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The Last of 2018 - and Looking Ahead from Here

12/31/2018

Do I dare define 2018 in one word? If I were to be so bold, that word would probably be busy. Not chaotic, really, or exhausting – although it was a little of that – but just plain-and-simple busy would work best. It was this year that I moved from multiple adjunct teaching jobs to one full-time, office-hours academic advising job, which meant less grading but far more paperwork and student appointments. And I still teach an online class here and there, which further takes time away from personal projects.

Nevertheless, 2018 proved a very good year for writing, with three stories published (and/or e-published) and available to all. My new tale "The Last Ferry", which I wrote in February, appears in Landfall: The Best New England Crime Stories of 2018 from Level Best Books. And I was delighted to learn that "The Widow Cleans House", my first published short story in Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, was chosen for reprint in the anthology Terror at the Crossroads, released in October by Penny Publications/Eris Press.

Also débuting this year was my first long-form effort, and my first LGBTQ romantic comedy to boot. Knights Erring, available from Less Than Three Press, follows three friends who bet each other that they can't uphold the tenets of chivalry (including poverty, chastity, and obedience) for two weeks. The story made it through multiple drafts and grew considerably, and I'm very happy with the current version.

My Reading List – an annual compulsion that I started in 2005 when I decided to note every book, script, or story collection I finished from that point forward – tells me that I read 64 titles this year, which is less than in previous years, but still surprising given the sheer busyness of 2018. (See Paragraph One.) I would note the following items as standouts:

Beartown (2016) – Fredrik Backman's unsentimental exploration of a small northern town that lives - and almost destroys itself - for its high school hockey team
The Moving Target (1949) – Ross MacDonald's first Lew Archer mystery
Exit, Pursued by a Bear (2012) – Lauren Gunderson's darkly comic play about a woman taking revenge on her abusive husband
The Teapot Dome Scandal: How Big Oil Bought the Harding White House (2008) by Laton McCartney – why would this story of a corrupt president and a Republican congress trying to hide and bury illegal dealings seem familiar?

Honorable mentions go to Bodies from the Library (2018), a fun collection of lesser-known stories by famous classic mystery authors edited by Tony Medawar, and Gregory McDonald's buoyant sequel Confess, Fletch (1976), which is twistier and more satisfying than his solid earlier effort.

And it was great to return to a book by Gladys Mitchell. I haven't spent much time in her company lately, so I made the excuse to remedy that by launching the Mitchell Mystery Reading Group. I spent a wonderful (and busy) November discussing and dissecting the 1929 Mrs. Bradley whodunit farce The Mystery of a Butcher's Shop. I loved all of the topics and conversational roads that I likely would never have traveled if I had revisited the book on my own, and I am looking forward to the next group reading event, probably in March or April of 2019. I'll choose a 1930s title and announce it the month before; I already have some suggestions from fans, and there are a lot of solid tales to choose from in that decade!

Finally, I will end by offering a version of the familiar New Year's Resolutions. In addition to hosting another Mitchell Mystery Reading Group event (two if I can manage it), 2019 will be the year I finally submit an entry for the Black Orchid Novella writing contest, sponsored by the Rex Stout appreciation club The Wolfe Pack. Before that, I should deliver a completed Act Two (currently in progress) for a stage comedy that I'm writing for a regional theater company. I'd like to also push myself to complete two new crime-themed short stories next year. And I want to keep my eyes open for new writing and contest opportunities, something that I don't always look for as rigorously as I should.

I hope everyone has a 2019 that rivals, nay exceeds, the success and joy that 2018 (hopefully) provided. And if your 2018 was less than you wanted it to be, you have every reason to be optimistic as we flip the calendar and turn the page together!

Peace and best wishes,
Jason Half

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Book Review: A QUESTION OF PROOF (1935) by Nicholas Blake

12/30/2018

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The English boys' or girls' preparatory school has proven to be an irresistible setting for Golden Age and contemporary writers of murder mysteries. Some authors were career educators, and were able to bring to life the conflicts large and small found when a group of adolescents (and their often equally childlike instructors) is forced to share a closed community. As a result, many writer/teachers have used their on-campus observations and understanding of the milieu to create some memorable campus-set detective stories, including Michael Innes's The Weight of the Evidence (1944), Josephine Tey's Miss Pym Disposes (1946), and Gladys Mitchell's Tom Brown's Body (1949), to name a few.

