Every so often someone will email me to let me know of books that may pique my interest: Kate at CrossExaminingCrime has brought several Freeman Wills Croftses to my attention, and Ben of The Green Capsule has also informed me of some bargains, including today’s title that, it’s fair to say, we’re still not sure who was most excited to discover existed.
Ben has himself recently commented on how tricky it can be trying to nail down Brand’s oeuvre, and this seems to me another case in point. It’s well-known enough to be listed on her Wikipedia page, but — as with Young Robin Brand, Detective (1947) by Freeman Wills Crofts — doesn’t perhaps fit in well enough with our contemporary perception of Brand and her works to warrant a reprint. Like the other YAGAD titles I’ve read this month, you also can’t really see it resonating with the yoof of today; hell, I work with the age group this was probably intended for, and I don’t think I’d recommend it to even the most book-hungry of them. Yes, it is most assuredly of its time, and feels very dated, but in many ways this is what we GAD fans come for and so much of the following won’t deter you one bit.
So, first the physical book itself. The inside flap notes the following:
The success of Green for Danger, the film and radio versions of which were amongst the most popular programmes with children, according to the recent Ministry of Education report, not only assures this new title (the author’s first juvenile) of a wide welcome and entitles the author to be considered amongst our leading writers for children as well as for adults, but confirms the author’s own view, ‘the too many people write specially for boys and girls: this is a book about boys and girls, but it is written just as though it were for grown-up people’.
[Editor’s note — that’s me, JJ — italics are not added]
As with Robin Brand, which preceded this by a brace of years, there’s very much the feeling of making it evident to young ‘uns just how seriously this is being taken — not just any old crud for you, nothing but the finest authors flown in specially to treat this with the brow-furrowing seriousness it deserves. The rear flap, too, featuring a photo of the smiling Brand holding aloft her Siamese cat Willie-Davy and full of her recollections of childhood adventures in India (“I lived in a farm house, and leopards used to come down from the woods above us and steal the farm animals: and huge black monkeys used to come and rob the orchard … another time, I was in a swimming bath and there was a snake, curled up under the diving board! — nothing is worse than trying to swim away from a snake”). Is it a little twee? Yes. Does it bother me that it’s a little twee? Quite the reverse, I find it exceptionally charming.
This book, as with all these Tuesday titles except The Clue of the Phantom Car (1953) by Bruce Campbell from last week, is also illustrated and — bonus points — the illustrator credited with his work (his name is William Stobbs, FYI). The front of the book contains a contents page for the ten diagrams sprinkled throughout and the level of artistry is high and skilfully evokes the tone of most of the book. I shall, as before, use some of these diagrams throughout this post.
And so, to the contents.
This stands in stark contrast to the other YAGAD books featured this month in that Brand clearly does not wish to waste time setting up a securely comfortable existence for our hero to be cosseted within before the promised danger presents itself. That William Reddeven — young squire of Reddeven Hall, and scion of a family famous throughout the county — is a cosseted little Fauntleroy is established in time, but Brand instead starts us in media res with a trip over the moors in his family’s Rolls Royce and waits a mere six pages before she up-ends everything: William is cast out into the mist-strewn moor, defenceless, confused, and hopeless. It’s pretty bold stuff, and aided phenomenally by Brand’s superb use of lexicon:
But murder was not a pleasant subject for thought, all alone out here in the terrifying silence of the moor. The clip, clip, clip of his hard shoes on the surface of the road seemed like a little voice talking to him, saying one unintelligible word, over and over again, pleading with him, perhaps, or trying to tell him something, or — warning him. He gave a little uncontrollable shudder and moved onto the grassy verge of the road where his feet made no sound. Or at any rate a different sound…a softer sound, chiff, chiff, chiff. The unintelligible word was being whispered now. He did not know that he liked it any better than the clip, clip, clip.
William is no a likable character at first — “what a sissy he would feel, being friends with a girl” is the one consolation he has to cling to, an odd sentiment for “a book about boys and girls” — but it’s difficult not to feel the isolation and confusion that he whirls around in anent his situation. Here, we also get a glimpse of the background to his family life that has led to him being so protected, filled in with Brand’s customary aching sense of unspoken longing for peace amidst the tragedy the sweeps over lives without any cause or reason — a hint of a dead brother, never really understood, and the light this cats his parents in, sympathetic and pathetic both, Brand never really being one to make it too easy to really dislike anyone. It veers close to farce, but her lightness of touch steers it assuredly into a domestic tragedy of all manner of flavours. And in about two paragraphs, too. Goddamn, this woman can write.
By the end of the first chapter, and certainly by the end of the third, we are well aware of a pattern behind events that William will learn, and it’s as adroit a piece of plotting as these four YAGAD novels have yet contained. On one hand you could call it a convenience of the least believable magnitude, but then you remind yourself that it was designed like this by the people involved and…man, that’s clever.
Enjoy this feeling. It will not last.
Look. I hold nothing against this book because there’s virtually no detection — it’s clearly an adventure story from the off, full of prison breaks and sinister strangers holding violins, and people racing for a train and wondering if they’ve eluded their pursuers, and sinister adults who may or may not actually follow through on that sinisterly air…maybe appearances aren’t everything, maybe they are, time will tell. It is, in a way, simply a Hitchcock movie for younger readers — 60 pages in, I put down the book and advisedly made the note The 39 North-by-Northwest Steps?? — but it is not, in the manner of how we typically use the word to describe a narrative experience, good.
