tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87873642571688228222024-03-18T11:01:42.522-05:00Pretty Sinister BooksCrime, Supernatural and Adventure fiction.
Obscure, Forgotten and Well Worth Reading.J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.comBlogger1090125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-31159713460841700162023-09-27T21:45:00.000-05:002023-09-27T21:45:56.344-05:00The Glass Heart - Marty Holland<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgXK5W7gTPVazaFsG9cUbegJ0zf9MBx8TgEbHf0AF3SG-Ih3wZJJkD_NV_q9Kanj5WpbYy1EjmRnpIt-4W3BXsFHFV8ucghBKAtaCTa5uyPN3oseaWdRvBeKaMZuKvriLqHpAYXZMOAe_s519a866wkmr6gQ1vHlglXg6ioT2y37nzM2uYVo-vQogTS-Q/s970/Glass%20Heart%201st.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="970" data-original-width="678" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgXK5W7gTPVazaFsG9cUbegJ0zf9MBx8TgEbHf0AF3SG-Ih3wZJJkD_NV_q9Kanj5WpbYy1EjmRnpIt-4W3BXsFHFV8ucghBKAtaCTa5uyPN3oseaWdRvBeKaMZuKvriLqHpAYXZMOAe_s519a866wkmr6gQ1vHlglXg6ioT2y37nzM2uYVo-vQogTS-Q/w280-h400/Glass%20Heart%201st.png" width="280" /></a></div>Down on his luck Curt Blair is waiting out a rainstorm in a “ritzy hash joint” just outside of Hollywood, USA when he steals a fancy camel hair overcoat then flees intending to sell the coat. It’s how he makes his living these days – ripping off suckers' coats, rifling the pockets for treasures and cash, then selling the ransacked coat. But this time all hell breaks loose and he’s being chased. While hiding from his pursuers he ends up in the backyard of Virginia Block’s home. She mistakes him for the handyman she recently hired from an agency. Curt being the opportunist that he is wisely plays along and learns the job comes with a free room and kitchen privileges. So he accepts the job, gains a cheap salary of $20/week and a place to stay and eat.<p></p>
<p>Later the same day aspiring actress Lynn York shows up at the boarding house. She is paying $60/month for an upstairs room, but no kitchen privileges for her. Mrs. B is greedy and a miser we soon figure out. Within hours Curt and Lynn are hooking up and doing the dirty deed in the dirty basement where while putting the moves on Lynn Curt is bothered by the irritating sound of a dripping pipe. He vows to fix the leak though that task is not on the insanely long list of arduous work Mrs. Block expects of him.</p>
<p>While dealing with the plumbing problem Curt discovers a gruesome surprise and jumps to conclusions. A bit of detective work supports his rash theory and he sees dollar signs. He schemes to blackmail his landlady and employer. Soon he finds his paltry salary increased to a cool $1000/week.</p><p>And if you haven’t already figured out that the tables will be turned then you don’t know your crime fiction.</p>
<p>Reading<i> The Glass Heart</i> is like travelling back in time to a 1950s movie palace watching a B movie programmer. It’s crammed full of action, double dealing, manipulation, greed, lust and crime. Everyone is out for himself or herself. James M Cain, who penned multiple densely packed novels about two timing lovers and how greed controls their lives admired the book so much he 1. wrote a praiseworthy blurb for the Julian Messner first edition dust cover and 2. wrote a screenplay adaptation that unfortunately was never produced. Even he recognized the cinematic potential of this hard to resist story.</p><p>While it’s not hard to predict that Curt and lovely Lynn will hook up within hours of meeting I doubt many readers will be able to predict the unusual plot twists. Soon a handful of supporting characters descend upon Mrs. Block looking for handouts including Elise, Lynn's future roommate and a member of an evangelical church devoted to enlisting new members and coaxing money out of them to help build their new church.</p>
<p>The story is overloaded with plot and incident. It’s almost like reading two books in one at the same time. There’s almost no time in the action-filled pages to question the often outlandish turn of events. But I did! And frequently. Some of my nagging questions included: Why on earth is Mrs. B such a pushover? Why didn’t she just throw Curt out of her house rather than be bled dry? And why is Lynn so simple minded and easily manipulated? I guess there is no room for common sense in potboiler fiction. The book exists solely to explore crime and base motives (mostly dealing with lust and avarice) but offers no insight into any of the reasons the characters need so desperately what they long for. I wasn’t asking for heightened literary reasons just a few mundane ones.
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<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOP1lUF85RkKeZVsxBjFolMXhU4bmGJ6mTUXm5sWgaSxefSMl7Yr302_Edwr3ZOryq2tDFjVoIv-8yBmU6WjcXq_F3q5dt-KVphphKzarWnEviHiG1uFiH0coqoGPl65qcZlfW2Up0ZRRliTcruCmEJi3tseRFmhv9j2WFyJUIgiTcNe3Dk8S3-mU30Y/s1000/Glass%20Heart-Stark%20House%20rep.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="700" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZOP1lUF85RkKeZVsxBjFolMXhU4bmGJ6mTUXm5sWgaSxefSMl7Yr302_Edwr3ZOryq2tDFjVoIv-8yBmU6WjcXq_F3q5dt-KVphphKzarWnEviHiG1uFiH0coqoGPl65qcZlfW2Up0ZRRliTcruCmEJi3tseRFmhv9j2WFyJUIgiTcNe3Dk8S3-mU30Y/w280-h400/Glass%20Heart-Stark%20House%20rep.png" width="280" /></a></div>Late in the book it all turns a bit ridiculous. Elise receives a telegram that her husband was killed in action overseas. She refuses to accept this and in her religious mania keeps praying that hubbie be returned to her. Like a true believers she’s asking for a miracle. One guess as to how that turns out. Because of course every absurd coincidence one can possibly imagine will be crammed into these 192 pages.
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<p>Why have one kook when you can have two? Mrs. B is later revealed to be a bit of a loon herself. Lynn spends much of her time eavesdropping throughout the book and hears her landlady talking to herself and singing in a little girl’s high pitched voice. She has conversations with her dead husband, very intimate and revealing conversations. It all leads to a confrontation between the two woman involving a revolver and a golf club that doesn’t end well at all.
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<p>Do you think anything will end well in a book of this sort? Think again!
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<p>It starts off as noir but some odd detours and intrusive subplots among the minor characters transform the book to a quasi romance. This schizoid state results in a near parody of noir by the time you get to the two climactic moments. Remarkably – almost unbelievably – for something so laden with doom, insanity and murder, both intentional and accidental, it all ends with a cop out finale that includes a wedding and happily ever after honeymoon in New Mexico! I gather that Holland opted for a hearts and flowers finale because she wants the real villain of the piece to be revealed as a vile monster who “deserved” to die. And she seemed to want to make her leads into decent people who were victims themselves. Really strange considering they were crooked and corrupt from the get-go. When the penultimate chapter exposes the villain’s wide ranging schemes of cheating, thievery and mean-spiritedness one wonders if Holland had a horrible landlady somewhere in her life and this was a revenge piece.
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<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2KFEd79itCiYM3SoYhgB56U2LMLDFClqz8uopkBW7YFrMMxMMg66V9fmYdCF-ek7kSx36MwSIi3Q9NCQQWFrwqzhqET82fwlaBSYbZ7fddS4B0TXOl-Av0hScvpGToGmOQqUaVzdG0Ii0hDY0b5f_03rDJGCrSu4B0uau9J5kZ92fN4Ezr0I11whazfc/s744/Holland,%20Marty.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="708" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2KFEd79itCiYM3SoYhgB56U2LMLDFClqz8uopkBW7YFrMMxMMg66V9fmYdCF-ek7kSx36MwSIi3Q9NCQQWFrwqzhqET82fwlaBSYbZ7fddS4B0TXOl-Av0hScvpGToGmOQqUaVzdG0Ii0hDY0b5f_03rDJGCrSu4B0uau9J5kZ92fN4Ezr0I11whazfc/s320/Holland,%20Marty.png" width="305" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marty Holland (1919 - 1971)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>And yet though I sound like I’m disparaging this book I found it all utterly addictive.<i> The Glass Heart</i> is, I confess, a guilty pleasure. I couldn’t stop reading and had to know where each ludicrous scene would lead and of course how it all would end. It truly is one of the best examples of a genuine B movie on paper. And no wonder – the author Marty Holland was a secretary at Republic Pictures, one of the leading producers of B movie programmers, for many years. She was writing pulp fiction in her spare time, wrote the book that became the classic noir thriller <b>Fallen Angel</b><i>,</i> and a story treatment for another crime movie classic <b>The File on Thelma Jordan</b>. Typing all those scripts at Republic Pictures taught her well, I guess.
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<p>Stark House has reprinted all of Marty Holland’s crime novels over the past year and a half. <i>The Glass Heart</i> is the newest reprint added to that small pile of books. For decades this novel was unavailable to mere mortals like you and me because the few copies for sale were listed by booksellers at unaffordable collector’s prices. It’s wonderful to have Marty Holland’s books all available to the general public in Stark House’s usual handsomely produced editions. For lovers of noir, kooky melodrama and twisty plotting these books are a must have. Highly recommended – even with all the caveats listed above. <i>The Glass Heart</i> is genuine thrill ride that will leave you both gasping in awe and laughing in shock.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-85668452303095995582023-09-17T10:27:00.001-05:002023-09-17T10:27:43.192-05:00Murder without Clues - Joseph L Bonney<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqBMQvViKWkz5Ilmj_WqDNH0rTAYl0twCVq8P2VlsB_P5Aj-qL_RVxgA9CGbkaDiXOQarcq4RDgqSHRSYpspWToKRvpzKq7ogZe6nusJ3CePB73WvbhxU9Bky6GNnU1vLzAyTPC07lqRc5o4fAON32yKha5ff9rHYLXlsYouBgRx5qhFNDZIqGm7vqEg/s600/Bonney-MWC-US.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="425" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqBMQvViKWkz5Ilmj_WqDNH0rTAYl0twCVq8P2VlsB_P5Aj-qL_RVxgA9CGbkaDiXOQarcq4RDgqSHRSYpspWToKRvpzKq7ogZe6nusJ3CePB73WvbhxU9Bky6GNnU1vLzAyTPC07lqRc5o4fAON32yKha5ff9rHYLXlsYouBgRx5qhFNDZIqGm7vqEg/w284-h400/Bonney-MWC-US.jpg" width="284" /></a></div>A dead body in a locked room, a house surrounded by undisturbed snow, all suspects have an alibi but one and yet it seems that one person could not have committed the crime. Another ingenious John Dickson Carr rip-off? Well, not quite. <i>Murder without Clues</i> (1940) is a the ultimate Golden Age homage that does a very good job of honoring the work of not only Carr but Queen and Van Dine. Joseph L. Bonney, in his debut work as a mystery writer, has also thrown in a couple of wink-wink allusions to Conan Doyle to make this a quadruple homage. Does this mystery succeed as yet another in the impossible crime/locked room subgenre. Hmm...You decide.<br /><p></p><p>Henry Watson, a wannabe novelist, is in search of a new apartment and a roommate and his friend suggests he visit Simon Rolfe who is also in search of new digs. The two meet and Watson can't help but be disturbed by Rolfe's emulation of a certain fictional detective. Rolfe has a mysterious origin that is never fully explained, seems to be independently wealthy, plays the violin, smokes a pipe, lounges around in a smoking jacket, and sees clients with puzzling problems which he solves for a modest fee and does so in a single afternoon. Bonney has a bit too cutely paid homage to Conan Doyle while at the same time allowing his Sherlock dopplegänger to disparage the entire canon in a four page diatribe in which he deconstructs several of the stories as pathetically obvious. Once this tirade is out of the way the story can take place front and center and we have a classic Golden Age locked room populated by ex-vaudeville performers who are stranded in a snowbound house somewhere in upstate New York.</p><p>Wicked philandering dancer Lucille Divine is found stabbed in the back in her locked bedroom at the home of Champ Lister. All of Lister's guests and servants were downstairs at the time she screamed, they rush upstairs, find Lister in the hallway at the wrong door, then break down Lucille's door and find her in her last gasps. One man goes to her tries to help her and hears her say "It was the Champ..." Then she expires. Has she verbally fingered her killer? Lister denies he had anything to do with her death. He didn't even know she was in this other bedroom. He went to the bedroom across the hallway where she usually stayed.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEICgVHFz2d-60nnTdSNr4THMyA1wkgZM05aSS-emjc92vl3wDVbmOBsniu5_yDUwOJjFKKbZkJHE6lOnYzkoHYjHxe3z_9uuEM4RBPpVNHZiY6BRHdjMy5GcgYJNR_6ZiM4Tg8V2kk9wPHYP4ITNfvAJQWoUoN-6cHq4Znd67Xn-H_Frliwzz7vftdbA/s300/Bonney,%20Joseph.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="244" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEICgVHFz2d-60nnTdSNr4THMyA1wkgZM05aSS-emjc92vl3wDVbmOBsniu5_yDUwOJjFKKbZkJHE6lOnYzkoHYjHxe3z_9uuEM4RBPpVNHZiY6BRHdjMy5GcgYJNR_6ZiM4Tg8V2kk9wPHYP4ITNfvAJQWoUoN-6cHq4Znd67Xn-H_Frliwzz7vftdbA/s1600/Bonney,%20Joseph.jpg" width="244" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Young Joseph L Bonney<br />looking suitably nerdy<br /> on the DJ rear cover <br /></td></tr></tbody></table>As the title implies - there are no clues, at least as far as physical evidence goes. Plus -- no weapon can be found anywhere, even after all the rooms are thoroughly searched. The only window in the murder room is open a crack (Lucille liked fresh air to sleep at night despite the wintry temps) and can't be opened any further. How did anyone get in, kill Lucille, and escape entirely unnoticed. The timing of the guests rushing upstairs seems to eliminate Lister who was seen at the other doorway as they came up the stairs. Also, Lister a former vaudeville performer who stunned people with feats of memory and instant recall, listened to a radio program at the time of the murder. To prove it he writes down all the dialogue from memory. When the police compare it to the actual broadcast it's nearly verbatim. It's all utterly baffling -- until Rolfe starts questioning the suspects of course.<p></p><p>Rolfe fancies himself a detective of psychology who finds this case with no physical evidence right up his alley. He approaches detective work from a different angle paying attention subtleties in language and behavior. Though he claims to use deduction most of his conclusions are the result of induction. Still Bonney is clever in how he allows Rolfe to expose lies and get the suspects to reveal things they'd rather keep hidden. I was impressed with the dying clue bit which is very reminiscent of several Queen books. However, in the end Bonney's explanation is a bit of a stretch. No matter how many people I polled I couldn't get one person to duplicate what he says happened.<br /></p><p>Rolfe is also irritatingly an obsessive student of the French philosopher Montaigne who he quotes repeatedly through the book. Only one quote seems to have anything to do with his work as a detective: "I do not understand; I pause, I examine." This might serve as Rolfe's (or any worthwhile detective's) mantra.</p><p>In the end it's a intricately detailed investigation, perhaps overly so in the manner of Queen and Van Dine, with Rolfe sharing the stage with Inspector Charles King and a slew of policemen put on guard throughout the household. In a neat touch Henry Watson (Rolfe actually addresses him as "My dear Watson" too many times) provides quite by accident one of the key observations. The manner in which the crime is committed is perhaps one of the wickedest I've encountered in a American mystery novel of this era. there is, of course, another bizarre murder means, not quite as original as Bonney may think it is. This method belongs to a subset of murder means that I can group into Death by... OH! Better not mention that. But it has been used in the work of Carr as Carter Dickson, Burton Stevenson, the Coles, and two obscure books by William Morton, and George R. Fox, all of those books and stories pre-dating Bonney's novel. Was the murder means yet another, albeit obscure, homage?</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwgjAK94-vJcu30r1tC8m3Sbe1AJshg1slb6AYS7MJ0kHKoB1m2Y-B38_Y40YT1mfltJTRuUJPMHOrRCNn9kiR2q2Qiix0gVK7ZJHRyiYuD231CWudZeIdH9FF5tI9UVRUlcRmBhguwe8a-HSdNq7oYYj3IvZjWL1DOn7pXhRHBV08XyCa92d0FFjyelo/s1106/Bonney-MWC-pb.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1106" data-original-width="816" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwgjAK94-vJcu30r1tC8m3Sbe1AJshg1slb6AYS7MJ0kHKoB1m2Y-B38_Y40YT1mfltJTRuUJPMHOrRCNn9kiR2q2Qiix0gVK7ZJHRyiYuD231CWudZeIdH9FF5tI9UVRUlcRmBhguwe8a-HSdNq7oYYj3IvZjWL1DOn7pXhRHBV08XyCa92d0FFjyelo/w295-h400/Bonney-MWC-pb.png" width="295" /></a></div>Some good news: copies of <i>Murder without Clues</i> are out there for sale! About eight or nine copies by my count. One 1st edition with DJ is absurdly priced at $495. Be aware that the paperback digest edition (pictured at right) is abridged. But in this case that 's a good thing. I can imagine that all the nonsense about Montaigne and Socrates was eliminated to shorten the book. Also I'm sure that the editors cut to pieces the Sherlock Holmes diatribe that tends to spoil some of the content of the stories.<br /><p></p><p>This is an interesting and engaging read in the locked room subgenre. I thought for sure that I had pegged the killer and figured out how Lucille was done in. I also thought I had figured out the dying clue. But I was wrong on all counts. It all turned out to be quite a surprise, though I think a bit flawed.</p><p>Having many of the suspects come from the world of vaudeville allows for a slew of red herrings, two of which I fell for and one which did not turn up at all. I was disappointed Bonney didn't include the missing aspect. It would have fit in perfectly with the dying clue. Missed opportunity! You can expect at least one knife thrower to show up in the cast. After all, knife throwing and vaudeville go hand in hand in the mystery novel. If you aren't acquainted with this hoary cliche of detective novels read my post on the ultimate knife throwing murder mystery <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2012/12/death-on-ferris-wheel-aylwin-lee-martin.html">here</a>.<br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-18672456985522775442023-08-25T09:24:00.005-05:002023-09-06T00:40:19.266-05:00Celia Dale -- Mistress of Menace<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz9CDOJ3I_7jKyfeZ22quXAvQXKYDHscwOQh73Ga_ouHlijigFDXPZYtFTydoOyvgtAQIMCwT6GjjPgCa4ko31N8RruDQrI2PHk36r6Q_Y_jTbikaWA5ySvmqSrvxOMKMGbvjvSoPup0u6cuQeFGLhT5TApZRzPIbZ50NwfLM1ikO7crMX6li5L4HmUVA/s800/Dale-ADC-UK%201st.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="639" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz9CDOJ3I_7jKyfeZ22quXAvQXKYDHscwOQh73Ga_ouHlijigFDXPZYtFTydoOyvgtAQIMCwT6GjjPgCa4ko31N8RruDQrI2PHk36r6Q_Y_jTbikaWA5ySvmqSrvxOMKMGbvjvSoPup0u6cuQeFGLhT5TApZRzPIbZ50NwfLM1ikO7crMX6li5L4HmUVA/w320-h400/Dale-ADC-UK%201st.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>Readers of this blog know the term domestic suspense as a subgenre that encompasses crime novels usually set in sinister suburbs populated with secretive close knit families and dozens of housewives embroiled in perilous journeys, both physical and emotional. Within this subgenre are further subsets of books featuring menacing senior citizens, a group of these I've given my own label of "<a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2014/08/ffb-come-and-be-killed-shelley-smith.html">Badass Biddy</a>"crime novels. Of the dozens of writers who wrote almost exclusively within the realm of "domestic suspense" nearly all of them are women and the best in my estimation are <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2016/01/ffb-air-that-kills-margaret-millar.html">Margaret Millar</a> and <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2014/09/ffb-deadly-climate-ursula-curtiss.html">Ursula Curtiss</a> in the US and <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2012/03/party-at-no-5-shelley-smith.html">Shelley Smith</a> in the UK. Add to that list one more name.<p></p><p>Up until a few months ago I'd never heard of Celia Dale, a British writer who began her novelist's career in 1945 then turned to crime novels of a very special kind in the mid 1960s. Dale was writing her books just as her sister in crime Ruth Rendell was emerging on the scene. Later Rendell would adopt her alter ago of "Barbara Vine" and using that pseudonym she created crime novels of menace that surpass the "domestic suspense" subgenre while clearly still influenced by them. To my delight I discovered that Celia Dale was writing better, creepier and more nightmarish books before Rendell ever conjured hers into existence. </p><p><i>The Helping Hand</i> (1966) takes the idea of the badass biddy to extremes in that it is not just one sinister senior citizen but a married couple who are the scheming villains. The story is a slow burning, unsettling tale of Mr. and Mrs Evans who prey on ailing elderly women. On the surface it seemed like <i>The Forbidden Garden</i>, Ursula Curtiss' flipped out story of a middle-aged woman serial killer. Dale forgoes the slaughter of Curtiss' bloody novel preferring the more chilling, passive aggressive form of murder. In fact, Dale's novel is practically a rewrite and modern update of a book I read a while ago that is set in the 19th century.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEKob9sylNrltMvEaLPI732Vf9olq5cHKN9PzXcAnZ8NAm6XP9LO7ftJcCfLtX3X4J7gTqmby2cUj5ke5uzP8gjKBlrUVs4GSmS0uAIgCdfwazMFOOk6IUXoWX2qWnN4rhdHF-BoQjxyzy1zCtbtGSbVhePzSAFtRJTUhgL2UGC52gDBAbYNhIvqK6dqY/s750/Helping%20Hand.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="488" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEKob9sylNrltMvEaLPI732Vf9olq5cHKN9PzXcAnZ8NAm6XP9LO7ftJcCfLtX3X4J7gTqmby2cUj5ke5uzP8gjKBlrUVs4GSmS0uAIgCdfwazMFOOk6IUXoWX2qWnN4rhdHF-BoQjxyzy1zCtbtGSbVhePzSAFtRJTUhgL2UGC52gDBAbYNhIvqK6dqY/s320/Helping%20Hand.png" width="208" /></a></div>The victims are twofold -- Cynthia Fingal, an elderly woman travelling with her 40ish niece Lena Kemp. Josh sets his sights on Mrs. Fingal while Maisie Evans targets Lena. The Evans' are ersatz charmers masking their true natures. Josh Evans is actually a randy, ogling and groping Casanova while his wife is an unctuous spy gathering info on relatives and their bank accounts. Mrs. Fingal warms up to Josh in no time after his one or two carefully targeted compliments. Soon she is as garrulous as a shop girl and she travels down memory lane frequently narrating tales of her daughter who died at age 10 and her devoted husband, a soldier in the “Great War”. She spices up these nostalgic stories with self-pitying remarks about her longing for male companionship. Josh is eager to fulfill her desires.<p></p><p>Soon Mrs Fingal has moved in with the Evans setting up the major plot highlighted by casual cruelty, saccharine smiles and "There, Theres". The married couple smother the older woman with attention and keep her housebound and under their control. When Christmas comes Maisie begins a campaign of lies and deceit. Through subtle manipulation Maisie manages to turn Mrs. Fingal and her niece against each other. The nastiest blow is the ease with which the Evans manage to negate Mrs. Fingal's very existence. They soon turn 180 degrees and deny her every wish, never allowing her to leave the house. She cannot attend church nor even open her Christmas presents in the morning the way she always did with her husband and daughter. Dale sums up Mrs. Fingal's state of mind with terse heartwrenching sentences: "She would hardly look, hardly listen, withdrawn into the cavern of her misery."<br /></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpAIk1ZlXTM5kEZpfnl8f_5tqLnT1EmIpl0IjRpfQtmonpjBpNh5gG3CWvyTw479mt6NfjV62ZuAYB-aUbisOEaCmUaVZyJpwZIsqU1apIylAAtYyZgr1Ir3z1zPM3xSPndKU5lsrSsvxlWfL188tnDIs-kjzh0SSUs_q7OgGTMllcnFaFBPuKfnGyH-I/s650/Celia%20Dale.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="439" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpAIk1ZlXTM5kEZpfnl8f_5tqLnT1EmIpl0IjRpfQtmonpjBpNh5gG3CWvyTw479mt6NfjV62ZuAYB-aUbisOEaCmUaVZyJpwZIsqU1apIylAAtYyZgr1Ir3z1zPM3xSPndKU5lsrSsvxlWfL188tnDIs-kjzh0SSUs_q7OgGTMllcnFaFBPuKfnGyH-I/s320/Celia%20Dale.png" width="216" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celia Dale (1912 - 2011)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>With the entrance of Graziella <i>The Helping Hand</i> I could not help but recall the remarkably nightmarish novel <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2020/08/horror-show-harriet-elizabeth-jenkins.html"><i>Harriet</i> by Elizabeth Jenkins</a>. Jenkins' novel tells a similar story of a household supposedly caring for an invalid but whose cruel indifference ultimately tortures her and the maid who is the sole person who is alarmed at the abuse. Graziella is the servant in Dale's novel who serves the same purpose. Yet in the hands of a master manipulator like Maisie it is no use to call out abuse and cruelty. Graziella without realizing is soon inculcated and succumbs to all of the lies the Evanses manufacture. There seems no hope for Mrs. Fingal's rescue from the clutches of the amoral couple.<br /><p></p><p>The climax of the book includes a disturbing mix of sexual predation and accidental violence. This is domestic noir with no real happy endings for anyone. Not even the villains. For in the finale Dale delivers an ironic blow to all the scheming and plotting that most readers will never see coming.</p><p>Dale revisits the theme of a sinister married couple in <i>A Dark Corner</i> (1971). Here we have Nelly and Arthur Didcot who meet young Errol Winston one rainy cold summer night. Errol is looking for an apartment to rent and winds up at the Didcot's home, the wrong house, because he misreads the address on his paper. All seems well when the Didcots offer him their own room instead of the one in his advertisement. But their kindhearted gesture and seeming friendliness are masks for bizarre desires. Nelly's maternal instincts seem to be transforming into erotic desire with kisses on Errol's cheek giving way to warm embraces that last too long. Arthur becomes an odd tutor of sorts, way too invested in his lodger's adult education by taking him to seedy night clubs and picking up drugged out prostitutes.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg792XXBOWz6iEuFSheSJZLpAdBNIFalb00Z7o9RAl6LaiGShIL5P45GUDojwdaTo0MRkgDRB17SGYVJHumqpYP8hfO8jmtR7blYd-c-8ISWfsD_ALfAT7oDL3rUJD28iLgJVKKYSM-q6-glkcHc-oFYW9mVVd2oszWBKJzZPvGO-SHHsn_eTOKBAlcO5E/s1000/Ent%20Mr%20S%20playbill.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="635" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg792XXBOWz6iEuFSheSJZLpAdBNIFalb00Z7o9RAl6LaiGShIL5P45GUDojwdaTo0MRkgDRB17SGYVJHumqpYP8hfO8jmtR7blYd-c-8ISWfsD_ALfAT7oDL3rUJD28iLgJVKKYSM-q6-glkcHc-oFYW9mVVd2oszWBKJzZPvGO-SHHsn_eTOKBAlcO5E/s320/Ent%20Mr%20S%20playbill.png" width="203" /></a></div>This may seem a familiar plot to some ardent readers of unusual crime fiction. For me I could not help but draw comparisons to <i>Entertaining Mr. Sloan</i>e, Joe Orton's satiric and savagely funny sex farce about a married couple in their 60s lusting after the titular hunky young man. <i>A Dark Corner</i> is neither funny nor satiric. And while Dale does explore some dark sexual pathology in her novel she recasts the gorgeous Lothario in <i>...Mr Sloan</i> with a timid young Black man in the person of Errol Winston. <i>A Dark Room </i>delves into the stereotypical myth of the Black stud compounding that racist ideology with the sexual nature of senior citizens, a topic that most people never want to think about. <p></p><p>I think of the two books <i>A Dark Corner</i> succeeds both as a crime novel and a psychological horror story more than the creepy story of <i>A Helping Hand</i>. Probably because <i>A Helping Hand</i> reminded me too much of <i>Harriet</i> which is a true horror story and I couldn't get Jenkins book out of my mind. I tended to dismiss what Dale was doing in her version. <i>A Dark Corner</i>, however, is transgressive and daring for its time. More importantly, you feel for Errol's plight and long for his escape more because he is able to leave and go to work and yet somehow manages to be trapped in a way that's more terrifying than Mrs. Fingal's physical entrapment.