The début title in Nicholas Blake's series featuring the eccentric detective Nigel Strangeways can be added to this list. Blake was the pseudonym of Cecil Day-Lewis, an Irish-born writer who worked as a schoolteacher in Scotland and, in 1968, was named Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom. Fortunately, Day-Lewis chose to supplement his income by writing mystery fiction, and 1935's A Question of Proof is the book that introduces readers to his unassuming but quirky sleuth. I will let Michael Evans, a character in Proof who has become the prime suspect in the murder of an unlikable student, offer his description of Strangeways:

"Could not stick two years [at Oxford College], the spectacle of so many quite decent youths being got at and ruined for life was too much for him. Heard that at Cambridge the hearties were still heartier and the intelligentsia even less intelligent, so decided to dispense with any further education… Traveled about for a bit, learning languages. Then settled down for a bit to investigate crime; said it was the only career left which offered scope to good manners and scientific curiosity. He's been very successful; made pots of money. He did all the stuff in the Duchess of Esk's diamonds affair and several high-hat blackmail cases which have figured less prominently in the press."

"But what's he like?"

"Like? Oh, like one of the less successful busts of T.E. Shaw. A Nordic type. He's rather faddy, by the way; his protective mechanism developed them, I daresay. But you must have water perpetually on the boil; he drinks tea at all hours of the day. And he can't sleep unless he has an enormous weight on his bed. If you don't give him enough blankets for three, you'll find that he has torn the carpets up or the curtains down."

What's curious to me is that Nigel Strangeways comes across as rather a default eccentric in these mysteries; perhaps he is odd because the genre expects it. His "fads" are laid on the thickest in this début novel, but they are a collection of habits and don't better define the character's personality, which for me has always been more tabula rasa (or contemplative sponge) than memorably garrulous. Unlike, say, Hercule Poirot's fussy, precise mannerisms or Mrs. Beatrice Lestrange Bradley's physical and verbal assaults on those around her, Strangeways' behavior is not really in active service of his role as detective, nor does it physicalize his mental processes; it is peculiar to sleep under multiple blankets, but the fact doesn't really change or inform his introspective approach to investigating a crime.

There's another benefit to staging a murder mystery at a school, and it has to do both with a ready stable of on-hand suspects and the excellent narrative move of bringing chaos and disruption to a locale that operates on the regimentation of strict order and control. When Sudeley Hall student Wemyss disappears during a Sports Day exhibition and turns up dead, buried in a haystack in which Michael Evans was canoodling with the headmaster's wife, the tragic event threatens the reputation of the school and casts suspicion on the gossiping schoolmasters. Strangeways is called in to help clear his friend's name, but he is also seen as a mechanism to restore order to the troubled school by identifying the culprit. This he eventually does, but he is frustrated by a lack of empirical evidence – hence the title – and the killer is given enough rope to strike a second time.

There is a lot to appreciate in A Question of Proof, including lively comic descriptions and characterizations, literary and historical allusions, smart observations about British public school practices and quirks, and (perhaps most importantly) a mystery puzzle plot that stays busy and draws in several suspects before the detective reveals his final-chapter solution. Whether the reader feels that Blake has provided a fair-play puzzle experience will depend largely on how satisfied one is with the stated motive of the murderer. To his credit, the author makes sure all loose ends are tied up and explanations of the red herrings are provided.

While not the very best of the series, Day-Lewis/Blake nevertheless delivers an impressive first mystery and a worthy introduction of his capable, but always a little clinical and distant, detective. For me, the best Nigel Strangeways novels appear in the first half of his publishing output, and his creator should be celebrated for his enthusiasm for experimenting with style and structure within the series. Personal favorites include 1938's The Beast Must Die, a suspenseful version of the inverted-mystery tale, The Smiler with the Knife (1939), in which Nigel's wife Georgia is caught up in wartime espionage and intrigue, and Minute for Murder (1947), a clever meditation on the act of eliminating suspects.

