Once more, the Mitchell Mystery Reading Group discusses a section of 1942's Laurels Are Poison. This week we focus on Chapters 10 through 14. Two caveats/apologias: as much of each reader's submission explored the busy and often confusing plotlines in this section, there will be plot-specific spoilers within this post (but no direct reveal of a murderer) and necessary editing or cutting of the offered comments to avoid repetition.
REFERENCES
REFERENCES
Why not begin with the title of Chapter 10? The obscure reference sent us all on a brief search, and Chris B can speak for the group. He writes, "'The Flying Flacoris' names a real variety/circus act, a troupe of trapeze artistes that can be found listed in various showbiz posters in the period 1927 to 1938. It is understood to be an elaborate title for the rival rope-ascending gymnasts of this chapter, Laura and Miss Cornflake." Tracy hopes that the allusive and elusive heading "would have been more obvious to readers at the time the book was written."
Readers of the Mrs Bradley series will know that Mitchell enjoys letting her psychoanalyst sleuth refer to infamous figures from actual criminal trials. Constance Kent, the teen who was accused of killing her stepbrother, is mentioned in multiple GM books, and George Joseph Smith, the Brides in the Bath murderer, also appears as a reference (most notably in 1934's Death at the Opera).
Chris calls these additions "deliberately tasteless references to gruesome real-life murder cases that were within the living memory of her first readers." I often wonder about the synergy of sensational crimes and its effect on then-contemporary mystery fiction readers whenever I come across a notation, and Mitchell wasn't alone in this practice. But I never thought of the references as tasteless, but rather as an acknowledgement of a mystery writer's plot inspiration and as a wink to popular true-crime chroniclers of the time, like William Roughhead and Alexander Woollcott, who wrote up other people's tragedies and delivered them in a highly entertaining, compulsively readable format.
But back to Laurels. Chris reports that in Chapter 11, "Mrs Bradley asks her nephew Jonathan to carry an old trunk across the campus for the purpose of comparing two skeletons, [and Jonathan responds] 'Lead on, Patrick Mahon'. This Patrick Mahon was a notorious murderer who in 1924 had killed his girlfriend Emily Kaye, hiding her corpse in a trunk before partially disposing of its dismembered parts. The crime was known as the 'Crumbles Murder', after the Sussex beach near which it was committed."
On a (somewhat?) lighter note, Gladys Mitchell also shows her familiarity with Mark Twain. Joyka shares: "I do like the image of [Laura and her companions] 'parked like Tom Sawyer at the funeral' during their short stint in the gymnasium gallery."
And Chris provides the context for one further illuminating reference. "A stray literary allusion arises in Chapter 14, during Deborah’s Laura-interrupted English lecture, to Richard of Bordeaux by 'Gordon Daviot' (Elizabeth Mackintosh, the Scottish writer better known as 'Josephine Tey'). This was a notably successful 1932 historical play starring the young actor-director John Gielgud." Thanks for connecting the dots, Chris; this is quite an enjoyable nod to a fellow mystery novelist!
RESPONSES
Readers of the Mrs Bradley series will know that Mitchell enjoys letting her psychoanalyst sleuth refer to infamous figures from actual criminal trials. Constance Kent, the teen who was accused of killing her stepbrother, is mentioned in multiple GM books, and George Joseph Smith, the Brides in the Bath murderer, also appears as a reference (most notably in 1934's Death at the Opera).
Chris calls these additions "deliberately tasteless references to gruesome real-life murder cases that were within the living memory of her first readers." I often wonder about the synergy of sensational crimes and its effect on then-contemporary mystery fiction readers whenever I come across a notation, and Mitchell wasn't alone in this practice. But I never thought of the references as tasteless, but rather as an acknowledgement of a mystery writer's plot inspiration and as a wink to popular true-crime chroniclers of the time, like William Roughhead and Alexander Woollcott, who wrote up other people's tragedies and delivered them in a highly entertaining, compulsively readable format.
But back to Laurels. Chris reports that in Chapter 11, "Mrs Bradley asks her nephew Jonathan to carry an old trunk across the campus for the purpose of comparing two skeletons, [and Jonathan responds] 'Lead on, Patrick Mahon'. This Patrick Mahon was a notorious murderer who in 1924 had killed his girlfriend Emily Kaye, hiding her corpse in a trunk before partially disposing of its dismembered parts. The crime was known as the 'Crumbles Murder', after the Sussex beach near which it was committed."
