#4: The Wooden Overcoat (1951) by Pamela Branch

Wooden Overcoat, TheThe less you know about Pamela Branch’s debut novel the more you’ll get out of it, and obviously this poses a problem for my nascent blog.  A few cultural touchstones, then: it falls somewhere within kicking distance of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Trouble with Harry (1954), 1980s comedy classic (one of those words should be in ironic quotation marks, surely?) Weekend at Bernie’s (1989), and the output of Kelley Roos.  There is a dead body.  It must be hidden.  Difficulties ensue.  And this undertaking (if you will) is very, very funny.

The funny is a difficult one, because I’m honestly not sure at which point it becomes funny.  It starts off strange and becomes only stranger as it goes, all the while introducing a gentle absurdity that, at least for me, tips over into outright hilarity at times.  It’s not consistent rolling-in-the-aisles comical, but I’d be surprised if you could read too much of this – especially in the set-pieces like the ‘picnic’ and, later, its glorious counterpoint in chapter 18 – without at least a wry smile on your face.  There are a few quite lovely surprises, hence my recommendation that you know as little as possible going in, and it all stays far enough this side of zany, bawdy nonsense to remain just about believable.

Continue reading

#3: The Smiling Corpse (1935) by Philip Wylie and Bernard A. Bergman

Smiling Corpse, TheThe use of real figures in fiction, and particularly crime fiction, usually goes one of two ways.  Philip Kerr has enjoyed tremendous success with his Bernie Gunther novels set in and around Nazi Germany and tying in all manner of historical figures, but his earlier Dark Matter – utilising Isaac Newton as a detective – was less successful.  And at least Kerr has the freedom of those real people being long departed (conspiracy theories aside) and so largely free to do with as he pleased.  When Philip Wylie and Bernard A. Bergman originally published The Smiling Corpse, the four very real detective writers at its centre (plus sundry background artists) were still very much alive, so one can understand their caution in wanting to keep their names of the final manuscript.  Imagine a novel published today in which Lee Child, Michael Connelly, Patricia Cornwell and one of James Patterson’s co-writers solved a crime and you get some idea of what we’re talking about.

Continue reading

#2: What’s in a name?

So, not to get all insecure and introspective in my first real post, but I wanted to outline choosing “The Invisible Event” as the title for my crime fiction blog.  Broadly speaking there are three reasons, and they get more fanciful as they go.

The first comes from my love of impossible crimes and how in impossible crime fiction, by dint of the name, there is something that must have happened but at first glance simply can’t have – a murderer has vanished from a watched room, say.  In order for that to have occurred, clearly they must have been invisible and so the “invisible event” is whatever puzzle is presented in a locked room mystery.

The second is a variation on that, the idea of a clue in a crime novel that is so well hidden you miss it completely at first reading, but when brought to your attention at the end it’s the one thing that was to all intents and purposes invisible and would have unlocked everything for you, the reader.

The third, and the phrase itself, comes from from Hamlet, (Act 4 scene 4) who is talking about Fortinbras when he says:

Witness this army of such mass and charge
Led by a delicate and tender prince,
Whose spirit with divine ambition puff’d
Makes mouths at the invisible event

He’s referring to a dismissive or mocking attitude towards the unknown nature of something that has yet to happen.  Although it seems to be coming back into vogue, there is still a tendency for people to be very dismissive when it comes to classic crime – it’s “cosy murder”, it wouldn’t happen like that in real life, the characters are thin, the plots are unrealistic – without having tried it and so totally miss the point.  I’m not claiming that I’ll convert anyone dead set against it, but I love these books and I love this genre and I’m here to explore the thing I love.

Also, in this pithy age, anything sounds good when put after “The Invisible ____________”.  Seriously, try it: The Invisible House, The Invisible Paperweight, The Invisible Sense of Smell.  I’d at least glance at anything with a title like that…

#1: On blogging…

I’m a huge fan of classic crime fiction – of Leo Bruce, John Dickson Carr, Agatha Chrisite, Edmund Crispin, and others – as well as a handful of contemporary authors and a confusing mix of SF.  I’m not even slightly sold on Gladys Mitchell, think G.K. Chesterton too verbose and don’t really get along with Dorothy L. Sayers, just so there’s full disclosure from the outset.

My particular passion is locked room mysteries – Anthony Boucher, John Dickson Carr/Carter Dickson, Paul Halter, Rupert Penny, John Sladek, Derek Smith, Hake Talbot, etc – and I have gone and will go to quite absurd lengths to track down anything in that classic mould.

This blog is an attempt to provoke some conversation in an area I love; I’ve sat back and watched other people doing it and now fancy a try myself.  I’m not at all sure quite what form it will take (my current guess is book reviews) or whether anyone will even notice me in these crowded fields, but I want to give it a go and see what happens.

I’d say watch this space, but even I’m not deluded enough to imagine that anyone is watching at this stage…