Nick Fuller over at The Grandest Game in the World has also examined A Question of Proof (I would expect nothing less!) and has collected contemporary reviews of the book on his site.

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Book Review: APPLEBY TALKING (1954) by Michael Innes

12/10/2018

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Is it fair to judge a novelist based on a set of short stories? The immediate answer is, of course, yes: successful short fiction requires many of the elements that shape and create compelling long-form narratives. It is often argued that short stories need more finesse and a defter touch; all components need to be working well in the miniature format, whereas long fiction writers have the comparative luxury of being forgiven a clunky turn of phrase or a run of a few unengaging pages. If brevity is the soul of wit, then short fiction raises the bar of expectation simply by limiting its word count.

I offer this ruminative prologue to introduce Appleby Talking (1954), a collection of 23 short (some of them very short, running only around five pages) stories by author Michael Innes featuring his most famous detective, Sir John Appleby.

Innes, as John Innes Mackintosh Stewart, taught English Literature at Oxford for decades, and his mystery stories often feature academic settings and incorporate playful literary references and allusions. I must confess that I have not read a single one of the author’s many full-length novels, which began with Death at the President’s Lodging in 1936, and after which dozens more followed during the next five decades. I’m also trying to hedge my bets in the event that the weaknesses or frustrations that occurred for me with some of these stories might be addressed and attended to when Innes has a larger literary canvas to work on, to mix artistic metaphors.

True to its title, the stories in Appleby Talking feature the thoughtful detective recounting memorable (and sometimes far-fetched) cases to a small but appreciative audience. The Vicar, the Doctor, or the QC brings up a news item about a robbery or murder that just occurred, that reference in turn reminds Appleby of a curious affair from his own experience, and we’re off.

There’s a lot to recommend in Innes’s writing, as the short pieces collected here showcase imaginative and inspired scenarios that often turn on a clever clue or a curious paradox. Someone sees a Stone Age man in the mouth of a cave during a village fête. A dead man is found on beach rocks, with only one set of limping footsteps in the sand leading to the body. And lights go off during a college anatomy lesson; when they return, the freshly deceased professor has switched roles with the now-missing cadaver. With nearly two dozen short crime stories here, I was impressed with Innes’s ability to consistently craft intriguing premises over just a few introductory pages.

And while all the stories are entertaining, many of them made me wish that these compelling constructions had been explored more leisurely. This is where my key frustration with Appleby Talking lies: many of the shorter pieces feel rushed, with their details merely glossed over rather than carefully developed. The reading of these clever tales was frustrating because of the fact that the concepts and scenarios were so promising; I wanted further exploration in order for the story and its teller to achieve the best effect.

Take, for example, the two Shakespeare-inspired murders presented here. One details the onstage assassination of the luckless actor playing Julius Caesar (“Imperious Caesar”); the other (“Tragedy of a Handkerchief”) finds a cheating Desdemona lifeless by curtain-fall. Both accounts are related in simplified, engaging fashion by Appleby, reduced to post-prandial anecdotes by the educated detective. Innes and his raconteur choose not to bother with too many details, including the real names of any of the actors. Instead, they are referred to only by their character names. While the economy of presentation is understandable, the stories and the tragedies inherent in them don’t really resonate because the characters are at the service of the speaker. It keeps matters superficial, and the result is that most stories here feel more like outlines or plot pitches than fully developed and memorable events.

I’m likely also reacting to the Inspector’s way of relating the tales, which to me strikes notes of desultory conversation and disposable incident. In other words, if an author chooses to present puzzle, solution, and dénouement in the span of five pages, there may not be space available to do more than provide a blueprint of a plot that could become something greater with a little fleshing out. Perhaps it’s the writer in me, envying Innes’ apparent facility for premises and clues, jealous that he can afford to present his inspirations in sketches instead of incorporated into more fully drawn stories. But sketches appear to be the intention, and although some stories left me wanting more, they may be perfect bite-sized snacks for other mystery readers looking for something elegant and light.