On a (somewhat?) lighter note, Gladys Mitchell also shows her familiarity with Mark Twain. Joyka shares: "I do like the image of [Laura and her companions] 'parked like Tom Sawyer at the funeral' during their short stint in the gymnasium gallery."
And Chris provides the context for one further illuminating reference. "A stray literary allusion arises in Chapter 14, during Deborah’s Laura-interrupted English lecture, to Richard of Bordeaux by 'Gordon Daviot' (Elizabeth Mackintosh, the Scottish writer better known as 'Josephine Tey'). This was a notably successful 1932 historical play starring the young actor-director John Gielgud." Thanks for connecting the dots, Chris; this is quite an enjoyable nod to a fellow mystery novelist!
RESPONSES
Based on the responses for this section, it appears that Gladys Mitchell is trying the readers' collective patience as incidents accumulate and, as fresh details emerge, others become more mystifying still. Joyka comments, "I have to say that despite all of the clues strewn about in these chapters… it is [still] very confusing to me. The whole plot seems to be going off in various directions. Mrs Bradley has her ideas, the police have theirs, and Laura is hot on the trail, she thinks."
This from Martyn: "In terms of the greater mystery, I find the motives for these crimes and misdemeanors difficult to fathom. Who’s doing them and why? I’ve no idea. There does seem to be a financial (or penury) angle… and the cross-dressing Miss Cornflake appears to be up to her neck in it. But beyond that? All is dark. Fortunately, it’s the characters and the storytelling that keep me hooked."
This from Martyn: "In terms of the greater mystery, I find the motives for these crimes and misdemeanors difficult to fathom. Who’s doing them and why? I’ve no idea. There does seem to be a financial (or penury) angle… and the cross-dressing Miss Cornflake appears to be up to her neck in it. But beyond that? All is dark. Fortunately, it’s the characters and the storytelling that keep me hooked."
And Tracy, a prolific crime fiction blogger from Bitter Tea and Mystery, offers this generous perspective: "It has often been said that Gladys Mitchell's Mrs Bradley mysteries are an acquired taste. I believe that I will grow to love the mysteries in this series, but at this point, reading only my second Mrs Bradley book, I am finding it quite a challenge. I get confused about what is going on, and the forward movement seems to be very leisurely. However, I firmly believe that the joy of reading is in the journey and that everything does not all have to be completely comprehensible. So I am enjoying this new experience."
Tracy's reactions are insightful, and I'm glad that Mitchell's overzealous plotting and eccentric mystery-story logic don't cause her or the other readers to surrender. She also underlines the prime criticism of mystery fans who, after sampling, want nothing to do with the Mrs Bradley series. Readers accustomed to Golden-Age Agatha Christie or Dorothy Sayers or Nicholas Blake expect a serious approach to fair-play clueing, and justifiably so: the genre entices with just such a promise. With her murder mystery storylines, Gladys Mitchell doesn't "cheat" so much as not confine herself to a puzzle logic, especially when a flight of fancy will result in a dynamic scenario.
Tracy's reactions are insightful, and I'm glad that Mitchell's overzealous plotting and eccentric mystery-story logic don't cause her or the other readers to surrender. She also underlines the prime criticism of mystery fans who, after sampling, want nothing to do with the Mrs Bradley series. Readers accustomed to Golden-Age Agatha Christie or Dorothy Sayers or Nicholas Blake expect a serious approach to fair-play clueing, and justifiably so: the genre entices with just such a promise. With her murder mystery storylines, Gladys Mitchell doesn't "cheat" so much as not confine herself to a puzzle logic, especially when a flight of fancy will result in a dynamic scenario.
The following year's The Worsted Viper will see Mrs Bradley chasing Satanists by boat through the Norfolk Broads, while Death and the Maiden (1947) presents a pair of near-drownings in which motives and specifics remain opaque even after two readings. The conventional fair-play mystery fan will understandably lose patience with such quixotic storytelling and illogical incidents. Personally – and one must speak for oneself, thumbs up or down – Gladys Mitchell delivers delights of characterization, setting, prose, and yes, even plot that allow me to overlook unresolved puzzle points. I still recognize the deficiency, but the journey is what rewards me.