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKICtXJcG0Qqb0JHIRyW-kuCt_X1VXzypXMhNNkLDDlm--dly43BYZ_c3u6c57DfIwUhbgrX7isic4BTGGzNKoeKLZZylmlQyPE7hwQ_OzpPUfgcysfCPy5_8ahnOh379YEwAvEDZ0y_QXiNm8F9Jx4IiMXrw54J8glSseat3dkdTKJrtsgBICVkun28/s750/ADC-Val%20rep.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="489" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKICtXJcG0Qqb0JHIRyW-kuCt_X1VXzypXMhNNkLDDlm--dly43BYZ_c3u6c57DfIwUhbgrX7isic4BTGGzNKoeKLZZylmlQyPE7hwQ_OzpPUfgcysfCPy5_8ahnOh379YEwAvEDZ0y_QXiNm8F9Jx4IiMXrw54J8glSseat3dkdTKJrtsgBICVkun28/s320/ADC-Val%20rep.png" width="209" /></a></div>Luckily both books have been reprinted for new audiences. Depending on where you live you'll have to look for the correct edition. In the US Dale's two books reviewed here are reprinted by <a href="https://www.valancourtbooks.com/a-dark-corner-1971.html">Valancourt Books</a> but are unavailable for sale in the UK. That's because <a href="https://dauntbookspublishing.co.uk/authors/celia-dale/">Daunt Books </a>has exclusive UK reprint rights for Dale's entire body of work. <i>A Helping Hand</i> is available from Daunt Books and for sale in the UK only. Daunt Books is also releasing <i>Sheep's Clothing</i> (1988), Dale's final novel, in September. There may be other Celia Dale books planned for subsequent release in the UK. I'm unsure if Valancourt is reprinting any more of Dale's books. But these two are fine entry points into the world of Celia Dale, both excellent examples of modern crime novels that also serve as superior examples of the novel of psychological terror.<br /><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-49530339085499850912023-08-16T00:00:00.010-05:002023-08-29T14:31:28.651-05:00Let X Be the Murderer - Clifford Witting<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUljCbn8gNNbdzKGPZzRNqo7Ja5W2nIAcbyugLfyR30_IvvjZD8djcBwTGchk8ruqqdbMBWVi04cG8ZnhgD5hHI2U0kCT4OgKAxcUWtqRbiQjiXtkTzpivaqVjds9fnnDy8QTrI7JHIEiHkCywQKCMMB5KvKdRzuRg5ADc6ggDbhd1ta2zB_zTEAXvgWY/s916/Let%20X-UK%201st.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="916" data-original-width="634" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUljCbn8gNNbdzKGPZzRNqo7Ja5W2nIAcbyugLfyR30_IvvjZD8djcBwTGchk8ruqqdbMBWVi04cG8ZnhgD5hHI2U0kCT4OgKAxcUWtqRbiQjiXtkTzpivaqVjds9fnnDy8QTrI7JHIEiHkCywQKCMMB5KvKdRzuRg5ADc6ggDbhd1ta2zB_zTEAXvgWY/w276-h400/Let%20X-UK%201st.png" width="276" /></a></div>Lookee here-- It's a book that was recently reprinted and one that you can actually purchase without having to take out a second mortgage! I did promise a few books that were much easier (and affordable) to find this week.<p></p><p>I have an interesting history with <i>Let X Be the Murderer </i>(1947). I bought a first edition with the unusual illustrated dust jacket (bonus points to anyone who knows what is on the cover on that old edition over on the left. I'll reveal it later in the post) but never received it. It was one of two very expensive books that was lost or never delivered or --most likely-- destroyed in mountain of mail that went "missing" in my neighborhood of Rogers Park back at the height of the pandemic. That loss was one of the most gut wrenching lessons I learned and I stopped buying books from the UK and all sellers overseas for two full years because of the combined loss and the general collapse of the Chicago mail delivery service between March 2020 and the summer of 2021. </p><p>This year, a few weeks before Galileo released their new reprint paperback edition, a relatively affordable copy of <i>Let X...</i> turned up in the catalog of a US seller I used to buy from regularly. I snapped it up and it arrived back in May. Then out of the blue Galileo sent me a review copy! It was completely unexpected and a delightful surprise. When I opened the package and saw what it was I did remember that Robert Hyde, one of their publicists, had promised me that I'd get the last couple of Witting books that were planned for release as they came out. I am also supposed to get copies of the other two Joan Cockin books that they have in the works. </p><p>All these years I was under the impression that <i>Let X Be the Murderer </i>had something to do with mathematics. Anyone would think so based on the title. Then when you open the book and see that the books is divided into four sections -- Theorem, Hypothesis, Construction, Proof -- once again most readers would be expecting an academic mystery perhaps about a murdered calculus or geometry professor. However, Inspector Charlton does not meet anyone involved in mathematics or geometry or even physics. Instead it's almost as if he travels back to the 19th century because this detective novel turns out to be very much a homage to the Victorian sensation novel. As a bonus, adding to the anachronistic atmosphere, Witting throws in eerie occult dabbling and explorations into the world of spiritualism and paranormal events.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguUbZ-4dkJlkNhF-dyiJcXMJwI-TsNa4xx1dU3La1VsiAFYw9HcydINbY7zpYsKhsvn3fkAHczKuxnI68eChBCZoLGH3VANjf-2GO4vBrB1TDgAQTnvqTgyCh2vlClTpUv72MTn9d2uzOHl-HfMx374d0kI-mZ18fP_yYJId3_kLIFsiXzDFbSRJiCzG0/s968/Woman%20in%20White%20poster.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="968" data-original-width="580" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguUbZ-4dkJlkNhF-dyiJcXMJwI-TsNa4xx1dU3La1VsiAFYw9HcydINbY7zpYsKhsvn3fkAHczKuxnI68eChBCZoLGH3VANjf-2GO4vBrB1TDgAQTnvqTgyCh2vlClTpUv72MTn9d2uzOHl-HfMx374d0kI-mZ18fP_yYJId3_kLIFsiXzDFbSRJiCzG0/w240-h400/Woman%20in%20White%20poster.png" width="240" /></a></div>Inspector Henry Charlton, Witting's usual protagonist detective, is
paired up with the flippant Cockney copper, Det-Sgt Martin this time and
they make an amusing pair. Yet another surprise -- Peter Bradfield
(who appears in several other Witting detective novels as a constable
and in <i>Subject-Murder</i> as one of the lead characters) pops up in the last
couple of chapters to help Charlton carry out some sneaky police
business by gathering crucial evidence that might never have been collected. Bradfield eventually makes it to the rank of
Chief Inspector, I think, and he becomes the lead detective in Witting's
novels that were written and published in the 1950s and 1960s. <br /><p></p><p>In essence this could be seen as Wilkie Collins redux. The machinations of Mrs. Gulliver, a scheming housekeeper, and the Harlers, a devilish husband and wife, reminded me of the diabolical trio of Count Fosco, Lady Fosco and Percival Glyde in <i>The Woman in White</i>. Mr & Mrs Harler in <i>Let X Be The Murderer</i> are intent on sending a poor old man to the madhouse just as those other three set their sinister designs on Laura Fairlie. Similarly, the bulk of the novel involves a highly convoluted history of philandering, adultery and questionable parentage. The often dizzying explanations of who was jumping into whose beds and who fathered what child got to be rather head spinning. The climax of the book involves...well, can't really mention it without ruining a genuine shock. But I must tell you that event is something that occurred in two other books I recently read and made me not only raise my eyebrows in surprise but burst out laughing. Not so much because it's both absurd and so utterly unexpected but because who could believe that I would read three different books from three different decades over a period of three months that all featured the same bizarre revelation? It was beyond surreal!</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpTJ2JqIr5tm5i2CHhe5h_68YtruYRCwxae82lHsYgOnyPuLQ3JgbdDMwwTGKO56IcndJj1Rs3z2TzpgIrNYmmfl3GOEVvKdpsNFEtabTRa6NUzDPbXRlqcfLnQUA66vlmcaxemB5XDf6dCYlXqc_mBRipL_NKlU6JY8jSGFplXl900dGMfPAQs1gYXhw/s892/Let%20X-%20reprint.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="892" data-original-width="580" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpTJ2JqIr5tm5i2CHhe5h_68YtruYRCwxae82lHsYgOnyPuLQ3JgbdDMwwTGKO56IcndJj1Rs3z2TzpgIrNYmmfl3GOEVvKdpsNFEtabTRa6NUzDPbXRlqcfLnQUA66vlmcaxemB5XDf6dCYlXqc_mBRipL_NKlU6JY8jSGFplXl900dGMfPAQs1gYXhw/w260-h400/Let%20X-%20reprint.png" width="260" /></a></div>It's not just the slew of dastardly villains all of whom get what they deserve in the end that make this such an engaging page-turner. Cast in the role of the apparent victim of the Harler's "Gaslighting" plot is elderly Sir Victor Warringham, head of the household at the dilapidated estate known as Elmsdale. Sir Victor had recently lost his wife and daughter in a wartime bombing and he's been devastated by their deaths. He turns to spiritualism for solace and has been acting increasingly eccentric. Someone caught him playing at witchcraft spells and black magic in the kitchen, he's written a book on haunted houses, and is currently involved in researching folklore and legends. When Charlton interviews him Sir Vincent reveals what all his experiments have been about. It was a clever bit of misdirection very early in a novel teeming with reversals, upsets and topsy-turvy perceptions.<p></p><p>Perhaps the only drawback to this mystery novel is Witting's tendency to have his characters indulge in long monologues to fill in backstory or to explain themselves. It's another aspect of the book that recalls a Victorian sensibility; an insistence that characters speak at length about their motivations or to dissemble and mislead. Clement Harler, in particular, talks voluminously and pompously. He also calls the lead detective Clayton for much of the book and it's only when Charlton has finally got Harler to come clean and stop lying that he humiliates Harler by sternly correcting him.<br /></p><p>Oh yes, about that illustration on the DJ. It's supposed to depict two different colored flex cords from a bedside table lamp. The cords are used as a murder weapon in one of the many crimes that occur in the book. A paper knife is also involved but is oddly not part of the drawing. Down there in the lower right corner you can see what I think its meant to be the electrical plug. But there's no way I think anyone would be able to name the objects depicted without having read the book. Anyone guess correctly?<br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-30848463770955475572023-08-14T00:00:00.039-05:002023-08-24T10:28:55.762-05:00Night's Candles - Anne Hocking<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKaEKeTLmRyATlZTc7TcLGiac_EumvITuCIcwu26Rwb6pALA5k9WmOdln28Er9mc44B18eo17ss-KuGgmVq_zRuFNRsZcoFtGGxesBcxNOzs_mPT4hiImbXxm3X0AxF71eOyMbOqzrzMpLGeuJFVhYZdkr3rZBgxXihxrTPkuQkzEqt9TXV3WmKdE5bDw/s840/Hocking-Nights%20Candles.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="840" data-original-width="604" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKaEKeTLmRyATlZTc7TcLGiac_EumvITuCIcwu26Rwb6pALA5k9WmOdln28Er9mc44B18eo17ss-KuGgmVq_zRuFNRsZcoFtGGxesBcxNOzs_mPT4hiImbXxm3X0AxF71eOyMbOqzrzMpLGeuJFVhYZdkr3rZBgxXihxrTPkuQkzEqt9TXV3WmKdE5bDw/w288-h400/Hocking-Nights%20Candles.png" width="288" /></a></div>I must give credit where credit is due. One of my frequent readers who also often buys books from me (yes, I still do that on the side. Feel free to email me!) got me interested in the work of Anne Hocking. I reviewed one of three <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2014/10/ffb-poison-is-bitter-brew-anne-hocking.html">books I owned by Hocking</a> way back in 2014 but never returned to her. Kacper, the blog fan, asked me back in the spring of this year if I had any of her books for sale. Though I enjoyed that lone Hocking book so far reviewed on this blog I never bothered reading the other two books I owned. Guess now is the time to check them out, I thought.<br /><p></p><p>And so I went hunting for them and uncovered <i>Deadly Is the Evil Tongue</i> (aka <i>Old Miss Fitzgerald </i>as published in the original UK edition) and whipped through it a few days before selling it to Kacper. It was just as intriguing as <i>Poison Is a Bitter Brew</i> though it seemed all too similar in the story. All I had to say was that she was excellent in her character renditions and dialogue. Her writing is literate, witty, and she often has something to say other than merely "whodunnit". Anne Hocking can hold my interest for hours on end. Though neither of those books were baffling (in fact, a bit too easy to figure out) that is no discredit to her talent as an engaging and innovative writer. Kacper assured me that she does indeed have a few cleverly plotted, genuine detective novels in her output. I thought she would be better at the inverted detective novel form as those two other books I read seemed to me more indebted to that form even if they followed the format of the traditional detective novel. </p><p>Well, I found my first "traditional" Hocking a few weeks ago in <i>Night's Candles</i> (1941). Anne Hocking had plenty of unexpected plotting in store for me.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgit3GPW7bTw3p0UEFnAVnbZivsdD5i28lgXcMoeLrnyhO8ZeZfoxHlw3duH9Y97SnMcqm8Y0ZjOpMnHdc0GaphHbb_4jYtsKR_AdSaD7pPn4VRl1zUnQDba2ZmQMkrofxwF_Wj3nzQWDhhIrDRawbnEX4g-d3ivqmHqfgkZBYF_Rs7hpiSR5wC1yc74nA/s784/Cyprus%20tunnel.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="784" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgit3GPW7bTw3p0UEFnAVnbZivsdD5i28lgXcMoeLrnyhO8ZeZfoxHlw3duH9Y97SnMcqm8Y0ZjOpMnHdc0GaphHbb_4jYtsKR_AdSaD7pPn4VRl1zUnQDba2ZmQMkrofxwF_Wj3nzQWDhhIrDRawbnEX4g-d3ivqmHqfgkZBYF_Rs7hpiSR5wC1yc74nA/s320/Cyprus%20tunnel.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Modern photo of the same tunnel that<br />appears on UK 1st edition DJ.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Without her series detective Inspector William Austen, set in a foreign country, literally and metaphorically far away from her favorite topic of embittered wealthy families battling over a dead person's estate <i>Night's Candles </i>may be all the better for departing from the usual Hocking formulae. Set in Cyprus during September 1939 a few weeks after Germany invaded Poland we find a motley group of travelers on board a ship originally headed for what is now known as Israel who are re-routed and forced to disembark in the coastal town of Famagusta. Among the persons displaced are Ernest Mannington, an archeologist who was headed to Syria to investigate some ruins there; Arthur Henfield, his mild mannered assistant; Emmeline Moscrop, a garrulously rambling spinster obsessed with the life of St. Paul and the holy sites he visited; a Royal Navy man named Hugh Nesbit serving his time in the reserves; and Tamar Trent, wealthy daughter of an aristocrat recently dumped by her fiance and traveling to forget her troubles. Of the lot Tamar is by far the most lively and interesting character. She and Miss Moscrop become friends of sorts and their scenes are highlighted with the best witty dialogue, sometimes hilariously so, and elevate the book out of what could have been yet another weak satire of British people on holiday.<p></p><p></p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeNCsTIBtVj8rf3TMwbUpdPqktkGPOfj0mYCMJ7qFPBldjJ8N07QZnXDirVXzcMwXyuBU3_YKWWTQcv99k892oKlL9BeAlY_ggY0v4uWT73drseQ-tA_2ikckJqjracgHS1x7vq8rddprgxSTtaqBFhZwS_05E-_InxF4ZY9jGtFg8qO1jAciV4CH6so/s970/St%20Paul%20pillars.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="970" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeNCsTIBtVj8rf3TMwbUpdPqktkGPOfj0mYCMJ7qFPBldjJ8N07QZnXDirVXzcMwXyuBU3_YKWWTQcv99k892oKlL9BeAlY_ggY0v4uWT73drseQ-tA_2ikckJqjracgHS1x7vq8rddprgxSTtaqBFhZwS_05E-_InxF4ZY9jGtFg8qO1jAciV4CH6so/w400-h263/St%20Paul%20pillars.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Pillars of St. Paul, a "must see" for Miss Moscrop</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> Cyprus is under British rule at this point in history and must follow all the wartime rules of UK. And so when they are ordered to blackout all windows of businesses that face the coastline and turn off all street lights the tourists take the opportunity to do a night time stroll of the city to see it as it was in "ancient times," so to speak. One of their number does not return to the hotel where they were all staying. It's Mr. Mannington who has apparently fallen to his death in a freak accident in a hidden tunnel at one of the popular ruins. It is also discovered that he has been robbed of £100, a signet ring, and his valuable antique pocket watch. Was it a horrible mugging that led to his death? Or was the robbery an opportunistic crime that occurred hours after the man fell? <p></p><p>Randall Bryant is the local Commandant who takes over the police investigation at the request of British officials. His wife, Mallory Stewart, happens to be a mystery novelist. At key points in the narrative Randall consults with his wife who offers up several unusual ideas about what actually happened. Ultimately, her keen insight into human nature combined with her unique ability to imagine how people commit murder leads her to the correct solution but she never tells a soul. She writes down a single sentence on a slip of paper, puts the paper into a sealed envelope and tells her husband to look at it after he conducts his final interview with a key eyewitness. He opens the envelope in the final paragraph of the book and the one sentence serves as the final words. Mallory was, of course, 100% correct.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2CKKHmvJ43Srs7rPCkHrOLDjIRcfSdGVowl5BR_09uNHx760vYY8zIvdtNjKC89_wleK-RrTW0c21Q7hBUk8FgnzJZZQGXSk-NvxbjDC81v0Ajyf8TqD2dQTNWVBqnq9umI1cnfrnxCT_iWzTyy0wxM-Rf2u8NPUcFkokKazB4dS-OGD3QFhULDuZe8/s1648/Cyprus,%20circa%201940s.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1022" data-original-width="1648" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc2CKKHmvJ43Srs7rPCkHrOLDjIRcfSdGVowl5BR_09uNHx760vYY8zIvdtNjKC89_wleK-RrTW0c21Q7hBUk8FgnzJZZQGXSk-NvxbjDC81v0Ajyf8TqD2dQTNWVBqnq9umI1cnfrnxCT_iWzTyy0wxM-Rf2u8NPUcFkokKazB4dS-OGD3QFhULDuZe8/w400-h248/Cyprus,%20circa%201940s.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Othello's Tower" in Famagusta, circa 1940s<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />According to a bio I found on the DJ of a Hocking book I just purchased the author lived for a several years in Cyprus and is clearly well acquainted with the country and its customs. She fills the story with archeological lore, historical facts and utterly fascinating stories about Turkish occupation, the class problems with the local farmers and shepherds, and the never ending stream of tourists looking to escape the war. A brief subplot tells of one person on board the ship, a German Jew fleeing his country in hopes of settling in Jerusalem. That he is able to disembark in Cyprus makes him even more happy just as Britain is about to enter the war.<p></p><p><i>Night's Candles </i>is an excellent novel overall as well as a clever detective novel that
just misses being brilliant due to a couple of nasty tricks Hocking pulls in the
finale. At one point Mallory Stewart makes this quip: "Besides, I'm Dr. Priestley, the infallible, and I <i>never</i> tell until the last chapter." That line may allude to John Rhode, but I have to say this detective novel owes more to Anthony Berkeley. For most of the book the narrative structure follows that of a well-plotted detective novel and we are given ample “fair play” style clues. The multiple mysteries and several crimes and attempted crimes keep the reader busy sorting out all the premeditated crime from opportunistic crime and the suspects keep being shuffled around and eventually eliminated as possible culprits. Yet in that final chapter she mimics Berkeley by resorting to a gimmick that he used far too often in his mystery books. I would have been forgiving had she done it once, but she gives us a double whammy and I was greatly disappointed. I don't feel she completely ruined the book because Tamar, Mallory and Miss Moscrop made it a lively and fun read. However, I certainly hope she doesn't do this again.</p><p>More Hocking coming in later this month and for the rest of the year. Hope she rises above this kind of tomfoolery!<br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-88728996999516023382023-08-12T00:00:00.016-05:002023-08-12T00:00:00.140-05:00Nice People Don’t Kill – F. W. Bronson<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhTk00qFtRAkqVAkHvZ7Uhgr7BC7FVZhcv3fai4zL62SHh1ti9najqdM2bzYNOX41PfkZchI6Jq3wU3WWlUdDDjPiUhOVw27a0U7yPO5842XMNmNwbt9XaC260SU3yDUpPU4hEZ4LPKV3sWKeEPplcDiQS3SoD15lmfOxdi7ZkU_6vJOyBk_s4TtCDGzQ/s1190/NPDK-Bronson.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1190" data-original-width="778" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhTk00qFtRAkqVAkHvZ7Uhgr7BC7FVZhcv3fai4zL62SHh1ti9najqdM2bzYNOX41PfkZchI6Jq3wU3WWlUdDDjPiUhOVw27a0U7yPO5842XMNmNwbt9XaC260SU3yDUpPU4hEZ4LPKV3sWKeEPplcDiQS3SoD15lmfOxdi7ZkU_6vJOyBk_s4TtCDGzQ/w261-h400/NPDK-Bronson.png" width="261" /></a></div>First mystery novels can be fascinating. What does the writer want to try out as an entry point into the world of the whodunit? Will it be a locked room murder? A noirish private eye novel? An inverted crime novel where we follow the murderer through the planning stages to the finally flawed crime? F. W. Bronson was not a neophyte writer when he tackled his first murder mystery. He already had three mainstream novels under his belt, published between 1926 and 1933. I thought this debut as a mystery writer might be an academic mystery judging from his biography that has Yale all over it. Or maybe an ex-pat novel due to his having lived in Italy and elsewhere abroad in his post-college days. Never would I have thought he would choose to emulate Mary Roberts Rinehart and Mignon Eberhart, slightly satirizing the conventions of those Had I But Known mystery writers in his ironically titled <i>Nice People Don’t Kill</i> (1940).<p></p>
<p>The novel is narrated by Coraly Ames, widow living in an unnamed Connecticut town located on the shores of Long Island Sound. Greenacres is the name of the estate left to her by her husband and it's here she adds to her modest inheritance by renting out the separate beach house to summer tourists. In the opening chapter her husband’s best friend “Mac” suggests she rent to Schuyler Adams, a prominent Wall Street executive. We are quickly introduced to a variety of the locals in town and Coraly’s neighbors who will turn out not too coincidentally to be acquainted with Adams. But of course they are! And those relationships are tainted with secrets and criminal activity. All of which leads to the grotesque murder of Adams while he is sunbathing in what initially appears to be an impossible crime. Sadly that angle is quickly dispensed with as a mysterious man in a white bathing suit was seen by several people. A couple of nervous witnesses also lose their lives, one in a bloody hatchet murder (shades of Rinehart!), when they attempt blackmail or foolishly speak of what they know in cryptic brisk phone conversations and – of course – are overheard.</p>
<p>A plethora of Golden Age-style clues offer up mini-puzzles in addition the overarching mystery of the murderer’s identity. A volume of Keats’ poetry, a book Adams always carried on him, vanishes and reappears several times. Greenacres’ telephones operate on a party line offering several opportunities for eavesdropping when someone picks up an extension – even in the beach house, a ten minute walk away, or in the guest house to the south of the main house. Someone has been staying in the boat house as suggested by sandwiches remnants, paper bags and a makeshift bed found there the day after the murder. Is the person who was surreptitiously using that shed as their private motel also the killer? Could that be the man seen in the white bathing suit digging around in the sand a few feet from the murder scene?</p><p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfMXGT2WMNKcwmBK2QKBxecJA72w9LC--Tontj1qGBFWcDEtTHIsdFNTfOkiOtgBDwbdkqLUtKIdoVSKOPYIsOz5HP8tu8IC5L9RXGkEJzQw2v9dHctHqIUkhg8nfEr7q7yW2vQFbnCTBSDFml7ychLqG1JiUpcVu-KC9U3Ikc2iHOhnKWmc_FTlZbnFA/s2019/NPDK-map.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1558" data-original-width="2019" height="494" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfMXGT2WMNKcwmBK2QKBxecJA72w9LC--Tontj1qGBFWcDEtTHIsdFNTfOkiOtgBDwbdkqLUtKIdoVSKOPYIsOz5HP8tu8IC5L9RXGkEJzQw2v9dHctHqIUkhg8nfEr7q7yW2vQFbnCTBSDFml7ychLqG1JiUpcVu-KC9U3Ikc2iHOhnKWmc_FTlZbnFA/w640-h494/NPDK-map.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautifully detailed map endpapers of the various scenes of the crimes<i><br />Nice People Don't Kill</i> (Farrar & Rinehart, 1941)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table> </p><p>Bronson's characters are all familiar types to anyone who has read a mystery novel by Rinehart or Eberhart or any GAD mystery novel for that matter. In addition to Coraly and her dead husband's pal "Mac" the cast consists of a momma's boy with a respiratory condition and his overprotective jealous mother, a mystery woman with a secret past, gossipy nervous servants, the middle aged military man and his much younger wife, the skipper of Adams' yacht "Blackbird" and the yacht's steward who acts as Adams' valet and cook on land. No one really has any depth and because they are representative of mystery archetypes they are fairly predictable in their thoughts and behavior. Thankfully, Sheriff Davey Jones is an intelligent policeman and provides well needed gravitas, common sense and shrewd detective skills throughout the book. Though Coraly fancies herself an amatuer sleuth she's a bit inept and severely impaired by her obvious biases and favoritism. Only Susan Carlisle, a young woman who appears quite unexpectedly on the scene and ends up staying in the guest house on Greenacres' porperty, comes across as slightly complicated or at least ambiguous in her motivations. She definitely has a past and I was bothered that Coraly seemed to believe Susan’s every word and action. Unlike the easily duped heroine/narrator I suspected Susan was definitely up to no good. Similarly, a gaggle of servants at Greenacres may appear to be just inconsequential supporting characters but the reader should pay close attention to them for they will play major roles later in the novel as their own secrets are also revealed. </p><p>With our heroine constantly hinting at future events that the reader has yet to encounter it’s an obvious but often heavy-handed homage to that “feminine” subgenre that detective fiction maven Jacques Barzun enjoyed disparaging. The novel is littered with spins on typical HIBK writing style. I was getting a bit irritated with her too. Here’s a sampling of what occurs in every chapter until the middle of the book:</p><p>
<span style="font-family: courier;"></span></p><blockquote><p><span style="font-family: courier;">It's odd to realize now that instead of welcoming Schuyler Adams with practically open arms I should have thrown the money in his face and ordered him off the property.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">It didn't seem terribly important at the time--but that bit of carelessness almost cost me my life.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">He might have added that my [inquest] testimony -- though of course he didn't know at the time -- contained the most important clue in the whole baffling, nerve-racking case.