It’s no surprise, then, that two of the most effective stories for me were also of a longer length. With “Lesson in Anatomy” – the story of the murdered professor and the missing cadaver – Innes uses the additional pages to develop tone and characters while giving Appleby time to actually investigate instead of simply inferring a conclusion through brief observation. (“Lesson” is also one of the few stories here that does not use the anecdote-for-an-audience framing device, and it benefits from that difference.) And in the novella-length “Dead Man’s Shoes,” the Inspector looks into a curious, twisty case that begins with mismatched shoes and ends in a smart reveal anchored in authorial misdirection. Perhaps the conclusion is simply this: I owe it to Michael Innes to sample more of his writing, and to see what he can do with one novel-length story instead of 23 too brief but promising little ones.

Agora Books has released this short story collection (as Appleby Talks) in digital and print editions for a new generation of mystery fans to find. I thank them for sharing this title with me through NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. Agora Books has released many great Golden Age books to date, including titles by Margery Allingham, Nicholas Blake, and Richard Hull, all worth a look!

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MITCHELL MYSTERY READING GROUP - Butcher's Shop Post #5

12/2/2018

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Apologies for the lateness of this final entry in the Mitchell Mystery Reading Group for 1929's The Mystery of a Butcher's Shop. Time has not been readily available this week. But it's here, and I also apologize in advance to contributors if I leave some of your comments about the murderer's reveal and the final-chapter twist on the chopping block. I have debated how to approach discussion of this part of the whodunit, and have decided to leave the 'who' ultimately unnamed for those who haven't read the book yet.

ON (Protracted) DISCUSSION AND DETECTION

It's very interesting to hear how readers interpreted Gladys Mitchell's switch from Butcher Shop's earlier busy plotting to Mrs. Bradley's conversational speculating, notably in Chapter 20's "The Story of a Crime". The consensus is that all that after-the-fact discussion doesn't help tempo or tone. Kate from crossexaminingcrime reports that she "rapidly lost interest in the book in its final third… There was a lack of new information and the narrative revolved around protracted discussion, which went over familiar ground."

Martyn Hobbs expands on this tactical change: "The comic theatrical energy of the previous acts somehow dissipates to be replaced by the static theatre of conversation. The sad surprise of these last chapters (and it is interesting how the novel falls into the neat divisions we have followed in this reading group) is their uniformity of style and tone. As the endless scenarios are rehearsed of that fateful night and the subsequent dismembering of the unfortunate Rupert, my interest at least flagged."

Personally, I can certainly see how the gear-change from action to theorizing can feel like an unwanted change of pace, especially here: farce doesn't usually give over its final climactic minutes to ruminative conversation. But it's part of what the puzzle mystery convention calls for, or at least encourages. Of course, Agatha Christie was expert at this expository high point, with Poirot going around the room of suspects and cancelling each out until he arrives at the one who done it. Here, Mrs. Bradley isn't really confronting suspects but vocalizing her thoughts to those caught up in the crime. It's not the "j'accuse" moment but rather another set-piece where Mrs. B gets to speak and act in ways that will endear or unsettle her audience. But it's also a necessary element, where the reader gains access to the eccentric detective's thinking process.

ON THE NOTEBOOK

One of my favorite invitations to see events through the elderly detective's birdlike eyes occurs when Gladys Mitchell dedicates a chapter to the contents of "Mrs. Bradley's Note-book," as happens here in Chapter 23. Writes Martyn, "Mrs Bradley's Note-book came as a relief, displacing the talk, while her revelation of [the murderer in the final chapter] was a pleasant surprise."

J.F. Norris of Pretty Sinister Books comments, "We are given a chance to peek into the pages of her notebook, a regular feature of the Mitchell mysteries in her early years, but soon dispensed with after Death at the Opera, I think. Here she outlines and stresses the odd incidents and seemingly random nature of the various mysteries as well as cleverly throwing several red herrings into the batch."

The Note-book entry also contains a hand-drawn map (likely created by GM herself) to help readers understand how sight-lines might obscure a headless body behind the Stone of Sacrifice for some of the woodland visitors, and to make general sense of that very busy evening.