It is strung together by a ridiculous set of coincidences that delight the Hitchcockian in me — Roger Thornhill calling over a waiter and mistakenly being swept up as George Kaplan is one of the most gracefully brilliant things committed to film, fight me — and played out against a background of almost Lear-esque nonsense (Edward, not King) in the notes the criminal gang pass back and forth among their members (the key part of one message reads “This side the novel clue. Ignore claret but round two chartreuses together. Lees three cremes de menth. Fish night.”). William and the young gang member Patch bounce from experience to experience, encountering time after time the same three people: a sinister smiling youth, and two giants each carrying a violin case: one with a wooden leg and the other with a hook in place of his left hand. It is gloriously impossible to figure out what is happening, and every time the boys jump to a conclusion it happens to be correct — none of this bothers me; even the wholly unlikely transvestitism ploy is part of the loopiness that I do not buy for a second but would love more of in my fiction.
If you loved The Devil Drives, here’s the junior version.
But it does also does not feel like a book that has a plot. The scenes do not join in any meaningful way, leaving it feeling like an exercise in Erle Stanley Gardner’s plot wheels that simply goes to show why one must be as talented as Erle Stanley Gardner to work with plot wheels. When you get to the end — and you’ll do so quickly, no doubt, it rattles past — you see where it was all apparently heading and it’s just…another thing that happens. There’s a showdown of sorts, and some semi-clever use of contemporary detail to explain an aspect of the neat little bow tied to the top of this eldritch-shaped package…but none of it feels as if it has any relevance to anything that has gone before. It’s en ending because the characters reach a place where the thing that was going to happen happened and so the author stops writing. This is part of my difficulty in recommending it: Brand doesn’t seem to know what she was trying to write.
9 thoughts on “#365: Minor Felonies – Welcome to Danger, a.k.a. Danger Unlimited (1949) by Christianna Brand”
Wow! It’s 5am here, and as usual I pulled out my iPad to check my email and see who posted . . . and I have experienced in five minutes such a myriad of emotions: JJ announces a mystery by Brand that I have never heard of; JJ dashes my hopes as to it being something I would ever want to read! The problem is, you so thoroughly incorporated comparisons I can relate to (ah, the “paging George Kaplan” moment, which perfectly encapsulates Hitchcock’s belief that at a certain point in his life a man must stop dating his mother) that I know exactly why I would not like this book. This is such a loss . . . and now I have to go to work!
Promise me, JJ, that if you uncover a YAGAD called Papa Poirot and the Belgian Bluebird Mystery, you’ll leave it alone. I don’t know how much more disappointment I can take.
Take some consolation that the disappointment you experienced over those 5 minutes is significantly preferable to the denial I experienced for the couple of hours I was reading this. Even as someone who isn’t quite as sold on Brand as you are, I still had high hopes for this…and, man, watching them really come to nothing was not fun.
If you can trace a cheapish copy then check it out; but in true style there are versiosn ging for £40+ online and it’s not worth that even for the purist/completist.
Well, my curiosity is satisfied….partially. I was very interested in seeing what the plot would be, and I have to admit that what you describe is somewhat along the lines that I had suspected – more of a strung together adventure than a proper mystery. I had hoped though – no, fantasized – that this story would feature an epic twist of Brand-ian proportions. It sounds like their are twists, but your haircut analogy confounds me!
“I want to praise Brand for coming up with a new way for a novel to linger in the memory…” Gaaaahhhh!!! What am I supposed to make of that statement?!?!?!
Well, I’ll assume that this isn’t a book for me to actively seek out – and I would have to actively seek it out. I’ve only seen this book once, and it was the copy used for this review. I was super tempted to swoop it up myself (it was insanely cheap), but I couldn’t stomach the thought of paying $20 for international shipping.
Uh… and children of the period delighted in Green for Danger…? That story is fairly dark and at times genuinely creepy.
Gaaaahhhh!!! What am I supposed to make of that statement?!?!?!
Well, think of the awesome twists over the years that linger long in the mind for how much they change your perspectvie on what you’ve just witnessed/read. Now consider a twist that plays out in that way, but means nothing. That’s what I mean: it’s memorable for the sheer pointlessness of it, and easily one of the oddest Ta-daaaah! moments I may ever have read.
I’m happy to investigate international postage if you want me to send it on to you. Or, better yet, I should be in the US ovet the summer, so I could post it to you then so it’d be cheaper (and hence worth it!). Seems only fair, since it’s only down to you that I read it in the first place.
And, yeah, I’d be surprised in the novel GfD was that big a hit with kids. That is a…dark tale for young ones to be swooping upon; maybe the film was what attracted them?
Sorry to hear you didn’t like this one. It’s interesting that it didn’t quite work out since Brand wrote ordinary children’s stories as well as regular mysteries. One would think that she should be able to put those two genres together.
Part of me did think about that, but I’ve read none of her other kid fiction and that could all be terrible for all I know 🙂
The over-riding problem here is very much that she doesn’t know what to do with the story she’s telling. Like, where it’s supposed to end up in terms of what the protagonists achieve — the purpose of the plot, and why this is the story she’s told for a YA undertaking. Honestly, it just feels like some left over ideas — the two twists, especially — that she wanted to get down purely to get them out of her head and free up some space. And she wrote Death of Jezebel after this, right? So it clearly worked!
To be fair, Brand set out to write a thriller for children not a detective story, which is what she mostly wrote for adults. Could you post an image of the whole of the back cover with Brand’s autobiographical comments; she often gave details of her life but these weren’t always consistent.
And the good news, hopefully, is that there are two complete unpublished novels, an incomplete one and lots of short stories which should appear in a new collection next year.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Only too happy to post the rear flap with Brand’s biography — I’ll do it later today when I get back from work.
Superb news about the unpublished stuff; you hear rumours, but you’re never sure how true they are (I’m still waiting for hake Talbot’s The Case of the Half-Witness to rear its head…!). Very much looking forward to them.
Assuming I’ver done this correctly, you can find the rear flap information here.