Humdrum. That is the name attached to a category of books from mystery fiction’s Golden Age where the puzzle is not only foremost but also its only notable feature. It’s a term of derision and dismissal used by genre critic Julian Symons in his 1972 survey Bloody Murder: from the Detective Story to the Crime Novel. Symons notes that Humdrum authors “had some skill in constructing puzzles, nothing more, and [believed] that the detective story properly belonged in the category of riddles and crossword puzzles.” With such an ascetic emphasis, the reverse supposition is that all other literary merits of a legitimate crime “novel” – psychologically layered characters, a penchant for verisimilitude, a real-world resonance of theme and setting – are absent in the Humdrum.
In my opinion, Symons is accurate in his categorization…up to a point. The greatest difficulty I have with the label and definition is that sweeping idea of “nothing more” to interest the reader, “nothing more” of value or skill on display than a puzzle and a formulaic march to a solution. But I can’t fully rush to the defense of the Humdrum authors because, compared with their genre contemporaries who actively used characterization, tone, and themes (such as observations of class differences, social customs, the law and justice) to enhance their stories, the dogmatic Humdrum emphasis on plot can create a superficial or distanced reading experience.
But why should a mystery story be required to carry a Great Idea? Why must it have something to say? Detective stories are almost by definition entertainments, plots constructed by the writer to engage and beguile the reader. Many of the Humdrum authors Symons singles out were extremely successful in their time: Freeman Wills Crofts, whose plots often involve railways and the use of timetables to make and break suspects’ alibis, and Major John Street, who wrote dozens of books under the pseudonyms John Rhode and Miles Burton, were both prolific and popular. Their focus on the puzzle did not limit their contemporary appeal.
It can also be argued that the shift from detective story to crime novel was not entirely a beneficial one. While many authors in later decades would deliver complex and haunting books that used antiheroes, modern crime, and psychology in a compelling way – Patricia Highsmith, Ruth Rendell, Nicolas Freeling, and Reginald Hill are all favorites of mine – here in America it feels like the genre has been swallowed up by endless tales of sociopathic serial killers, broken and vulnerable cops, amoral lawyers and as many fights within the justice system as outside of it. Michael Connelly and Jo Nesbo are excellent writers and craftsmen, but I can only visit their fictional worlds occasionally before the many cruelties and injustices within their pages start to weigh as heavily on me as they do on their weary detectives.
But why should a mystery story be required to carry a Great Idea? Why must it have something to say? Detective stories are almost by definition entertainments, plots constructed by the writer to engage and beguile the reader. Many of the Humdrum authors Symons singles out were extremely successful in their time: Freeman Wills Crofts, whose plots often involve railways and the use of timetables to make and break suspects’ alibis, and Major John Street, who wrote dozens of books under the pseudonyms John Rhode and Miles Burton, were both prolific and popular. Their focus on the puzzle did not limit their contemporary appeal.
It can also be argued that the shift from detective story to crime novel was not entirely a beneficial one. While many authors in later decades would deliver complex and haunting books that used antiheroes, modern crime, and psychology in a compelling way – Patricia Highsmith, Ruth Rendell, Nicolas Freeling, and Reginald Hill are all favorites of mine – here in America it feels like the genre has been swallowed up by endless tales of sociopathic serial killers, broken and vulnerable cops, amoral lawyers and as many fights within the justice system as outside of it. Michael Connelly and Jo Nesbo are excellent writers and craftsmen, but I can only visit their fictional worlds occasionally before the many cruelties and injustices within their pages start to weigh as heavily on me as they do on their weary detectives.
All this to introduce Death in the Tunnel, a 1936 mystery by Miles Burton appearing in April 2016 by The Poisoned Pen Press as part of their marvelous British Library Crime Classics series. It is a story that is proudly, winningly Humdrum. The puzzle starts as a clever variation of the locked-room mystery: upon exiting a tunnel, Sir Wilfred Saxonby is found in a locked train compartment, shot through the chest. A gun with his initials is found inside, and at first the death appears to be a suicide. But the fateful train also made an unscheduled slowing when the engineer saw a red light on the tracks ahead within the tunnel, a light that turned green before the train was forced to brake completely. Both tunnel entrances were observed by crew workers, and no man was seen entering or leaving. It’s enough for Inspector Arnold to begin to investigate, and he soon calls in the more imaginative Desmond Merrion to offer advice.
Treating the death of the wealthy magistrate as suspicious, other clues soon surface: Saxonby is found with his wallet and money still in his pocket, but a family member is certain that the wallet is a duplicate; the dead man had sent his secretary and niece away from the house the day before he took his last trip; and a mystery man named Yates (the name of Saxonby’s solicitor but definitely not that person) had met with Sir Wilfred in secret. Inspector Arnold finds details that consistently lead to an older man named Dredger, but Merrion feels like the man is being framed through impersonation and cunning, and expands his theories to include two culprits instead of one.
Treating the death of the wealthy magistrate as suspicious, other clues soon surface: Saxonby is found with his wallet and money still in his pocket, but a family member is certain that the wallet is a duplicate; the dead man had sent his secretary and niece away from the house the day before he took his last trip; and a mystery man named Yates (the name of Saxonby’s solicitor but definitely not that person) had met with Sir Wilfred in secret. Inspector Arnold finds details that consistently lead to an older man named Dredger, but Merrion feels like the man is being framed through impersonation and cunning, and expands his theories to include two culprits instead of one.
Death in the Tunnel – in England, the title was Dark Is the Tunnel, and one of five Rhode/Burton mysteries published in 1936 alone! – remains an entertaining Golden Age puzzle mystery. Its principal strength is Burton’s ingenious intersecting of motive and crime, and how the clues align to the rather devilish timetable. The murder method is both elaborate and very busy, involving as it does some very precise vehicle choreography and traveling from the criminals to ensure success. Merrion and Arnold hypothesize and reconstruct the villains’ actions throughout the investigation, and that might be considered one weakness of a puzzle-centered Humdrum plotline: while the detectives are in a constant state of discussion, there’s little that occurs in the way of immediate (or suspenseful) action. After all, the murder has already taken place, the culprits long ago abandoning the scene. Even the suspect interviews are muted, as most exist to provide information from third parties about the movements of the unknown murderer on the day in question.
Along with attention to past over present actions, Burton also provides little characterization to make either his leads or his supporting cast memorable and distinct for the reader. The downside is an impression of rather low stakes – if both victim and suspects exist as sketchy, generic character types, little emotion will be invested in the outcome. But such distancing can also be an unacknowledged goal with the puzzle story: the focus remains exclusively on problem and solution, uncluttered by anything as lateral and inessential as meditating on a character’s psyche or the morality of murder. Instead, the pursuit is almost academic. The Humdrum, it seems, is mystery detection in its purest form. With a mystery novel pared down to its core, the Humdrum author succeeds or fails on the strength of his puzzle. And fortunately, Death in the Tunnel is a very strong puzzle indeed. How satisfied you are when you arrive at the story’s destination, I feel, will depend on whether you had expected (and wanted) to ride the Crime Novel Local or the Detective Story Express.
Thanks to NetGalley and the publishers at The Poisoned Pen Press for offering an advance eBook copy of Death in the Tunnel in exchange for an honest review.
Thanks to NetGalley and the publishers at The Poisoned Pen Press for offering an advance eBook copy of Death in the Tunnel in exchange for an honest review.
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