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Book Review: THE ESSEX MURDERS (1930) by Vernon Loder

3/28/2020

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A person would likely be hard pressed to find a more amiable investigation into a triple homicide than the one found in The Essex Murders. The sunny worldview is owed (via the author) to the book's protagonists, mystery fiction writer Ned Hope and his plucky fiancée Nancy Johnson. The duo visit Fen Court, the rather derelict estate that Ned has purchased with an eye towards a domestic future, and what is presumed to be a dead carp submerged in a deep pond turns out to be something even less pleasant: three human bodies, only one of which was visible to start. With joie de vivre – or perhaps more accurately esprit de corps(e) – Nancy and Ned become amateur detectives, roles that the quiet but capable Inspector Brews encourages as they aid the police in clue gathering and alibi exploration.

It turns out that Body Number One belongs to a wealthy man named Habershon, and the other victims are his wards, a young man and woman who are pulled from the pond with one's wrist tied to the other's and a note fragment hinting at suicide pinned to the poor woman's dress. A thermos with sedative-laced coffee and an abandoned car are also part of the tableau, but does the picture form the aftermath of a double-suicide and accident or something more sinister? A neighbor named Hench, an obsequious little man who claims to be an ornithologist but confuses a kestrel with a hen-harrier, becomes a prime suspect, as Constable Hoggett saw him in the vicinity at the time of the murders. But what could his motive be? Ned and Nancy (and, by extension, Inspector Brews) plan to find out.

John George Hazlette Vahey's mysteries and thrillers, published under the name Vernon Loder, were a staple of the Collins Crime Club imprint until the author's death in 1938. (Vahey also wrote using the pseudonym Henrietta Clandon, and some of those titles are available again, reprinted by Dean Street Press.) The Essex Murders has a lot to recommend, even as it falls short of the top tier of mystery fiction from the genre's Golden Age. The premise here is intriguing, and the author pushes his plot along at an engaging if unremarkable pace.

The point-of-view is comfortably limited to the couple's experiences, and this is an effective choice that makes Inspector Brews, when he arrives, a jovial sort-of cypher. Ned and Nancy are left to speculate what Brews may be thinking and how the information they have just uncovered might fit into a larger theory; all of this is great fun and, left partially to the reader to fill in the sketch, the inspector paradoxically becomes a more memorable character than if we had been invited in to share his perspective.


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The Essex Murders also leans more towards a discover-as-you-go mystery yarn than a fair-play puzzle story, although Loder mostly provides the clues needed to play armchair detective. For a story about murder in a deep pond, there's a strangely shallow suspect pool, brought about by the fact that there are barely any other supporting characters at all introduced in the course of the investigation. (Aside from those already named, Habershon's housekeeper Mrs. Hoing is the only other onstage/on-page character.) Still, by the final chapter the author manages to deliver a neat variation on the least likely suspect gambit, even with his limited list of dramatis personae.

This is an enjoyable, breezy mystery with an upbeat charm that seems tailor-made for contemporary GAD fiction readers. Published in the U.S. as The Death Pool (New York: William Morrow, 1931), J.F. Norris has also reviewed The Essex Murders on his site Pretty Sinister Books.


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Book Review: THE CASE OF THE VELVET CLAWS (1933) by Erle Stanley Gardner

3/20/2020

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I wonder if, after sampling my third Perry Mason book in the series by prolific writer Erle Stanley Gardner, these might not fall under the heading of "guilty pleasures". I suspect that they also operate for me as something one "loves to hate", although I fall far from either extreme on the Perry Mason Gratification Scale. The following critique may step on long-standing fans' toes, but after exposure to Gardner's first Mason caper, 1933's The Case of the Velvet Claws, I am still trying to assess just what my final (admittedly subjective) verdict should be.

Typically, a reading experience isn't this complicated. I read a book, I react to the book, I determine if the book gave satisfaction and how or why it did or did not. But analysis of a Gardner story, at least of the few I have read, doesn't seem that simple. This is because some very enjoyable and inventive strengths – including morally specious but highly clever defense attorney tactics like witness manipulation and sleight-of-hand evidence reveals – share space with a story weakened by unconvincing, superficial characterization and dialogue. Of course the Mason novels are meant to entertain and never pretend to be more than they are, which is in itself a point in their favor. But that odd combination of impressively good and amateurishly bad is something I haven't encountered often in mystery fiction, and it brings me back to the "guilty pleasure" label.