One example of a GM delight? I'm with Martyn, who finds the author's evocative and often humorous turns of phrase – especially as given to her characters – something to celebrate. He writes, "It seems there are three parallel investigations on the go: Mrs Bradley’s, the police’s, and Laura’s. Laura’s has the linguistic verve. I loved her wordplay and her impossibly brilliant analysis of the movements of Mrs Castle’s corsets:
One example of a GM delight? I'm with Martyn, who finds the author's evocative and often humorous turns of phrase – especially as given to her characters – something to celebrate. He writes, "It seems there are three parallel investigations on the go: Mrs Bradley’s, the police’s, and Laura’s. Laura’s has the linguistic verve. I loved her wordplay and her impossibly brilliant analysis of the movements of Mrs Castle’s corsets:
'Can you imagine the cook without them? I bet the murderer gave one goggle-eyed look at the mass of adipose tissue, then took a despairing look at the corsets, decided two into one won’t go, and slung the corsets into the river after the body, never dreaming that they’d fetch up where they did.'
REVELRIES
This week the reading group members also took turns celebrating the fast-developing friendship between Mrs Bradley and Laura Menzies. Martyn states that these chapters show "the evolution of Laura into Mrs Bradley's sidekick." I agree; if Laura had not been so resourceful with her own investigations and as quick-acting as a bodyguard in this first appearance, it would be difficult to believe that she impressed the psychoanalyst enough to be offered a job as secretary and Watson. Martyn adds that "they make a formidable duo, and just as well, as there is a marked increase in danger in this section. Revolvers are employed on more than one occasion."
This week the reading group members also took turns celebrating the fast-developing friendship between Mrs Bradley and Laura Menzies. Martyn states that these chapters show "the evolution of Laura into Mrs Bradley's sidekick." I agree; if Laura had not been so resourceful with her own investigations and as quick-acting as a bodyguard in this first appearance, it would be difficult to believe that she impressed the psychoanalyst enough to be offered a job as secretary and Watson. Martyn adds that "they make a formidable duo, and just as well, as there is a marked increase in danger in this section. Revolvers are employed on more than one occasion."
But it is the interplay between detective and Kitty Trevelyan, budding cosmetologist, that is most memorable for Joyka. "My absolute favorite moment of the book is Kitty taking Mrs B in hand to get her ready for the dance. When Kitty sees Mrs Bradley decked out in a four year-old orange and blue evening frock, 'her jaw drops, her eyes open wide and she makes an odd gurgling sound.' Mrs Bradley asks, 'Are you ill?' Kitty replies, 'Well, you might call it that.' True to her nature, Mrs B allows Kitty a free hand to work her magic."
Chapter 13, "Harlequinade and Yule Log", provides a charming montage of scenes where the author, sometimes in just a few paragraphs, orients each of the characters in representative activities over the Christmas break. Alice, for example, rejoins her church choir for some carol-singing, much to the relief of a soprano who thought her college friend would now have airs; George asks leave to visit his sergeant-major from the war; and this is how Kitty updates her mother about the goings-on at Athelstan Hall:
Chapter 13, "Harlequinade and Yule Log", provides a charming montage of scenes where the author, sometimes in just a few paragraphs, orients each of the characters in representative activities over the Christmas break. Alice, for example, rejoins her church choir for some carol-singing, much to the relief of a soprano who thought her college friend would now have airs; George asks leave to visit his sergeant-major from the war; and this is how Kitty updates her mother about the goings-on at Athelstan Hall:
'Ghosts, murder, old Dog nearly getting pneumonia, somebody slashing up coats and breaking open trunks and tins of disinfectant, School Prac., all sorts of rumours that the last Warden disappeared at the end of last term, although some only say she was ill, and…'
'What was that about Laura getting pneumonia, dear?' asked her mother, detaching from this welter of rhetoric the one accessible and assimilable fact.
Chris did not enjoy the "pointlessly digressive interlude" – it is accurate to say that the sequence of scenes does not advance the plot – while Tracy calls the Oxfordshire excursion "lovely" and adds, "This is just one small event within the larger story, but it is one the best pictures of a family Christmas that I have run across in mystery fiction." Nick Fuller often refers to Gladys Mitchell's prose as "lucid" and, for me, connected with that is an ability to evoke distinct settings and characters with just a few sentences and well-chosen details. We don't need to know how George, Kitty, and Alice spend their holidays (and we don't get more than these brief glimpses; i.e., they do not overstay their welcome on the page), but Mitchell's decision to do so makes her created world that much more vibrant.
REALITIES
Which brings us to a theme running through this post: the fictional indulgences that the writer engages in contrasted with the realities of life as we know it. (Or at least the delivery of genre expectations.) This bridging of fact and fiction must to some extent be recognized and honored – especially in mystery stories – or else we would have locked-room teleportation and unconvincing coincidences galore, with no one likely satisfied. I want to use the hoary phrase "suspension of disbelief" here, but I also think this ties back to the question of why a person reads a Gladys Mitchell mystery, if he or she chooses to read one at all. What are they looking for in the experience?
