There is a rather unique reason why Printer’s Devil, the second criminous collaboration from Clemence Dane and Helen Simpson, kept me guessing until the end. Because of the tone and the plotting, I – and I suspect other readers as well – never felt certain whether the novel was a whodunit at all. Upon reaching the end, it turns out that there is a suspicious death (a little over halfway through the book) and a motive that implicates a handful of suspects who had reason to stop the publication of a scandalous memoir. But the authors appear to be equally interested in the budding romance of a headstrong young editor’s assistant and the publicist who has fallen for her, and chapters are devoted to their wooing: in an apartment, on a bus, and at the symphony, among other locales. The result has detective story and comic romance wrestling awkwardly for dominance, and it seems that, by the final page, hearts beats clubs.
Such commingling of genres might not be a problem, but Printer’s Devil never quite manages to fuse the two approaches into a cohesive whole. This makes for a rather schizophrenic, if occasionally interesting, reading experience. The ambiguity isn’t helped by the way the character of Sir John Samaurez is used (or is underused) here. Samaurez, an actor and theatrical producer, assumed the central role of amateur sleuth in Dane and Simpson’s first effort, the previous year’s Enter Sir John, where he was kept busy saving an innocent actress accused of murder. In Devil, Sir John is present but treated like nearly all of the other supporting characters: he and they appear at social parties and are given just enough description and dialogue to fill the void, but scarcely more than that.
The mystery plot, when it finally activates later in the book, concerns the death of a powerful female publisher, Horatia “Horrie” Pedlar, who has the misfortune to fall from her fire escape one fateful night. Found among the ashes of the fireplace grate is the scrap of the cover page to Reflections, a manuscript by literary enfant terrible Marmion Poole that promises to reveal the embarrassing secrets of several prominent people.
It seems, then, that Horrie may have been killed to stop the memoir’s publication, and so far so good (and better late than never). But suspects prove elusive for the reader who wishes to play armchair detective, largely because the authors don’t seem interested in presenting a puzzle or a clear pool of supporting players. Rather, we are invited to spend our time with the budding young lovers, secretary Gilda Bedenham and publicist K.K. “Koko” Fry, two characters who are so indulgently, quirkily rendered that you know their creators would never implicate them in such a distasteful deed.
Such commingling of genres might not be a problem, but Printer’s Devil never quite manages to fuse the two approaches into a cohesive whole. This makes for a rather schizophrenic, if occasionally interesting, reading experience. The ambiguity isn’t helped by the way the character of Sir John Samaurez is used (or is underused) here. Samaurez, an actor and theatrical producer, assumed the central role of amateur sleuth in Dane and Simpson’s first effort, the previous year’s Enter Sir John, where he was kept busy saving an innocent actress accused of murder. In Devil, Sir John is present but treated like nearly all of the other supporting characters: he and they appear at social parties and are given just enough description and dialogue to fill the void, but scarcely more than that.
The mystery plot, when it finally activates later in the book, concerns the death of a powerful female publisher, Horatia “Horrie” Pedlar, who has the misfortune to fall from her fire escape one fateful night. Found among the ashes of the fireplace grate is the scrap of the cover page to Reflections, a manuscript by literary enfant terrible Marmion Poole that promises to reveal the embarrassing secrets of several prominent people.
It seems, then, that Horrie may have been killed to stop the memoir’s publication, and so far so good (and better late than never). But suspects prove elusive for the reader who wishes to play armchair detective, largely because the authors don’t seem interested in presenting a puzzle or a clear pool of supporting players. Rather, we are invited to spend our time with the budding young lovers, secretary Gilda Bedenham and publicist K.K. “Koko” Fry, two characters who are so indulgently, quirkily rendered that you know their creators would never implicate them in such a distasteful deed.
Paradoxically, Printer’s Devil is modestly successful and intermittently engaging when approached as a light prose novel. That is, if you explore it as a story of characters rather than expecting a detective fiction puzzle, there is some enjoyment to be found and evocative, often playful writing threaded throughout. But lovers’ interludes get tedious quickly when you are waiting for something more portentous to happen, especially if a reminder is needed as to why you are reading this story.
Martin Edwards, the prolific mystery author and crime fiction archivist, provides an illuminating review of this title on his blog (and has also acquired a dustjacketed edition of the book signed by Helen Simpson, the lucky devil). He suggests that ultimately the book is a failed experiment “because the authors strike the wrong balance between people and plot”, and I agree. Printer’s Devil was published in the U.S. by Cosmopolitan Book Corporation as Author Unknown. Thanks to the shared library network at Internet Archive, curious and intrepid readers in the U.S. can sample this semi-mystery’s text here.
Martin Edwards, the prolific mystery author and crime fiction archivist, provides an illuminating review of this title on his blog (and has also acquired a dustjacketed edition of the book signed by Helen Simpson, the lucky devil). He suggests that ultimately the book is a failed experiment “because the authors strike the wrong balance between people and plot”, and I agree. Printer’s Devil was published in the U.S. by Cosmopolitan Book Corporation as Author Unknown. Thanks to the shared library network at Internet Archive, curious and intrepid readers in the U.S. can sample this semi-mystery’s text here.
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