This mix of strengths and weaknesses is already fully formed and on display in The Case of the Velvet Claws, Mason's début case. What's singular about this story is that it doesn't end in a dramatic and contentious court trial like the great majority do: Mason keeps his client, an attractive femme fatale accused of shooting her husband, out of a courtroom despite the fact that Eva Belter has lied to the lawyer (and has even tried to frame him for murder!) every step of the way. George Belter is/was the publisher of Spicy Bits, a gossip tabloid largely existing as a vehicle to squeeze the rich and famous out of some money through business-legitimized blackmail. Because of this, there is a surplus of suspects who might want to see Belter dead, but Mason focuses on one in particular: Congressman Harrison Burke, last seen at a night club with a woman who was not his wife, a woman who happens to be Eva Belter herself.

So we arrive at one of Gardner's strongest qualities as an author, and the greatest personal argument for my continuing with the series. The man is quite brilliant at establishing the plotline (the hook, essentially) and guiding it along through multiple turns and reversals, escalating to a breathless climax. Such literary planning and plotting is not easy or effortless to pull off, and the three titles I have read to date – the others are The Case of the Howling Dog (1934) and The Case of the Counterfeit Eye (1935) – show no slack in their pacing or ingenuity. 

Closely connected with pacing is the quality of the twists and tactics themselves. In these early adventures, Perry Mason's maneuvering would be risky in the extreme if it wasn't safely confined to Gardner's artificially created world. Gambits like altering evidence to fluster prosecution witnesses, manufacturing a fake confession to muddy the waters, and manipulating police investigation would result in disbarment many times over. Yet the cleverness of these actions and Mason's ostensibly justified motivations keep the reader flipping pages while suspending judgment. It's an impressive tightrope to walk: Mason is bending the rules, but he argues that he is just trying to even up the odds which are already stacked against his accused client.
For example, in Velvet Claws Gardner has his hero conspire with a friendly pawnbroker to force an admission from a suspect. All Mason needs from Sol Steinburg (a benign but still stereotypical Jewish figure typical of pulp stories of the time) is to "recognize" whichever man Mason brings into the shop with a "That's him, that's the one" declaration. (In other words, lie.) He explains that he will never need Sol to testify in court, but rather he's trying to make the man think he can tie him to a gun purchase. It's a clever ruse, and Gardner gets extra points for the suspect smelling the set-up and pushing back just as hard as Mason is pushing him.
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While the plotting and legal legerdemain in Gardner's books are highly enjoyable, characterization, description, and dialogue are (for me) another story. Some reviewers have connected the toughness of the tales with roots from hardboiled detective fiction, and I think that's accurate. But Erle Stanley Gardner is no Dashiell Hammett or Raymond Chandler, and the Perry Mason books substitute pedestrian prose for the moody metaphors and flawed figures populating the Hammett and Chandler worlds. In particular, Gardner's overuse/abuse of countless "Mason said" and "asked Paul Drake"-type dialogue tags really slow down the rhythm, especially as they are so often unnecessary in two-person exchanges. Yet they are peppered throughout every single conversation, and these books are filled with two-person dialogue runs.
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There's also a stilted quality to the scenes, which is due in part to the rather flat characterization (this cop is combative; that cop is friendly; Mason is always gruff and in command) and in part due to the sensationalist, hard-to-believe plotlines that Gardner favors. In Howling Dog, for example, I was wearying of a bellicose police chief who seemed to have little depth when he surprised me by saying in response, "I'm commencing to think so." I grabbed onto that word choice and thought it was a nicely observant touch to have a character use a word outside of his presumed vocabulary; I thought it revealed something of the chief's personality, that he was the type of person who prided himself on showing an education even though he had little. But then a few chapters later private investigator Paul Drake also says "I'm commencing to think so," and after that the author lets Mason use the phrase. Perry Mason's fictional world is one where characters speak on the surface (whether lying or telling the truth) rather than engaging in subtlety or subtext, and that's due to the preferences and literary limitations of his creator.

