It was probably TomCat’s review of Murder Points a Finger (1953) by David Alexander which first put the book on my radar, but chances of finding it were slim and I’d forgotten any details by the time I did, much to my surprise, run a copy to earth last year.
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Full disclosure, this is the second time I’ve read Through the Walls (1937, tr. 2021) by Noel Vindry, but I was on blog hiatus at first encounter, so here’s a chance to get my thoughts on record. Similar to The Howling Beast (1934, tr. 2016), this sees Vindry’s series examining magistrate M. Allou consulted by someone who has lived through baffling events, only for Allou to give some meaning to the apparent impossibilities at the end. The setup here is slightly less enticing — someone in apparently breaking into Pierre Sertat’s house at night and searching it carelessly enough to leave things just out of place enough for Sertat to notice — but the patterns that Vindry spins are wonderful, even if not all the answers are as convincing as we’d like.
Like a lot of people, I’m sure, I got on a classic movie kick in my teenage years and watched many of the greats, including much of Alfred Hitchcock’s work. It is only recently reading The Wheel Spins (1936) by Ethel Lina White, however, that brings me back to Hitchcock’s The Lady Vanishes (1938) for the first time in over two decades.
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Young Iris Carr is travelling back to England alone when she is befriended by governess Winifred Froy; taking tea in the dining car of their train, they return to their carriage, where Iris falls asleep. Upon awakening, she finds Miss Froy has disappeared and, more confusingly, that all the forriners sharing the compartment insist there never was such a lady to begin with. Might the attack of sunstroke Iris suffered on the platform before boarding be to blame, or might there be a more sinister explanation? Thus The Wheel Spins (1936) walks in the same furrow as a good many suspense stories, not least Phantom Lady (1942) by Cornell Woolrich and the Jodie Foster-starring Flightplan (2005).
Nicholas Blake is hardly a dusty and forgotten member of detective fiction’s past, but my experiences with him to date have been so lacking in high spots that the only way I’m going to read The Widow’s Cruise (1959) is by screwing my courage to the sticking place as part of this Mining Mount TBR endeavour. And so here we are.
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Fatal Venture (1939) represents, by my count, the ninth time in twenty-three books that Freeman Wills Crofts has devised a criminal scheme which contains a significant strain of maritime malfeasance. Compared to the mere brace involving railway timetables, you have to wonder why he’s seen as the Timbletable King rather than the Wizard of the Waterways — hell, even these excellent Harper Collins reissues make a point of highlighting his use of railway timetables, so you have to wonder if that myth will ever die. Never mind, this is still superb; highlighting why Crofts has fallen by the wayside compared to some of his peers, perhaps, but enjoyable, clever, and surprising along with it.
I often find myself in possession books with no idea why I bought them — there was a good reason at the time, or a recommendation from a reliable source, but damned if I can remember it now. And thus, with my motivation to read them forgotten, they linger on my TBR making me feel guilty…so for Tuesdays this month I’m again plucking four from obscurity and hoping for the best.
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Seven stories featuring Dr. John Evelyn Thorndyke, medical jurist extraordinaire and one of my very, very favourite detectives from the genre’s Golden Age.
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The Cat Saw Murder (1939), Dolores Hitchens’ first book featuring septuagenarian spinster sleuth Rachel Murdock, saw Miss Rachel move into some vacant accommodation following a vague suspicion only for murder to occur and our protagonist to slowly put together the pieces based on her observation of the sundry types living around her, achieved with the help of her black cat Samantha. The Alarm of the Black Cat (1941), the second Miss Rachel novel, also does this, and exposes what I feel might be a recurrent flaw in this series going forward: namely that Hitchens is superb at suspense, but sorely lacks when it comes to plot construction and detection.
I’ve not watched Columbo — in which Peter Falk’s eponymous, crumpled Lieutenant outwits murderers the viewer has watched commit and then cover up their crimes — in years, and would probably have gone years more but for stumbling over two references in a week to ‘Any Old Port in a Storm’ (1973) apparently being the very pinnacle of the long-running series. So, let’s take a look.
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