</span></p></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: courier;"></span></p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbOHn6tzxKDBziZc1plhSdU_s7SmZQTLT-jQGoC0jw7pdyOugiNsVCdkPidyKDiWU_mYdkxiKQBI0XKGVUb8cyRAH9O_8IWcVi7geL-sjBEQ2cq7iKnAfRUh8wCyfwAWI04qgrJ1RRhoCHLHgMyxXlI2aupd-L--a0ypEFZCZed8pMowfvduD349cfdaE/s525/Bronson,%20F%20W.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="328" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbOHn6tzxKDBziZc1plhSdU_s7SmZQTLT-jQGoC0jw7pdyOugiNsVCdkPidyKDiWU_mYdkxiKQBI0XKGVUb8cyRAH9O_8IWcVi7geL-sjBEQ2cq7iKnAfRUh8wCyfwAWI04qgrJ1RRhoCHLHgMyxXlI2aupd-L--a0ypEFZCZed8pMowfvduD349cfdaE/s320/Bronson,%20F%20W.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Francis Woolsey Bronson<br />(1901-1966)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>More annoying is her firm belief that “nice people don’t kill” echoing a sentiment that Carolyn Wells highlighted in <i><a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2011/12/carolyn-wells-technique-or-how-i.html">The Technique of the Mystery Story</a></i> and often mentioned in her detective novels written 20 years before this book was published. Coraly further elaborates on her sadly stereotypical views of humanity by surmising that the culprit responsible for the savage murders can only be Captain Lipari, the evil looking, mustachioed, limping skipper of <i>Blackbird</i> moored in the nearby harbor. It took me awhile to realize that Bronson was sending up the narrow-minded, overly optimistic women who populate the typical HIBK novels of the 1920s and 1930s. Ultimately, the reveal of the crazed murderer in the final chapters is pleasantly surprising even if Bronson (in the voice of Coraly) decides to present us with a silly melodramatic fake climax fulfilling some of Coraly’s predictions that didn’t quite fool me. Even a HIBK narrator has a few tricks up her sleeve to keep her readers baffled.</p>
<b><u>F. W. Bronson Detective Novels</u></b><br /><i>Nice People Don’t Kill</i> (1940)<br /><i>The Uncas Island Murders</i> (1942)<br /><i>The Bulldog Has The Key</i> (1949)<div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-1573242258049685912023-08-09T19:27:00.001-05:002023-08-09T19:33:22.155-05:00Psst... Over Here!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg0dtxsggD48-SdRoKkYBrH1lXa4VIfZlfgtP2omd2Y8bzv_lRy31H-tcHkcUfY77scHDyqkcUr_nVQKGUMSvZdNLBbbugWETYG1deFBQVV52hMdHdTGyde-4oLlGhwmB-WpML1GCBqWistn0xkdebSNY9_eGYyLPKZJLOuYfVUVsh2rAI5lYu0JKEhig/s398/Psst%20over%20here.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="310" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg0dtxsggD48-SdRoKkYBrH1lXa4VIfZlfgtP2omd2Y8bzv_lRy31H-tcHkcUfY77scHDyqkcUr_nVQKGUMSvZdNLBbbugWETYG1deFBQVV52hMdHdTGyde-4oLlGhwmB-WpML1GCBqWistn0xkdebSNY9_eGYyLPKZJLOuYfVUVsh2rAI5lYu0JKEhig/s320/Psst%20over%20here.png" width="249" /></a></div>Hello, there! Remember me? I think eight month’s hiatus is a little too long to have taken for what I thought was going to be “a little break”. What have I been up to? Oh, this and that…<p></p>
<p>I came to realize that like many collectors I had gradually turned into a monomaniac of sorts and I didn’t like it. My literary anecdotes were boring people and more importantly I was boring myself. I wanted to avoid vintage detective fiction for a while. It was long time that I returned to reading contemporary fiction of all types, reading non-fiction (!) that led me to seeking out the histories and memoirs that once upon a time I enjoyed even more than mystery novels. As I veered away from detective and crime fiction I rediscovered my passion for supernatural horror from all eras. In the process I learned that there has been a revival of “traditional” supernatural fiction in the past three years similar to the renaissance in detective fiction (both reissues and new writing). Quite an eye-opening surprise and a delightful one for someone like me who has always loved ghost stories, haunted house novels, and metaphoric treatments of the monster hiding under your bed.</p>
<p>And so after eight months I’ve come full circle and I’m ready to share with you some of the unusual and intriguing titles I’ve devoured since December 2022. Like this one…</p>
<p><i>Flowers for a Dead Witch</i> by Michael Butterworth</p>
<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqdacGYJq7yGg6wFzk2xcnva4Ji_QY8_5IwZWZIenkpKaznqkmCgC5f_PJMqXhL9-Rk3IiTxEtplquizLWAGx9BKcpMyilAF1_l6Vg9f6otQeFuMlyoFEnZvbntDeBEbx_qSmYtUKHpTHREuXSoU9kLIpUC3gwjnHoChkkBUp8e_G8Xd7vwbAGL8kucb8/s750/FfaDW-US.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="513" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqdacGYJq7yGg6wFzk2xcnva4Ji_QY8_5IwZWZIenkpKaznqkmCgC5f_PJMqXhL9-Rk3IiTxEtplquizLWAGx9BKcpMyilAF1_l6Vg9f6otQeFuMlyoFEnZvbntDeBEbx_qSmYtUKHpTHREuXSoU9kLIpUC3gwjnHoChkkBUp8e_G8Xd7vwbAGL8kucb8/w274-h400/FfaDW-US.png" width="274" /></a></div>Readers of this blog will know that I love a good mystery novel dripping with Gothic elements and accented with witchcraft, hexes, black magic, voodoo, hoodoo or whatever the author is calling it. Butterworth’s third mystery novel is a brilliant example of the first revival of traditional mystery writing that occurred back in the 1970s. In <i>Flowers for a Dead Witch</i> (1971) he gives us what at first seems to be yet another of those Gothic “romances” that filled bookstore shelves and drugstore spinners five decades ago. Polly Lestrange travels from Canada to Suffolk to visit her bedridden ailing great-aunt in a crumbling medieval manor complete with moat surrounding the entrance. She is greeted by Miss Chesham, the great-aunt’s over protective companion who refuses the Polly’s request to visit the old woman. Even the local physician caring for Great Aunt Granchester insists that Polly leave the old woman alone. Well, what Gothic heroine is going to listen to either person? Certainly not this one and Polly determinedly breaks into the old woman’s room one windy and rainy night (of course it rains a lot in this book. It has too!) to discover… Oh, but that would spoil it all. The old woman has a secret of course and it will only be revealed in the final pages.<p></p>
<p>Before the startling conclusion – which I confess really took me by surprise – our plucky heroine will encounter a ragtag group of rebellious teens, rumors of a witchcraft cult cavorting naked in the moonlight, an ancient cemetery home to a mausoleum containing the corpse of a woman executed for witchcraft 400+ years ago, and literally stumble upon what appears to be the charred remains of that executed witch. But how is that possible? A 400 year old corpse of a woman burned at the stake would be nothing but rotting bones if not a pile of dust in 1971. The body found in the coffin in the mausoleum is freshly dead, and burned beyond recognition. When both the local reverend and his wife go missing whispers of foul play mix with the rumors of witchcraft.</p>
<p>This was the first book I’ve read by Michael Butterworth (1924 – 1986) who prior to turning his hand to bizarre crime and mystery novels was primarily known as a writer of comic books. Oh! A warning: Don’t confuse him with another (still living) writer of the same name who wrote science fiction novels and SF TV show novelizations. I had to notify the Admin of a crime fiction website that he conflated both Butterworths. I advised him to remove all the SF titles from the mystery writer Butterworth’s bibliography. He speedily updated that page on his website.</p>
<p>If <i>Flowers for a Dead Witch</i> is any indication of what Butterworth is capable of then I’m eager to check out as many of his other books that I can find. Most satisfying is that this is a legitimate detective novel with fair play clueing. Assiduous readers may catch onto what I overlooked as I foolishly fell for all of the writer’s rather clever red herrings. Butterworth mixes the formulaic plot of those 70s Gothic romances churned out by writers like Phyllis Whitney, Victoria Holt, and Mary Stewart with genuine mystery novel conventions and thankfully improves on both. Of course with a generous helping of creepy superstition and lurid witchcraft legends the plot is considerably spicier and more intriguing. I thoroughly enjoyed this book and completed it in a speedy two days. There are several copies available for sale out there in the vast shopping mall of the internet. I’m sure it ought to turn up in local libraries both in the US and UK. Check it out!</p><p>
<b><u></u></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2xiZRuKeqWC1b_ZEPX1bH5k2y_B3lIy9Uu_9YQ8xRxuU60rfN7ivmd4sNBI3xiydwc-rPKBKxpjfBJE30CRdVssPLWf7fn73FlZX7jneHrYNL453IJh_FGyo8PaDdrigAgMyI6biwypG1FTfj_-BhyVhU-hfovH_jUr9y_-LdCwROqt1_E5gTeFyBfCk/s834/FfaDW-UK.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="834" data-original-width="660" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2xiZRuKeqWC1b_ZEPX1bH5k2y_B3lIy9Uu_9YQ8xRxuU60rfN7ivmd4sNBI3xiydwc-rPKBKxpjfBJE30CRdVssPLWf7fn73FlZX7jneHrYNL453IJh_FGyo8PaDdrigAgMyI6biwypG1FTfj_-BhyVhU-hfovH_jUr9y_-LdCwROqt1_E5gTeFyBfCk/w316-h400/FfaDW-UK.png" width="316" /></a><b><u></u></b></div><b><u><br />Michael Butterworth Crime & Detective Novels</u></b>
<br /><i>The Soundless Scream</i> (1967)<br /><i>Walk Softly in Fear</i> (1968)<br /><i>Vanishing Act</i> (1970) (US title: <i>The Uneasy Sun</i>)<br /><i>Flowers for a Dead Witch</i> (1971)<br /><i>The Black Look</i> (1972)<br /><i>Villa on the Shore</i> (1973)<br /><i>The Man in the Sopwith Camel </i>(1974)<br /><i>Remains to be Seen</i> (1976)<br /><i>Festival!</i> (1976)<br /><i>X Marks the Spot</i> (1978)<br /><i>The Man Who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo </i>(1983)<br /> -- adapted into a musical: <b>The Lucky Stiff </b>by Ahrens & Flaherty<br /><i>A Virgin on the Rocks </i>(1985)<br /><i>The Five Million Dollar Prince</i> (1986)<br /><p></p><p><b><u>As by “Sarah Kemp” </u></b> – all feature Dr. Tina May, a psychiatrist detective<br /><i>Goodbye Pussy </i>(1978) (US title: <i>Over the Edge</i>)<br /><i>No Escape</i> (1984)<br /><i>Lure of Sweet Death</i> (1986)<br /><i>What Dread Hand</i> (1987)
</p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-45542736070586278442022-12-31T09:59:00.001-06:002023-01-01T10:59:05.970-06:00The Empty Bed - Herbert Adams<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX17ZjHZivm3uvuOV-lRkXjqZ1Lmhahio3NhaAzY5IjXdwnk2v_tugxqt2ZhkK-jiGn05Zs2WNUD2OjtQEBeJbYjx_bZGcZ44luI9exMffbwJmXjSkXU8ArZ3HOAlJE2caAyGFa4nDXC1W4CkBfaKyGyr_EbcZSbXQ_S6ms33QG2Wtq5pggCU63DcH/s716/Adams-Empty%20Bed%20UK.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="716" data-original-width="630" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX17ZjHZivm3uvuOV-lRkXjqZ1Lmhahio3NhaAzY5IjXdwnk2v_tugxqt2ZhkK-jiGn05Zs2WNUD2OjtQEBeJbYjx_bZGcZ44luI9exMffbwJmXjSkXU8ArZ3HOAlJE2caAyGFa4nDXC1W4CkBfaKyGyr_EbcZSbXQ_S6ms33QG2Wtq5pggCU63DcH/w353-h400/Adams-Empty%20Bed%20UK.png" width="353" /></a></div>I read three books that were set around or on Christmas Day during December and have managed to finish only one in time for the end of 2022. One I stopped because it was so dull in its 33 pages of exposition but online reviews encourage me to finish it. It's only a novella of 79 pages and I thought I'd be done with it in a few hours! The third I only started yesterday afternoon. So those other Christmas mystery reviews will be showing up next week.<p></p><p><i>The Empty Bed</i> (1928) features Jimmie Haswell, Adam's first series character, a solicitor who has a habit of stumbling into puzzling murder cases. In this fourth book in the brief nine mystery novel series Haswell and his newlywed wife Nonna are invited to spend Christmas at "The Cedars", the estate of his friend Joyce Gurney. Accompanying him are his friends Tony and Mollie Bridgman who both appeared in Adams' first mystery novel <i><a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2011/12/first-books-secret-of-bogey-house.html">The Secret of Bogey House</a>,</i> also Haswell's debut.</p><p>When they arrive they soon learn that Joyce's Uncle Silas was bludgeoned by a medieval mace on Christmas Eve. Apparently he had interrupted a burglar who was attempting to rob the household. A window was cut out in the hallway near the body and there are signs of a struggle. But soon Jimmie and the police dismiss the bludgeoning burglar theory when various puzzling aspects of the crime reveal themselves.<br /></p><p>1. Why was Vivian Gurneys bed not sleep in ? Where did the nephew disappear to in the night? And why has he not returned on Christmas Day? This seems to be the empty bed of the title. However, another empty bed will provide another clue in the denouement.<br /></p><p>2. Who let loose the bloodcurdling scream that awoke the entire household? Why will no woman admit to the scream?</p><p>3. Who took Vivian's knife and left it near the window in the hallway? Was it used to cur out the glass from its leaded housing to make it appear a burglary took place?</p><p>4. Who left the mysterious note signed by "J" mentioning a secret late night tryst changed from midnight to one o'clock in the morning? Was it Joyce? Or Jasper? Or someone else with a J initial outside of the home?</p><p>Silas is one in a long line of curmudgeonly misers with many relatives awaiting his money in the world of mysterydom so there are plenty of suspects and motives. As the investigation proceeds there is also a lot of lying and covering up. Jimmie begins to distrust his friend Joyce when she will not come clean. Eventually we learn of her secret engagement and that her fiancee showed up at "The Cedars" late Christmas Eve. The fiancee becomes the prime suspect and shortly after the inquest the police arrest him. Jimmie is sure the police have arrested the wrong person and works tirelessly to clear his name and find the real murderer -- a much more dangerous person who will strike again shortly after the arrest and even attempts to kill Jimmie.</p><p>No Herbert Adams mystery is without at least one game of golf. Despite the melting snow and sodden greens Jimmie and Tony make it to the links. Really it's one of the most incidental and superfluous uses of the game in the plot. In other Haswell mystery novels the murder happens on a golf course, in the clubhouse or nearby a golf course and the game takes more prominence. In one mystery a character arranges a game of golf and in the guise of friendly conversation during the game coaxes vital info out of a suspect. </p><p>Another recurring aspect in Adams mystery is romance and love. In <i>The Empty Bed</i> we have a couple about to be engaged, one broken engagement, and a beautiful maid the object of many men's admiration. Love and romance are always on Adam's mind. All works out well for all the various couples, but this time we also have the ugly side of sexual attraction and unbridled womanizing in a cad named Captain Hugh Rollings who makes passes at every woman in the story. He's like a Harvey Weinstein of the the 1920s. Rollings' kissing and groping (it has nothing to do with the mistletoe, that's just his excuse) lead to a nasty fistfight. Defending his wife, one of many women Rollings kissed and fondled without consent, Jimmie gives the Captain a sound beating suffering a few blows himself in the process. Merry Christmas, creep!<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZoyTwa_7xYhgDvnSm0SugljOvu96bLMiC5X_k2_e7au-vpLFFdxHKMVVpMnbW5HIE9PYOG4L2UmYNwwO-6owGkdkqhesdKmmJrTnBM1fxcfMrCM9G785XBFHziNB_CeHXbtJ1eGea5kfDT9sbjhbKd4f9sk2kYcr7zrs6eEyi6_ukSwziKhnFOrl/s1061/Adams-Empty%20Bed-SP.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1061" data-original-width="724" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZoyTwa_7xYhgDvnSm0SugljOvu96bLMiC5X_k2_e7au-vpLFFdxHKMVVpMnbW5HIE9PYOG4L2UmYNwwO-6owGkdkqhesdKmmJrTnBM1fxcfMrCM9G785XBFHziNB_CeHXbtJ1eGea5kfDT9sbjhbKd4f9sk2kYcr7zrs6eEyi6_ukSwziKhnFOrl/s320/Adams-Empty%20Bed-SP.png" width="218" /></a></div><i>The Empty Bed</i> seems to be Adam's first genuine detective novel. Previously his novels mixed two genres - the adventure novel and the detective novel with the adventure aspect winning out. Though there is some fair play clueing in <i>The Empty Bed</i>, the finale is laden with too much inference and guesswork on Haswell's part. In the last chapter we discover there was an eyewitness to the murder, someone who was protecting the murderer and guarding another secret. This witness conveniently verifies everything that Haswell guessed at. I was slightly disappointed with that lazy way to explain away all the last minute clues thrown at us. Still <i>The Empty Bed</i> shows promise and by the time Adams writes <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2012/01/crime-in-dutch-garden-herbert-adams.html"><i>The Crime in the Dutch Garden</i></a> (1931) -- so far the best of the Haswell mysteries I have read and a superior fair play example of the bizarre murder method mystery plot -- Adams will have proven himself a contender in the genre. That he was never elected into the Detection Club seems clearer to me based on so many detective/adventure hybrids and too much intuitive detective work in his first decade of writing.<p></p><p>As a Christmas tale the setting is only incidental and proves an excuse to get a houseful of murder suspects together. What surprised me, however, were the timeless insights into how Christmas celebration and holiday traditions haven't changed in over a century. Here are some choice holiday themed quotes from various characters: <br /></p><p>CHRISTMAS MAGIC<br /><span style="font-family: courier;">What magic there is in the very name Christmas! None is too old to feel some thrill as the day dawns, and few too cynical to look forward to it without some hope of happiness beyond the ordinary.</span><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBCxmq-1B3J0eBnTJKIn22YiebYJjZ13VqW0ogkT2M-btWsoA9_lM7SN3vfQ8hsmjcPS_j72o5LXUvCGqPaa2rKSscKYuctvYCCPnBebbSR_55t6tlnBbK5__flm6m_PLfoCVczQYPN8VtX4mxq8qujtTkvC519XsolBSM2lpQCEt5KkXWdL567s7t/s712/gift%20giving.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="562" data-original-width="712" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBCxmq-1B3J0eBnTJKIn22YiebYJjZ13VqW0ogkT2M-btWsoA9_lM7SN3vfQ8hsmjcPS_j72o5LXUvCGqPaa2rKSscKYuctvYCCPnBebbSR_55t6tlnBbK5__flm6m_PLfoCVczQYPN8VtX4mxq8qujtTkvC519XsolBSM2lpQCEt5KkXWdL567s7t/s320/gift%20giving.png" width="320" /></a></div>RE-GIFTING<br /><span style="font-family: courier;">Mollie: "Years ago I started a present drawer. A few weeks after Christmas I pop into it all the things we shall never want. Of course we appreciate the kind intention and very often find someone who really likes the gift."</span><p></p><p>IT'S THE THOUGHT THAT COUNTS ...SORT OF<br /><span style="font-family: courier;">Nonna: "My rule is to give people something I'd like myself. So if you don't care for what you get, please give it back."</span></p><p>CHRISTMAS DINNER<br /><span style="font-family: courier;">Jasper (the ne'er-do-well sarcastic nephew): "Dinner was good, but conversation dull, dealing mostly with dead relatives -- 'Do you remember how Aunt Arabella lost her teeth in the soup?" -- and things like that. Family yarns we drag up every Christmas. After dinner we had a poisonous evening -- some music and old-fashioned whist for penny points."</span></p><p>GETTING ALONG<br /><span style="font-family: courier;">Sgt Inglis: "Did you quarrel with your uncle?"<br />Jasper: "No. There was plenty of time for that. We <i>arrive</i> on Christmas Eve, and seldom <i>quarrel</i> before Boxing Day."</span></p><p>Finally, in the absolute last paragraph of the book I learned something fascinating. Jimmie apologizes to Nonna for their Christmas spoiled by crime and nearly the end of their marriage in that horrific attempt on his life. He promises he will make it up to her: "We'll go to Switzerland for the winter sports." Was this the Olympics by any chance? I thought. Off I went a-Googling. And <i>voila</i>! Jimmie's mention of "the winter sports" to turned out to be the St. Moritz Winter Games of 1928. They were, in fact, the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1928_Winter_Olympics">first Winter Olympics</a> organized separately, that is apart from the Summer Olympics. How's that for some real life inspirational detective work!</p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-9457673114932199482022-12-24T15:13:00.006-06:002022-12-24T15:24:31.524-06:00It's Christmas/ Why Can't We All Just Get Along?<p>Here's some swinging holiday flavored jazz from the past and the present. First, the great Ella Fitzgerald swings on an old standard accompanied by a birds-eye view (reindeer's eye view?) animated tour of all her international stops from years gone by. In the second clip Jamie Cullum, British jazz piano player, sings one of his original holiday tunes from a couple of years ago. I enjoy his clever lyrics, especially this part: <br /></p><i><span>Everybody's crowded round the Christmas tree</span><br /><span>Digging out the best of themselves</span><br /><span>Shove your petty differences right up the chimney, please</span><br /><span>At least until the drums of the Twelfth</span></i> <br /><p>Our house is filled with upbeat jazz music at Christmas. No more morose holiday music for me with that oh-so-solemn tone and lugubrious tempos. I've learned this past year that life is too short not to enjoy and savor every moment. And so the upbeat joyous songs never stop playing all through December in our home.<br /></p><br />
<center><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="322" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/NRSvczD9840" width="400" youtube-src-id="NRSvczD9840"></iframe></div><span style="font-size: large;">
<center><i><b><span style="color: #38761d;"> </span></b></i></center><center><i><b><span style="color: #38761d;"> </span></b></i></center><center><i><b><span style="color: #38761d;">Merry</span> <span style="color: red;">Christmas</span>, <span style="color: #38761d;">Happy</span> <span style="color: red;">Holidays</span>, <span style="color: #38761d;">Blessed</span> <span style="color: red;">Solstice</span></b></i><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> ...and all that jazz!</span></center></span></center><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="322" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/l8j6CVf1wG4" width="400" youtube-src-id="l8j6CVf1wG4"></iframe></div></div>
<br /><p>Whoever or whatever you believe in, however you celebrate this end of
the year, have a memorable and magical time. Make the most of it you
wonderful people out there in the dark. Wishing you nothing but health and good fortune in 2023!<br /></p>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-91150623261190959392022-12-18T08:21:00.000-06:002022-12-18T08:21:03.570-06:00Best Vintage Mystery Reprint 2022, part two<p> The nomination process continues across the vintage mystery blogosphere this weekend. Others have theirs posted. I was away the entire day yesterday, up in Milwaukee to see their version of <i>A Christmas Carol</i>, a delightful adaptation with some stagecraft wizardry I'd never seen before, that was partly inspired by the British Christmas pantomime tradition (the artistic director of Milwaukee Repertory, Mark Clements, is originally is from the UK). Anyway, here I am a day late with my second offering for this year's award for the Best Reprint of the Year or the ROY as it has become known among the mystery novel cognoscenti.</p><p>Once again I've picked a book I've already reviewed in previous years.</p><p><b><i></i></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU5Nt1IJNfRuk2zPW3zJbI7BGXtnWbTq10auCPbiF0ztM8eg60o4yLekkygyh1mwg1YycEeNTGpScBlo0tcDNmgkPTshfclk4ZOQ4WkoPeE5WxbR1dOmGe7krhQjZ0fuqkTxDHni3rajg-EapWqzcBxhAlSzt8gFxx7iS53i-UPyJTbR1833MoeRrp/s500/NQA-Sherry%20reprint.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="324" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU5Nt1IJNfRuk2zPW3zJbI7BGXtnWbTq10auCPbiF0ztM8eg60o4yLekkygyh1mwg1YycEeNTGpScBlo0tcDNmgkPTshfclk4ZOQ4WkoPeE5WxbR1dOmGe7krhQjZ0fuqkTxDHni3rajg-EapWqzcBxhAlSzt8gFxx7iS53i-UPyJTbR1833MoeRrp/w259-h400/NQA-Sherry%20reprint.jpg" width="259" /></a></i></b></div><b><i>No Questions Asked</i> by Edna Sherry </b><br /><p></p><p>Seems it takes a long time for my tastes in books to appear in new editions. Stark House Press has managed to snag rights to a rare Edna Sherry book that has never seen a reprint since it first appeared back in 1949. The new edition includes the requisite introduction by our own Curt