There is stylization, or a sense of unreality, that can be highly rewarding for the reader. Martyn comments that "the courtship of Deborah and Jonathan is pure drawing room comedy." He also argued, persuasively, that the constant entrances, exits, and near misses around the crime scene in The Mystery of a Butcher's Shop (1929) are a knowing attempt at simulating stage farce.
REALITIES
Which brings us to a theme running through this post: the fictional indulgences that the writer engages in contrasted with the realities of life as we know it. (Or at least the delivery of genre expectations.) This bridging of fact and fiction must to some extent be recognized and honored – especially in mystery stories – or else we would have locked-room teleportation and unconvincing coincidences galore, with no one likely satisfied. I want to use the hoary phrase "suspension of disbelief" here, but I also think this ties back to the question of why a person reads a Gladys Mitchell mystery, if he or she chooses to read one at all. What are they looking for in the experience?
There is stylization, or a sense of unreality, that can be highly rewarding for the reader. Martyn comments that "the courtship of Deborah and Jonathan is pure drawing room comedy." He also argued, persuasively, that the constant entrances, exits, and near misses around the crime scene in The Mystery of a Butcher's Shop (1929) are a knowing attempt at simulating stage farce.
At the same time, criticism can be directed at authorial oversights that intrude on that suspension of disbelief. The absence of logic – again, not a Mitchell rarity – pulled Chris out of the story when it came to details surrounding Miss Cornflake's identity. Certain behaviours "suggest to Laura that Miss Cornflake is in fact a Secondary School teacher, and therefore almost by definition already qualified ('certificated'), which means that she has no legitimate reason to be studying at Cartaret at all. Mrs Bradley’s subsequent enquiries at the Senior (i.e. Secondary) School in Betchdale confirm that all teachers there are certificated, and this is the school at which Miss Cornflake claimed, in her filed application to Cartaret, to have been teaching."
Chris continues: "The strange thing is that Laura, without any of the evidence concerning that application, detects the anomaly, while [Cartaret College Principal] Miss du Mugne has failed to notice anything odd in such an application, not even the glaringly bogus breakfast-cereal surname. The Principal seems indeed to have acted unprofessionally in admitting Miss Cornflake solely on the strength of an application letter, without seeking any reference from her supposed employer. We must also believe that in faking her CV, Miss Cornflake could somehow be confident that her claims would never be checked out."
There is also a fact-against-fiction dissonance in the story's geography, as Chris explained to me in his notes for the previous post. He writes, "I’m less than convinced by the topography of the setting. We are suddenly told in Chapter 9 that there’s a small public park next to the Carteret hockey-field. But why would anyone lay out a public park on out-of-town moorland? Who would use it? This is one of those cases (Death at the Opera is another) in which Gladys Mitchell gets so deeply immersed in the intrigues of an institution that she forgets to create a credible environment for it."
The criticisms are completely valid, and they likely frustrate other readers as well. I speak only for myself when I state honestly that such lapses in logic or assaults on pragmatic reality never occurred to me, although they are there on the page for all to see. And joyously, knowing the flaws exist doesn't hamper my enjoyment of a book like Laurels Are Poison. And that is due, I expect, to not how I read Gladys Mitchell's stories but why I read them.
Next week we look at the final four chapters – a slim 40 pages by my count! Thanks to all who have contributed and to all who are reading along with us.
There is also a fact-against-fiction dissonance in the story's geography, as Chris explained to me in his notes for the previous post. He writes, "I’m less than convinced by the topography of the setting. We are suddenly told in Chapter 9 that there’s a small public park next to the Carteret hockey-field. But why would anyone lay out a public park on out-of-town moorland? Who would use it? This is one of those cases (Death at the Opera is another) in which Gladys Mitchell gets so deeply immersed in the intrigues of an institution that she forgets to create a credible environment for it."
The criticisms are completely valid, and they likely frustrate other readers as well. I speak only for myself when I state honestly that such lapses in logic or assaults on pragmatic reality never occurred to me, although they are there on the page for all to see. And joyously, knowing the flaws exist doesn't hamper my enjoyment of a book like Laurels Are Poison. And that is due, I expect, to not how I read Gladys Mitchell's stories but why I read them.
Next week we look at the final four chapters – a slim 40 pages by my count! Thanks to all who have contributed and to all who are reading along with us.
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