In spite of these traits, Gardner's books are still great fun and easy to digest, and I expect to sample many more of Mason's cases, especially when I'm looking for a fast and light mystery book in between more literary fare. And one can't help but admire an author concerned with providing both flashy entertainment and calculated promotion: at the end pages of Velvet Claws, the loyal Della Street reminds Mason that a new client is waiting in the outer office for him. Says Della:
"It's a girl expensively dressed, good looking. Seems well bred. She's in trouble, but she won't open up."
"Sulky, eh?"
"Sulky? Well, perhaps I'd call her sort of trapped."
"That's because you like her looks," Mason grinned. "If you didn't, you'd call her sulky."
…"Well, maybe she is just sulky."

It may be no surprise to note that the next book in the series happens to be The Case of the Sulky Girl.
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Book Review: DEATH IN CAPTIVITY (1952) by Michael Gilbert

3/12/2020

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Michael Gilbert is in that group of celebrated classic crime authors whose names I have known for decades, but of whose books I have inexplicably not read more than one or two. (R. Austin Freeman, Michael Innes, Ellery Queen, and Margaret Millar also belong to that unjustly neglected group.) So when Reading the Detectives over at Goodreads chose as one of its March reads Death in Captivity, Gilbert's 1952 novel of murder occurring within a prisoner-of-war camp, I was grateful for the opportunity to be (re)introduced to the author and his straightforward style of storytelling.

Northern Italy, 1943: a camp holding Allied officers runs on routine, while in other parts of the world the war rages on. A mix of British, Scottish, and American military men cook, fraternize, play rugby, and even rehearse for a tongue-in-cheek production of The Barretts of Wimpole Street. Although the armed sentries and the Carabinieri largely leave their prisoners alone, the men also recognize that Fascist campo leader Captain Benucci could be a dangerous and deadly adversary if provoked. So it falls to Colonel Baird, acting in concert with the other imprisoned commanders and some hand-picked officers, to make sure that their plans for an escape tunnel beneath the large iron stove of Hut C are carried out quickly, quietly, and undetected.

But the project encounters one very messy obstacle: the body of Cyriakos Coutoulos, an unpopular soldier and suspected informant, is discovered at the tunnel's end, buried in sand from a structure collapse. Reluctant to bring the escape tunnel to their Italian captors' attention – but knowing that Coutoulos must be found soon and in similar circumstances to avoid complications – the dead man is secretly transferred to another hut where a second tunnel had been started and aborted. When Captain Benucci focuses his suspicions on Captain Roger Byfold as the killer, it falls to Henry "Cuckoo" Goyles to assume the role of amateur detective under very nontraditional circumstances.

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Part locked-room mystery, part wartime escape drama, Death in Captivity is a thoroughly enjoyable tale, nicely plotted and smartly paced. In his informative introduction to the British Library Crime Classics edition, author Martin Edwards reminds us that Michael Gilbert was himself a prisoner of war, and that the author dedicates this book to two fellow escapees with whom he traversed the Italian countryside towards the front line.

There are a number of surprises to be found in the story, not least of which is the unusual and unique setting for this murder mystery.


A captured officer camp surely holds amenities and carries a sense of laissez-faire not afforded to troop prisoners; it took me a few chapters to acclimate to the relative independence and limited supervision of our group of heroes. But that liberty is needed narratively for the men to execute long-term escape plans, and such afforded respect is in keeping with the uncertainty of the situation. The fortunes of war may change, and those in power will need to plead mercy before their one-time captives. It is also likely true-to-life, as the author had first-hand experience of the Italian camp at Fontanellato. 

My sole criticism is that the cast of characters has a largely physical and ideological sameness. Some officers are older, some younger, and nationalities and ranks differ, but they are cut from the same sober-minded, stiff-upper-lip cloth, and none really stand out as individual personalities. Still, the situation alone encourages more than enough sympathy for the prisoners' plight, and we find ourselves rooting for the mild but mindful Goyles to arrive at light at the end of the tunnel, both literally and figuratively, by finding freedom and solving the mystery. The officers may be allowed certain amenities, but their efforts to escape and survive are clearly a matter of life and death. 