Evans and gives great detail into Sherry's interesting life, both
personal and professional. He traces her writing roots back to her pulp
fiction days and mentions her partnering with two male writers (as I did oh so cursorily in one of my Sherry posts) while also offering up fascinating biographical tidbits. </p><p>I first read and reviewed the book <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2021/09/ffb-no-questions-asked-edna-sherry.html">back in September 2021</a>. Here are a few paragraphs from what I wrote:</p><p></p><blockquote><span style="font-family: courier;">Sherry’s novel is a brilliant mixture of multiple subgenres, a
well-oiled machine of suspense and complex conflicted characters. Steve [Lake, the cop protagonist] is enraged with jealousy on one page then overcome with guilt on the
next. His snarky and mean spirited lieutenant, a bully of a rival back
at the station house, is an opportunistic cop eager for the captain’s
desk at the start of the book then morphs into one of Steve’s allies by
the end. Vicki [Steve's wife] is torn between telling her husband the truth and
continuing with her weakening deceit. The novel is also an intriguing
study of the tacit policemen’s code of honor and what cops will do for
one another when one of their own is implicated in behavior that could
ruin his career and life. In that regard this book is more timely than
ever and might be cause for debate among those highly critical of such
unwritten and questionable ethics.</span></blockquote><p><i></i></p><blockquote><span style="font-family: courier;"><i>No Questions Asked </i>would have made an excellent film or TV
episode. Brimming with cinematic details, excellent characters, and the
requisite twisty plot peppered with unexpected moments this is a second
novel that shows a real pro at work. Some enterprising Hollywood type
ought to get a hold of this still resonant and suspenseful novel and
could make it as memorable as Sherry's debut novel <i>Sudden Fear</i> that in its cinematic adaptation garnered four Academy Award nominations. </span></blockquote> <p></p><p>The novel mixes traditional detective novel structure and plotting with espionage and inverted detective novel narrative. We get a mistrustful wife, jealous cop, rival cop looking to shame his colleague and take his place as captain, a Red Scare subplot with a dash of spy stuff, and because this is an Edna Sherry novel some colorful scenes at the horse racetrack. I enjoyed this book quite a bit for its intriguing mix of subgenres and the action oriented story. I'm glad Stark House brought it back from the limbo of Out-of-Printdom and hope it gains a wide audience. Edna Sherry deserves to be known for all her work not just her debut, <i>Sudden Fear</i>, an excellent crime novel in its own right.<br /></p><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-20531991281486025692022-12-17T09:13:00.000-06:002022-12-17T09:13:13.848-06:00Advent Ghosts 2022: A Star, A Star Dancing in the Night<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwscGUouxFf05PE_Vhf0JUW6_YYLFMAbvUpZAmc4OFQt_xyjoeLmAzDNZvLJltSDmWpu0tE9aHkrLj1XCQBelcFZHH-PnHDondSEVKrGNk90J5IzL0dRRp34zfxfXeAdQCvvi2ipYLtDRpzn4cLTXIE0ySrTiuqTDW4Tf_nqyIIONfTq-WmZ3zZi0/s1118/christmas%20fairy.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1118" data-original-width="776" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwscGUouxFf05PE_Vhf0JUW6_YYLFMAbvUpZAmc4OFQt_xyjoeLmAzDNZvLJltSDmWpu0tE9aHkrLj1XCQBelcFZHH-PnHDondSEVKrGNk90J5IzL0dRRp34zfxfXeAdQCvvi2ipYLtDRpzn4cLTXIE0ySrTiuqTDW4Tf_nqyIIONfTq-WmZ3zZi0/w278-h400/christmas%20fairy.png" width="278" /></a></div>The houses, apartment buildings and yard are ablaze with Chistmas lights and absurd holiday inflatables. It's the dawn of the holiday season and that means
it's Advent Ghosts time. Loren Eaton who blogs at <a href="http://isawlightningfall.blogspot.com/">I Saw Lightning Fall</a> invites bloggers and creative writers to dabble in a yuletide drabble for his <a href="http://isawlightningfall.blogspot.com/2022/12/advent-ghosts-2022-stories.html">Advent Ghosts celebration.</a> What's a drabble? It's a Flash Fiction Challenge of sorts but with a word limit set at
exactly 100. No more, no less. The only other rule is that we write in homage to the Victorian tradition of telling ghost stories at Christmas time. Be it old-fashioned, chain rattling specters or more terrifying visions of bloody horror each writer makes up his or her own mind how to interpret that rule. <p></p>
<p>This year I was inspired by two terms: fairy lights and chasing lights.</p><p>What if they were taken literally?</p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>"A Star, A Star Dancing in the Night"</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5M28am6KhCNsoFu6utaeptR9wskPnMCdRkzZCpuT2mNBE5S38p095E-_sGcMzSx8GBwgbOIzFK_pjb_Mr4KQSBfRtnbwxMCj0GJsW569FQkvU5PBdACD0IBV73OsTjtJM199GjJYz7A8DqTZRgjfpoq5RHyCOsSJAkcvXkvGw71xZetRVt6gUQ7B/s790/lights%20in%20tree.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="790" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ5M28am6KhCNsoFu6utaeptR9wskPnMCdRkzZCpuT2mNBE5S38p095E-_sGcMzSx8GBwgbOIzFK_pjb_Mr4KQSBfRtnbwxMCj0GJsW569FQkvU5PBdACD0IBV73OsTjtJM199GjJYz7A8DqTZRgjfpoq5RHyCOsSJAkcvXkvGw71xZetRVt6gUQ7B/s320/lights%20in%20tree.png" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Someone had decorated a Christmas tree with blinding lights in the lot where trees were sold. Reverse vandalism? It’s always something. Better than another stolen baby Jesus.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">He’d heard of chasing lights but these were moving. Actually moving, not twinkling or blinking. Moving in and out of the branches, hovering around then plunging in. One took shape, an arm? A tiny arm with an even tinier finger beckoned and a chorus of whispers commanded, “Come hither.” And he obeyed. Entranced by the light and succumbed by their glamour he disappeared in the boughs becoming one with them and the light. </span><br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-20687170348501591292022-12-10T11:28:00.003-06:002022-12-11T12:43:09.888-06:00Best Mystery VIntage Reprint of 2022, part one<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSygV4QZXjfBpXWw9FhaO_cMyVicLHJ_aQAc7E9VH2Zbyh0GRami0xg479u9He0THEvoQQxcyMQBfJ5UiV2JFcjK6BewktvM3Y70joqqzVF5t7EIzY3Z4ktP_d92UFzbchqnHMGAojLTDg1E0KIgWZCqtmeDxikglV_0T7axf48ADveQucLXQyOv_e/s486/Christmas%20Waltz.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="414" data-original-width="486" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSygV4QZXjfBpXWw9FhaO_cMyVicLHJ_aQAc7E9VH2Zbyh0GRami0xg479u9He0THEvoQQxcyMQBfJ5UiV2JFcjK6BewktvM3Y70joqqzVF5t7EIzY3Z4ktP_d92UFzbchqnHMGAojLTDg1E0KIgWZCqtmeDxikglV_0T7axf48ADveQucLXQyOv_e/s320/Christmas%20Waltz.png" width="320" /></a></div><i>"It's that time of year<br />"When the world falls in love<br />"Every song you hear seems to say<br />"Merry Christmas, may your<br /> "New Year dreams come true"</i><p>There's some idealized seasonal wishing, right? It's also a song I keep hearing everywhere I go in December. Those somewhat schmaltzy lyrics remind me once again we are in the midst of our end of the year tradition involving optimistic wishing and dreams coming true. At least as those dreams and wishes relate to old murder mysteries.</p><p>Our dear friend Kate Jackson who blogs at <a href="https://crossexaminingcrime.wordpress.com/">Cross Examining Crime</a> has initiated phase one of the two part nomination process for Best Vintage Mystery Reprint of the Year, or the ROY as we who offer up our nominees have come to call it. 2022 continued the exciting Renaissance in vintage crime fiction with an avalanche of reprint editions that immersed us in all aspects of the genre from traditional detective novels to novels of suspense. This year topped last year's list with over
160 books on the list Kate sent us.<br /></p><p></p><p>As an annual reminder I like to tack on my personal standard in choosing these "Best of the Year" reprint candidates. The two most
important rules for what I feel merit a wise choice of a vintage reprint:<br />
</p><ol><li>A truly forgotten author, long out of print</li><li>Writing and plotting that contributes substantially to the genre</li></ol><p>Here's Nominee #1 from your opinionated maven at Pretty Sinister Books...</p><p><b><i></i></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCFLvSevqL4pJ8f2Ads5Gs4y5d4C4JwfyP-l2amjqZq8nPtH7XrQuc6Y7Aua8dzZ25PBEt_GoLUX7q0en1utF9bboGJNqtC6EHXHxiOIlDPhdZeQcrXyivLdRLWtp-e6XNZkD70p5LaenEv-6UjRrSvkoOQa9TUrCLPiRW6KfjroCiOjRIO7W_nWEY/s600/VaV-Galileo.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="387" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCFLvSevqL4pJ8f2Ads5Gs4y5d4C4JwfyP-l2amjqZq8nPtH7XrQuc6Y7Aua8dzZ25PBEt_GoLUX7q0en1utF9bboGJNqtC6EHXHxiOIlDPhdZeQcrXyivLdRLWtp-e6XNZkD70p5LaenEv-6UjRrSvkoOQa9TUrCLPiRW6KfjroCiOjRIO7W_nWEY/s320/VaV-Galileo.jpg" width="206" /></a></i></b></div><b><i>Villainy at Vespers</i></b> by Joan Cockin<p></p><p>I discovered this book through serendipity while poring over various vintage mystery listings on Ebay. The <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2020/02/ffb-villainy-at-vespers-joan-cockin.html">full review was posted back in 2020</a> before most people even knew of Joan Cockin's existence or the three mystery novels she wrote while she was working in British foreign service. </p><p>Cockin's second mystery in her trio of novels is a thoroughly engaging traditional detective novel that invigorates the subgenre category of the "Policeman's Holiday" with wit and verve. The opening paragraph (a photo of which appeared in the tempting Ebay listing) was intriguing enough to get me to buy the book and I eagerly read the book tearing through it in a few days. You will meet her series detective Inspector Cam, his wife and children, and myriad offbeat characters as he reluctantly helps the local police solve the gruesome death of an unidentified naked corpse found ritualistically slaughtered on the altar of the local church. In addition to her satirical skewering of tourism in English seaside villages the book treats the reader to the lore and art of brass rubbing, a spurt of thefts of antiques, chicanery among antique dealers and the legends of smugglers in the Cornish town where the story takes place. We even get the bonus of a ghost story featuring a visit from Satan.</p><p><span>Cockin's book is literate, delightfully amusing and devilishly plotted. The crimes are all presented with fair play clueing and I thought the finale was truly unexpected if a bit outlandish. But then I love rule breaking writers of detective novels. The more outlandish a plot the more I'll love it. That Galileo has decided to reprint this excellent example of post WW2 mystery writing is cause for celebration for all devotees of the genre. It is a "must read" for anyone who cares about what makes mystery novels one of the best forms of popular entertainment.</span></p><p><span>And the best news is that Cockin's other books will follow over the next two years. Looking forward to telling you about her debut novel <i>Curiosity Killed the Cat</i> later this month. Also, I am eagerly awaiting the reprint edition of her third and last novel <i>Deadly Ernest.</i> I've never seen a copy of that in my lifetime. It's a truly rare book. One, I hope, as entertaining as <i>Villainy at Vespers. </i><br /></span></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-30834251451821810782022-08-13T08:36:00.003-05:002022-08-14T11:21:33.450-05:00FIRST BOOKS: The Templeton Case - Victor L. Whitechurch<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi45-4Fin2JG5Jl8ORPg_IImirk6jJlqnk-kgg4CCR8CHP-hwV9DWUKVF5LlMCfx0BHQXCDb8gvBUJg-Y3TLi87MyodLd5KqDzTOCfYetpreF9LM-0m94QXCfYaUeKfDkXNLG4GXj_fI_MTZhuuYsXjG_6Q9v7fCwH3640Q26MUyJjNUi5eXSJqGsRj/s1246/Whitechurch-Templeton.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1246" data-original-width="1064" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi45-4Fin2JG5Jl8ORPg_IImirk6jJlqnk-kgg4CCR8CHP-hwV9DWUKVF5LlMCfx0BHQXCDb8gvBUJg-Y3TLi87MyodLd5KqDzTOCfYetpreF9LM-0m94QXCfYaUeKfDkXNLG4GXj_fI_MTZhuuYsXjG_6Q9v7fCwH3640Q26MUyJjNUi5eXSJqGsRj/s320/Whitechurch-Templeton.png" width="273" /></a></div>Victor Whitechurch is best known for his short story collection <i><a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2014/01/ffb-thrilling-stories-of-railway-victor.html">Thrilling Stories of the Railway</a></i> with his vegetarian detective Thorpe Hazell and for being one of the founding members of the Detection Club. He wrote a mere five detective novels and one comic crime novel (<a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2014/02/the-robbery-at-rudwick-house-victor-l.html">which is not very funny at all</a>) as well as penning the first chapter of the seminal round robin detective novel <i>The Floating Admiral</i>. I was thinking a lot about that round robin novel while reading <i>The Templeton Case</i> (1924), his first foray into detective fiction. Reginald Templeton is found stabbed in his yacht while moored off the coast of Marsh Quay, a tiny village situated near an estuary. Sailing and boating feature prominently in the story and there are myriad suspects who were in and around the yacht before and after the murder. Several intriguing puzzles surrounding the murder crop up leading to some excellent examples of early 20th century detection in a murder mystery.<p></p><p>Our persistent and clever detective is Det-Sgt. Colson ably assisted by a lawyer and inadvertent detective of sorts in the person of Canon Fittleworth. To be truthful the Canon is an accidental obstructor of justice because he finds and pockets a distinctive cigar label rather than handing it over to the police. For a while I thought perhaps Whitechurch meant us to think this absentminded member of the clergy was involved in a cover-up. Whitechurch, being a canon himself, would never stoop to such a sacrilege. Eventually the Canon hands over the cigar label at the inquest which leads to an intriguing sort of shell game that I immediately picked up on though I was incorrect in my assuming who did the switcheroo.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5KEdwBc_Usawmr0cHSREoQ-7s0dIw_81b_pY0qsWXaPuT9b9UqgHxduuj6tXmIbF-kW6FZXCZPFvO10XpE43jLFZ9T8vv0eA53g23BtFiGjFlQIXtYq0ia66y2OtECFN79xsTYlh3pZJ7ss0WeaUxVzI6i7qjn-FqHk7A8JzqbTW_GxNz6ddRC-qp/s724/Whitechurch%20young.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="724" data-original-width="628" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5KEdwBc_Usawmr0cHSREoQ-7s0dIw_81b_pY0qsWXaPuT9b9UqgHxduuj6tXmIbF-kW6FZXCZPFvO10XpE43jLFZ9T8vv0eA53g23BtFiGjFlQIXtYq0ia66y2OtECFN79xsTYlh3pZJ7ss0WeaUxVzI6i7qjn-FqHk7A8JzqbTW_GxNz6ddRC-qp/s320/Whitechurch%20young.png" width="278" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Victor L. Whitechurch in his youth</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>I also liked many of the supporting characters including Mrs Yayes, the owner of the local pub; a young mystery man who claims to be a painter and seems very suspicious; a handful of hired boating men; and Colson's very perceptive and imaginative wife with whom he discusses the case. She gives her husband several ideas about the murder mystery. Unfortunately towards the end of the book we meet an ugly portrayal of a Jewish man and the book descends into the typical kind of "Jew talk" that pollutes so much of early 20th century British fiction. It didn't ruin the book for me but I can imagine it would make for a "skipping it" deal-breaker for lots of readers these days.<br /><p></p><p>In addition to the puzzle of the cigar label there is a clever bit of code breaking of sorts when Colson and his crew discover a blotting pad with a string of words missing some letters. We are courteously given that string of letterless words in the text and can return to it repeatedly as the story unfolds. Colson's lawyer friend keen on puzzle solving mulls it over and using a combination of intuition, logic, and a lot of luck remarkably comes up with the actual sentence and identifies the name of a key player in the mystery.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzKHONw6pMb1Phd0M3fRnBe7lfjaO0cVFNp82RT3KV2Mp2Md-8LMwTGqg3rJQcTOt6s8N9wEVyLTca_NqoUxusswS4J1Bn1bebV72_HqNCsYWt97PY0WgFm7c_SBu7lR4mIW5nIH-afhptI5aFiWxl40cAMOFEHbDCjU2uRWX5dWlEH2xFzXAaOLN/s1626/Dell%20Quay%20pub.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="584" data-original-width="1626" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzKHONw6pMb1Phd0M3fRnBe7lfjaO0cVFNp82RT3KV2Mp2Md-8LMwTGqg3rJQcTOt6s8N9wEVyLTca_NqoUxusswS4J1Bn1bebV72_HqNCsYWt97PY0WgFm7c_SBu7lR4mIW5nIH-afhptI5aFiWxl40cAMOFEHbDCjU2uRWX5dWlEH2xFzXAaOLN/w640-h230/Dell%20Quay%20pub.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Crown & Anchor and Harbor View house in Dell Quay<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> Templeton was an explorer and his past life in South Africa coupled with the discovery of a single raw diamond on the yacht will lead Colson to a dark motive and a web of past criminal activity. I thought the reveal of the murderer was a delightful surprise. Never saw it coming and it seems to be something of an original rule breaking coup. I've never encountered this twist in any detective novel I've read to date. So hats off to Canon Whitechurch for this clever and engaging debut.<p></p><p><u>THINGS I LEARNED:</u> The geography was so specific in describing an estuary that Templeton's man navigated that I thought perhaps all the towns mentioned were real. They weren't. But I looked up those I knew were real and followed the course of the yacht as described by Whitechurch. It lead me to the small town of Dell Quay not far form Chichester which just happens to have a famous cathedral. I think that this is exactly the area that Whitechurch set his story. It certainly fits in with all the descriptions and definitely follows the sailing route of Templeton's hired yacht, <i>Firefly.</i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIa9TqD4SCV0W3Vzi0wPpTjkfJ8LSRpm6w8O_xiOYC_yZr0R4-8Ru9g2BOmnJAP1D_7hoU4B0xcf5yYZNoTzlERlsrOI02UVGG7yUEd-Z5USgdqJ_iWDvMxOFU-sgzswjovMV5gde2nUg7NVg1wto1itsizU18HINS-0nOu2a9bBZLf6J73x_abvjQ/s900/Templeton%20reprint.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="604" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIa9TqD4SCV0W3Vzi0wPpTjkfJ8LSRpm6w8O_xiOYC_yZr0R4-8Ru9g2BOmnJAP1D_7hoU4B0xcf5yYZNoTzlERlsrOI02UVGG7yUEd-Z5USgdqJ_iWDvMxOFU-sgzswjovMV5gde2nUg7NVg1wto1itsizU18HINS-0nOu2a9bBZLf6J73x_abvjQ/s320/Templeton%20reprint.png" width="215" /></a></div>As this is out of copyright I was planning to reprint <i>The Templeton Case </i>but someone beat me to it earlier this year. I guess that's from whom I bought my truly cheap copy of the US first edition a few months ago. <i>The Templeton Case</i> is now available in paperback and digital format from an outfit called Spitfire Publishing. They sell their books on that giant internet source of nearly everything under the sun. If intrigued by this review you can get a cheap eBook or modestly priced paperback. Despite the depiction of the Jewish man at the end I thought this was rather good. Even Jacques Barzun in his <i>Catalog of Crime </i>thought it was a notable effort for a first try at writing a detective novel.<i> </i><br /><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-15446013371274388062022-08-07T12:27:00.003-05:002022-08-11T14:00:50.704-05:00IN BRIEF - A Shroud for Unlac - S. H. Courtier<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8FPzHZuXIWA2VeyKI6F6JnrN--gGCXhcaVsNxsQO29ho6cEh1ISAA1oBpl9eEk90QW2a1w6ZFIzg_yn21IXDG1_r-er2YVhxaBB5SUi6kYSCglRRune_XhTwAlhnmSTyfhhEe7QhEfONRWtCdVvaL5yLCFw1mn1kmRQ5U3OMQAb4lQw4AK0rLKnij/s768/Courtier-Unlac.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="521" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8FPzHZuXIWA2VeyKI6F6JnrN--gGCXhcaVsNxsQO29ho6cEh1ISAA1oBpl9eEk90QW2a1w6ZFIzg_yn21IXDG1_r-er2YVhxaBB5SUi6kYSCglRRune_XhTwAlhnmSTyfhhEe7QhEfONRWtCdVvaL5yLCFw1mn1kmRQ5U3OMQAb4lQw4AK0rLKnij/s320/Courtier-Unlac.jpeg" width="217" /></a></div><p>In Courtier's fourth detective novel once again this Australian writer explores an aspect of the culture in the land Down Under. This time it's sheep ranchers, and specifically sheep ranchers who are involved in selling wool to textile companies. But as Courtier is also one of the finest practitioners of bizarre crime novels he adds an extra twist that borders on science fiction. <i>A Shroud for Unlac</i> (1958) opens just prior the the opening of a textile exhibition on the grounds of Robert Unlac's vast sheep ranch A secret area cordoned and fenced off contains his greatest invention, or rather cultivation, that will be unveiled at the exhibition. Before the exhibit can officially open Unlac dies in a tragic fire that destroys most of this cultivated product and the storage of valuable seeds. Autopsy reveals that Unlac, though burned so dreadfully, actually died of a
heart attack. And oddly his clothing was apparently drenched in
gasoline. Was it an accident or diabolically arranged sabotage and murder? Superintendent Ambrose Mahon is on the scene to uncover a horrible plot and unmask the killer. </p><p>So what exactly is this cultivation? What's going on at Lirra Down Sheep Station that has all the ranchers of merino wool sheep on edge, some truly frightened? It's the acres and acres of a new cotton hybrid that Unlac has developed. Fibers of this miracle cotton he calls <i>ininja</i> yield an equally miraculously durable textile impervious to ripping and tearing and nearly all staining. It's no wonder that someone tried to destroy the fields where thousands of the plants were growing behind heavily secured fencing. And no wonder why Unlac was killed. A miracle fabric would not only put sheep wool ranchers out of business but make possible millions for the owner of the plant seeds and the secret hybridization process.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK53OZwqRLNbvBdlih2PBc4GRu8syUbHaxrHLaw5vqaPBNQg-qeqkMrsVpRq2fU_Wx_B_PqNpYkiT-T74z1kuintrc6YKXDR4mnzGYkrJTHxhcskIracE0AD63IH-1X6le4ldFL2POdq64fdYVqeaXY8kGZ5Vc8WrAEV1ppCE66i4bXHJjhwPVugNp/s588/Shroud%20for%20Unlac%20blurb.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="588" data-original-width="286" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK53OZwqRLNbvBdlih2PBc4GRu8syUbHaxrHLaw5vqaPBNQg-qeqkMrsVpRq2fU_Wx_B_PqNpYkiT-T74z1kuintrc6YKXDR4mnzGYkrJTHxhcskIracE0AD63IH-1X6le4ldFL2POdq64fdYVqeaXY8kGZ5Vc8WrAEV1ppCE66i4bXHJjhwPVugNp/s320/Shroud%20for%20Unlac%20blurb.jpeg" width="156" /></a></div>Courtier in his usual manner weaves a complex plot that involves jealous business men, deep dark family secrets, and a cultural war between aboriginal people and modern Australians interested only in making money. The cast of characters is once again a varied group of Aussies and "abos". I learned a new word (as I always do reading Courtier's books). <i>Myall</i> is obsolete Australian slang derived from aboriginal languages that means "stranger" or "ignorant person." Like most local dialects it was appropriated by white men and turned around to a mean "wild" or "uncivilized" or used in a negative connotation as a synonym for any aboriginal person. No matter what meaning the reader chooses for this odd term there is a nearly anonymous man, described only as a <i>myall</i>, who early in the book is found strangled outside the grounds of Lirra Down. This crime almost dismissed by the police (almost forgotten by this reader, as well) has later repercussions as the story unfolds.<p></p><p>The murder of Unlac is presented as something of an impossible crime for it is unknown how the killer managed to get to the odd storage area where the body was found burned to an unrecognizable corpse. Nor is it known how the killer could have escaped such a conflagration. Having read many of Courtier's books I should have known how this would be explained as the solution uses a detective novel convention repeatedly employed in his books even if it is a cliche device. However, in the story's context this cliche is pulled off with ingenuity. Some diabolical wizardry utilized in the arson recalls John Rhode's gadget-ridden detective novels.</p><p><i>A Shroud for Unlac</i> is fairly scarce these days. Luckily, exactly two copies are available for sale online. Act now! as they used to say in old 70s American TV commercials. This book comes highly recommended as do most of the mysteries by Sidney H. Courtier, an undeservedly forgotten writer who continually surprises with his originality and invention. A review of one of his best novels -- almost topping <i>The Glass Spear</i>, his incomparable debut mystery novel -- is coming next week. It's a retro Golden Age mystery with a corker of an ending worthy of the intricate plotting of the much lauded Crime Queens who flourished in the 30s and 40s.<br />
