In Nicholas Blake's second mystery to feature his amateur sleuth Nigel Strangeways, the thoughtful academic is summoned by Fergus O'Brien, a fighter pilot who has been receiving anonymous letters which say that he will be dead by Boxing Day. O'Brien seems to find the threats more amusing than alarming, and to call fate's bluff – a gambit often evident in his flying days – he invites a group of people who might each be nursing a lethal grudge to a Christmas celebration at his home.
Indeed, Nigel has his hands full analyzing O'Brien's guests and learning their histories with the ex-airman. Uncharacteristically, the detective (and others) sleeps through the night's events, and Strangeways wakes only to discover O'Brien dead in a hut separated from the main house.
Indeed, Nigel has his hands full analyzing O'Brien's guests and learning their histories with the ex-airman. Uncharacteristically, the detective (and others) sleeps through the night's events, and Strangeways wakes only to discover O'Brien dead in a hut separated from the main house.
Only one set of tracks in the snow leads to the hut, yet other clues – a broken cuff button, shoes that are absent but reappear later – point to murder. This suspicion is quickly confirmed when one houseguest is nearly killed from a blow to the head by an unseen assailant, while another dies from cyanide poisoning. It's a complex, confusing case, but Nigel works with the amiable (and quite generous, as GAD police figures go) Superintendent Bleakley to untangle the tale and identify motive, means, and murderer.
Thou Shell of Death is great fun for classic mystery fiction fans, since it delivers on multiple counts: it is a sneaky fair-play puzzle with all of the clues and character psychologies offered up to the reader to organize and theorize about; it is spiritedly written and often quite humorous in description and design; the suspects are distinct personalities and used within the plot to good effect; and Blake (the pen-name for poet Cecil Day-Lewis) seems to be more comfortably familiar with his protagonist here than in his previous title, A Question of Proof. The character is now less of an eccentric for the sake of color – we learn in Proof that Strangeways has to sleep under a weight of bedcovers and must constantly drink tea, quirks that are thankfully not stressed here – and instead is a man intrigued foremost by people and their motivations and mannerisms. it's a better choice and it gives Nigel some humanity, while at the same time defining him not by his quirks but rather by his intellect.
Another aspect of Thou Shell I greatly enjoy is the author's handling of the fateful backstory that explains, among other things, O'Brien's wartime recklessness in combat, the murderer's relationship to the victim, and the body count resulting from that holiday house party. The way I view it, a mystery writer can use one of three general approaches to give the reader information about Past Events that tie directly to present deeds: 1) the detective can reveal the connection and explain the significance during the iconic end-of-chapter dénouement; 2) the author can dramatize the Past Event in separate chapter sections, with the reader understanding the significance toward the end; 3) the detective (and the reader) can learn details through interviews of witnesses or contemporaries as the story progresses.
Thou Shell of Death is great fun for classic mystery fiction fans, since it delivers on multiple counts: it is a sneaky fair-play puzzle with all of the clues and character psychologies offered up to the reader to organize and theorize about; it is spiritedly written and often quite humorous in description and design; the suspects are distinct personalities and used within the plot to good effect; and Blake (the pen-name for poet Cecil Day-Lewis) seems to be more comfortably familiar with his protagonist here than in his previous title, A Question of Proof. The character is now less of an eccentric for the sake of color – we learn in Proof that Strangeways has to sleep under a weight of bedcovers and must constantly drink tea, quirks that are thankfully not stressed here – and instead is a man intrigued foremost by people and their motivations and mannerisms. it's a better choice and it gives Nigel some humanity, while at the same time defining him not by his quirks but rather by his intellect.
Another aspect of Thou Shell I greatly enjoy is the author's handling of the fateful backstory that explains, among other things, O'Brien's wartime recklessness in combat, the murderer's relationship to the victim, and the body count resulting from that holiday house party. The way I view it, a mystery writer can use one of three general approaches to give the reader information about Past Events that tie directly to present deeds: 1) the detective can reveal the connection and explain the significance during the iconic end-of-chapter dénouement; 2) the author can dramatize the Past Event in separate chapter sections, with the reader understanding the significance toward the end; 3) the detective (and the reader) can learn details through interviews of witnesses or contemporaries as the story progresses.
