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Artistic Difference: What makes GLADYS MITCHELL special?

6/26/2015

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The following is an essay I wrote for new readers of British mystery author Gladys Mitchell (a contemporary of Agatha Christie, but a much more imaginative writer) to understand why I like her so much. So much, in fact, that years ago I started a website devoted to her books, and there are now more than 80 original synopses and reviews of her many titles. You can learn more by reading this post and, of course, by visiting my other site at www.gladysmitchell.com !
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I made the decision, very early into my comprehensive reading of Gladys Mitchell's Mrs. Bradley mysteries, to vary the diet. When I finish a Mitchell tale, I invariably pick up something by someone else--classic or contemporary, Golden Age detection or modern-day satire--as a way of cleansing the palette. This in medias flirtation with another author lets me try a book stylistically different from the one before while providing a good reason not to sprint through the Mitchell canon within a matter of months.

And sometimes, when I read a murder mystery by another author, I wonder, Why don't I begin a tribute website for this person? And the answer to that question I find very intriguing, and just a bit elusive.

The mystery writers who I consider deserving of representation all meet the same basic standards which appealed to me when I created the website The Stone House for Gladys Mitchell: they are moderately or highly prolific writers with at least one series detective character; they embrace and work in the Golden Age mystery template; reading copies of their books are hard to find (as contemporary reprints are uncommon) but not impossible (thank you, Internet); and their body of work has been unjustly, unfairly neglected due to the combination of passing time and changing tastes.

Of all the worthy writers who meet this criteria -- including Anthony Berkeley, Nicholas Blake, and John Dickson Carr -- I came closest to giving E.R. Punshon, creator of the Bobby Owen and the Carter & Bell series, his moment in the cyberspace sun, designing a few Punshon pages for an introduction, biography, and bibliography. I quietly discarded these plans upon realizing I didn't have enough to say about his first three Owen books to form separate reviews, and considered lumping them together onto one page. Much as I like Punshon, my heart wasn't in it.

But why not? What makes Gladys Mitchell's books worthy of reading, critiquing, and rereading while another author's works are merely pleasant diversions? I was offered a hint of an answer when I read (interstitially) The Motor Rally Mystery (1933) by John Rhode. Here Rhode's detective, the brilliant, clinical Dr. Lancelot Priestley, spots murder behind an apparently accidental car smash. The puzzle-solving is brisk and businesslike and the supporting characters pop in and out of the story with the efficiency of expositional figures on a stage. While functional, no player's personality stands out, Dr. Priestley included, as memorable or alive. Possible motives for murder are routine here: greed or jealousy or revenge. And as a mystery book it's all very nice but not very good.

So we turn, as I did after The Motor Rally Mystery, to Gladys Mitchell. My choice was a virgin reading of 1943's The Worsted Viper. Here's an illuminating point: in the arena or pure puzzle plotting and challenge-to-the-reader fair play, Rhode has Mitchell beat. Most Golden Age craftsmen and -women are more skilled at setting up and staging an impossible-crime tableau. It is notable that I have never encountered a single classical locked room or death-by-novelty-object scenario in any of the Mrs. Bradley books. [see Footnote 1] Gladys Mitchell seems not overly interested in these sensational gambits, and neither, it must be admitted, am I. There are a handful of Mitchell mysteries that are well-clued--The Saltmarsh Murders (1932) and Death at the Opera (1934) among them--but this author lacks sufficient showman's instinct to bet her books' graceful prose on a lone gimmick or twist. Such an absence of Gotcha! moments, I have no doubt, has contributed to her relative obscurity among mystery readers.

I receive the impression that tone, style, and setting are of primary importance in a Mitchell novel. And while the plot is usually elaborate and busy in a satisfying way, the story itself often takes a procedural, rather than clue-constructed, course. That is, incidents occur throughout the book which drive the detective down her path. I've never encountered a Mitchell novel where a single murder in the beginning chapters manages to propel Mrs. Bradley through the rest of the book. Never one for endless drawing-room suspect interviews, Miss Mitchell prefers to flesh out her characters with backstory, personal tics, physical actions, and mannerisms of speech that sometimes make them quite memorable. More on this in a moment.