</p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-12566660677141789812022-08-01T00:00:00.031-05:002022-08-01T05:54:17.938-05:00The Ghost of Thomas Penry – Kenneth O’Hara<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6CtO4nho3k0HE2Vwo_plaR1v2QXQqJ5987oD6FZTYBsp7NFA5PJPzTq7JxYf4ynCdRPG18VuyGZk6trpea8gH-ERiDkmsQobfft42iEcKrGtCi3N2Etj6bjutqQYmTSby7RrEkMk3JKw2xnGLM1HgFlinmrDRL6jIZzuNVF_SwTvmvadbvYjTViLc/s800/O'Hara-Ghost%20of%20Thomas%20Penry.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="523" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6CtO4nho3k0HE2Vwo_plaR1v2QXQqJ5987oD6FZTYBsp7NFA5PJPzTq7JxYf4ynCdRPG18VuyGZk6trpea8gH-ERiDkmsQobfft42iEcKrGtCi3N2Etj6bjutqQYmTSby7RrEkMk3JKw2xnGLM1HgFlinmrDRL6jIZzuNVF_SwTvmvadbvYjTViLc/s320/O'Hara-Ghost%20of%20Thomas%20Penry.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>Howard Stavey is tasked with creating a treatment for a TV program the subject of which will be Thomas Penry, a Welsh man known for his research into the occult and psychic phenomenon. If it meets with director and production team approval he may be allowed to write the script.<p></p>
<p>After meeting with one of the Penry’s sole living acquaintances Howard uncovers some intriguing info on Penry’s wife Madeleine who froze to death with her child one winter decades ago. Her death was always thought to be a tragic accident, but Howard’s research reveals she may have been killed and that the child may not have been Penry’s. Madeleine claimed to have psychic abilities her husband was envious of coupled with the fact that letters reveals she most likely was apparently in love with another man who could be the child’s father. Prime motive that signals Penry killed his wife. This murder mystery angle decides the director that the story is worth filming and he orders the script be written and he starts to gather up a production team.</p>
<p>O'Hara does an excellent job in displaying the conflict between writers, actors, director and crew members. We also get unusual insight into dealing with actor’s egos, especially since they are planning to portray real people. Initially reluctant to do a movie about a man who played with spooks Tom, one of the actors, changes his mind when he starts to believe he has psychic ability. He begins to not only believe in <i>The Ghost of Thomas Penry</i> (1977) but that he is the reincarnation of the man he has been hired to play on film.<br /></p><p>Gwenillen, owner of the house and distant relative to Penry, after much dilly dallying finally takes the production crew and actors into the basement and reveals the chapel. It’s vast and apparently untouched since the scandalous ritual that ended with the death of Ruthven Douglas back in the WWI era. Chests contain silver, medieval tapestries and ritual wardrobe. Ros who has an eye for lavish clothing is drawn to the purple and gold cloak. Natalya, the production designer, has a fit. “Don’t touch it!” The fabric is of course fragile and it may fall apart in the hands of the careless actress. Tom & Ros go up to a balcony and fight. An enormous vase comes crashing down barely missing Adrian the director. Is it an accident? Or an angry ghost?</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUQIshcSJ__DRhA3-MWdDlti-wIsosAy7vNK6JNPiIwVFuJJu3RFJWcR2UMjkT-3u7PbrrARb7yZF5P_xj6aYdj3W1Nv2YuYHXYwX7rT7o4Ufwm4AWSwxSRtge8A-PFOSFnxtk4rZkzXfEUsMsvvnXTnq_Y6axMPMzbTqzzEFRDMBnPYW7lZwYca36/s555/devil%20rides%20out%2001.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="257" data-original-width="555" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUQIshcSJ__DRhA3-MWdDlti-wIsosAy7vNK6JNPiIwVFuJJu3RFJWcR2UMjkT-3u7PbrrARb7yZF5P_xj6aYdj3W1Nv2YuYHXYwX7rT7o4Ufwm4AWSwxSRtge8A-PFOSFnxtk4rZkzXfEUsMsvvnXTnq_Y6axMPMzbTqzzEFRDMBnPYW7lZwYca36/w400-h185/devil%20rides%20out%2001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<p>Eliphas, a former professional magician, is the production’s magic and occult consultant. He finally speaks on p. 104 with a lengthy discussion of the house, Penry and the group of amateur psychics who gathered in the underground chapel. Howard replies, “I’d like to believe” in a long monologue. Eliphas laughs then offers his opinion of Penry and the chapel. A disagreement of ceremonial magic follows. Howard says there is no proof. Eliphas points out the care given to the chapel and its contents proves otherwise. Harriet (researcher and co-writer) prefers to come straight to the point. “He tried to summon demons.” But Eliphas says there is no proof of any of that. Penry was too evasive in his diaries and notebooks. He thinks Penry had psychic power and was ashamed of it.
</p><p>Eliphas tells Howard that Tom had a vision of what the interior of the house looks like just before he entered the building. Tom described to Eliphas in great detail the furniture, the architecture, the layout, and when he enters it is almost exactly what he uttered. Does he have genuine psychic ability? A vase levitates when he mutters some mumbo jumbo near the art object and he is convinced that he has “the gift.”</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFcA-ojy0NOLASMANm9eze3fPyQIxLyIQ_Sli7yjVQfbY0acQFFSM4FlDSHC0ZFBhN_IdHmQmwjHzWCXgGLfFSEi-jo2a9tl0jCNOpPiDwAWD4jgVLG6vH9LGAg5k5XXv8sV0HJxf83HLvgGFSBQUgC0OjmB17dfLaThUNCSML7LJU1WMOMqnE-PW4/s400/Gorey%20body%20in%20urn.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="296" data-original-width="400" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFcA-ojy0NOLASMANm9eze3fPyQIxLyIQ_Sli7yjVQfbY0acQFFSM4FlDSHC0ZFBhN_IdHmQmwjHzWCXgGLfFSEi-jo2a9tl0jCNOpPiDwAWD4jgVLG6vH9LGAg5k5XXv8sV0HJxf83HLvgGFSBQUgC0OjmB17dfLaThUNCSML7LJU1WMOMqnE-PW4/s320/Gorey%20body%20in%20urn.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>During a second visit to the chapel another vase falls – or is shoved – and someone is killed. Everyone thinks it’s Ros because the corpse is wearing the purple and gold cloak. But when the body is turned over they discover it is someone else.
<p></p><p>Joe, the crew's cameraman and electrician, Howard and Harriet piece together all the accidents and chicanery. The trio turn sleuths to find out who among them is a murderer and why. A major clue in the victim's wallet leads Harriet to uncovering the dead person’s true identity and why he got himself hired onto the crew. The ultimate reveal is a gobsmacking surprise and explains all of the
serious psychic moments and mysterious phenomenon in the supposedly
haunted chapel. <br /></p>
<p> This is a highly recommended read for those like me who can't get enough of detective novels that feature supernatural phenomenon -- be it genuine or faked. There is plenty to admire here, especially the completely unexpected manner in which all events unfold, the identity of the victims, and the unmasking of a devious killer. The background of a TV film crew is 100% authentic, too. Read on to learn of the author's real name and various professions.<br /></p><p><u>THE AUTHOR:</u> <span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Margaret Jean Morris</b></span> (1924 - 1996) began her writing career with the mainstream novel <i>Man and Two Gods</i> (1953). She also penned a handful of plays and several detective and crime novels using the pseudonym Kenneth O'Hara. Her first mystery novel, <i>A View to a Death</i> (1958), features Dr. Alun Barry, a director of research at an engineering firm, who accidentally becomes a detective while on a vacation. She is probably best known under her other pen name, "Jean Morris", as the author of several juvenile fantasy novels starting with <i>A Path of Dragons</i> (1980). Her young adult books have been compared favorably to Ursula Le Guin's. Morris also spent much of her life as a TV scriptwriter and notably wrote episode four ("Anne of Cleves") for the BAFTA and Emmy award-winning series <i>The Six Wives of Henry VIII</i> shown on both BBC and American TV on PBS in the early 1970s.<br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-16064989208915973812022-07-30T14:46:00.002-05:002023-01-13T11:56:29.007-06:00Death Walks Softly - Neal Shepherd (Nigel Morland)<p><u></u></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><u><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZc3-aKxK6vEsdCDEIWXxoGcMPf43NmqcU5c3GkVFg3fqoWvhKYw5oKXxinAwpJe95uMcMXktCgOpxloiRkcedl-nsN8zDqbC4eIXV55EGmbMm2vIHMK4vApvnXJVjdK_IGuZ365EXxZLs5_JqGSVsyTLlFORahbqkWZ5u68eh9hFzuIKrE7zets5/s800/Death%20Walks%20Softly.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="696" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMZc3-aKxK6vEsdCDEIWXxoGcMPf43NmqcU5c3GkVFg3fqoWvhKYw5oKXxinAwpJe95uMcMXktCgOpxloiRkcedl-nsN8zDqbC4eIXV55EGmbMm2vIHMK4vApvnXJVjdK_IGuZ365EXxZLs5_JqGSVsyTLlFORahbqkWZ5u68eh9hFzuIKrE7zets5/w348-h400/Death%20Walks%20Softly.jpg" width="348" /></a></u></div><u>THE STORY:</u> Inspector Michael Tandy makes his debut in <i>Death Walks Softly</i> (1938) an excellent example of three subgenres: police procedural, scientific detective novel and impossible crime mystery. Tandy using his expert knowledge in chemistry quickly disproves that a chemist supposedly committed suicide in his locked office, accessible by only one door and a private elevator that can only be summoned from the ground floor with a special key. Murder, theft and burglary are the many the crimes that arise in a complicated case involving professional jealousy and romantic entanglements. Heavy use of scientific detection makes for a dizzying yet fascinating detective novel.<br /><p></p><p><u>THE CHARACTERS:</u> The action is set primarily in a research facility where Robert Sherry, a reclusive anti-social chemist, was working diligently on two chemical formulas -- one for a universal solvent and another for stainless steel alloy that would be able to contain the solvent. Sherry has the use of only his left arm, his right having been amputated years ago. He is found in his locked office with an injection mark in his usable arm and some Veronal found nearby. Everyone in the company assumes he has committed suicide. Tandy quickly asserts it cannot be suicide because 1. drug users addicted to Veronal do not inject the drug, it is ingested orally and 2. the injection was administered into the left arm. Since Sherry is left handed and cannot use the artificial limb on his right arm as he would a hand with fingers he could not have injected himself.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejhro4oCcBuRkJE95lCR2arXse1exEOVrWO28OCb0CpwOz_KSwfSpZJsVNgIo2C3wo1OYqVVRARXFvK8aA46PkN7QU5eNX31SPkqEfGRWMCmUh8tL6mWPs-J4Oo3tSSbHT5WxdROvvAVLZ-e0bPKqYiO3JP_0XUX0XFw46jZ_M_9GO8DjN3dgQnlD/s800/Death%20Walks%20Softly%20blurb.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="302" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgejhro4oCcBuRkJE95lCR2arXse1exEOVrWO28OCb0CpwOz_KSwfSpZJsVNgIo2C3wo1OYqVVRARXFvK8aA46PkN7QU5eNX31SPkqEfGRWMCmUh8tL6mWPs-J4Oo3tSSbHT5WxdROvvAVLZ-e0bPKqYiO3JP_0XUX0XFw46jZ_M_9GO8DjN3dgQnlD/w242-h640/Death%20Walks%20Softly%20blurb.png" width="242" /></a></div>Suspicion immediately falls on Mrs. Sherry who says her husband was more in love with chemistry than her and Daniel Lyne, the CEO of the chemical company. Lyne and Mrs. Sherry were carrying on a not very discreet affair. Though the police know that Mrs. Sherry stopped by the office many times for visits, the CEO will not elaborate on the real reason. He is, however, quick to draw Tandy's attention to an embittered former employee Alan Talaver, who not only lost his job to Sherry but swore to kill him. When Tandy tracks down Talaver he turns out to be not only embittered but paranoid. He volubly criticizes everyone at the chemical lab, rants about conspiracy theories and reveals a marked persecution complex. <p></p><p>One of the bits of evidence found in Sherry's lab is a thumb mark with a scar running across the print. Talaver, surprisingly, is quick to show that he has such a thumb mark and offers up no real alibi for the night of the poisoning murder. Nevertheless, he maintains his innocence. This confession of sorts will lead to one of the most remarkable aspects of the murder mystery and recalls a similar incident in one of the memorable Carter Dickson impossible crime mystery novels <br /></p><p>Then there's Frank Donegal, Sherry's lab assistant. Donegal gives a fuller picture of Sherry's misanthropy and utter immersion in his work. He was also the only person with an apparently iron-clad alibi having been in an enclosed study room at the research library across the street. Reading Cabinet #5, Donegal's favorite place to study, is located at the rear of the library and is constructed similar to a telephone booth. The reading cabinets are shown to be occupied by a red light on the outside wall activated when someone sits down and the door is closed.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4YHIaqn_5sVd6PnQ056m72QbX4BD2IbXuqU-74pUoKS-NR3LeVwXwQFjHvO0fZ1pzJC4exwFnYXs83UwZMlwKjdK1QJNIy1JUXEKbn6OVMK1fonarLjbmb3-VQwzsXNg6zeL5ZSenS1_CsxR3eCIvPYxVegzlLkAYFz_w9JbgBlKSi9Li7h4xup14/s1794/Death%20Walks%20Softly%20crime%20map.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1794" data-original-width="1044" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4YHIaqn_5sVd6PnQ056m72QbX4BD2IbXuqU-74pUoKS-NR3LeVwXwQFjHvO0fZ1pzJC4exwFnYXs83UwZMlwKjdK1QJNIy1JUXEKbn6OVMK1fonarLjbmb3-VQwzsXNg6zeL5ZSenS1_CsxR3eCIvPYxVegzlLkAYFz_w9JbgBlKSi9Li7h4xup14/w372-h640/Death%20Walks%20Softly%20crime%20map.jpg" width="372" /></a></div>The impossibility of the locked room involves Sherry's office elevator that leads to a hidden doorway in the alley behind the lab building (see the plan at left). Oddly designed the elevator can only be operated with a key that summons the elevator from the ground floor to the office above. The key must be also used to exit the elevator. Any time the elevator is used the car returns to the ground floor automatically. There is a lot of business about a load meter installed in the elevator that helps to save on the firm's electric bill. This portion sort of went over my head, but Nigel Morland in his "Neal Shepherd" guise certainly turned on his expert mode during this electrical engineering lesson. Tandy retrieves the time graphs -- basically reports of each instance the elevator went up and down -- in order to determine if the elevator was the murderer's method of escape from the locked office. <p></p><p><u>INNOVATIONS:</u> Tandy studied chemistry prior to becoming a police officer. He mentions this to many of the scientists he interviews and it helps him to get some of the suspects to talk more freely and, of course, more expertly on the scientific aspects of the murder case. There are several lectures on chemical alloy structures, the previously mentioned mechanical and electrical design of the elevator, the creation of plastic molds, chemical nature of poisons and a lot more. After one of these long lectures that goes on for nearly four pages (!) Sgt Bill Holland, Tandy's hero worshiping colleague, is astonished: "Holland's eyes opened wide. This was the type of detection he had hitherto believed existed only in detective novels."</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZara6PQJUXI1SUxkGxqnJNtI9Xs6SlEX29poy0LQmmgG19VqjeUKEEs4yK010t8cAbWc6XCF4hTjiApmLfWO0Yzxfuw_HF2I112RvytFRnnCnxddA-e4wmmgU0kppIa9rob1Ot9oSYX7AqcXmWcsz-bsZ1_QEKssSP3wrSomMnVGg6v4atkxhS7Ve/s976/Shepherd-Death%20Rides%20Swiftly-FR.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="976" data-original-width="726" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZara6PQJUXI1SUxkGxqnJNtI9Xs6SlEX29poy0LQmmgG19VqjeUKEEs4yK010t8cAbWc6XCF4hTjiApmLfWO0Yzxfuw_HF2I112RvytFRnnCnxddA-e4wmmgU0kppIa9rob1Ot9oSYX7AqcXmWcsz-bsZ1_QEKssSP3wrSomMnVGg6v4atkxhS7Ve/s320/Shepherd-Death%20Rides%20Swiftly-FR.png" width="238" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">French edition of <i>Death Rides Swiftly</i><br />translated less poetically as <i>Death is Swift</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Bill is right of course. But not in the ironic sense that Morland intends. It is the kind of detection that exists only in detective novels and not <i>ever</i> in real life. Rarely do real life criminals engage in the kind of guile and scientific trickery employed in this deviously constructed and often ingenious mystery novel. But this trickery is also what makes the "Napper" Tandy mystery novels so fascinating to read and mark them as stand-outs of the impossible crime and scientific detection subgenres at the tail end of the Golden Age.<p></p><p></p>I hope to get three of these novels reprinted by the middle of next year. Unfortunately, I have not been able to locate an English language copy of <i>Death Rides Swiftly</i> though I do have the other three. But I have not given up my search for that elusive fourth title.<br /><p></p><p><b><u> Inspector "Napper " Tandy Detective Novels</u></b><br /><i>Death Walks Softly</i> (1938)<br /><i>Death Flies Low</i> (1938)<br /><i>Death Rides Swiftly</i> (1939)<br /><i>Exit to Music</i> (1940)<br /></p><p> <br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-6304418372053382852022-07-25T22:36:00.006-05:002022-07-28T22:03:00.159-05:00Reprints Looming on the Horizon<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKInGJyujF-fJa7sNIqHGwnQ7AXX9gG-IbbvGdM477IIqIZM0HKKoYEXEFZbrhZVCbkTWl2tDaQbYT-ufnOeD_PPMqfR0AABHSomaVLO5qHCpQmFu21iyHpNxGKYThRLBbtY9FEUAjrx2-6xSNiCeMyFPYfAdsinFtHTTzFC-uAA-604eF7Ha9r2mr/s1088/Wills-Death%20Treads.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1088" data-original-width="740" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKInGJyujF-fJa7sNIqHGwnQ7AXX9gG-IbbvGdM477IIqIZM0HKKoYEXEFZbrhZVCbkTWl2tDaQbYT-ufnOeD_PPMqfR0AABHSomaVLO5qHCpQmFu21iyHpNxGKYThRLBbtY9FEUAjrx2-6xSNiCeMyFPYfAdsinFtHTTzFC-uAA-604eF7Ha9r2mr/s320/Wills-Death%20Treads.png" width="218" /></a></div>I was hoping that I would be able to give you some wonderful news about a few reprints, but alas there are delays with one exciting reprint that was supposed to be out this fall. Some of you may have already discovered that it's in the works if you've been out there a-Googling. But I promised the publisher not to promote it until the rights are officially cleared and it's taking some time. But rest assured the book will be here, just a bit later than planned. Assiduous readers will find more details in a recent comment exchange at the bottom of a past post on said book. I will say no more until I'm allowed to.<p></p><p>However! Don't get your panties in a bunch, gang.</p><p>There is other exciting news I can announce -- Cecil Wills detective novels are coming back!</p><p>Those lovable rascals who run Ramble House have teamed up with yours truly and they will be reissuing two rather scarce, very early Wills mystery novels featuring his series detective Geoffrey Boscobell. Both should be out by the end of this year, possibly sooner. <i>Author in Distress</i>, Will's debut mystery novel and the first with Sgt. Boscobell, will be the first released followed shortly thereafter by a new edition of the third Boscobell mystery novel <i>Death Tread</i>s. Plans are to reissue both as retro mapbacks the way many of the early Ramble House detective novels and mystery novels paid tribute to the highly collectible original Dell Mapbacks back in the early 2000s when RH was first reprinting Golden Age mystery fiction. With artwork by Gavin O'Keefe and partly inspired by the maps and floor plans found in the original books I have provided these promise to be attractive new editions. I'll be writing up a brief study of the Boscobell detective novels as a foreword to both new editions.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAnVSb-PjEtRTk3fBXQ_M_F7t0Mk29AxKbw7LbQvcJYlc2ztYMHT7oHFMeuTCy7LZv7mtJk933CSHdTtrJyd5SbPgyqUniJRmDbsIwFOTz3sAPrZCukQ-9qlv7-PJY3dOZ3nSvTQE3Ix7xZyfzI-AOi-La_4BcuDkE0GzgfqHFjoQLjR2eOV7T62yP/s2211/Cockin-Villainy.JPEG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2211" data-original-width="1811" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAnVSb-PjEtRTk3fBXQ_M_F7t0Mk29AxKbw7LbQvcJYlc2ztYMHT7oHFMeuTCy7LZv7mtJk933CSHdTtrJyd5SbPgyqUniJRmDbsIwFOTz3sAPrZCukQ-9qlv7-PJY3dOZ3nSvTQE3Ix7xZyfzI-AOi-La_4BcuDkE0GzgfqHFjoQLjR2eOV7T62yP/s320/Cockin-Villainy.JPEG" width="262" /></a></div>But that's not all, kiddos!<p><a href="https://galileopublishing.co.uk/?s=witting&post_type=post">Galileo Publishers</a> -- the same fine company that reprinted Clifford Witting's mysteries and will continue to do so over the next couple of years -- have secured the rights to the extremely hard to find mystery novels of Joan Cockin. Her quirky detective novel, <i><a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2020/02/ffb-villainy-at-vespers-joan-cockin.html">Villainy at Vespers</a>, </i>about the arcane art of brass rubbing, smuggling and bizarre murders was reviewed here at PSB back in February 2020. All three of Cockin's detective novels starring her policeman Inspector Cam are planned for release over a two and half year period. <i>Villainy at Vespers</i> will be the first. I believe it comes out in the fall or around Christmas. It will be followed by <i>Curiosity Killed the Cat </i>(actually the first of the three mysteries) and end with Cockin's highly elusive (dare I say rare?) and last mystery novel <i>Deadly Ernest.</i> I've never seen a copy of that third book in my lifetime and I'm eager to get my hands on a review copy.</p><p>And the <i>pièce de résistance</i>, <i>mes amies</i>?</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYoQbCgO8kCpzPDZrFqEp2N3_nrKFkcGtiH1LjCLqsrC1NgH_eLfbVFdIcVYibbkBSp3QxBsKJYXD1JE2M8E3kLWYppdwnUFxjMVexq4h45CwS4Y2J3rgH1x9LCTCpbdQxcdoOJ3rQRnLnCcNiEdGliu07kBzngum8h69N0w7AsNqywKrMA-2SFOS/s1088/Davis-12%20Midnight%20St.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1088" data-original-width="754" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoYoQbCgO8kCpzPDZrFqEp2N3_nrKFkcGtiH1LjCLqsrC1NgH_eLfbVFdIcVYibbkBSp3QxBsKJYXD1JE2M8E3kLWYppdwnUFxjMVexq4h45CwS4Y2J3rgH1x9LCTCpbdQxcdoOJ3rQRnLnCcNiEdGliu07kBzngum8h69N0w7AsNqywKrMA-2SFOS/w278-h400/Davis-12%20Midnight%20St.png" width="278" /></a></div>After years of thinking about creating my own imprint it's finally happening. If all goes well Pretty Sinister Books will burst forth into the indie press world with the complete works of forgotten American writer <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/search?q=lobaugh">Elma K. Lobaugh</a> in the coming months. I also have plans to reissue the nearly impossible to find detective novels by the highly original, utterly inventive, deliciously witty and thoroughly bizarre <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/search/label/Reginald%20Davis">Reginald Davis</a>. The line-up will then focus on dozens of under-appreciated and overlooked early 20th century <u><b>American</b></u> mystery writers whose books have languished in the Limbo of Out-of-Printdom for too long.