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…
Orion
#1031: Tragedy at Ravensthorpe (1927) by J.J. Connington
The second novel to feature Chief Constable Sir Clinton Driffield, Tragedy at Ravensthorpe (1927) joins the likes of The Wintringham Mystery (1927) by Anthony Berkeley in a subgenre I like to think of as Frustrated Japes: someone plans something as a bit of a lark — here the theft of some valuable medallions during a masquerade ball at the eponymous country pile — only for another party to interrupt the undertaking and turn things in an unexpectedly more sinister direction. Thankfully, what results is another zesty, energetic, well-clued mystery from Connington’s pen, albeit one which won’t linger in the memory.
#978: The Dangerfield Talisman (1926) by J.J. Connington
I don’t normally read two books by the same author within at least a few months of each other, but I so enjoyed J.J. Connington’s criminous debut Death at Swaythling Court (1926) back in September that I was honestly champing at the bit to get back to more of his work. The Dangerfield Talisman, then, (1926) is Connington’s follow-up to Swaythling, with a completely new setting, cast, and conundrum. And Connington himself appears to have been equally keen to get to this one, possibly writing it in a mere seven weeks…and, if that was the case, it’s difficult not to wish that he’d spent a little longer over it.
#965: Going Home – Angels Flight (1999) by Michael Connelly
Another dive into the past, as I revisit the crime novels of my youth which set me on the path to classic era detection.
Continue reading#962: Going Home – Fade Away (1996) by Harlan Coben
Another week, another American crime writer who captured my attention as a young man and helped me eventually find joy in the niche of classic-era detective fiction.
Continue reading#959: Going Home – The Monkey’s Raincoat (1987) by Robert Crais
If the purpose of these Going Home posts is to examine the crime fiction which got me started in the genre before the Golden Age became my particular obsession — and it is — then it’s frankly incredible that it’s taken me this long to get round to Robert Crais.
Continue reading#925: “Everyone has to die sometime.” – Nightwebs [ss] (1971) by Cornell Woolrich
Roughly twenty years ago, the British publisher Orion released a series of reprints under the banner of Crime Masterworks which had something of a transformative effect on the books Younger Me started to look out for. Included in that selection was the short story collection Nightwebs (1971) by Cornell Woolrich.
Continue reading#915: The Two Tickets Puzzle, a.k.a. The Two Ticket Puzzle (1930) by J.J. Connington
I first encountered J.J. Connington’s two-book sleuth Superintendent Ross in his debut, The Eye in the Museum (1929), a novel I disliked so much I’ve banished from memory almost entirely. It was to be hoped, then, that Ross’ valedictorian case The Two Tickets Puzzle (1930) would strike me more favourably — which, given the rate these Golden Age tyros produced mysteries (this is Connington’s ninth crime novel in just four years), didn’t seem too unlikely: quality is bound to vary wildly under intense output. And, sure enough, Ross’ final case is an improvement: clearer, better structured, and far more engaging.
#842: Red Harvest (1929) by Dashiell Hammett
In the early days of this blog, to indicate my tastes, I brazenly avowed that certain authors were unlikely ever to be reviewed here; bang in the middle of that list, fresh from disappointments with his short fiction, was Dashiell Hammett. Even in the throes of castigation, however, I acknowledged the “dense and amazing” plotting of his debut novel Red Harvest (1929), which had a startling effect on this young man when finding my feet in the genre in the early 2000s. And then Nick Fuller’s recent review of that book — linked below — did to its reputation what the Continental Op does to Personville herein, and my interest in revisiting it was well and truly piqued.
#727: The Dain Curse (1929) by Dashiell Hammett
Doubtless on account of my predilection for typically British novels of detection, I have somehow fostered the mistaken reputation of one who dislikes the Hardboiled school. I mean, I named Jim Thompson one of the four most important male authors in crime fiction, have heaped praise on James M. Cain, Dashiell Hammett, both Ross and John D. MacDonald, and the Cool & Lam books of Erle Stanley Gardner, but still there lingers an air of distrust whenever I step away from the Venetian vase of the drawing room and into the mean streets. So let’s look to The Dain Curse (1929) to exemplify a lot of the good that the subgenre has to offer.