This lack of crossword-calibre clueing and challenge-to-the-reader gauntlet throwing is enough to make many mystery readers abandon ship. And they have a point. These elements form a large part of the mystery genre's reason for being. But while Miss Mitchell's books do not rely on perfectly placed clues, neither do they feel as though they have all been struck from the same template. Very often a detective series may succumb to overfamiliar formula as the cases pile up and the author soldiers on. (Insert clue A into chapter B.) The Mrs. Bradley series, especially in its first two decades [FN 2], offers wonderful variety and rarely treads the same ground twice (literally, or at least literarily: the author uses all corners of England, Scotland, and Wales for her backdrops and occasionally ventures into Europe as well). I adore Miss Mitchell's willingness to mix it up a bit, in tone and prose and structure.

The results, varied as they may be, are grounded by their mystery form: The Saltmarsh Murders is a very successful, high-spirited comedy, with shades (and influence) of P.G. Wodehouse; The Rising of the Moon (1945) is a somber twilight tale of serial killing in a small village as seen through the eyes of a 13-year old boy; When Last I Died (1941) incorporates, in a manner reminiscent of Wilkie Collins, diary entries, court observations, and private letters to tell a story of ominous disappearances and malevolent ghosts. Even Mitchell's less successful books, such as the dream-like, war-torn Sunset Over Soho (1943) and the pagan, primal, but overly tangled The Devil at Saxon Wall (1935), make for fascinating reading despite their lapses in logical plotting. These are unique, diverse books, and the distinction in tone and subject matter from one to another is admirable and impressive.

Mitchell invests her singular stories with an assortment of characters ranging from comic and sympathetic to cypher-like and menacing. Personal favorites tend to be the forceful eccentrics who drive a few of the plotlines: the screeching, wheelchair-bound Great Aunt Puddequet of The Longer Bodies (1930), who pits her relations against each other in an Olympics game to determine an heir; the monomaniacal, quite-possibly-mad Sir Rudri Hopkinson of Come Away, Death (1937), whose obsession with the Greek myths (and insistence on realistic recreations) might get his travelling party killed. Part of the appeal lies in Gladys Mitchell's generous painting in of her characters' backgrounds and "off-time," i.e., incidental details that aren't strictly necessary to the mystery plot. [FN 3] We probably do not need to know the full text of the circus poster that so enthralls the young narrator of The Rising of the Moon (and yet it's the type of detail a 13-year old boy would drink in and memorize), and some might find it excessive to learn about each vacationing family who stumbles upon a dead body one fateful summer (in The Worsted Viper), as said families are obviously not suspects.

But such authorial flourish, from a writer so sure of herself and her characters, often lends Miss Mitchell's books a dimension and humor her contemporaries lack in theirs. No, Mitchell's plotting has none of Carr's locked-room ingenuity or Christie's least-likely-suspect dazzle, but neither do I find prose and characterization as rich and enjoyable from Mitchell's more recognized peers. Rhode's Motor Rally Mystery has efficient (unremarkable) detection at the expense of compelling characters and memorable plotting. Mitchell's The Worsted Viper has a sequence of events--bodies found, murderers trailed, Satanic ceremony broken up--in place of reader-friendly, detectable clues, and the story is rather sensational and contrived, but it breathes in a way that Rhode's effort never does. Mitchell's characters (excepting the murder victims) have life in them; they're colorful, they think independently and they ride a comparatively unpredictable storyline. Mrs. Beatrice Adela Lestrange Bradley runs rings around the dyspeptic Dr. Priestley: She squeezes information from a gypsy by placing a voodoo hex upon her! She narrowly avoids a poison blow dart! She comandeers a Satanic service and invents her own incantations! Viper is just as much adventure thriller as mystery story, but once again, that's what I love about Gladys Mitchell, and that's what keeps me reading. I never know what to expect.

I submit, then, this postulation: to enjoy the detective fiction of Gladys Mitchell, the reader has to approach them less as traditional detective stories than as first-rate escapist fiction. Using the murder mystery frame as a springboard for her plots, Mitchell delivers a variety of tones and stories, the great majority of them creative, singular, and highly readable. I've found more clever mystery stories elsewhere, but I've rarely found richer, more vibrant ones. Gladys Mitchell is a fiction writer who happens to write murder mysteries, rather than the other way around.

Footnotes:

[1] In death-by-novelty-object, I refer to the old chestnuts: exploding lightbulb containing nerve gas, icicle stabbing, training a squirrel to murder, et cetera etc.