<p></p><p>So much to look forward to as we head into the dog days of summer and autumn wends its brisk breezes and falling leaves our way.</p><p>Onward and upward!</p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-52361554552785515032022-06-22T23:06:00.002-05:002022-07-27T18:00:18.032-05:00She Never Reached the Top - Elma K. Lobaugh<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBMl7rS8z3y7XiyOu7BiLH_YBNyf1Q0lVDI1na8tgRBlKm3mXzZAmbsPs-VrHPfRgJd79LHNaAhjBwpGSZDqUt5vAf66LwFCxyy0kqjWJQt3r6J9qtO9p60ZI-oZKOnJTXj9hsTAtKk8QCHTR5m3Luz-G6x-ZMxjbFdGXWTHVIqBdfanPGhRD2BY00/s1936/Lobaugh-SNRtT.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1936" data-original-width="1622" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBMl7rS8z3y7XiyOu7BiLH_YBNyf1Q0lVDI1na8tgRBlKm3mXzZAmbsPs-VrHPfRgJd79LHNaAhjBwpGSZDqUt5vAf66LwFCxyy0kqjWJQt3r6J9qtO9p60ZI-oZKOnJTXj9hsTAtKk8QCHTR5m3Luz-G6x-ZMxjbFdGXWTHVIqBdfanPGhRD2BY00/w335-h400/Lobaugh-SNRtT.jpeg" width="335" /></a></div>Elma K. Lobaugh's first mystery <i>She Never Reached the Top</i> (1945) was lauded by the editorial team at Doubleday Doran's "Crime Club" as "unusually competent." But that, my friends, is an understatement like all true raves. Very few first time popular fiction writers bother with thematic elements in that much maligned genre known as the whodunnit. A murder mystery is often dismissed as a trifle of a book, a mere entertainment as Graham Greene used to categorize his action-filled yet wholly intellectual espionage thrillers. Lobaugh's story is imbued with an soupçon of superstition and other-worldly events that not only add a frisson of terror to the house party haunted by past violent deaths and literally haunted by a ghost but enhance her theme of random violence as an act of chance and fate. This is a thought-provoking murder mystery, and ultimately a bit of a transgressive novel in how Lobaugh treats her subject matter and how her "detectives" deal with the murder that only they have uncovered -- and then covered up.<p></p><p>Like many of Lobaugh's books this one is set in Indiana and like her later <i>I Am Afraid</i> (<a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2022/03/i-am-afraid-emma-lobaugh.html">reviewed here</a>) the story takes place in a house on the dune-lined shores of Lake Michigan. The house itself features prominently and its bizarre unfinished state pays homage to the many weird architectural features of houses in books by John Dickson Carr, Carolyn Wells and Hake Talbot. The house in <i>She Never Reached the Top</i>, as the title may imply, has some missing staircases and incomplete steps leading to the second floor. Years ago a woman fell to her death from one of these unfinished staircases while using the DIY solution, a ladder that had no guardrails on the unexposed side. <br /></p><p>Much of <i>She Never Reached the Top</i> seems mired in the past and the death of that unfortunate woman who fell from the ladder infects the house with doom. Especially as the legend of the ghost has attached to it the prophecy that only those "who have been disappointed in love" will be cursed to hear and see the specter. Jennie Simpson, our Eberhart inspired narrator, is such a disappointed lover. She reluctantly accepts an invitation to join the house party after a recent break-up with her boyfriend Peter. Actually not much is know about why she and Peter are no longer together. Did he die? Was he killed in the war? Did her just dump her for another woman? We never really find out. But thoughts of Peter and "what might have been" are never far from Jennie's mind. And Jennie does hear the sounds of the ghost running to the ladder and the eerie brief silence just before the inevitable thud. The reader just knows those noises are not a ghost at all but someone who has met the same fate as the woman from the past. But who could it have been?</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ0sxQMl68h_f2tV3SsR7o4DeWzb-wNEGc91XAZcz3Rju7ul97faAzRkqfJpP0owyMLLWwCV1nA--CEA09dUzmZs4Yf0QlZFlf9HCL2QjeUcHqydActfgVM7J9Z32cN9OmgSSMZSaRHxeOHWPdxhMYKbfnB_o4n5dqN4rlUy8o5vFssT1wWiQCXUf_/s645/floating%20staircase.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="462" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ0sxQMl68h_f2tV3SsR7o4DeWzb-wNEGc91XAZcz3Rju7ul97faAzRkqfJpP0owyMLLWwCV1nA--CEA09dUzmZs4Yf0QlZFlf9HCL2QjeUcHqydActfgVM7J9Z32cN9OmgSSMZSaRHxeOHWPdxhMYKbfnB_o4n5dqN4rlUy8o5vFssT1wWiQCXUf_/w286-h400/floating%20staircase.jpg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trendy floating staircases pose<br />similar possible fatal mishaps<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>When in the morning screams are heard and Pam, the youngest member of the house party, comes running into the breakfast room out of breath, in shock, and muttering, "I stepped on her! Oh my God, I stepped on her!" we have the proof of no ghost and a real corpse. It comes as no surprise that the troublesome wild woman, Margot Spendler, a free spirited, brazenly sexual woman who flirted with everyone including young Pam, was the victim. But was it only an accident? Bit by bit Jennie, Skip and Jim find evidence that Margot's death was a cleverly carried out murder. And each time they find evidence one of three either says nothing to the others or destroyys what they find. Will Margot's death be avenged? Some of the "detectives" think it better to keep it all quiet. The final chapter is satisfyingly thorough in explaining how the murder was accomplished. And there is a minor surprise in the identity of that killer. The final solution, however, is entirely unconventional in how Lobaugh metes out her version of Justice.<br /><p></p><p>I particularly enjoyed some of the occult sequences like when Jennie is goaded into reading palms. Lobaugh treats the scene at first like a parlor game, but lets us know that Jennie takes palmistry very seriously, almost as if she is a psychic. When Margot insists that Jennie look at her palm Jennie is terrified to discover that the flirtatious sexpot has no heart line. Furthermore, that her life line vanishes when it should extend to the wrist. Could there be any more doom-laden foreshadowing than that? There are other scenes tainted by superstition and many tales told about the ghost who first fell to her death that add to the fated atmosphere. Additionally, Lobaugh employs macabre folk songs (Jim is a professional piano player obsessed with melancholy tunes) and frequent recitations of lugubrious poetry to further play up her theme of lives pre-destined to violence.</p><p><i>She Never Reached the Top</i> is (of course) rather hard to find anywhere. Currently, there are only four copies for sale from online sellers. I never find Lobaugh's books in stores when I go book hunting. Adding to the difficulty of locating copies is that it was published only in the US and only in hardcover. Why it never received a paperback reprint (or even a cheap hardcover reprint from Triangle Books or Grosset & Dunlap) during Lobaugh's lifetime is another mystery that perhaps may never be solved. It definitely deserved another life outside of the Crime Club edition. I'd say that Elma K. Lobaugh's work is due for a revival. This is not only "unusually competent," it's rather a brilliant example of the mystery novel that defies categorization and one that dares to break several hallowed rules for a still young genre that too often was entirely formulaic.<br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-89425522742021051462022-06-11T10:33:00.000-05:002022-06-11T10:33:10.088-05:00FIRST BOOKS: Author in Distress - Cecil M. Wills<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmcb1Hnf-y9FscwFDXkcGQM82NHUi3IoMUVBKc4faHmQgr5Lune3cfvi8ZMYvPjyEhirr8jvjbjCqzNIVpzXLP8LgozRfq0slRAz01KTeW880Vym67hJMv8PO9mNpQ6dT1Cm6ETKGHDwTFUmkchlR3i4xsWyzo-RnSlp1oLUpvxizQ1xUWrxka5D3D/s3793/Wills-AID.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3793" data-original-width="1305" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmcb1Hnf-y9FscwFDXkcGQM82NHUi3IoMUVBKc4faHmQgr5Lune3cfvi8ZMYvPjyEhirr8jvjbjCqzNIVpzXLP8LgozRfq0slRAz01KTeW880Vym67hJMv8PO9mNpQ6dT1Cm6ETKGHDwTFUmkchlR3i4xsWyzo-RnSlp1oLUpvxizQ1xUWrxka5D3D/w138-h400/Wills-AID.jpg" width="138" /></a><p><u>THE STORY:</u> Novelist Gervoise Trevellyan is an <i>Author in Distress</i> (1934). And first time mystery writer Cecil Wills wastes no time in getting immediately to the story. On page one Trevellyan calls the police to report that he's shot a man who he believes is a burglar. The first problem Sgt. Geoffrey Boscobell --and the bigger problem for the novelist-- is that there are two bullets in the body. Trevelyan swears he fired only once. Trevellyan claims the man broke in and fired at him. The writer then shot the burglar who was apparently breaking into the safe in the library. Doubly puzzling is that only one bullet casing is found in the library. And where is the bullet mark from the victim's gun? Things only get more complicated as Sgt. Boscobell and the other policemen further investigate this supposed act of self-defense.</p><p><u>THE CHARACTERS:</u> Geoffrey Boscobell makes for a whip smart and attentive detective. He rides a motorcycle to get around the various villages in his investigation. Neat touch for 1935. When the novel is focussed on detection this policeman is one of the best of the Golden Age. And when the novel turns into a thriller he's as heroic and full of derring-do as any dashing matinee idol found in the cinematic cliffhangers of 1930s movie palaces.<br /></p>
<p> Among the suspects are Myra, Trevellyan's considerably younger wife. She has a fascinating interrogation scene where she tells the story of her past life in Monaco which reads like an E. Phillips Oppenheim novel in miniature. Gambling, con artists, the decadent life of the rich and indulgent...and an accidental shooting that ends to death and a cover-up. It's all there. I'm guessing Wills read his fair share of Oppenheim. This section is a neat homage and not altogether gratuitous. Myra's past and the characters mentioned in her story play a large part in the later unfolding of the intricate plot. Myra has a huge secret that leads to a blackmail scheme Boscobell uncovers. Did her husband get involved and try to protect her?<br /></p>
<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3SqOZKy-gyGC20D-TYiJltxyLX2yCXC3bpPojC-g-Jw9Rp5uqEmn54hiUzxnOYnz0pal3W1onuUShzRQooc5pe1bA6OwgkAwRvBGxadxbfVFi8yJ4-e8LHYQQ9aM3APkhuMr-vMp5BFqC4tIBhxiCUpmx6SZIS3HTulUg5xDaXRJ2NzUnNKTEFf9/s2587/Wills-AID%20title.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2587" data-original-width="1182" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3SqOZKy-gyGC20D-TYiJltxyLX2yCXC3bpPojC-g-Jw9Rp5uqEmn54hiUzxnOYnz0pal3W1onuUShzRQooc5pe1bA6OwgkAwRvBGxadxbfVFi8yJ4-e8LHYQQ9aM3APkhuMr-vMp5BFqC4tIBhxiCUpmx6SZIS3HTulUg5xDaXRJ2NzUnNKTEFf9/w183-h400/Wills-AID%20title.jpg" width="183" /></a></div>Another suspect is the antique glass collector Lawton Holmes, a shady and cruel man with secrets in his past and a roving eye for the ladies. Mrs. Thomas, the requisite gossip, offers up the dirt on Holmes and his theft of a rare glass curio -- The Ravenscroft Goblet. And here I thought was another detective novel homage. This time to the prolific J. S. Fletcher whose books of the 1920s and early 1930s were filled with jewel and antique thieves sporting titles just like the object Holmes stole. In fact two of Fletcher's books are titled <i>Ravensdene Court</i> and<i> The Ravenswood Mystery,</i> not to mention all his detective novels about objets d'art like<i> The Kang-He Vase, The Borgia Cabinet, The Malachite Jar, </i>and<i> The Carrismore Ruby</i>. Definitely another tribute, in my opinion. I thought the theft of the Ravenscroft Goblet would be the crux of the mystery, but was way off the mark.<br /><p></p><p>One of the best of the supporting characters is Boscobell's girlfriend Audrey, his most trusted confidante. She becomes his Watson and is present at the scene when they visit Mrs. Thomas. Boscobell and Audrey spend many a chapter trading theories and bouncing ideas off each other. They discuss a variety of possible situations to explain the evidence as in the case of the missing bullet and where it might be found. Audrey goes looking for it, in fact, with out telling her policeman paramour. Also they talk about the footprint in tar found a outside the scene of the crime which Boscobell realizes almost immediately is utterly faked.<br /></p>
<p><u>INNOVATIONS:</u> For a first time detective novel Wills shows a deft hand at incredibly intricate plotting and clever clueing making use of familiar detective novel tropes like the burned bits of paper, secret messages, missing bullets, and footprints at the scene of the crime, and even an initialed handkerchief - perhaps the hoariest of all hackneyed devices, as Carolyn Wells might put it. I also liked the more subtle homages to detective novel conventions like Oglethorpe, Trevellyan's valet and butler, a kind of Bunter character who back in WWI was Trevellyan's batman when both were sappers, soldiers who dug and fought in the trenches. There is a surprise witness at the very long inquest section which makes for some fairly exciting reading and allows Wills to add yet one more intriguing development in an ever increasingly complex murder case that at times seems too baffling for its own good. Can a detective novel be complex for complexity's sake? <i>Author in Distress </i>may be the template for such a mystery novel. As complicated as the story becomes I didn't care. I was marveling, not complaining, at the labyrinthine story telling, the layering of past and present, the double identities and masquerades the deeper I got into the story.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigmLCVejroextsOT3Uw5to24MCPws-UW4UwTLwgvuHg1ERiWXP84ay1BKmhvnld9uibnTDzuWbPKJkhFYZBNKWLmqulRO3mIMEjJCjYxuRBCmD51UuDYr5UOSDvroZs9vCgvJCBCEqRICvdimT-5CCrxZyRGascNiohm7KP0p4_UhOvvSqXOfLy72p/s2853/Wills-AID-%20map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1962" data-original-width="2853" height="440" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigmLCVejroextsOT3Uw5to24MCPws-UW4UwTLwgvuHg1ERiWXP84ay1BKmhvnld9uibnTDzuWbPKJkhFYZBNKWLmqulRO3mIMEjJCjYxuRBCmD51UuDYr5UOSDvroZs9vCgvJCBCEqRICvdimT-5CCrxZyRGascNiohm7KP0p4_UhOvvSqXOfLy72p/w640-h440/Wills-AID-%20map.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nifty map of crime scene combined with floor plan of house. Click to enlarge!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Unfortunately, it all falls apart in the final third when Wills abandons his finely engineered detective novel and transforms the book in a cliche-ridden adventure thriller. Audrey is kidnapped and imprisoned in a tower accessible only by two ladders, a daring rescue involving near fatal perils, the garrulous villain confesses everything on his deathbed. My notes include this brief rant: "Loads of Edgar Wallace claptrap. Ugh!" Blackmail and an old bank robbery turn up in the eleventh hour and serve as the outrageous motive for the various crimes and murders. It all seemed so manufactured and random in the summing up and made fro an anticlimactic finale.</p><p>But prior to the high speed action-filled, but utterly familiar, final chapters the book is fascinating and engaging for fans of the traditional puzzle-filled detective novel.</p><p><u>QUOTES:</u> I only wrote down one, but it's rather resonant for these days:</p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">"The American, like most of his countryman, carried a gun." </span><br /></p>
<p><u></u></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><u><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM03goykb-7-GlBBveNSGHfpzP--Sv1pB9BawbEeM16GCVlfLybspC1d2tQlZMsHcy-cWsO7Ic0GNwJJ4wGlCZKT7cpA5YTz-PYfKsQunoOHUJANy-q0HlMAUiWPkWZhUCEhUVuNM-YapN9RzG5xbaa9ygdvpmGPZCW9JvX-0cz-Lp_eTHmVnm0p9X/s984/Cecil%20Wills%20autograph.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="984" data-original-width="962" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM03goykb-7-GlBBveNSGHfpzP--Sv1pB9BawbEeM16GCVlfLybspC1d2tQlZMsHcy-cWsO7Ic0GNwJJ4wGlCZKT7cpA5YTz-PYfKsQunoOHUJANy-q0HlMAUiWPkWZhUCEhUVuNM-YapN9RzG5xbaa9ygdvpmGPZCW9JvX-0cz-Lp_eTHmVnm0p9X/s320/Cecil%20Wills%20autograph.png" width="313" /></a></u></div><u>THE AUTHOR:</u> Cecil M. Wills (1891-1966) had a fairly lengthy career as a detective novel and thriller writer from 1935 to 1961. Can't find much about his life online, but his bibliography is well documented on various crime fiction sites. This is my first reading of his books having only discovered him after seeing his name mentioned in a passing remark in the excellent mystery novel <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2021/04/ffb-at-sign-of-clove-hoof-zoe-johnson.html"><i>At the Sign of the Clove and Hoof</i></a>. Wills' early books of the 1930s featuring Geoffrey Boscobell and Audrey are rather scarce, sorry to report. There are a handful copies out and (not too surprisingly) several very cheap editions of a French translated edition of <i>The Chamois Murder</i>. The easier to find Wills mystery novels are his titles from the 1950s. For several reviews of these later boosk featuring a completely different series detective see the Puzzle Doctor's posts at <a href="https://classicmystery.blog/?s=cecil+wills">In Search of the Classic Mystery Novel.</a><p></p><p>Despite its flawed finale chapters I enjoyed <i>Author in Distress</i>. It's a book I think ought to be reprinted. In fact, the entire Boscobell series holds promise based on this sole reading experince. Enterprising and daring publishers take note. Cecil M Wills deserves a second life, I'd say.</p><p><u><b>Sgt. Geoffrey Boscobell Detective Novels</b></u></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrh6DrOq9-vcRvlZKR-ChVjq1XLcMinLmAlVtSJU4YlE8BV9T-J61wh9VbiIAbNYUKUjnvDZ1GNUKZyVMUmPecKwfbVVh4Llx4TuAAsigKba4ItpbbAcG4SU1IK27W1EZZm_zjhCY93AaExIMl3jYFKxe7av9QNzIXFNZGniSLMVrkY-bQ9znjUK7m/s626/Wills-OtNiQ.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="574" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrh6DrOq9-vcRvlZKR-ChVjq1XLcMinLmAlVtSJU4YlE8BV9T-J61wh9VbiIAbNYUKUjnvDZ1GNUKZyVMUmPecKwfbVVh4Llx4TuAAsigKba4ItpbbAcG4SU1IK27W1EZZm_zjhCY93AaExIMl3jYFKxe7av9QNzIXFNZGniSLMVrkY-bQ9znjUK7m/s320/Wills-OtNiQ.png" width="293" /></a></i></div><i>Author in Distress</i> (1934)<i><br />Death at the Pelican</i> (1934)<br /><i>Death Treads</i> (1935)<br /><i>Then Came the Police</i> (1935)<br /><i>The Chamois Murder</i> (1935)<br /><i>Fatal Accident</i> (1936)<br /><i>Defeat of a Detective</i> (1936)<br /><i>On the Night in Question</i> (1937)<br /><i>A Body in the Dawn</i> (1938)<br /><i>The Case of the Calabar Bean</i> (1939)<br /><i>*The Case of the R.E. Pipe</i> (1940)<br /><i>*The Clue of the Lost Hour </i>(1949)<br /><i>*The Clue of the Golden Ear-Ring</i> (1950)<p></p><p>*also with Roger Ellerdine who becomes the lead<br />detective in the remaining Wills detective novels<br /></p><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-90175046229976432242022-04-09T18:49:00.002-05:002022-04-22T10:07:46.740-05:00ALTERNATIVE CLASSICS: Along Came a Spider - Elizabeth Davis<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc4YNDLhb7MggQNQwCkr0UxM9P-HsnvCenwcIuks26ynelO1Mow7k-r3Qstek3aHh1MqKFsEmY3B0O__DvQh0OmAYAScFwenSkiMQLJ6OckP8UuerQwcjRc9y1KzuD45rwDh5F0b77CSQHFD3fDoQKA-ZXCkWJWrT6TNzsZ7dFjxpx2jGXZEmHFz58/s800/Davis-Along%20Came%20a%20Spider.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="505" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc4YNDLhb7MggQNQwCkr0UxM9P-HsnvCenwcIuks26ynelO1Mow7k-r3Qstek3aHh1MqKFsEmY3B0O__DvQh0OmAYAScFwenSkiMQLJ6OckP8UuerQwcjRc9y1KzuD45rwDh5F0b77CSQHFD3fDoQKA-ZXCkWJWrT6TNzsZ7dFjxpx2jGXZEmHFz58/w253-h400/Davis-Along%20Came%20a%20Spider.png" width="253" /></a></div>I'm putting the sinister back into the Pretty Sinister Books blog this month as I tear through a pile of old horror novels and detective novels with supernatural and occult content. Today's post also touches on the 1970s mania of the demon child in popular horror fiction. I've read so much of this kind of book over the 11 years this blog has been around that I've finally decided to create yet another tag to label them all. If this is a subgenre in horror and mystery fiction that lights your chandelier you can click on the "Demon Child" tag at the end of this post and read more about them, perhaps find some obscure books dealing with killer children and demon-like adolescents.<p></p><p>Last month I had a mystery novel that incorporated a demon child motif -- well, more of a precursor to the Bad Seed trope -- in <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2022/03/i-am-afraid-emma-lobaugh.html"><i>I Am Afraid</i> (1948).</a> Today we go from the sublime and restrained domestic horror of that book to the outrageously ridiculous, horror bordering on parody in <i>Along Came a Spider</i> (1970).</p><p>Stephen, the nasty tween in <i>I Am Afraid</i> was 11 years old. The bad kiddo in Elizabeth Davis' novel (apparently her sophomore effort in horror fiction under a second pseudonym) is remarkably only 9 years old. I found it incredibly hard to believe Anne Bishop, the evil little girl, was this young because for much of the book she comes across as a 45 year-old worldly wise woman. But as you get to the the over-the-top finale our narrator posits her theory of why little Anne is such an adept sorceress. She's basically the Wolfgang Mozart of black magic.</p><p>However, I'm getting way ahead of myself...</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGAQ-9k11XJ0GH__NbNGgE295SVEHpfjp-4UINjgOAo3b2OpGsLPBVxslqCyB90um2MgHdpGpvlPMf9Ygf7yCogAn_gZhkCzRUCLZwmvjkgn2xr73CQksDtRkldURNrZxAXZNCzFlp66oenqdVKh5QlKKHKHQQbkFdGAdmLkwm6tylDTxH_3Sm4xu/s998/Davis-Suffer%20Witch%20to%20Die.png" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="604" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGAQ-9k11XJ0GH__NbNGgE295SVEHpfjp-4UINjgOAo3b2OpGsLPBVxslqCyB90um2MgHdpGpvlPMf9Ygf7yCogAn_gZhkCzRUCLZwmvjkgn2xr73CQksDtRkldURNrZxAXZNCzFlp66oenqdVKh5QlKKHKHQQbkFdGAdmLkwm6tylDTxH_3Sm4xu/w242-h400/Davis-Suffer%20Witch%20to%20Die.png" width="242" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Davis's 2nd occult novel deals<br />with witchcraft and reincarnation<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Inspired no doubt by <i>Rosemary's Baby</i> (1967) which almost single-handedly launched this new subgenre about children spawned from Satan and children possessed by demons, <i>Along Came a Spider</i> has been overshadowed by more well known (and better written) books employing this popular and by now hackneyed horror motif. We have a wiseacre of a narrator in Eve Mercer whose colloquial voice is filled with idiomatic speech, sarcastic asides and a quasi stream-of-conscious narrative style that works against the suspense when Davis allows Eve to constantly interrupt her own thoughts. The narration is punctuated with dashes and ellipses as Eve trails off from one thought to the next like a distracted housewife running on a permanent caffeine high of extra strength Maxwell House.<br /><p></p><p>The plot? The Bishop family have moved in across the street and Eve fears her daughter Laurie has fallen under the diabolic influence of creepy little Anne, a primly dressed, too polite, too aloof miniature adult in the guise of a 9 year old girl. Eve's first high-strung reaction to her daughter's new found friend comes when she learns that Anne is adept at painting. Laurie describes these paintings as nightmarish images of brutish monsters and other weird things she's never seen before. They're so gory they look like they might have been painted with blood. But Anne dismisses what was intended as an exaggeration by telling Laurie you can't paint well with blood. "It clots," says Anne's voice of experience, "and won't go on too smoothly."</p><p>The absurdity has entered the story early, my friends. This is only page 40!