Also published as The Danger Within, it looks like I come late to the review party! You can find astute critiques of Death in Captivity from TomCat at Beneath the Stains of Time, Tracy at Bitter Tea and Mystery, Sergio at Tipping My Fedora, Kate at crossexaminingcrime, and The Puzzle Doctor at In Search of the Classic Mystery Novel.

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Book Review: END OF CHAPTER (1957) by Nicholas Blake

3/4/2020

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Nigel Strangeways is called to the publishing house of Wenham & Geraldine to investigate a bit of pernicious galley proof sabotage. It turns out a controversial author's book was printed with libelous passages intact, even though they were marked for deletion by the editor supervising the project. While looking into the matter, Strangeways stirs up darker currents of animosity and suspicion between the publishers, their staff and their clients. One person in particular, romance writer Millicent Miles, seems to delight in ruffling the feathers of all who cross her path. When she is found with her throat cut in the W&G office she was using to write her memoirs, the consulting detective's investigation moves onto new and dangerous ground.

End of Chapter is a satisfyingly solid later book in Nicholas Blake's series of Nigel Strangeways mysteries. For me, much of its success is due to its clean emulation of the narratives found in detective stories of the genre's Golden Age two decades before. While both elements are present here, this story doesn't get bogged down in either tone or character psychology, but instead focuses on cleverly tactile clues (the manuscript page not perfectly aligned in the typewriter; marks on a window jamb that hint at a recent staple, now removed) and a very well-drawn circle of suspects. 

While other late-period entries like The Worm of Death (1961) and The Sad Variety (1964) can't seem to shake a sort of era-emanating nihilism (which likely mirrored poet Cecil Day-Lewis's worldview as he pushed forward into his 60s during the 1960s), End of Chapter is a return to a simpler time and genre style. The story and its revelations are sufficiently twisty to keep the reader engaged, and Blake makes the rare but rewarding choice to stage Millicent Miles' murder from the (unidentified) killer's perspective. As we are allowed to be a witness to the act, Nigel's uncovering of clues at the crime scene pays double dividends: we think we know how and why the murderer staged the crime in this particular way, and yet Strangeways discovers multiple details that let him see through the subterfuge.

And although the doomed romance novelist and manipulator of lovers and colleagues is an unlikable figure, she is also a fully delineated character, one who manages to impact anyone in her orbit. This definition is in noted contrast to the unfortunate victim at the center of 1941's The Case of the Abominable Snowman; where that mystery was muted for me because Elizabeth Restorick was never really allowed to be understood as a character, Millicent Miles gives End of Chapter a weighted, impressive center. 

Miles' disaffected son Cyprian Gleed – such a Dickensian moniker! – is another well-observed and pitiable creation, a young man who disdains his mother and loathes the establishment to which she and other successful adults belong. There is a beautifully observed moment that, like a good writer or detective, uses the details of setting to inform characterization:

There were unwashed cups, plates and wine glasses everywhere; sheets of music on the floor; encyclopedia volumes on an elegant harpsichord in one corner; a dusty easel in another; a single ski and, rather oddly, a pair of boxing gloves hanging from a nail, in a third corner. An open door revealed the bedroom, an unmade bed with a woman's nightdress dangling from it, and a breakfast tray half concealed by a heap of clothes on the floor. These fragments he has shored against his ruin, thought Nigel, feeling a little sorry for Millicent Miles' son.

... Nigel gazed round the fantastic room again, so deeply occupied with his own thoughts that, when Cyprian Gleed asked, "Well, do you like my flat?" he uttered without premeditation what was in his mind:


"It looks like a museum of false starts."

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Only a few nominal disappointments are to be found within its pages, such as a noisily telegraphed murder attempt on our intrepid detective; otherwise, End of Chapter is a largely successful literary effort from a strong writer and poet who hasn't quite gotten bored with the process of mystery puzzle construction.

Reviews from Nick Fuller and The Puzzle Doctor are also online.


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