lots of secrets and plenty of suspense. I clearly need to read more by Mary Kelly.

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My second read for the 1936 club was The Wheel Spins by Ethel Lina White. If you haven’t heard of the novel – I bet you have heard of the film(s) it has been adapted for film and TV three times, firstly and most famously by Alfred Hitchcock. The film versions go by the name The Lady Vanishes – and I am fairly sure I have seen both the old Hitchcock version and the 1979 version that starred Cybil Shepard and Angela Lansbury. However, it must be some years since I saw either of them, and I haven’t seen the more recent TV adaptation, so my memory of the plot was sketchy. A young woman searches a train for a middle aged woman called Miss Froy, who everyone she speaks to insists was never there. More than that I couldn’t remember.

Ethel Lina White was a fairly prolific writer of mystery novels and stories, and The Wheel Spins was her ninth novel. I read an earlier novel, Fear Stalks the Village by her a few years ago, and a very memorable short story in Murder at the Manor an anthology of stories from the British Library edited by Martin Edwards. With The Wheel Spins it is easy to see what attracted Alfred Hitchcock to the story – to be so sure of something, and yet have everyone around you telling you that you’re wrong – it’s the stuff of nightmares. Throw in a sinister doctor and his peculiar patient, a crowded train, and the isolation of a language barrier, and suddenly we can all imagine being so disorientated that we begin to doubt our own mind.

“The horror persisted. Blackness was behind her and before—deadening her faculties and confusing her senses. She felt that she was trapped in a nightmare which would go on for ever, unless she could struggle free.”

Iris Carr is a young, attractive society woman, staying in a remote corner of Europe with a group of noisy, attention grabbing friends. The group have not made themselves popular in the hotel and following an awkward disagreement Iris decides to stay on at the hotel for a day or two after her friends depart by train. Glad for some time on her own, things don’t get off to the best of starts when Iris goes walking by herself and gets lost. Her confidence shaken she decides to carry on her journey to Trieste the next day after all.

An odd incident at the station where Iris is hit on the head and briefly loses consciousness leaves her feeling a little unwell, but she catches her train and finds herself stumbling into a carriage which is already rather full. The only other English speaker in Iris’s compartment is a middle aged tweedy type of woman who introduces herself as Miss Froy. Miss Froy has been working as a governess for the children of a local aristocrat – whose widow the baroness is another of the inhabitants of the carriage. Despite not being Iris’s kind of person at all, she agrees to have tea with Miss Froy in the dining car, where Miss Froy proceeds to tell her about the home she is travelling back to. Miss Froy has two very fond elderly parents anxiously waiting for her safe return, and a family dog who will take himself off to the train station to meet her when he senses her approach. Miss Froy’s, simple joy at returning home impresses itself on Iris’s mind – she finds she can picture the fond elderly parents and the eagerly waiting dog – making her all the more anxious that the family should be reunited.

Back in their train compartment, Miss Froy continues to be quite chatty, but overall, very kind. She gives Iris some aspirin and tells Iris to rest. Iris soon falls asleep and when she wakes Miss Froy is no longer sitting in the seat opposite her. Having waited some time for Miss Froy to return to her seat – Iris eventually plucks up courage to speak to the other people in her compartment.

“Where is Miss Froy?” asked Iris. “Miss Froy?” repeated the baroness. “I do not know any one who has that name.” Iris pointed to the seat which was occupied by the little girl. “She sat there,” she said. The baroness shook her head. “You make a mistake,” she declared. “No English lady has sat there ever.” Iris’ head began to reel. “But she did,” she insisted. “I talked to her. And we went and had tea together. You must remember.” “There is nothing to remember.” The baroness spoke with slow emphasis. “I do not understand what you mean at all. I tell you this…There has been no English lady, here, in this carriage, never, at any time, except you. You are the only English lady here.” 

They all claim that the lady Iris describes was never there. Only, Iris knows that she was.

There begins a desperate search for Miss Froy, the woman who was so kind to Iris and whose home coming is so eagerly anticipated. Also, on the train are some of the people from her hotel – but they are every bit as unhelpful – no one claims to have seen Miss Froy – Iris can’t understand how that can be the case – but then, why would all these people lie? She begins to question her own memory – could she have made Miss Froy up? She doesn’t really think so.

Iris enlists the help of a young engineer; Max Hare and the professor who he is travelling with. She starts to make quite a nuisance of herself – getting more and more irate and her behaviour begins to elicit some very unwelcome attention and could be about to put her in great danger.

This was an excellent quick read – a very quick read actually, as I couldn’t put it down until I had finished it.  