</p><p>There is an element of a detective novel in the story when Eve learns that the Bishop family knew a friend of a friend of a friend. And so she hunts down some phone numbers and makes a couple of phone calls. She reaches the boyfriend of a girl who died in an automobile wreck recently. The young man tells Eve that his ex-girlfriend lived in the same building as the Bishops and ran into little Ann one day at the trash chute in the hallway. Anne was startled as she tried to shove something down the chute and quickly ran off leaving the object stuck. The now dead girlfriend went to see what Anne was trying to get rid of and found a mouse crucified on a handmade wooden cross.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx1gAAF2laQ3ogdSTI69QcjnoxDQ2iiTTjK5qZCr4yW5rNlXMam5MZt4e9i9G6FMD0FsXFs6GGPF02jU27pxZQc-GQ1rHoFj_pBJyM-5Ue7_7o03rkHlxrVrwetMMKwobahP9gfakx28czhxw5AYOAGNX3cDttuw0-gU5bBaNNRMZe3NW1xjhOI12S/s876/Let's%20summon%20demons.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="876" data-original-width="832" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx1gAAF2laQ3ogdSTI69QcjnoxDQ2iiTTjK5qZCr4yW5rNlXMam5MZt4e9i9G6FMD0FsXFs6GGPF02jU27pxZQc-GQ1rHoFj_pBJyM-5Ue7_7o03rkHlxrVrwetMMKwobahP9gfakx28czhxw5AYOAGNX3cDttuw0-gU5bBaNNRMZe3NW1xjhOI12S/s320/Let's%20summon%20demons.png" width="304" /></a></div>It only gets more insane from here on.<p></p><p>There are strange rituals that Anne teaches her playmates. A girl dies in a cemetery but not before uttering a mysterious dying message. Laurie begins to act strangely. She has nightmares, disappears from her bedroom and can't be found late at night. Eve continues her detective work by consulting books on witchcraft and demonology and learns that Anne has been teaching Laurie and the other girls the ABCs of summoning demons and makes sure she is nowhere in sight when those rituals are being performed.<br /></p><p>Ultimately the book is self-defeating because Davis allows Eve's hysterical imagination to get the better of her too often. The narration grows increasingly hyperbolic and her frequent wisecracks undermine the horror making it all seem like a black comedy. Eve is also susceptible to superstition and imagines that her husband Jim who recently died has come back from the dead. He sends her warnings in her dreams, she hears his voice intoning "Move away! Take Laurie with you!" Unfortunately as soon as that ghostly element is introduced Davis never follows through. Jim's ghost literally fades away as soon as he almost appears never to be talked of again. Davis seems to be suggesting that Eve might be headed for a nervous breakdown. Are we to think that Anne is innocent of all that Eve imagines her to be doing? The preposterous finale extinguishes that doubt as quickly as a sorcerer blowing out a scented black candle. But you must discover that on your own...if you dare.<br /></p><p>You can read for yourself how this madness unfolds and whether or not Eve is a nut job or Anne is the spawn of a demon by buying one of the many copies available for sale out there in this vast shopping mall we call the internet. I turned up about a baker's dozen in both English and foreign language translations. It's an odd book, entertaining to be sure in an Alternative Classic way, but never really frightening at all.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9jyAqf-DtqYJIfhgvRbpBkKiwGUTWt29tN5ZVdaUfC5MXaEfjOitktowXSXVrEMtq3YuxNpn8NunbtFKLcZzv6o6DV8qdqcL9O1qCtbnNns952habddFqSsg1FRugE8VdiiJMxaxCqWSd6uxatUQXUmopbUb0Fz0vZNXb6k3GjxxZjcYmkzXwHRqe/s1218/Revenge!%20movie%20ad.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1218" data-original-width="840" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9jyAqf-DtqYJIfhgvRbpBkKiwGUTWt29tN5ZVdaUfC5MXaEfjOitktowXSXVrEMtq3YuxNpn8NunbtFKLcZzv6o6DV8qdqcL9O1qCtbnNns952habddFqSsg1FRugE8VdiiJMxaxCqWSd6uxatUQXUmopbUb0Fz0vZNXb6k3GjxxZjcYmkzXwHRqe/s320/Revenge!%20movie%20ad.png" width="221" /></a></div>Elizabeth Davis was born Lou Ellen Davis in Pennsylvania and raised her family in Connecticut. Her fascination with witchcraft and psychic phenomena led to two other novels of crime and occult: <i>Suffer a Witch to Die </i>(1970) and <i>There Was an Old Woman</i> (1971). The 1971 novel was adapted for TV in 1972 and re-titled <b>Revenge! </b> The made-for-TV movie has a script by Joseph Stefano (best known for his screen adaptation of <i>Psycho</i>) and stars Shelley Winters (in one of the many badass biddy roles she succumbed to in middle age) and Bradford Dillman.<p></p><p>I will be reviewing both <i>There Was an Old Woman </i>and the movie <b>Revenge!</b> later this spring. Stay tuned! <br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-12275730977113808972022-03-30T00:00:00.005-05:002022-03-31T15:57:10.864-05:00FIRST BOOKS: The Seven Sisters - Jean Lilly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcYUUcrAjHuZqhIEi9CYWysknwytID32q1O8s43W3cjacw6Y28yJc6wZRuD-kv7MPANejvTECIU2YwYbjmikcgsFPRGD52EOnMoPZbCzgq7-P7ILMPtAmOQbRlWwdCJDgN0n_p_Cz3mMTJBRNVYYQSlXpqm2o0DjxNT3OOnsyhIqPn1_39sE5PPh7/s350/Lilly-Seven%20Sisters.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="316" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcYUUcrAjHuZqhIEi9CYWysknwytID32q1O8s43W3cjacw6Y28yJc6wZRuD-kv7MPANejvTECIU2YwYbjmikcgsFPRGD52EOnMoPZbCzgq7-P7ILMPtAmOQbRlWwdCJDgN0n_p_Cz3mMTJBRNVYYQSlXpqm2o0DjxNT3OOnsyhIqPn1_39sE5PPh7/w361-h400/Lilly-Seven%20Sisters.jpg" width="361" /></a></div>Mr. Spencer, a gemologist, visits newlywed Nancy and Stanley Kent at the famed Prentice mansion. He informs them that he is doing research on the renowned Prentice Dowry Chain, an elaborate jeweled necklace made up of seven star sapphires known as the Seven Sisters. Much to Mr. Spencer’s dismay Nancy, Mrs. Prentice’s granddaughter, has never heard of the Prentice Dowry Chain and knows nothing about its existence among the many valuables in the house. Stanley, however, a clever young man if there ever was one, leads Spencer to a portrait of one of the Prentice ancestors. It’s Nancy’s great grandmother who is wearing an elaborate necklace and Spencer stands in awe of the painting sighing almost inaudibly, “The Seven Sisters!” Spencer allows the family to try and locate the necklace and he promises to return at a later date hopefully to examine the jewels in person. Thus begins a strange and macabre adventure involving buried secrets, stolen jewels, and murder.
<p>
I was utterly unprepared for what awaited me in the pages of <i>The Seven Sisters</i> (1928), the first mystery novel of Jean Lilly. The rambling narrative meanders through Stanley and Nancy’s courtship, an overview of Prentice genealogy, the setting up of the house, the relegation of the dozens of ancestral portraits that covers the walls, etc. etc. and so forth. This meandering all seemed to be going nowhere for the first 75 pages. Finally when Spencer shows up and delivers his two page monologue on the mineral composition of gemstones, the phenomenon of asterism, the difference between faceted gem cutting and the <i>en cabochon</i> method I started to see this would be yet another mystery novel about a missing item of jewelry and the crimes that follow in the wake of the jewels’ recovery. Little did I know that the story would take a bizarre detour into the land of pulpish gore and macabre thrills.</p>
<p>
</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: both; float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSmz731QBjmDrXTbS-ahaQCRe0RjpGXQ2bWFBMyBXfXAfqtLrk6nUqaK-80phK_xOdwxZ9JfYnM8MZkqK2i1HcFVWXZ58VsdBtZgwQgMWCN_wEUzDJ8HTLAhiudqtIOid1ncBbmEc_G_s6YoNO4kW7iFtB3EP__lwLOaqelhxC4xxKcGWKwZgwjEHo/s512/star%20sapphire.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 2 em; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="456" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSmz731QBjmDrXTbS-ahaQCRe0RjpGXQ2bWFBMyBXfXAfqtLrk6nUqaK-80phK_xOdwxZ9JfYnM8MZkqK2i1HcFVWXZ58VsdBtZgwQgMWCN_wEUzDJ8HTLAhiudqtIOid1ncBbmEc_G_s6YoNO4kW7iFtB3EP__lwLOaqelhxC4xxKcGWKwZgwjEHo/w178-h200/star%20sapphire.png" width="178" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A star saphhire displaying<br />the asterism effect<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Nancy’s grandmother Penelope, the only occupant in the Prentice home other than the handful of servants, refuses to talk about the Seven Sisters. A few days after Spencer showed up she dies of fright when a different strange man appears and confronts her and her gardener/handyman about the Prentice Dowry Chain. Just before Penelope dies she utters a fragmented message: “Under…oak...next…” Stephen takes the message to be a literal clue to the necklace’s hiding place, most likely beneath one of the oak trees that line the property. He spends one night digging and to his shock (and the reader’s) he uncovers some skeletal remains. Buried with the bones he finds an engraved pocket watch. Only a capital R is legible while the other two letters in the monogram have been worn away.<p></p>
<p>
Increasingly the story becomes like Harry Stephen Keeler webwork concoction. An apt analogy because this is a book from E. P. Dutton, publisher of Keeler’s books from 1927 through 1942. Along with disinterred skulls and skeletons and the engraved pocket watch we get anonymous letters, a mystery woman residing in Room 34 of a hotel on Andover Road, an acrobatic burglar, and another buried body!</p>
<p>
Surprisingly, with a small pile of buried corpses and a break-in at the Prentice home there’s not a single policeman in sight. Stephen in trying to protect the family name does call the coroner but tells him as little as he thinks the coroner needs to know. Stephen may be clever with his dying messages and handy with a shovel but he’s extremely foolish not to report the nuttiness going on at the Prentice property. His foolhardy decision to protect his wife’s family reputation leads to more death and violence. Coroner Bailey then takes matters into his own hands. He and Stephen turn sleuth and ultimately, after various wild adventures and more crime, the greedy culprits are tracked down, the necklace is recovered and the secret of the skeleton buried beneath the oak tree is explained.</p>
<p>
Jean Lilly is as mysterious as the goings on in this debut novel. I know more about her husband and daughter than I do about her. <b> Jean McCoy Lilly</b> (1886-1961) was born in Michigan and died in Pennsylvania. She married Scott Barrett Lilly, well known professor of engineering at Swathmore College, for whom an endowed scholarship is still named. Her daughter Mary, born in 1910, graduated from Swathmore in 1933, studied painting at the Philadelphia Art institute and taught art there. Later she spent much of her life as an art teacher at Charlestown Elementary School in Malvern, PA.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx6mXxZczatG8HoSSlrl1ffhIunq22BWddY3k7zXjbgBhnxRhE79p2YfNYJ8hz0FkpqnKm29RvBFo7Xu1tr-MZKmUTaBONMucP5Phw5mwGn-mYGd3lQftQIY0h1AaFXR1hKu09cCraN1yXva0toBIB76emhChZSirXPvLWqNK5KXOY3mh3tzN1MhDr/s716/Lilly-Death%20Thumbs%20a%20%20Ride-1st.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="716" data-original-width="632" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx6mXxZczatG8HoSSlrl1ffhIunq22BWddY3k7zXjbgBhnxRhE79p2YfNYJ8hz0FkpqnKm29RvBFo7Xu1tr-MZKmUTaBONMucP5Phw5mwGn-mYGd3lQftQIY0h1AaFXR1hKu09cCraN1yXva0toBIB76emhChZSirXPvLWqNK5KXOY3mh3tzN1MhDr/w353-h400/Lilly-Death%20Thumbs%20a%20%20Ride-1st.png" width="353" /></a></div>Lilly is the author of four mystery novels with the last, <i>Death Thumbs a Ride</i> (1940), the easiest to find and the only other Lilly book that has been written about on the internet. While her first crime novel has no series character another Lilly mystery novel I own but have yet to read -- <i>Death in B Minor</i> (1934) -- features Bruce Perkins, her lawyer-detective who appeared in the last three books.<p></p>
<p><i>
The Seven Sisters</i> exists only in one US edition and is the scarcest of all the Lilly mystery novels. It was not reprinted in either hardcover or paperback during the author’s lifetime. While I enjoyed this oddity I wouldn’t break my neck (or bankbook) tracking down a copy. Despite its strange turn of macabre events it’s typical of 1920s American mysteries: not really a traditional detective novel but rather an adventure thriller overloaded with preposterous coincidences. Ultimately it all ends in a sadly predictable finale. With its old-fashioned prose style, unusual narrative tricks and creaky plotting it all reminded me of a book that might have been written in the late Victorian or early Edwardian era by either Richard Marsh or Mary Elizabeth Braddon.
</p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-90016364937217251312022-03-27T14:33:00.009-05:002022-06-22T23:08:06.082-05:00I Am Afraid - Elma K. Lobaugh<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjr-dDhn_Q4PTrG6CYa7BJjofC7owF-keNA92mApWQqZqfztbxIDsXbi0Ooj4o-aDMVt5YSpr-vJ1qnYuOHaOcWVEvw9sw_33QIgdBj-lD4sqjkR37gEf7VCq7-0e0O5kqw2EB80mfmGtlpfw6a7cGJCHnmFmZ7HlpwzCHmSJQGj4a6X73B4j_T2yAR=s700" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="470" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjr-dDhn_Q4PTrG6CYa7BJjofC7owF-keNA92mApWQqZqfztbxIDsXbi0Ooj4o-aDMVt5YSpr-vJ1qnYuOHaOcWVEvw9sw_33QIgdBj-lD4sqjkR37gEf7VCq7-0e0O5kqw2EB80mfmGtlpfw6a7cGJCHnmFmZ7HlpwzCHmSJQGj4a6X73B4j_T2yAR=w269-h400" width="269" /></a></div><p><u>THE STORY:</u> Dorothy marries divorced Edward, a non-fiction writer. All is well until Edward's children are sent to live with him. Caroline, Edward's ex-wife, has decided to move to California to start life anew and feels the children will only burden her. If her new life doesn't pan out and she returns to Chicago she'll ask for the children to move back with her. And so for Dorothy her romantic idyll in Edward's custom built home by the dune-lined shores Lake Michicgan in northern Indian comes to an abrupt end. The children are odd to say the least. And Stephen, Edward's 11 year-old son, is positively creepy. Life becomes increasingly tension-filled and soon Dorothy feels she is being persecuted by the children, abandoned by her husband, and imagines she is slowly losing her mind.<u> </u></p><p><u>THE CHARACTERS:</u> From the opening paragraph we get the sense that Dorothy, our narrator, is a fragile woman easily intimidated and a victim of a runaway imagination. The dust jacket illustration (see image at left) shows several surreal looking eyes that are meant to suggest the eyes in a portrait hanging on her bedroom wall. As Dorothy's persecution (real or imagined we are never really sure until the final chapter) continues the eyes in the portrait take on a sinister aspect and represent to her the eyes of everyone in the house -- her indifferent, apparently unloving, husband and the two judgmental children, especially the elder Stephen. <i>I Am Afraid</i> (1948) is a reverse fairy tale, a nightmare story for adults with Dorothy cast in the role of a victimized stepmother seemingly at the mercy of sinister stepchildren. </p><p>When Stephen first appears the reader knows there is something not quite right about the boy. He talks and behaves like a middle-aged man. He treats his stepmother not as a parent, but as someone to pity. Stephen has a patronizing manner about him. In his daily visits to Dorothy's bedroom with her morning or afternoon cup of tea he seems ingratiating and deferential, but Dorothy begins to imagine the boy has an ulterior motive. He doesn't act like a son or even a child when he's around her. She calls him strange and weird. She wonders if the tea should be drunk at all.<br /></p><p>It doesn't help that Edward dismisses all of Dorothy's ideas when she attempts to discuss the boy's disturbing behavior. The boy is not athletic, disdains anything remotely boyish and shuns any type of play, preferring to read books. He's already suspect in the eyes of 1940s America. Imagine any American boy not wanting to play baseball or football and turn into a bookworm! Dorothy becomes increasingly frightened by the children, but especially Stephen. It's not just the bookishness that gives her pause. And it's only a mater of time before the strangeness gives way to malicious and dangerous acts.</p><p>There may no other suspense novel as intensely domestic as <i>I Am Afraid</i>. The small cast of characters helps build a claustrophobic atmosphere resulting in a stifling melodrama. Dorothy has no real friends outside of her immediate family and spends much of her energy trying to win over her stepchildren or trying to entice her husband back into her bedroom. The sex has gone from their marriage now that the children have arrived. Adding insult to injury Edward has retreated to his writer's den claiming a need for no distractions while he tries to hammer out his articles under the pressure of fast approaching deadlines.</p><p>The only other character worth mentioning is the neighbor Frank Henderson, a gym teacher and football coach at the elementary school. Dorothy goes for strolls along the shores of Lake Michigan and chances upon Frank walking his dog. They have a casual conversation that feels so alive and adult to Dorothy she finds a way to get out and go walking nearly every evening just in order to meet up with the coach and his dog. Little does she realize that her walks and utterly harmless friendship is under close observation.</p><p><u></u></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLhQFeTgNIdIjQp-W04DCEI2bDNDtzm0KR_afxy7AGgfUsaAuGnxkFHc6v_ZlkGTHlx3ndebo4_hk72L0Nz7VgZknQt2CuAlrOA_x9GwjyE-8DhXwqFHJpNJ2_I4vqC0GPs0rU06Z8F6__fOTlfmC6erR7O1NX2C_gF-r7FkBzy9wgD8T7Iu8fEscr/s1082/Lobaugh-I%20Am%20Afraid-FR.JPEG" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1082" data-original-width="713" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLhQFeTgNIdIjQp-W04DCEI2bDNDtzm0KR_afxy7AGgfUsaAuGnxkFHc6v_ZlkGTHlx3ndebo4_hk72L0Nz7VgZknQt2CuAlrOA_x9GwjyE-8DhXwqFHJpNJ2_I4vqC0GPs0rU06Z8F6__fOTlfmC6erR7O1NX2C_gF-r7FkBzy9wgD8T7Iu8fEscr/w264-h400/Lobaugh-I%20Am%20Afraid-FR.JPEG" width="264" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">French translation of <i>I Am Afraid</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><u>SETTING:</u> While the house may be an oppressive and loveless place filled with portraits of staring eyes and oddball children too much in charge of the adults the locale is contrasted with the outside setting. Edward's home is situated in the dune lined shores of Northern Indiana. Lake Michigan and the dunes are favorite locations in Lobaugh's crime novels. For Dorothy the lake, the beaches, and the dunes surrounding the house serve as an idyllic escape from the sterile and claustrophobic home that increasingly seems like a prison.<p></p><p><u>INNOVATIONS:</u> With a cast of only three adults, two children and one dog it seems almost as if it was meant to be a script for either theater or the movie screen. It's confined settings also make it prime material for a theatrical adaptation.</p><p>I think Dorothy's pre-occupation with her dwindling sex life was pretty modern for a book published in 1948. Clearly her life with Edward was a happy and passionate one prior to the arrival of the oddball kids, Emily and Stephen. Her private life with her husband all but disappears once the children are in the household. I was impressed with Lobaugh's insistence on making Dorothy a woman with desire and whose life requires sexual expression. Her descent into depression and isolation has a lot to do with her being ignored by her husband as much as it is about the weird and later thoroughly malicious behavior of her creepy stepson. There aren't many crime novels that address this aspect of marriages gone bad and the consequences of one isolated partners mental health.<br /></p><p><u>INFLUENCES:</u> The real thrill of this suspense novel doesn't occur until the final third of the book and involves lies, deception and spiteful violence. I can't help but think that Lobaugh was familiar with Lillian Hellman's <i>The Children's Hour</i>, a play first produced on Broadway in 1935 with its first of two movie adaptions in 1936. It became a standard choice of melodrama in colleges and community theaters by the mid 1940s. The ugly rumor spread by Stephen that serves as the climax of the book seems so entirely inspired by the malicious talk of Mary Tilford in Hellmann's play that it can't be mere coincidence. When Stephen is forced to confess to his lies in Lobaugh's novel the boy's fury and anger is like a madman's hysteria. His character foreshadows all the "Bad Seed" kids and demonic children that would flood the pages of popular fiction throughout the 1960s and 70s. In this regard Lobaugh's book prophesies an entire crime and horror novel subgenre decades before it became a cliché.<br /></p><p></p><p><u>QUOTES:</u> <span style="font-family: courier;">Their poise was more unnerving than if they'd come in the house screaming.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">He kissed me good night, a sweet gentle kiss befitting my supposedly nervous, wrought-up state. I could have slapped him. He might have kissed me differently--as a woman, as a lover, as a wife.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">I began to think that it was too bad we were civilized. If I were to slap him, if he were to hit me at least that would be honest. At least that would be more sincere than this quiet politeness that was a living lie. </span></p><p>(In reference to the painting that causes so much of Dorothy's paranoid anxiety) .<span style="font-family: courier;">..one of these days I'm going to throw something at that smirking bitch on the wall. I can pretend she's Stephen.</span><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9GIYMR1uA0rw_v-IW6Y8gWf7mtb4FXLnMHC_VrOQ6SkUrkBQ-avGYOVdj7istWE3rfd-FabMyxXLDQMVMuCZ8SQtw0tF9AIFY_3CWgdqwOOiW4xkHiFguLBfoSGkXWiVsrkmhhzEAq02XffyyGZoUm95Tm-7AXA2gpIRKE1mRb12DT6DEZB5Q4gnk=s500" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="500" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9GIYMR1uA0rw_v-IW6Y8gWf7mtb4FXLnMHC_VrOQ6SkUrkBQ-avGYOVdj7istWE3rfd-FabMyxXLDQMVMuCZ8SQtw0tF9AIFY_3CWgdqwOOiW4xkHiFguLBfoSGkXWiVsrkmhhzEAq02XffyyGZoUm95Tm-7AXA2gpIRKE1mRb12DT6DEZB5Q4gnk=s320" width="320" /></a><u>AUTHOR:</u> Elma Klinedorf Lobaugh (1907-1997) was born and raised in Indiana where she lived most of her life. In 1928 she graduated with honors from University of Chicago. Among her first jobs was labor analyst for the Indiana State Employment Service. She wrote three crime novels under her own name then disappeared from the Crime Club roster for four years. In 1946 her melodramatic novel <i>The Devil Is Loneliness</i> was published by the second tier house A. A. Wyn. Described as a "steel mill soap opera" by one newspaper reviewer it was her only mainstream novel. When she resurfaced in the 1950s as a mystery writer she used the pen name "Kenneth Lowe" and was once again published by Doubleday's Crime Club. The Lowe crime novels are all set in Indiana and at least one (<i>Haze of Evil</i>) deals with murder and crime in the steel industry. Some of them are set in a fictional town called Merrittville which is most likely modeled on the real Indiana city of Merrillville. At least two of her novels were translated into French: <i> I Am Afraid</i> became <i>A devenir folle</i> (literally "to become crazy) and <i>L'Envoûtements</i> (Bewitchments) was the translated version of her sophomore mystery, <i>Shadows in Succession</i>, a mystery involving voodoo in New Orleans.</p><p><b><u></u></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><u><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8CdD7uWbItGaSy1cccQe5wpBUxQ-Yk8EEq2l5ex86TopcDu39xhZget_6eADoeLWnlER9PPVuKBrHPIKaEl26Pp5x3yCh41zVkfsvvgeY6yRfC7zy9h5mk-qQRAgO9m6Z1NWAfdG11flXsDA59ewDwTl0wy-ktgosepNbGyj0XRh2gA1ZJAevU-Gc=s734" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="734" data-original-width="590" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi8CdD7uWbItGaSy1cccQe5wpBUxQ-Yk8EEq2l5ex86TopcDu39xhZget_6eADoeLWnlER9PPVuKBrHPIKaEl26Pp5x3yCh41zVkfsvvgeY6yRfC7zy9h5mk-qQRAgO9m6Z1NWAfdG11flXsDA59ewDwTl0wy-ktgosepNbGyj0XRh2gA1ZJAevU-Gc=s320" width="257" /></a></u></b></div><b><u>Elma K. Lobaugh Crime Novels</u></b><br /><a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2022/06/she-never-reached-top-elma-k-lobaugh.html"><i>She Never Reached the Top</i> (1945)</a><br /><i>Shadows of Succession</i> (1946)<br /><i>I Am Afraid</i> (1949)<p></p><p><br /></p><p><u><b>As Kenneth Lowe</b></u><br /><i>Haze of Evil</i> (1953)<br /><i>No Tears for Shirley Minton</i> (1955)<br /><i>The Catalyst</i> (1958)<br /></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-42401409117023380092022-03-25T14:30:00.006-05:002022-03-25T14:32:35.536-05:00Winners of The Lake of the Dead giveaway<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZu8L8mvtrDLqIcypojFPdRH46_EegK0C1mB8lVQJKMfflaKJ_pDV6cJK85YjQXFQt0qCluF9IdF9R_8vyWYDS7RSZg47OoN0AD5BcZGUKoBS9Eb2amowybusa2mkfRS5zqEKUpg8UgrAnZ4fAKdoV8-KH-lIr6ubhipket_XCtrg_17pyYRAKCTha/s495/LotD%20snip.