Serendipity brought the superb Penguin Book of Gaslight Crime [ss] (2009) edited by Michael Sims to my awareness, and highlighted Sims’ erudition and excellent coverage of Victorian crime fiction, an era of the genre which is holding an increasing fascination for me. And so the opportunity to read another Sims-edited collection was to be seized with alacrity.
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I’d previously read just one book by Cecil M. Wills, the Ramble House edition of Fatal Accident (1936), about which I remember nothing — though the fact that I didn’t review it might be telling. So when Galileo Publishers sent me an advance copy of Midsummer Murder (1956), I was intrigued to see how it stacked up: one (possibly) poor book does not a bad author make, and Galileo have shown some good taste in their unusual selections to date. And, well, I don’t know quite what to make of this, to be honest — Wills writes charmingly, and the enjoyable plot is communicated in easily-digested prose that flies by…but, equally, there’s a massive flaw at the core of this which can’t have passed by everyone else who’s read it…right?
Last weekend, it was my distinct honour to present for a fourth time at the Bodies from the Library conference, in this instance on the topic of Enid Blyton’s detective fiction as represented by her Five Find-Outers series.
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After what felt like a run of fairly light reading, I found myself in the mood for something a little denser, and boy does The Devil’s Flute Murders (1953), the fifth title by Seishi Yokomizo to be published in English by Pushkin Vertigo, deliver on that front. We start with a mass poisoning in a jewellery store, then move onto the disappearance of a member of the nobility who turns up dead…only for his family to doubt his demise and pull amateur genius detective Kosuke Kindaichi into a superbly atmospheric divining ceremony that culminates in a gruesome locked room murder. Yup, the opening third of this book is, pleasingly, something of a whirligig.
Years ago, as a younger and callower man, I swore that the only Sherlock Holmes stories I would read were those written by Arthur Conan Doyle. Then I became a John Dickson Carr fan, and it’s been a slippery slope ever since.
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Late one night, Dr. John Strangeways is summoned to tend to a woman who has clearly been strangled. Deeply unsettled by the odd encounter, he has cause to remember one of the men who was at that scene when chance brings them together in Rochester a year later. The man in question, in possession of a wicked-looking knife, does not remember the doctor, however, and Strangeways, new in town and on his way to look over a recently-vacated surgery, is relieved to be unable to help when the man asks for directions to the residence of Mrs. Frood. Deciding to take the practice on, Strangeways is in due course introduced to his landlady, and comes face to face with the strangled woman of a year before. Her name? Mrs. Angelina Frood.
One final mystery for Fatty, Bets, Daisy, Larry and Pip as, nearly seven years after first discovering them myself, and after a literary life spanning some 18 years, the Five Find-Outers and dog reach the end of the road.
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And so we reach season 5 of Monk, in which Tony Shalhoub plays the eponymous OCD-afflicted former detective, brought in to consult on a range of odd and uncommon crimes.
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A fourth and — the blurb tells us — final go around for precocious young Aggie Morton and her Belgian friend Hector Perot…but, really, how much trouble can these two get up to on a palaeontological expedition on a Dorset beach?
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Case for Three Detectives (1936) by Leo Bruce was perhaps the first impossible crime novel I read after becoming aware that the subgenre existed, and it had such a marked effect on me that, nearly 15 years later, it was the first title added to my Locked Room Library. Revisiting it is, then, something I approached with trepidation: I have experience of beloved texts failing to live up to my memories…but, then, I’ve reread books I enjoyed and found them even more delightful on more than one occasion. So forward I sallied into this: a weekend gathering, a locked room throat-slashing, and the usual rounds of suspicion and obscure proclamations from three genius amateur detectives.
The Invisible Event 