When I led a much more leisurely paced life back in the early 2000s, I quickly read through all 16 books in Nicholas Blake's mystery series featuring amateur detective Nigel Strangeways. And for more than a decade, I haven't revisited any of the stories, despite admiring and enjoying several of them for their clever construction and solid storytelling. Still memorable are titles such as The Beast Must Die (1938), containing a smart and emotionally satisfying twist on the unreliable narrator; The Smiler with the Knife (1939), a wartime thriller in which Nigel's wife Georgia drives the action; and Minute for Murder (1947), a beautifully simple paring down of suspects, all in fair-play fashion, from six to three to two to one.
Nicholas Blake was the pen name for England's Poet Laureate Cecil Day-Lewis, and the Strangeways mysteries helped to provide additional income in the earlier days of his writing career. I decided to revisit the series with the late novel The Worm of Death (1961), which has been reprinted by Ipso Books – the publishing company now has a dozen Blake titles back in print – and made available in paperback and eBook formats. Worm finds Nigel living with his talented sculptor girlfriend, Clare Massenger, in Greenwich as a curious death attracts the couple's attention. The naked body of Dr. Piers Loudron has been pulled from the sea, and investigation shows cuts across each of his wrists that were likely not made by boat or nature. Had the doctor taken a drug and stumbled into the water after a suicide attempt? Or was the body moved as part of a cover-up to conceal a crime committed closer to home?
Looking into the case, Strangeways becomes acquainted with Dr. Loudron's unlikeable family, including his cold and clinical elder son, Dr. James Loudron; his younger son Harold, an ineffectual spouse overshadowed by his restless wife Sharon; his adopted son Graham, whose face (we are told repeatedly) resembles that of a fruit bat; and his daughter Rebecca, a nervous woman engaged to a volatile painter named Walter Barn. The detective picks through the clues and psychodramas to ultimately uncover a murderer, but not before another person is killed and Strangeways finds himself expected to play the role of third victim.
Nigel Strangeways made his first appearance in 1935, in the book A Question of Proof. This university-set début mystery is straightforward Golden Age detective fiction. Twenty-six years later, The Worm of Death synthesizes that traditional and popular clues-and-suspects genre form with something much more au courant: a psychological study of deviant characters shaking up societal norms. It's a useful distinction, because a person's enjoyment of this book (especially contrasted with the purer puzzle titles that preceded it) will depend on how comfortably one is with Christie-like clueing and Freudian analysis sharing the same page.
Psychological scrutiny, particularly in regard to character motives, certainly became more popular in crime fiction beginning in the post-war years, when puzzle-only fiction started to feel for many a bit hollow without emotionally complex or relatably flawed individuals to provide the appearance of verisimilitude. In Blake's mystery and suspense novels, this manifested in a display of overt (and usually dangerous or unattractive) sexuality: some women, like Sharon in this book, became calculating nymphomaniacs, aggressively throwing themselves at Strangeways, with Clare watching in bemused fashion. In Blake's men, there is evidence of literal or figurative impotence (Harold), aggressive overcompensation (Walter Barn), or, in the murderer's case, some fundamentally Freudian Oedipal issues. The diagnosing can feel a bit heavy-handed in these later books, especially since Strangeways is a bit of a cold fish himself: his relationship with Clare Massenger as written isn't nearly as egalitarian or inviting as the one Blake created for Nigel and his wife Georgia.
Looking into the case, Strangeways becomes acquainted with Dr. Loudron's unlikeable family, including his cold and clinical elder son, Dr. James Loudron; his younger son Harold, an ineffectual spouse overshadowed by his restless wife Sharon; his adopted son Graham, whose face (we are told repeatedly) resembles that of a fruit bat; and his daughter Rebecca, a nervous woman engaged to a volatile painter named Walter Barn. The detective picks through the clues and psychodramas to ultimately uncover a murderer, but not before another person is killed and Strangeways finds himself expected to play the role of third victim.
Nigel Strangeways made his first appearance in 1935, in the book A Question of Proof. This university-set début mystery is straightforward Golden Age detective fiction. Twenty-six years later, The Worm of Death synthesizes that traditional and popular clues-and-suspects genre form with something much more au courant: a psychological study of deviant characters shaking up societal norms. It's a useful distinction, because a person's enjoyment of this book (especially contrasted with the purer puzzle titles that preceded it) will depend on how comfortably one is with Christie-like clueing and Freudian analysis sharing the same page.
Psychological scrutiny, particularly in regard to character motives, certainly became more popular in crime fiction beginning in the post-war years, when puzzle-only fiction started to feel for many a bit hollow without emotionally complex or relatably flawed individuals to provide the appearance of verisimilitude. In Blake's mystery and suspense novels, this manifested in a display of overt (and usually dangerous or unattractive) sexuality: some women, like Sharon in this book, became calculating nymphomaniacs, aggressively throwing themselves at Strangeways, with Clare watching in bemused fashion. In Blake's men, there is evidence of literal or figurative impotence (Harold), aggressive overcompensation (Walter Barn), or, in the murderer's case, some fundamentally Freudian Oedipal issues. The diagnosing can feel a bit heavy-handed in these later books, especially since Strangeways is a bit of a cold fish himself: his relationship with Clare Massenger as written isn't nearly as egalitarian or inviting as the one Blake created for Nigel and his wife Georgia.
Still, this Worm is entertaining (even as its narrative is rather sober and detached), and it has two very intriguing facets to recommend it. Blake sets the story in the famed naval city of Greenwich, where he lived when he wrote the novel, and indeed goes so far as to install the Loudron family into his own home. The blinding coastal fog, the access to the quay, the high-tide waters lapping against the house: all is described vividly and with convincing, atmospheric detail. Also, Blake/Day-Lewis hasn't lost his skill for pacing, and while not as strong as his most powerful mysteries, The Worm of Death is still an engrossing read, and begins with a diary excerpt from the dead man (who knows an unnamed killer is plotting to attack him) calculated to tantalize a reader still hoping for a classic Golden Age guessing game, even at this late year.
I received a review eBook copy via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. Sincere thanks to Ipso Books for bringing back into print the great Nigel Strangeways mysteries. They are well worth checking out.
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