We start with the good (and in The Case of the Abominable Snowman, first published in 1941, the good is very good): the beginning and ending moments of this Nigel Strangeways story are striking and memorable. The American title The Corpse in the Snowman gives away the revelation of the first chapter, where two children watch from a bedroom window as melting snow uncovers a very human face under their seasonal sculpture. But it is the apparent suicide of a troubled woman upon which this snowbound manor house mystery revolves. In addition to the discovery of the body of poor Elizabeth Restorick in her bedroom, early eerie clues include a cat whose behavior goes haywire and a potentially supernatural appearance by the victim at the time of her death.
The ending, where Strangeways sets a trap for the killer and gets more of a reaction than he hoped for, is exciting and well staged by author Nicholas Blake. And the explanation offered that puts all of the collected puzzle pieces in place is both novel and rather unbelievable, even for the generally permissive world of detective fiction; I discuss these aspects a little later in the review. While the book begins and ends strongly, I found myself a little listless as author and investigator lay out the groundwork and do the heavy lifting.
While Blake shapes and complicates his plot with his customary inventiveness and attention to detail, there is something that keeps me at a distance from the characters and, ultimately, from the thrill of the chase itself. Snowman's middle section, with its theories and interviews and evidence gathering, is technically successful, but I found it difficult to focus on and engage with it all. The group of suspects should be engaging, and each character has enough definition to fill his or her assigned role in the larger drama. All the same, there's an overriding feeling of chess-play at work, with figures moved around on the board (or biding their time on their square) simply for the game's sake, so it is difficult at times to feel invested in the story of people touched by tragedy.
This criticism may have its roots in Blake's handling of Elizabeth Restorick, the victim at the center of the story. The reader never really becomes acquainted with her as a personality, yet she makes an unforgettable introduction as a corpse, hanging from a beam, her body naked and her face painted. Then we learn (through Nigel) of her troubled adolescence and adult addictions, and she becomes the impetus for future murderous acts. All this should inspire an exemplary drama on the page that has the fatalistic propulsion of Macbeth, but the mystery stays academic and somewhat abstract. I'm also setting the standard high simply because Blake, the pen name for poet Cecil Day-Lewis, has delivered several excellent crime stories with strong characterization and engrossing puzzle plotting, including Thou Shell of Death (1936) and The Beast Must Die (1938).
By the time Strangeways arrives at the climax leading to his extraordinary solution, however, all torpor has been shaken off. And the author's tying up of all of his threads -- with more than a little hypothesizing about motives and mechanics of the characters by his detective -- lands another rather extreme effect: it is an innovative and bold solution that pushes the bounds of accepted reality for the reader.
I say this because at least two elements require a faith (or suspension of disbelief) that a certain character would act almost counterintuitively to what a typical person would do under similar circumstances. To analyze either predicament here would require spoilers, and the enjoyable surprise in the revelations for new readers is too delicate to destroy. And in vaudeville, there is a delightful maxim/warning for its audience: "You buy the premise, you buy the bit." If you can believe two characters in this story would choose an extreme road of action over a far more practical pathway to see justice done, then The Case of the Abominable Snowman provides one of the most unusual and original resolutions in all of Golden Age Detection fiction.
While Blake shapes and complicates his plot with his customary inventiveness and attention to detail, there is something that keeps me at a distance from the characters and, ultimately, from the thrill of the chase itself. Snowman's middle section, with its theories and interviews and evidence gathering, is technically successful, but I found it difficult to focus on and engage with it all. The group of suspects should be engaging, and each character has enough definition to fill his or her assigned role in the larger drama. All the same, there's an overriding feeling of chess-play at work, with figures moved around on the board (or biding their time on their square) simply for the game's sake, so it is difficult at times to feel invested in the story of people touched by tragedy.
This criticism may have its roots in Blake's handling of Elizabeth Restorick, the victim at the center of the story. The reader never really becomes acquainted with her as a personality, yet she makes an unforgettable introduction as a corpse, hanging from a beam, her body naked and her face painted. Then we learn (through Nigel) of her troubled adolescence and adult addictions, and she becomes the impetus for future murderous acts. All this should inspire an exemplary drama on the page that has the fatalistic propulsion of Macbeth, but the mystery stays academic and somewhat abstract. I'm also setting the standard high simply because Blake, the pen name for poet Cecil Day-Lewis, has delivered several excellent crime stories with strong characterization and engrossing puzzle plotting, including Thou Shell of Death (1936) and The Beast Must Die (1938).
By the time Strangeways arrives at the climax leading to his extraordinary solution, however, all torpor has been shaken off. And the author's tying up of all of his threads -- with more than a little hypothesizing about motives and mechanics of the characters by his detective -- lands another rather extreme effect: it is an innovative and bold solution that pushes the bounds of accepted reality for the reader.
I say this because at least two elements require a faith (or suspension of disbelief) that a certain character would act almost counterintuitively to what a typical person would do under similar circumstances. To analyze either predicament here would require spoilers, and the enjoyable surprise in the revelations for new readers is too delicate to destroy. And in vaudeville, there is a delightful maxim/warning for its audience: "You buy the premise, you buy the bit." If you can believe two characters in this story would choose an extreme road of action over a far more practical pathway to see justice done, then The Case of the Abominable Snowman provides one of the most unusual and original resolutions in all of Golden Age Detection fiction.
One last detail: this is another example of a once-contemporary but now-historical crime novel that incorporates drug use and abuse by a character into the plot, and it paints the same curious, almost quaint, picture of the subject that modern readers often find in work from that era. Although talk of sidewalk "dope-peddlers" and "marijuana cigarettes" that "create erotic hallucinations" seems amusing today, I don't mean to minimize the power of drugs -- just look at our modern overreliance on prescription pills -- or the ravages of addiction.
Other blog reviewers have braved the snow and some have found a similar weathery mix of strengths and weakness with this book. Check out reviews from Nick at The Grandest Game in the World, Kate at crossexaminingcrime, and The Puzzle Doctor at In Search of the Classic Mystery Novel.
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