ON MRS. BRADLEY ONCE MORE

PERSONA

Readers cannot escape the spirited, opinionated personality of Gladys Mitchell's memorable detective, although fortunately we are not physically near enough to receive a bony-fingered poke in the ribs. Contributors continue to talk about Mrs. Bradley's extreme appearance, her unorthodox approach to morality and justice, and her (and her creator's) affinity for young people.

Mystery writer Catherine Dilts, who has encountered Mrs. Bradley for the first time with this book, observes: "I have been disturbed by the awful physical descriptions of the amateur sleuth. In Chapter 24, even she describes herself in unfavorable terms. She gazes at herself in a mirror, observing 'her unpleasing reflection.' Mrs. Bradley has a grin described as hideous, a hand that is 'a yellow claw', an expression at one point like a 'cruel beast of prey', she peers 'hideously', and her most flattering physical description is [of being] birdlike. I kept wondering why Mitchell would treat her main character so harshly, until it finally struck me. The Mystery of a Butcher’s Shop is described as a send-up of Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple series. I suggest that Mrs. Bradley also mirrors classic British heroines such as the homely Jane Eyre and Jane Austen’s numerous plain heroines. Mitchell just kicks it up several notches."

There is no doubt that Butcher's Shop is meant as a parody of the tropes of popular detective fiction, which was in its British hey-day in 1929 and would burn brightly for another decade or more. (Agatha Christie would debut her unassuming octogenarian detective Jane Marple in The Murder in the Vicarage one year later, in 1930, but Catherine's comment holds true, as amateur sleuths are supposed to be charming and identifiable, not screeching and off-putting.)

PERSPECTIVE

I want to tread lightly here, as the psycho-analyst's unconventional view of the world – specifically regarding morality and justice – is closely tied to her decision of how to deal with the guilty party at the end of the book. Trying to minimize spoilers, I can report the following comments from readers.
Kate and others note this striking line of Mrs. Bradley dialogue, from Chapter 19:

'That is the worst of a crime like murder. One’s sympathies are so often with the murderer. One can see so many reasons why the murdered person was – well, murdered. The chief fault I have to find with most murderers is that they lack a sense of humour.'

Kate continues, "You often finish a Mitchell novel wondering whether Mrs. Bradley has done the right thing or not. In terms of the culprit, I think there is too much of a character reversal" [from what is known to the reader].

Catherine also refers to the quote above. 'That is the worst of a crime like murder. One’s sympathies are so often with the murderer.' With this remarkable statement, Mrs. Bradley illustrates what is a common theme in cozy murder mysteries to this day. The victim is often a person who was such a wretch, he or she deserved to die. The point of finding the killer is often to clear an innocent suspect accused by the police."

Speaking of wretches, I agree with Kate's observation that "we never really got to know our victim. There are odd snippets of information which suggest he was a 'bounder', but overall we never get a real sense of him. The fact he is already dead before the book begins may have something to do with it. All our information on him is secondhand and even then he is very rapidly forgotten about by characters, despite his death being the point of the investigation." It's an astute criticism, and one that other authors and Golden Age Detection puzzles sometimes fall victim to: the deceased is so generically awful or underdeveloped that there is little to anchor the characters to their particular tragedy, and that is what I feel happens with the vaguely villainous Rupert Sethleigh. It is a victim used as a literal plot device.

Joyka calls Butcher Shop's final chapters "one of Mrs. Bradley’s neater solutions. She keeps stressing the tidiness of the murderer and the tidiness of [one specific character] but no one seems to put it together but her. Even though I have read this book before, I still had to search for all the clues right up to the end. And as usual, no one is hanged; there is a gentle final solution for all. But what in the world are a cellular vest and trunk drawers?"

PANTS

And as the subject has been introduced, allow me to share J.F. Norris's frustration – and eventual reconciliation – with the Clue of the Omnipresent Trousers:

"It was those damn gray flannel pants! Curse the gray flannel pants! I completely agree with Mrs. Bradley when she says of them, 'If I had my way, gray flannel trousers should be taxed, together with dogs, automobiles, wireless receiving sets, incomes and the color curiously termed beige.' Every mention of those pants which nearly every man in the cast was wearing at one point drove me to distraction while reading this book. They rear their ugly head one more time on the penultimate page and prove to be one of the most vital clues in solving the mystery of who killed Rupert Sethleigh. Actually, not just the pants but all of the victim’s bloodied clothes and how they were transported out of the woods and how they ended up in Lulu’s laundry basket. I might have known something so annoying and trivial would be crucial in the final chapter. That’s a game point to Mitchell for this book and a whipping with a switch for me for not recognizing her trademark in clueing."