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With thanks to the British Library for the review copy.

I have been lucky enough to receive quite a number of these British Library Crime Classics from the publisher – probably more than I can actually cope with if I am honest judging from the number still unread on my shelves. However, when Murder’s A Swine dropped through my letterbox recently a quick glance at it told me that I wanted to read it almost immediately. My interest in it was sparked mainly by the author – Nap Lombard – not a name I heard before, but the author details on the back of the book reveal this to have been a pseudonym. Nap Lombard was in fact the joint pseudonym used by writer Pamela Hansford Johnson and her first husband writer and journalist Gordon Neil Stewart. Under the name Nap Lombard, the pair wrote two mystery novels during their marriage this was the second of them. Writing partnerships always fascinate me, how is the work divided up? – does one person write chapter one, the other chapter two and so on – or does one write and one come up with all the ideas? With a mystery novel this seems even more complicated.

First published in 1943, this Second World War mystery is very entertaining, there are some very odd goings on indeed – which are just spine tingling enough.

“I should imagine this was murder, too, because it would be very difficult to build yourself into a heap of sandbags and then die…”

On a wintry night in the London blackout a young air raid warden in company with amateur sleuth Agnes Kinghof find a body partly hidden in the walls of the air raid shelter which serves the block of flats where Agnes lives. As the police begin their investigations into who has died and how, the block of flats where Agnes and her husband live are further disturbed that very same evening when Agnes’ upstairs neighbour Mrs Sibley is terrorised by the deeply unpleasant sight of a pig’s head at her fourth floor window. Mrs Sibley who lives with her great friend, a writer of girls boarding school stories is deeply distressed and Agnes and her husband Andrew – having just arrived home on leave – busy themselves with helping to soothe the poor woman’s shattered nerves.

With the discovery of more unsavoury threats and notes signed ‘pig-sticker’ Agnes and Andrew – throw themselves wholeheartedly into investigating the mystery themselves. They rather put the backs up of the police lead by the absurdly named Inspector Eggshell, and really get on the nerves of Andrew’s cousin; Lord Whitestone a Scotland Yard big-wig with the unfortunate family nickname of Lord Pig. It is quickly deduced that it is more than likely that the culprit is living among them and is one of the other tenants in the block of flats. Someone is not who they say they are. What at first seem little more than unpleasant and inappropriate pranks start to look more sinister when a connection is made between one of the residents and the dead man.

When poor frazzled Mrs Sibley and her friend leave London for a riverside retreat – they are followed – and it isn’t long before the ‘pig-sticker’ seems to have claimed another victim. 

“Coincidence plays a large part in life; but in the drama of Mr Coppenstall and the pigs it played a very small one.

The only coincidence, indeed, lay in the fact that at this moment the Wrong Person was reading the telegram.

‘Name of Kinghof?’ the boy said, meeting the Wrong Person on the stairs.

‘That’s right,’ said the Wrong Person, putting out a hand, and returning with the envelope to seclusion and a steaming kettle. Handed in at Hooham at 4.45. Good enough. The Wrong Person resealed the envelope and stole out to slip into the Kinghof’s letter box.”

Despite stern warnings from Andrew’s titled cousin to not get involved it seems Agnes and her husband just can’t help themselves. Having worked out why the ‘pig-sticker’ has been targeting his victims – the only thing left to do is discover who he is. There are a few red herrings along the way, as Agnes unwittingly uncovers a sinister right wing political group and puts herself in danger during first aid training. I really don’t want to say too much more about the plot for fear of spoilers.

One thing that irritated me a bit was the too frequent descriptions of Agnes – who we are cheerfully told doesn’t have a very attractive face, but whose legs and figure are marvellous and so it didn’t matter. To have been told this once I might just about forgive but having the fact rammed down my throat subsequently was unnecessary and irritating. Perhaps readers in 1943 would have felt differently – I wonder? This is a small thing and perhaps dates the book a little – but certainly wasn’t enough to spoil my enjoyment.

Murder’s A Swine is a thoroughly well written novel (which is what I would expect from PHJ) with some delicious little slices of humour, especially in some of the dialogue, and in Agnes and Andrew’s interactions with Lord Pig. There is some really well realised characters throughout the novel with even very minor players emerging well fleshed out. Agnes herself is an especially likeable character, witty and imaginatively intelligent with a wonderful tendency to quote the sayings of her aunt General Sidebotham. Through her eyes we see something of the times in which the story is set – little glimpses of War time England which really give this novel a great sense of period.

