The marvelous term used to describe the genre of classic British mystery stories -- the kind made famous by Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers -- is cosy. There are a number of reasons why the word is apt as both adjective and noun: cosy mysteries are comfortable reading experiences, their plots focused on puzzles and alibis while quite deliberately keeping the unsavory elements of overt sex and violence at bay; their settings are often equally comfortable, with well-off guests staying at spacious and well-staffed manor houses in the countryside; and even though there is a murderer in the vicinity, a certainty that justice will prevail and a moral balance will be restored keeps the narrative motoring along without the slightest threat of a jolt to either reader or characters.
It is a great joy, then, to discover Mystery in White by Joseph Jefferson Farjeon, first published in 1937. The author has great fun using the conventions of the cosy to bend and extend the genre in rewarding ways. This approach also raised personal expectations for the book as a whole, and these fell a little short by the end, when such early-chapter promises of tone and setting were never quite realized. Mystery in White (and its relatively unknown author) first came to my attention with its reprinting by The Poisoned Pen Press as part of its delightful British Library Crime Classics series, and then at the recommendation of fellow mystery enthusiast F.J. de Kermadec. It is worth both the new edition and the praise, although it is for me a mystery whose journey is more engaging than its eventual arrival.
Farjeon subverts expectations right away by beginning in a snowbound train where a murder may have taken place in an adjoining compartment. Before any details are provided, however, a party of passengers (led by a plucky and socially appealing brother and sister pair) decides to leave the train, trekking through the snow on foot to find the next station. Quickly becoming lost, the group discovers a very comfortable country house that is both well-provisioned and abruptly empty. Fires roar enticingly in the hearth, but a kitchen knife lies on the floor and a pot of water for tea has boiled dry on the stove. With one traveler consumed by an overpowering fever and another -- a young lady who keeps a diary and may be psychic -- recovering from a twisted ankle, bedrooms are commandeered and food eaten despite the fact that a host is nowhere to be found. At this point, shades of stories from Goldilocks to the fate of the Mary Celeste jostled pleasantly in my unconscious.
Several incidents keep the unexpected houseguests busy and engaged, and Farjeon's plotting has a similar effect on the reader. A rough-mannered Cockney calling himself Smith, an earlier escapee from the ill-fated train, appears and disappears, adding to the general menace of the situation. David Carrington, brother to Lydia, tracks footprints outside and uncovers a bloody hammer and a suspiciously shaped mound in the waist-high snow. Sensitive diarist Jessie feels increasingly uneasy about remaining in a stranger's house and bed. (This episode rather fancifully reminded me of Medea and the possibility of poisoned bedsheets!) All the while, quiet but observant Mr. Maltby, a psychical researcher, collects information and considers what secrets the looming portrait of the absent head of the house might conceal.
Several incidents keep the unexpected houseguests busy and engaged, and Farjeon's plotting has a similar effect on the reader. A rough-mannered Cockney calling himself Smith, an earlier escapee from the ill-fated train, appears and disappears, adding to the general menace of the situation. David Carrington, brother to Lydia, tracks footprints outside and uncovers a bloody hammer and a suspiciously shaped mound in the waist-high snow. Sensitive diarist Jessie feels increasingly uneasy about remaining in a stranger's house and bed. (This episode rather fancifully reminded me of Medea and the possibility of poisoned bedsheets!) All the while, quiet but observant Mr. Maltby, a psychical researcher, collects information and considers what secrets the looming portrait of the absent head of the house might conceal.
I can greatly appreciate a mischievous approach to structure that allows the police to appear only in the penultimate chapter, as Farjeon uses here. (Their solution is not wholly correct.) The consistent frisson that occurs between the idyllic setting and the claustrophobic, undefined menace of the situation is fascinating, and for most of the book is nicely sustained. (Jessie describes in her diary her first impression of the place: "Oak beams, log fires, old-fashioned beds and snow -- it's what you want every year but never get except on Christmas cards.")
It is largely the disappointment of not quite delivering on the potential of the premise that makes Mystery in White less than a complete success. While the eerie tone contributes greatly, there is not much mystery surrounding the characters as Farjeon presents them. No one, it turns out, is hiding a secret or has an ulterior motive, the train murder and the manor mystery aren't really related, and the real villains of the piece remain largely off-stage.
It is largely the disappointment of not quite delivering on the potential of the premise that makes Mystery in White less than a complete success. While the eerie tone contributes greatly, there is not much mystery surrounding the characters as Farjeon presents them. No one, it turns out, is hiding a secret or has an ulterior motive, the train murder and the manor mystery aren't really related, and the real villains of the piece remain largely off-stage.
2It feels like an opportunity missed, as the main characters become reduced to the passive spectators they were first defined to be, accidental visitors who stumbled upon criminal doings that only involve them through propinquity. Beyond some uninteresting budding romances between David, Jessie, Lydia, and the feverish Mr. Thomson, the ill-fated group of characters never has cause to interact emotionally with one another, and Farjeon never encourages the need for (or interest in) casting mutual suspicion.
This gentle satire reminded me of Gladys Mitchell's sharp send-up of the cosy tradition, her lively 1932 tale The Saltmarsh Murders. The difference is that Mitchell provides both an acerbic commentary on the conventions of cosy elements and an intriguing mystery puzzle that fulfills the expectations of the genre. Farjeon, in contrast, shows the promise of the former but delivers by the end a story that is less than the sum of its very intriguing individual parts. Well worth reading for classic detection fans, Mystery in White provides an original, offbeat book that's suitable in any weather.
This gentle satire reminded me of Gladys Mitchell's sharp send-up of the cosy tradition, her lively 1932 tale The Saltmarsh Murders. The difference is that Mitchell provides both an acerbic commentary on the conventions of cosy elements and an intriguing mystery puzzle that fulfills the expectations of the genre. Farjeon, in contrast, shows the promise of the former but delivers by the end a story that is less than the sum of its very intriguing individual parts. Well worth reading for classic detection fans, Mystery in White provides an original, offbeat book that's suitable in any weather.
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