PEOPLE (the Young Ones)

Joyka returns to the topic of Gladys Mitchell's apparent fondness for her school-aged and young adult men and women characters with these comments: "One thing that has endeared Mrs. Bradley (and thus GM) to me is her treatment of children and adolescents. In an age where children were often shunted aside, ignored or diminished by authors, Gladys Mitchell allows them to contribute and even collaborate. In this book, there have been small scenes with Aubrey and/or Felicity throughout. In Chapter 17, Aubrey allows himself to be drug through the bushes, disrobed and pummeled all in the name of recreating the crime. From then on, he becomes her main confidant even to the point of seeming to forget he is fifteen and three quarters. In Chapter 19, she is discussing the motives of the case with him. Aubrey is not only soaking it up, he’s taking notes!"

Even an affinity for her younger characters doesn't mean that they will necessarily stay in the spotlight, however. From Martyn: "Another slight disappointment was the fading out of Felicity, who had been such a fresh attractive presence, after she took offence at Mrs. Bradley's fanciful speculations as to the guilt of her father." Martyn is buoyed by the naming of another Butcher's Shop character, though! "Cleaver Wright. Nobody seems to mention how apt a name that might [be] for the Butcher of Rupert…"

FINAL THOUGHTS

J.F. Norris – "[Gladys Mitchell] threw an eleventh hour twist into the works, a twist that seems a nod to her colleague Agatha Christie who loved that sort of reveal... [I can't quote more without giving away the murderer's identity! – JH] Overall, this book is a fun entry in the series but I prefer her later books (the late '40s through the mid '60s) in which the plots are less full of hi-jinks and Wodehousian nonsense and are more contained and cohesive."

Catherine Dilts – "The Mystery of a Butcher’s Shop is a fun read, with zany action scenes, distinct characters, and an ending that surprised me not because of whodunit, but because of Mrs. Bradley’s philosophical reaction to the conclusion of her investigation. In the end, I like Mrs. Bradley. Who couldn’t like a woman who is 'bored to death by mere limbs and joints'?"

And Nick Fuller, whose site The Grandest Game in the World is a treasure trove of contemporarily-published GAD mystery fiction reviews, shares these notes:

"The book was extremely well received. 'There is a briskness, a compactness, about her narrative style which, combined with a masterly trick of suspense, carries the reader along triumphantly, and definitely places Miss Mitchell among the first half-dozen writers of this kind of book', Beatrice Kean Seymour wrote in Woman's Journal.

"Several newspapers praised the book's humour. Outlook's W.R. Brooks called it 'irresistibly amusing, and a good detective story of the English country house school'. In the States, Will Cuppy said 'Miss Mitchell has done a neat job, suitable for persons who can do with some farcical proceedings while they are pondering upon the dismembered corpse', and the Springfield Republican noted that 'the story is written in a light vein, and the author pokes fun impartially at all her characters'."

Thank you very much to those who contributed to the reading group, and to those who stopped by to read the ongoing discussion! This was a very enjoyable project – time-consuming but enjoyable, and I hope to do it again in 2019. If you have a Gladys Mitchell title you'd like to suggest for the next Mitchell Mystery Reading Group event, comment below or drop me an email. As of now, I'm leaning towards moving sequentially by decades through the Mrs. Bradley series, which means my next book will likely be a title first published the 1930s.

Until then, happy reading! (And visit this site for more GAD and contemporary mystery reviews – books by Michael Innes, Gregory McDonald, Ross MacDonald, and Nicholas Blake should be represented soon.)

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The Last of 2018 - and Looking Ahead from Here

Book Review: A QUESTION OF PROOF (1935) by Nicholas Blake

Book Review: APPLEBY TALKING (1954) by Michael Innes

MITCHELL MYSTERY READING GROUP - Butcher's Shop Post #5

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