All in all, though I found this a very entertaining mystery, with just the right amount of nerve jangling suspense. One of the most interesting aspects is that there is not a huge list of suspects – yet even within the narrow field of possibles the authors really keep you guessing.

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With thanks to the British library for the review copy.

On Boxing day, I put aside my huge copy of London War Notes by Mollie Panter-Downes that I was reading, needing a fiction break – and picked up my second BLCC novel of the month. It was the perfect read for those couple of days after Christmas. Don’t worry, I finally finished London War Notes on New Year’s Eve and hope to review it later this week.

Crossed Skis is by Carol Carnac – a pseudonym of Edith Caroline Rivett, who also wrote mysteries under the name E.C.R Lorac who will be familiar to many BLCC fans. While Lorac mysteries tend to feature her Scotland Yard detective Inspector Macdonald, the Carnac novels feature a different Scotland Yard man, Julian Rivers – who I found a very likeable character.

In this mystery two distinct storylines eventually converge – as the reader knows they will. It is a really good device and really helps to up the pace – moving us back and forth from an Austrian ski resort to the damp, grey chilly early days of a London New Year. Both places are portrayed brilliantly – the depressing leaden skies that so often come with a British winter being replaced by the brilliance of bright blue skies and clean snow.

“New Year’s Day, 1951 was as dreary a day as an English winter can devise. It dawned with a bitter wind, while rain and sleet drove in a mixture of perishing misery across drab London streets. At nine o’clock, a half-hearted pallid light shone on throngs of office workers who battled their way through slush and gale or stood in depressing queues at bus stops. After that half-hearted effort at daybreak, a sort of sullen deterioration set in, and by midday a yellow gloom was deepening to obstinate darkness.”

In Bloomsbury, London, a boarding house fire leads to the discovery of a rather gruesome scene. A man slumped over a gas fire, burnt beyond recognition – in a house had been assumed to be empty. There is little if anything for the police to go on, unsure whether this is murder or a tragic accident. However, one strange clue does suggest the possible involvement of a skier.

Meanwhile, a large party of skiers meet at the golden arrow arch in Victoria station on New Year’s Day to begin their journey to an Austrian ski resort. There are fifteen of them, the sixteenth member of the party will be arriving by plane. They are excited to be off – looking forward to blue skies and skiing in sunshine after the drabness of London streets. Bridget Manners is the organiser of the party – harried to pieces by a multitude of last minute changes that have been taking place. While several members of the party know each other quite well – others are total strangers, being friends or acquaintances of friends who have jumped at the chance of a New Year’s skiing holiday as various members of the party drop out or fall ill at the eleventh hour. One member of the party is running very late – and only just makes the train – but eventually they are all off.

The one slightly frustrating thing about the novel’s opening which starts with the skiing party at Victoria, is that we are introduced to a large cast of characters immediately and learn practically nothing about most of them. As the novel progresses I realised this was intentional and necessary to the plot – and quite clever – as the reader ends up as unsure as the holiday makers themselves about who is who. This feeling is added to successfully with several jokey conversations about the horror of people’s passport photographs and how they could almost be anybody.

Back at the fire damaged house Inspector Brook must decide what direction the case is to go – he is clearly a fairly sharp man himself but Scotland Yard are soon consulted and he finds himself working with Inspector Rivers as well as the fire investigators. The police also have reason to believe that the death of the man in the fire damaged house may well be connected to another unsolved crime. Inspector Rivers is also very interested in the evidence which points to a skier having been involved – and so soon the police are on the trail of parties leaving for ski resorts on New Year’s Day. It doesn’t take them long to find out about Bridget’s party.

“In the intense light, reflected back from white ground and roofs and slopes, everybody looked different: dark was darker, fair was fairer, colour was brighter. Clearly defined, sharp cut, brilliantly lit, everything had a quality of vividness and vitality which was exciting, so that fatigue was forgotten and laughter bubbled up in a world which was as lovely as a fairy-tale.”

In Austria things get off to a great start, the weather is perfect, and the party have started to bond together well. Some of the skiers are staying in the hotel with others in lodges in the grounds. A couple of days into the trip and one of the skiers finds he has some money missing – this is the start of the party beginning to wonder about some of the members of the group. Then Bridget’s friends back in England contact her to say a police inspector has been asking questions about her tour group.

This is a brilliantly immersive mystery, with two wonderfully evocative settings. Interestingly, Martin Edwards in his introduction says the novel was based loosely on a ski trip Carol Carnac herself took with a group of friends with the character of Kate a self-portrait of the author herself.  

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