Old age, and the perceptions thereof, is endlessly fascinating to me. I don’t really know why and have no intention of going on the importance of recognising the experience of the individual rather than lumping an entire socio-economic group together — that’s how wars get started, after all — or maundering on about mortality. Instead, following on from Agatha Christie’s reflections in the unexpectedly-enjoyable A Caribbean Mystery, I wanted to use Eilís Dillon’s debut novel, Death at Crane’s Court, as a counter-point because it takes an alternative view that makes the comparison worthwhile. Hopefully.
The first key difference is that Dillon herself was a mere stripling of 33 when she published this novel set in a nursing-home-cum-hotel, whereas Christie wrote her own exploration of old age and infirmity at a contemporaneous 74. Inevitably this leads to a few key differences — Christie’s book is about old age in many ways whereas Dillon’s just uses it as a backdrop, for one — but chiefly what struck me is how much Dillon’s old folk feel like background characters just to add a bit of whimsy and charm and oddity to proceedings, and how consequently they don’t really come out of this very well.
When Professor Daly tells the newly-arrived George Arrow — banished to Crane’s Court with a dicky heart at age 36 and facing the prospect of living out his days bereft of excitement or strain — that “We’re all a trifle odd here,” it follows the witty passage in which George has “dropped into the self-seeking invalid’s routine of Crane’s Court”. He begins to obsess over the temperature of his room, the position of his chair, the exact time of day at which he does certain things, the way the maid should lay the fire in his room…in short, he is becoming “selfish, particular, and critical of what was done for him”. And yet the further I got through the book, the less witty this passage seemed. It becomes increasingly apparent that Dillon has no sympathy for these people, with only Daly himself — who “could never take himself seriously enough to behave like one of them” — escaping her miasma of mockery. Well, except that ‘miasma’ implies a light touch, and Dillon is anything but light in her dismissal.
A key example: early on, following the fatal stabbing of John Burden, the unpopular and boorish new manager of the Court, it is revealed that one of the characters is a convicted murderer. Sensation. When this character is eventually identified, the justification of the murder is given thus: the man considers himself something of a gourmet, and when his maid served him watery sprouts he shot her. Ho-ho-ho, I guess? Later on, someone buys him a cookery book so that he can try out some cooking in the Court’s kitchen (it will be obvious to anyone who has ever read, say, a single book that this character is not the murderer we’re looking for) and he is pathetically grateful. This represents pretty much the entirety of that character’s involvement and arc herein.
Now, yes, there is a way in which this could be played for broad and tasteless laughs. Tom Sharpe made an entire career out of this…I guess “comedy” is the closest word for it. But Dillon isn’t writing that kind of book. Indeed, her own comedy is very good at times and falls decidedly on the gentler side of ribbing, like the phone call (from Daly, of course, because he’s such a good sport) to the Guards upon the discovery of the body:
“What’s that? Of course I haven’t touched anything!… Well, how could I telephone you without handling the telephone?… Yes, it’s here in the room… Come to think of it, I needn’t have called you at all. Next time I’ll let you find your own body…”
Glad you enjoyed this one then! I can see where you are coming from, but when I was reading it I didn’t find the old people specifically demonised in contrast to the younger characters. I read it as though there were bad points in both age groups, so there wasn’t one victimised group and one group of victimisers. Made me think very slightly of the old BBC comedy Waiting for God. But on the other hand I understand where you are coming from as I had a similar problem with If the Shroud Fits – where one aspect of the novel really irked me and got more irksome as the book progressed.
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It’s weird, innit? I see the young folk getting a far easier ride — even Eleanor Keane, after manipulating two men into marrying her and acting as a catalyst for all sorts of unrest, is given a surprisingly gentle let-off on account of her father and her personal situation. And George and his heart — gah! Don’t get me started!
But, yeah, it probably is just a case of one factor being blown out of proportion in my mind. Certainly is an uncommon enough book that few people will have read and so doesn’t warrant a 1,200 word screed. One of these days I shall hit populist pay-dirt, I tell you! One of these days…
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Well I think in the world of Dillon’s crime books not many people get punished. It is pretty much just the killer. Leniency is shown towards the others who have acted wrongfully, but this can be the case in comic crime novels. Eleanor is morally culpable and in the hands of another author maybe she would have suffered more greatly, but I think what happens here is more realistic. Her need to marry and have a comfortable lifestyle, away from her parents, is still present in her at the end of the book, but perhaps being a survivalist type, she has chosen a different type of guy to latch on to. Whether she will be happy with her choice we can only conjecture. I think in Dillon’s novels the judging of characters is left to the reader and with varying success I think Dillon’s characters aren’t presented in black or white terms. Though I appreciate with Eleanor more narrative space cold have been given to her parent problem as it was maybe a little skated over in the text.
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Since I just bought this one (in New York, baby!), I’m not even going to read this post or comments till I’m done. So there!
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Awesome, well Kate and I have contrasting views. My feeling is you’ll side with her. THIS IS WAR!! Dammit, sorry, sorry, I keep doing that.
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haha I didn’t realise we were fighting over possession of Brad’s reading preferences.
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I’ve never thought Eilís Dillon was an especially good writer, and Brad’s observations have nailed down why. It’s the same reason I don’t like Ellery Queen’s “There Was An Old Woman”, Ngaio Marsh’s “Surfeit of Lampreys”, the second half of Edmund Crispin’s oeuvre and most of Pamela Branch’s — the best way to present crazy people in a humorous way is by letting the reader see that the crazy people think they are leading everyday lives, not by inviting the reader to laugh along with you at their overwrought antics. I like the way that Alice Tilton (Phoebe Atwood Taylor) and Craig Rice did it a lot better.
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Sorry, that was stupid. I said “Brad” and meant “JJ”. (facepalm) The gentleman who wrote the article upon which I’m commenting (sigh).
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Whew! I’ve just finished Chapter One of this, so I haven’t commented yet, Noah!
Oh, but I will . . . 🙂
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Hey, if that’s what it takes for someone to call me a gentleman then I’m all for this kind of mistake…
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Interesting, I don’t think I’ll be rushing out to buy any Eilís Dillon though.
Regarding Irish names I know that Eoin is pronounced like Owen and Eilís (also Eilish) is the Irish equivalent of Elizabeth, but I’m not sure about the pronunciation.
Looking through my reader’s diary I notice that I’ve read three mysteries this year set in retirement homes all dealing with old age.
“Carte Vermeil” by Boileau-Narcejac (I’m not sure whether this has been translated into English)
“The Spinster’s Secret” by Anthony Gilbert
“The Dying of the Light” by Michael Dibdin
I found the latter two quite sad, almost heart-breaking in their depiction of old people’s helplessness and the sadistic cynicism and reckless greed with which they very treated by the nursing staff and younger relatives. Two rather downbeat, depressing reads but perhaps interesting, if one does care for this subject matter.
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Appreciate the info on books of his ilk, many thanks, though I find Dibdin to be a curiously deficient and unengaging author. Need to get to some Boileau-Narcejac; I know Pushkin Vertigo translated a couple, so perhaps I’ll start with them…once I’ve cleared some TBR space, of course. Now I know how Sisyphus felt…
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