[2] It is worth noting that Gladys Mitchell's books published before 1950 are generally more varied and arguably more successful than her later books. Beginning in the 1950s, narrative style and plotlines level out, producing mysteries that are readable but often not noteworthy. There are some successful later books, but most of the author's very best can be found in the first two decades of her publishing career.

[3] Mitchell occasionally short-changes the villains of her books, however. A number of novels have an off-stage and indistinct murderer, and the unmasking and/or capture of such a vague criminal proves disappointing. Examples can be found--or avoided--in Adders on the Heath, A Javelin for Jonah, and Uncoffin'd Clay.

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Book Review: KEEP IT QUIET (1935) by Richard Hull

6/22/2015

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I grew up reading Golden Age Detective stories -- those drawing-room murder mysteries, largely from England, that reached their heyday in the 1930s and 40s. As an adult, I still love to mix in with my required teaching texts and assorted fiction a classic crime story whenever I get the chance. And when I have the time, I write up a synopsis and review of that story to share with others; that's how I started my tribute site to the wonderfully imaginative GAD author Gladys Mitchell at www.gladysmitchell.com .

In this post, I survey the darkly comic second book by Richard Hull, Keep It Quiet. Hull (the pseudonym of accountant-turned-mystery writer Richard Henry Sampson) found instant success with his clever debut The Murder of My Aunt, and wrote 14 more crime novels. In each one, he tries to find a surprising way to turn plot and structure on its ear, which is why I like him. Does Keep It Quiet succeed as an original, offbeat Golden Age mystery? Read on and find out.
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Synopsis: London has its share of prestigious men’s clubs, and the rather natty Whitehall Club does not quite belong to those ranks. The smaller library (smoking allowed) is uncomfortably stifling and hot, while the larger library is “kept just above freezing point by one small fire struggling manfully with a series of complicated draughts.” There is considerable controversy over the quality of sherry received from the new wine supplier, and certain members would appreciate the appearance of curled whiting on the club menu from time to time. It falls to The Whitehall Club’s beleaguered secretary Mr. Ford to contend with all problems and complaints, so when a notably disagreeable member is found dead in a library chair, he must deal with this too.

Before help can be summoned, Ford learns from the cook that old Mr. Pargiter may have been the victim of a culinary oversight: due to the re-use of a bottle marked “essence of vanilla”, some perchloride of mercury may have slipped into the iced soufflé. Fearing the negative effects on the club’s reputation, cook and secretary agree to “keep it quiet,” and Ford enlists the resident doctor, Mr. Anstruther, to certify that the man died of natural causes.

Ford’s reflexive choice carries some unfortunate consequences. An anonymous blackmailer begins sending messages to Ford, forcing him to enact many changes in the ways the club is run. (The appearance of whiting on the menu and the firing of faithful waiter Hughes are two such demands.) But Ford – an intermediary who has previously showed little independence or backbone – pushes against his blackmailer’s demands and confides his situation in member and lawyer Mr. Cardonnel, who is already eagerly investigating the theft of books from the club library.

When another unlikeable and elderly member dies in the same library chair, the pressure mounts. Ford’s fate becomes entangled with those of Anstruther and Cardonnel, but can either man be trusted? Owing to his occupation, Hughes is often in a position to observe more than one may think, and with the waiter’s help Ford is able to resolve the unpleasantness and return The Whitehall Club to its former, unspectacular state.


Review: With Keep It Quiet, Richard Hull continues to experiment with the elements and structure of the conventional mystery novel. As whodunits go, this book is less a symphony than a chamber piece, with its cast of characters reduced to four. (Supporting club members appear on the periphery but none makes a lasting contribution to plot or tone.) Offering a variation on the inverted mystery format, Hull reveals villain and circumstances at the halfway mark, and the remainder of the story switches its question from “Who is it?” to “Will he be caught?” The gambit is generally successful for this short book, and with only four characters in play, perhaps the choice of an early reveal is for the best.