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="495" data-original-width="332" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZu8L8mvtrDLqIcypojFPdRH46_EegK0C1mB8lVQJKMfflaKJ_pDV6cJK85YjQXFQt0qCluF9IdF9R_8vyWYDS7RSZg47OoN0AD5BcZGUKoBS9Eb2amowybusa2mkfRS5zqEKUpg8UgrAnZ4fAKdoV8-KH-lIr6ubhipket_XCtrg_17pyYRAKCTha/s320/LotD%20snip.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>I put all the names in a hat so to speak. Using a random number generator I found on the internet I got two numbers. I matched up those numbers with where your comment fell in the order of comments left on the post. So the lucky winners of a copy of <i>The Lake of the Dead</i> are:<p></p><p>1. Joel</p><p>2. Book Glutton</p><p>I was thankful that the numbers matched up to people who had signed heir comment or had an ID attached. Didn't have to deal with all those Anonymous comments and having to ID you by the book or writer you mentioned. Anyway, if you are Joel or Book Glutton please email me with your mailing address and I will ship your book to you.</p><p>Click <a href="mailto:bibliophile61@gmail.com?Subject=BOOK GIVEAWAY">here to email me.</a> The Subject field should fill in automatically.</p><p>If you live in Canada, USA or UK you will be receiving your book from Amazon. Anywhere else I'll be shipping it to you via the regular US mail at my expense.</p><p>Thanks for all your comments and special thanks to James Jenkins for linking my review on the Valancourt Books Twitter page. I'm sure a lot of you otherwise would never have read the review.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-83000227575291747352022-03-19T11:33:00.004-05:002022-04-05T08:28:09.122-05:00The Lake of the Dead - André Bjerke (and another giveaway)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAorOkffi0ZdvYNNUhCwy4wIcmee_ukEx2eqFNejbN1fQCNUyo8lybMgD4o0S8xaEmFKRZ_4TQtWTJSYOitDTfHkmYX_DoWZ7dDpUkUkeLcx4WlJ-3deBMqph79RVoxyuLPpzXKo5uWAUfePZgaGnZI-_-0ixFP6OD08YEBA0BYGVYiCTfIOyCthCe=s1054" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1054" data-original-width="690" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAorOkffi0ZdvYNNUhCwy4wIcmee_ukEx2eqFNejbN1fQCNUyo8lybMgD4o0S8xaEmFKRZ_4TQtWTJSYOitDTfHkmYX_DoWZ7dDpUkUkeLcx4WlJ-3deBMqph79RVoxyuLPpzXKo5uWAUfePZgaGnZI-_-0ixFP6OD08YEBA0BYGVYiCTfIOyCthCe=w261-h400" width="261" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: courier;">"Let's summarize: A lake that sucks people into it, an invisible phantom that screams and leaves footprints, a crazed double murderer on the loose, wandering around desperately in the dark of night. You might indeed say this is a fitting atmosphere for a psychoanalyst."</span></p><p style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: courier;"><span style="font-family: times;">-- Gabriel Mørk in <i>The Lake of the Dead</i> (1942)</span> </span><br /></p><p></p>
<p>Is there anyone out there who knows of the existence of Bernhard Borge, the Norwegian author of four eerie detective novels tinged with horror and supernatural elements? Unless you grew up and read Norwegian popular fiction I doubt it. Borge is the pseudonym of André Bjerke, a well regarded poet who dabbled in crime and detective fiction during the 1940s. According to James Jenkins' extremely informative intro in this new English edition of the second Borge mystery novel I learned that it was Bjerke who is behind the Borge alter ego. Jenkins, publisher and founder of the excellent small press <a href="https://www.valancourtbooks.com/">Valancourt Books</a>, also serves as translator for the first English edition of what has been deemed a classic in horror and crime fiction by Norwegain readers. <i>The Lake of the Dead</i> (1942), or <i>De dødes tjern</i> as Norwegians know it, consistently appears on "Best of..." lists as the best remembered classic Norwegian mystery novel. Astonishingly, at one time it outranked even the work of modern Norwegian bestselling crime writer Jo Nesbó.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiukv3u-j7jcWVxUWIqlTykZVLSem88tPgbFHoOCaii2OrU1xNxNKQTzxxgBYQH3xgkps2Av8KIQNn5HAtUZ68JMffq7Ztv_ojSuq8BxUwfHLirTjrRcbVtSPZal0EhV3q10aSQKFdzIqj-O60dJGNbkeU5NxEnk2N8e65Fe5pB457EOD8WHblpzKR5=s1781" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1781" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiukv3u-j7jcWVxUWIqlTykZVLSem88tPgbFHoOCaii2OrU1xNxNKQTzxxgBYQH3xgkps2Av8KIQNn5HAtUZ68JMffq7Ztv_ojSuq8BxUwfHLirTjrRcbVtSPZal0EhV3q10aSQKFdzIqj-O60dJGNbkeU5NxEnk2N8e65Fe5pB457EOD8WHblpzKR5=w270-h400" width="270" /></a></div>Let me add a clarifying bit to that statement about Norwegian readers only knowing about <i>The Lake of the Dead</i>. The book was so popular that it has been filmed twice. It's first <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0051569/">cinematic adaptation in 1958 </a>with a screenplay by Bjerke (and featuring the writer in the role of Gabriel Mørk) is still available online from <a href="https://www.sinistercinema.com/product.asp?specific=33147">Sinister Cinema in a DVD</a> with English subtitles. If any English speaker does know about the story it is probably because they have seen the movie rather actually reading the original book.<p></p>
<p>But to the book itself!</p>
<p>Anyone who craves the kind of detective novel that incorporates impossibility and apparently supernatural aspects will get more than they ever bargained for in <i>The Lake of the Dead</i>. It easily stands beside the mystery novels of John Dickson Carr, Hake Talbot and Eric Harding's <i>Pray for the Dawn</i> for its eerie atmosphere and use of grisly legends. Each time Bjerke describes the lake and its surrounding forest the book amps up the horror and the macabre. All senses are employed as the reader is transported to the Norwegian haunted lake with the stench of rotting marshes, the croaking of frogs "as if calling from the abyss" and the miasma of fog that seems interminably wrapped around the perimeter of its waters. Paranoia and terror infect the inhabitants of the cabin by the lake recalling the fear of the guests of U. N. Owen in <i>And Then There Were None</i> as they try to prevent more of their number becoming victims of the ghost that lures people to their doom in the lake's haunted waters.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEmAQHJEfVaXvQQ75akRkGFxzYB6EfFqLNfx3yRNZjolxIrNJu2fgx_KZBXRDiuvaT3dVy5TShm209ko-1QTgmX4ImWgUpg62JqRhmxddJAZA_wJFEms2QlpdIBsuFDe4DW6BNf110XOJccRrMzjWXTo2ClhRLLF46Jq6Aufs7rsmNWgdYBc2Ho2sW=s475" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="293" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEmAQHJEfVaXvQQ75akRkGFxzYB6EfFqLNfx3yRNZjolxIrNJu2fgx_KZBXRDiuvaT3dVy5TShm209ko-1QTgmX4ImWgUpg62JqRhmxddJAZA_wJFEms2QlpdIBsuFDe4DW6BNf110XOJccRrMzjWXTo2ClhRLLF46Jq6Aufs7rsmNWgdYBc2Ho2sW=w246-h400" width="246" /></a></div>And there's more to draw in fans of Golden Age detective novels here. Like the Philo Vance series Bjerke creates a narrator character along the lines of S. S. Van Dine. Bernard Borge is not only the author of his detective novels he is the narrator. Borge is paired up with psychoanalyst Kai Bugge who serves as the real detective of the books in which he appears. According to Jenkins' intro Bugge serves as detective in three of the four Bernhard Borge mystery novels.<p></p><p>Borge opens <i>The Lake of the Dead </i>with a bemoaning monologue in which he tells a group of friends that he is suffering from writer's block and is about to give up on writing altogether. We learn that Borge is a mystery novelist and his friends dare him to tackle a real mystery and challenge his failing imagination. His lawyer pal tells a story about a haunted lake where ages ago a crazed man grabbed an ax and chopped up his cheating wife and her handsome male lover, dumped their bodies in the water, then committed suicide by drowning himself. One of the friends, Bjørn Werner, has recently rented the shunned cabin by the shores of that very lake. The friends decide to visit for a weekend and hope that Borge will be inspired by the haunted locale to write his next mystery novel. When they arrive Bjørn is nowhere to be found, nor is his pet dog he took with him. They discover footprints leading to the water but none that return to the cabin. It appears he was lured to the lake and disappeared. Or did the ghost of that mad murderer drag Bjørn down into the lake’s rumored bottomless depths?</p>
<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfde_oL_ljLhLSHlRBj0q2tsJ0JPuQQjA6vBlK_hO-HZIyruwxLABQ9knoPQQtPyun8HWq-xWaYtOlWNVhNc7rhRmXJmRpQGiZxPgNdoCkiWRQj67AtQSXjUPdQ35rcTIBHXozmxNwDWWmfBBgQGZWpYxFtJDd4SdhZ9JLJkZgfOwxo2IjUSK1IbJf=s557" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="557" data-original-width="388" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfde_oL_ljLhLSHlRBj0q2tsJ0JPuQQjA6vBlK_hO-HZIyruwxLABQ9knoPQQtPyun8HWq-xWaYtOlWNVhNc7rhRmXJmRpQGiZxPgNdoCkiWRQj67AtQSXjUPdQ35rcTIBHXozmxNwDWWmfBBgQGZWpYxFtJDd4SdhZ9JLJkZgfOwxo2IjUSK1IbJf=w279-h400" width="279" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3rd Borge novel, English title:<br /><i>Dead Men Come Ashore</i> (1947)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>The novel features all sorts of intriguing horror set pieces including a sleepwalking damsel in distress, one attempt on another person's life, a near impossible break-in at the cabin, and --of course-- one genuine murder. Borge and Bugge are like GAD versions of Mulder and Scully, with Borge slowly but surely taken in by the occult lectures he hears from Gabriel Mørk while Bugge is the resident skeptic examining each supposedly ghostly manifestation and other-worldly event with the eyes of a rational scientist. But he's also a psychoanalyst and an avowed Freudian. He's not going to completely abandon his training and career mindset. Part of the most crucial evidence is found in handwritten notes Borge finds detailing one of Bugge's client's dreams. Together they also find Bjørn Werner's diary, the work of what appears to be a raving madman which also includes some bizarre dreams written down. Kai Bugge reminds Bernhard Borge that one of the greatest tools of any psychoanalyst is dream interpretation and he will use his Freudian training to glean from these dreams a more thorough understanding of Werner's troubled soul. Dream interpretation becomes key to helping solve the mysteries, not as bizarrely as Moris Klaw does in Sax Rohmer's <i>Dream Detective </i>mystery stories, but rather as a psychoanalyst approaches his work with patients. <p></p>
<p>There are other ingeniously planted clues, much of it related to psychology and psychoanalytic observations. In this regard <i>The Lake of the Dead</i> is reminiscent of the mystery novels of Helen McCloy whose psychologist detective Basil Willing also acted as a police consultant by using his career training to help him understand the psyches of the suspects and the victim. Similarly, readers might recall the Freudian ramblings of Mrs. Bradley in the mystery novels of Gladys Mitchell. I get a sense from Kai Bugge's character and his intense theorizing that Bjerke understood psychoanalytic methods much more in depth than Mitchell's often specious psychology when it cropped up in the Mrs. Bradley books.</p>
<p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgomcFEwhrq0LMrd4eocIjzvR9n5_sheaq40p9N1-QQS5JPcYWMItHzNynj-Fxp64HV6WHVlrgQJVUDh28c92zYfBPsUJzlA9h_woUiPL2oKs5Nk4L1u2HmlEcBbM52UYxc5PhvtK_mwrITlQEtPGM0KZTvajUovMg_YTdTOp0Jh9SNc4juT9RvIjxD=s1103" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1103" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgomcFEwhrq0LMrd4eocIjzvR9n5_sheaq40p9N1-QQS5JPcYWMItHzNynj-Fxp64HV6WHVlrgQJVUDh28c92zYfBPsUJzlA9h_woUiPL2oKs5Nk4L1u2HmlEcBbM52UYxc5PhvtK_mwrITlQEtPGM0KZTvajUovMg_YTdTOp0Jh9SNc4juT9RvIjxD=s320" width="218" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Borge's 4th & final novel<br />English title: <i>Hidden Pattern </i>(1950)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>This excellent mystery novel packs a wallop in the final pages. I want to bring up one final analogy but will have to be circumspect in doing so. Those who come away either gasping in awe or at least raising their eyebrows when reading the penultimate revelatory chapter ought to know that while it may appear to be unique and brand new it is not wholly original on Bjerke's part. The bizarre murder method and motive were both first introduced in a minor classic of English language detective fiction back in the Victorian era.<p></p><p>Whether you are keen on Carr-like supernatural elements, the battle between the true believer in other-worldly events and the rational scientist, or enjoy a detective novel that plumbs the depths of psychological mysteries that lead to crime <i>The Lake of the Dead</i> has a lot to offer. Jenkins is to be commended on his discovery and for making at least this one Borge mystery available to English language readers. I certainly hope we have not seen the last of Bernhard Borge and the fascinating psychological detective Kai Bugge.</p><p>The web page for <a href="https://www.valancourtbooks.com/the-lake-of-the-dead-1942.html">Valancourt Books edition of <i>The Lake of the Dead</i></a> will lead you to various other web pages where can purchase a copy. Or you can enter my giveaway by leaving comment below. That's right I'm giving away two copies of this new edition! Just tell me anything about a forgotten foreign language mystery or horror novel that you think we all ought to know about - translated into English or not. No geographic restrictions this time because I'm having Amazon ship the book to you! [Why didn't I think of that before?] So enter away and leave me loads of comments every one of you out there. This new edition is really is a cause for celebration.</p>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">------------------------------<P>
</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8787364257168822822.post-6652590708919305062022-03-12T12:13:00.000-06:002022-03-12T12:13:46.762-06:00Death of an Editor - Vernon Loder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjuRXNtZh4CftdxqTUCULlQ0eVVjLVq0i8ZZzcp4N_62twpbLLh8BAtFSAD5lPfIki-tZWnFFPYBPg1ZWufHgqchgdrm0yDP0wA-DnkKm-pnCzInuOZ5gcrEbtbdJJMiPkVCojJgFoWYQMcO9uT0N75Xz2Hb_AvDZu_eK5a8BWmAFpyqFyhLs9hEmP6=s734" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="734" data-original-width="658" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjuRXNtZh4CftdxqTUCULlQ0eVVjLVq0i8ZZzcp4N_62twpbLLh8BAtFSAD5lPfIki-tZWnFFPYBPg1ZWufHgqchgdrm0yDP0wA-DnkKm-pnCzInuOZ5gcrEbtbdJJMiPkVCojJgFoWYQMcO9uT0N75Xz2Hb_AvDZu_eK5a8BWmAFpyqFyhLs9hEmP6=w359-h400" width="359" /></a></div><p>The newspaper crowd has descended upon Marsh House but not without an invitation. The impromptu house party consists of a gossip columnist, an advertising man, two reporters from France, and a serial fiction writer. All of them are waiting to speak with Hay Smith, editor of <i>The Daily Record</i>, one of the papers owned by publisher Sir James Sitheby. The guests are kept busy at recreations devised by Miss Roe Gay, a professional hostess tending to the various guests while Sir James is up in London. But no one has a chance to see Hay Smith. Right after a game of miniature golf the group disperses and someone finds Smith dead in the study. He’s been shot in the head and facing a window left open that looks out on the nearby seashore. Inspector Brews investigates this <i>Death of an Editor </i>(1931) and soon the murder reveals a complex web of questionable journalistic ethics and possible espionage. </p><p> Though I was disappointed that this mystery novel lacked the surreal qualities and outrageous touches that I thought were Loder's hallmarks this was a competently constructed and engaging police procedural. Loder probably belongs in the camp of the "humdrum" detective novelists because his detective novels are very much about puzzling out the how and the why of the murder moreso than about exploring character or creating atmosphere. The characters here are a bit flat and tend to fall into familiar stock roles of popular fiction.</p><p>Interestingly, Brews is the first of only two police detectives Loder created who appeared in more than one novel. This is his second outing after his debut in <i>The Essex Murders</i> (1930), reviewed here under the <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/2013/07/in-brief-death-pool-vernon-loder.html">US title <i>The Death Pool</i></a>. While there may not be any blow guns and poison darts or murder victims who fall into their own death trap I found the complexity in this one above par for the usual Loder mystery novel.</p><p>First off, it's a quasi impossible crime. All evidence seems to make it appear that Smith was the victim of a sniper's rifle fired from Sir James' yacht that was moored a few hundred yards form the open window of the study. Brews finds signs that a rifle was fired from an open porthole and a strange wire mesh target was still in the porthole leading one to believe that the shooter used the intersecting wires as a sight. when Smith's head appeared in the center intersection the shooter fired at his victim. But then why leave the wire mesh behind? It seems not only sloppy on the murderer's part but might be manufactured evidence. Are the police supposed to believe someone outside the house is the killer?</p><p>There is a lot made of everyone's alibis. Some of the guests were together seemingly ruling them out while others were engaged in solitary habits. The shooting took place almost directly after a malfunctioning car backfired several times. No one could tell which were the gunshots and which sounds same from the ailing car. One of the most intriguing bits of evidence is the corners of several pieces of paper found still clutched in Smith's right hand. Was something torn from his hand just before he died? And if so, was it the killer who took the papers? Or was someone in the study after the murder and took the papers from Smith when he was already dead? </p><p>These several mysteries will all be explained with one of the most surprising elements being the actual method and manner of Smith's murder. The documents in question are a sort of Hitchcockian McGuffin. Loder never really needed to explain what they were (though he does vaguely allude to state secrets and British occupation in India); they are merely an object "of great importance" to most of the characters in order to further the plot. When the Home Office gets involved and wants to retrieve those missing documents an element of espionage enters the story. Impostors, multiple chase sequences, and even Brews taking on the disguise of a gamekeeper further complicate the story as he tries to suss out the killer, find the missing weapon and attempt to recover those vitally important missing documents. <i>Death of an Editor</i> morphs from a rather cut-and-dried quasi-impossible crime mystery to an engaging adventure thriller with Brews hot on the trail of a ruthless and devious French woman who holds the key to all the various mysteries.<br /></p><p>
</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqCDgDy-XdT5VpPj-RXFYqaA88CmPFzhWluo0ET4pshmuLfIcnX7NQbH9R_fIUwmmhb1KTbsHuTrrag9AbK9vIAMA48fDpf3-GMw8KzygylKtgxd4-lWHjSRtZNz5B7d8UFNxNJAU460VwPT7Gxxe8Zyd2ZAtS1jolw5YEJVW64uQs5-0xHDPu2ePX=s650" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="650" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqCDgDy-XdT5VpPj-RXFYqaA88CmPFzhWluo0ET4pshmuLfIcnX7NQbH9R_fIUwmmhb1KTbsHuTrrag9AbK9vIAMA48fDpf3-GMw8KzygylKtgxd4-lWHjSRtZNz5B7d8UFNxNJAU460VwPT7Gxxe8Zyd2ZAtS1jolw5YEJVW64uQs5-0xHDPu2ePX=w400-h248" width="400" /></a></div>THINGS I LEARNED: The world of bore guns or what Loder calls collector’s guns was revealed to me in the pages of <i>Death of an Editor.</i> Eventually the murder weapon is discovered to be a .410 bore rifle. He describes a weapon that was marketed to young men and teens in the advertising pages of boy’s magazines. I did some a-Googling and found several photos of these guns along with a couple of pages from period weapon catalogs. In the March 2022 issue of <i>The Vintage Gun Journal</i> I found an article titled “The Poacher’s Companion” all about these unique folding rifles. The article said this was the rifle of choice for poachers because they could easily fold up the gun and shove it out of sight into the deep pockets of their ulster or hunting jacket. Loder mentions that they were often called collector’s guns because there were used by people who collected bird specimens. Apparently the shot fired would kill the bird without obliterating the delicate body the collector would then take to a taxidermist.<p></p>
<p>
<u>QUOTES:</u> <span style="font-family: courier;">“Look at the fever for all kinds of quack psychology in America. Every detective novel is full of it, and, what is worse for the police there, the country is infested with alienists, and experts full of mouth-filling words, who can prove that any criminal is not a criminal, but only ten years old.”</span></p><span style="font-family: courier;">
</span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMT8YAzVQYEgXeK3WFLPckvCRFUwoZTr1AFVSiZ3a09sik3H2nh661xe-F9c-FmqGVi-dU4GCsqmCp5sL7RFGdJc2WPs8KqDVUZOgD8dJ0iHTJhHQdlYS4u4Zjw4gaINWgytZ1jRGBZHv_1v3lCea-V-5cQnvyygLew1ail9KrRIZOl01z5sIN6YQd=s716" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="716" data-original-width="642" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgMT8YAzVQYEgXeK3WFLPckvCRFUwoZTr1AFVSiZ3a09sik3H2nh661xe-F9c-FmqGVi-dU4GCsqmCp5sL7RFGdJc2WPs8KqDVUZOgD8dJ0iHTJhHQdlYS4u4Zjw4gaINWgytZ1jRGBZHv_1v3lCea-V-5cQnvyygLew1ail9KrRIZOl01z5sIN6YQd=s320" width="287" /></a></div><span style="font-family: courier;">
“There is a tendency...among newspapers to forget the purveying of news, and attempt the purveying of politics.”</span><p></p><span style="font-family: courier;">
</span><p><span style="font-family: courier;">
Psychoanalysts to the contrary, [Brews] did not believe that egotists killed people. Narcissism is a full-time job.</span></p><span style="font-family: courier;">
</span><p><span style="font-family: courier;">
“I have the advantage and the disadvantage of being a provincial, even a country detective -- that is to say, I am expected to do the work of a wise man while being regarded as an inevitable fool.”<br />“Which is the most advantageous, Mr. Brews?” she asked laughing.<br />“Being regarded as an ass,” he replied promptly.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: courier;">
Hard work and team work form the basis of police investigations; with a superstructure of observation and inquiry rather than lucky intuition. But, when the ends of the threads do begin to show, there is no one better at synthesis than your experienced detective. He knots up much faster than he unravels....</span></p>
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</P>This post is by <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354">J. F. Norris</A> and appears in its original form at Pretty Sinister Books. Please visit <a href="https://prettysinister.blogspot.com/">Pretty Sinister Books</A> for more insightful and bantering commentary on forgotten but worthwhile books and movies. All written content is © 2011-2021 by John Norris.</div>J F Norrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06473487417479127354noreply@blogger.com6