Having previously looked at the first ten stories in this collection of impossible crime tales selected by Jack Adrian and Robert Adey, let’s crack on with the final eleven stories, shall we?
Continue readingIn a bizarre turn of events, I have no memory of acquiring the much-sought-after anthology The Art of the Impossible, a.k.a. Murder Impossible (1990) edited by the legendary pairing of Jack Adrian and Robert Adey. And yet I do have a copy. So let’s worry about my leaky memory later, and instead pick through some classic impossible crimes selected by two of the most knowledgeable men in the business, eh?
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Returning to the Devon setting which proved home to one of the best impossible crimes in fiction, The Siren’s Call (1998, tr. 2023) finds Paul Halter once again mixing mysticism with a small town setting to varied effect. Doubtless Halter is greatly enjoying himself in detailing the first ever case for his detective Dr. Alan Twist, sprinkling more than a few references to John Dickson Carr, ne plus ultra of the impossible crime, along the way, but the book still disappointed me: the eventual shape and the answers it provides to its somewhat amorphous mysteries ensuring a fun time if not a memorable one. Halter’s done far worse, but he’s also done much, much better.
I love a round-up post, a chance to reflect on what’s gone in the year before and to look ahead to what the future holds. So, following on from last year’s, here’s my review of bookish things for 2023.
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Perhaps sensing limitations in the character after five novels, J.J. Connington seemed to retire Chief Constable Sir Clinton Driffield following Nemesis at Raynham Parva (1929) and wrote two novels of diverging quality featuring the bland Superintendent Ross. But, with Ross possibly not finding traction in either his creator’s mind or in that of the reading public, The Boathouse Riddle (1931) sees the return of Sir Clinton, large as life and unknowable as ever, as a murdered groundskeeper interrupts his holiday on the estate of his friend ‘Squire’ Wendover. And so, with nary a sigh, our detective rolls up his sleeves and gets to work…
Not such a little Little Fiction this week, as I revisit the novella Six Were to Die (1932), which I’ve read before in edited form.
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I’ve been moved of late to give some thought as to what my favourite examples of my favourite subgenre of detective fiction could possibly be. And I’m finally willing to commit — so here are, for today at least, my ten favourite impossible crimes in fiction.
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I’ve already looked at one story with this title this week, so let’s complete the set, eh? This Blind Man’s Bluff (1943) is the fourth of Baynard Kendrick’s mysteries featuring Captain Duncan Maclain, and the second to be reprinted in the American Mystery Classics range. Having previously enjoyed The Odor of Violets (1941), I’m pleased to report that this is a stronger mystery, with a steadier core plot and enough unusual ideas stirred in to make a third visit with Maclain, should the AMC so wish it, rather appealing. The detective story and the pulp thriller have rarely meshed so well in my — admittedly, limited — experience, and I’m keen for more.
I’m reviewing this out of order, because it’s been a busy week and so I’ve not had time to read the 180-page novella which comes next in this collection, but a 12-page short story…yeah, I’ve been able to fit that in.
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Five and a half years ago I tracked down and read an obscure novelette by long-forgotten British pulp writer James Ronald, which set me on the trail of his far-from-readily-available other works. This week, Moonstone Press published the first two in a series of reprints that will see Ronald’s entire criminous catalogue made available, and series editor Chris Verner is here to tell us all about it.
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The Invisible Event 