There is no right or wrong choice regarding delivery of the Past Event, but it's instructive to note how each approach affects the narrative. Thou Shell of Death uses the third method, where Strangeways starts to understand the deceased O'Brien first through a lengthy anecdote from suspect and explorer Georgia Cavendish, and then from an interview with an elderly family nurse. In both sections, Blake recreates those moments of memory and allows the characters' stories to bring the Past Event into the present. In my opinion, it's a very effective approach, as it invites the reader to add these long-ago moments to the sum of the tragedy taking place now. There's a deeper resonance because we are allowed to understand the emotions and mindsets of the characters involved.
This also made me reflect on my frequent dissatisfaction with Approach #1, wherein the detective reveals the Past Event at the conclusion of the mystery story. It often feels to me as a narrative opportunity missed, as the result runs counter to the fundamental writing maxim of "Show, don't Tell." The reader may be surprised at the revelation, but he or she is largely denied the emotional catharsis (or generation of empathy) that might occur if one is invited to experience the event via flashback or retelling.
This also made me reflect on my frequent dissatisfaction with Approach #1, wherein the detective reveals the Past Event at the conclusion of the mystery story. It often feels to me as a narrative opportunity missed, as the result runs counter to the fundamental writing maxim of "Show, don't Tell." The reader may be surprised at the revelation, but he or she is largely denied the emotional catharsis (or generation of empathy) that might occur if one is invited to experience the event via flashback or retelling.
Right away, such contemplation brought me to the literary doorstep of the formidable Agatha Christie. It seemed like a number of her mysteries favored the last-chapter reveal to unveil the significance of a past event, but my Christie reading is far from complete and my memory of her stories (read decades ago) blurry. So I consulted AC expert Brad, whose ahsweetmysteryblog is a must-read for classic mystery fans, and I asked him to weigh in on Christie's handling of past events in her books. Boy, did Brad deliver.
He reminded me – for which I'm very grateful – that Agatha Christie was a constantly experimenting and creative structurist who varied her methods to meet her story needs. I feel that her classic 1939 tale And Then There Were None is profoundly resonant in part because some of her characters are haunted by and are reliving these past moments, and because Christie allows us to access some of those memories, most notably with Vera Claythorne. While some titles do deliver the Past Event as a drawingroom surprise, many others use tragic previous events to great dramatic effect as Christie concentrates on how the past ensnares and envelops those who are unable to break free. Ordeal by Innocence (1958) and Cards on the Table (1936) are just two examples that explore this past/present frisson, while 1943's Five Little Pigs (whose alternate title, appropriately, is Murder in Retrospect) is a particular favorite of Brad's, with the author using the specter of family tragedy to haunt the lives of their now-adult characters decades later.
The discussion was a fruitful and informative one, and I'm thrilled to see that Brad has decided to share his thoughts on the intersection of past and present in Christie's work in this excellent blog entry.
He reminded me – for which I'm very grateful – that Agatha Christie was a constantly experimenting and creative structurist who varied her methods to meet her story needs. I feel that her classic 1939 tale And Then There Were None is profoundly resonant in part because some of her characters are haunted by and are reliving these past moments, and because Christie allows us to access some of those memories, most notably with Vera Claythorne. While some titles do deliver the Past Event as a drawingroom surprise, many others use tragic previous events to great dramatic effect as Christie concentrates on how the past ensnares and envelops those who are unable to break free. Ordeal by Innocence (1958) and Cards on the Table (1936) are just two examples that explore this past/present frisson, while 1943's Five Little Pigs (whose alternate title, appropriately, is Murder in Retrospect) is a particular favorite of Brad's, with the author using the specter of family tragedy to haunt the lives of their now-adult characters decades later.
The discussion was a fruitful and informative one, and I'm thrilled to see that Brad has decided to share his thoughts on the intersection of past and present in Christie's work in this excellent blog entry.
One additional note: Thou Shell of Death introduces the character of Georgia Cavendish, described through most of the book's first half as having a monkey-like face and perambulating with a parrot on her shoulder. Nigel becomes smitten with the adventuress here, and, like the transformation he undergoes from his début to his follow-up, Georgia will shed her eccentricities to become a more attractive figure in future installments. Her shining moment is certainly 1939's The Smiler with the Knife, a thriller in which she inhabits the leading role.
RSS Feed