Whether Keep It Quiet will appeal to the traditional Golden Age mystery fan depends on what the reader most wants from the genre. As a mystery puzzle, the plot is slight and Hull makes the quixotic choice to exclude almost all of the club’s members from a traditional fair-play suspect list. But I believe the author is more interested in shaping and sustaining a satiric tone, contrasting the British conception of a genteel men’s social club with the petty bickering and farcical attempts to maintain order, power, and civility. (A similar feigned hauteur-breeds-common frustration satire drives the engine of John Cleese’s excellent television series Fawlty Towers.) The idea that a witness to murder would use the situation to force improvements to his club is comical, but it is also in keeping with the world and worries that the author provides his characters. Parody also comes in the form of lawyer Cardonnel’s rather questionable deductive methods to identify the resident book thief. In a leap of logic that would make Sherlock Holmes cringe, Cardonnel states that the thief is not only married but also plays bridge with his wife:


"You see, if he has a wife, he must explain somehow how he is able to obtain so readily a supply of second-hand books, many of them having perhaps some mark identifying them with the Club. The most ready suggestion is that he buys second-hand packs of cards from the Club in the usual way, and explains the second-hand books as being a similar convenience.”

While not a complicated mystery story, Keep It Quiet provides an enjoyably comic look at the inhabitants of a city club in 1930s London, and of the many minor grudges, insecurities, tyrannies, and complaints that might lie within.
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WRITING - What I've learned about the craft

6/20/2015

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For my inaugural blog post, I thought it would be useful and encouraging to share some realizations I have accumulated over the years about the craft and art of writing. While some of the points might seem obvious, it took me lots of trial and error to recognize the importance of these basic ideas. And I still remind myself of them every time I write!
  • Writing becomes resonant when it has something to say. The trick lies in understanding and accepting that there are no new ideas for an artist to state, only new ways to present them. If you can sum up your piece in a thematic message—pessimism only breeds negativity, or celebrity culture is disconnected from reality, for example—then your chances of writing something that's both more personal and more powerful increase. Defining a theme and putting the idea into words forces the author to articulate the purpose of the story, and that's a good thing. How many times have you read a story or watched a play and found your attention wandering because the scene devolved into rudderless conversation? Chances are the writer lost his or her theme. If you're not saying something (that's almost assuredly already been said) about the human condition, then I'm not sure why as an audience member I'm giving up time to go on the journey.  A clear theme will also strengthen both character actions and goals.

  • Understand plot structure as it is taught, but don't let it hamstring you if you're trying out a stylistic idea or non-linear approach. Experiment when you want to rather than writing in a traditional form, provided you can define what the new approach accomplishes. The adage of knowing the rule you're breaking before you break it is a good one; if you can't explain why you are choosing a particular atypical style, then you need to think carefully before using it. If you can justify why using backwards chronology enhances the breakup story you are writing (and define what it adds to your piece), then definitely keep going. If you have no better reason than "It looks cool," then you might want to revisit what you're trying to say.

  • Brevity. Repeated beats in my stage writing are a big weakness of mine. Go through and see if people are arguing the same thing and merely saying it with different words. If they are, cut it. While you're looking for brevity, also track escalation of conflict. If it feels like just a back-and-forth argument, you need to think about one character breaking that cycle by introducing a new tactic: have her stab the other person with a fork or have a nervous breakdown or get deadly quiet and say, "Okay, but you know what I'll do to Sandy." Especially if Sandy hasn't been brought up or used as a tactic before; it's a safe bet to say that this will make the audience perk up. Why? You're no longer repeating a familiar beat. Suddenly you're in new, interesting territory.

  • Work from your landing point (aka: embrace the outline). To me, it's the ending and final image that informs what the play or story is about. That should be both common-sense and universal, but for many writers, we lose sight of the power of conclusion. I spend a lot of time figuring out where I want the protagonist to end up. Yes, I'm all for having the characters speak and act as one writes, and although I use an outline, it's an open one with enough room for characters to chart their own way. But if I know where I want to go, it helps me define what I want to say (the thematic message, discussed earlier). I've witnessed some colleagues write several drafts of a story, completely changing structure and plot with each multi-page new pass. Foreknowledge means you're not as apt to lose time going blindly down a creative alley that isn't the right one if you know the neighborhood where you ultimately want to wind up. For that reason, I am very much a pro-outline writer. My characters still surprise me, and I still let them speak and act independently. But with an outline, they're also in service of what I feel I really want to say through their journey. And if that theme changes, then both characters and writer can discover it together.

    Those are some of my thoughts gained from personal experience. Agree? Disagree? Feel free to comment.

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