Welcome to the concluding group discussion of Laurels Are Poison, where our Four Musketeers look at the final (uncharacteristically brief) chapters of the book. While each contributor provided comments on the detective story's solution and the fate of the murderer, as moderator I will stop short of naming the culprit and will tread carefully with the quotations to avoid complete spoilers for new readers. At the same, I include details that illuminate Mitchellian plot turns, as the conversations stemming from them are well worth having.
It also transpired that the Wattsdown College gentlemen, Chris B and Martyn H, focused on literary allusions and gender and genre expectations while the young ladies of Cartaret Training College, Tracy K and Joyka, explored the author's attitude towards justice and shared their subjective responses to this and Gladys Mitchell's other mysteries. So without further ado, I turn the lecture over to our teachers in training!
CHAPTERS AND VERSE
Martyn always pays attention to the author's chapter titles, and I am indebted to him for doggedly connecting the dots and sharing his findings with the class. He writes:
"After the allusive expansiveness of earlier chapter headings, these last five have an unexpected brevity, apart from "Iddy Umpty Iddy Umpty Iddy", which I imagined to be GM’s playful rendition of the uninformed attempts at scansion [by a character quoting a poem]. However, it was specifically a card game for teaching the Morse Code Alphabet – a hint that the mystery of Athelstan House is about to be broken?"
Martyn continues, "The first two chapter titles, "Rag" and "Bone", are monosyllabic to the point, though the collocation ‘rag and bone’ must have been in her mind, for the rag and bone man was a familiar figure when GM was writing." Indeed, such a character is integral in Mitchell's classic tale of childhood The Rising of the Moon, published three years after Laurels.
Martyn always pays attention to the author's chapter titles, and I am indebted to him for doggedly connecting the dots and sharing his findings with the class. He writes:
"After the allusive expansiveness of earlier chapter headings, these last five have an unexpected brevity, apart from "Iddy Umpty Iddy Umpty Iddy", which I imagined to be GM’s playful rendition of the uninformed attempts at scansion [by a character quoting a poem]. However, it was specifically a card game for teaching the Morse Code Alphabet – a hint that the mystery of Athelstan House is about to be broken?"
Martyn continues, "The first two chapter titles, "Rag" and "Bone", are monosyllabic to the point, though the collocation ‘rag and bone’ must have been in her mind, for the rag and bone man was a familiar figure when GM was writing." Indeed, such a character is integral in Mitchell's classic tale of childhood The Rising of the Moon, published three years after Laurels.
The final chapter is named "Itylus", and I will let Chris B pick up the titular thread. The title, he reports, refers to A.C. Swinburne's 1865 poem, where a key character compares "her own family tragedy to that of Tereus, Procne and Philomela in the Greek myth as retold by Ovid in Book VI of his Metamorphoses. The poem, Chris explains, "is an imaginary epilogue to that story, in which Philomela, by now transformed into a nightingale, addresses her sister Procne, now a swallow, in grief for the latter’s murder of her own son Itylus." I will leave it to the astute reader of this discussion to decide whether the context provides a fair-play clue or an unwanted spoiler as to the killer's identity and motive. I will also note that our previous reading group entry, 1937's Come Away, Death, similarly relied on poetry quotation to help literary readers spot the culprit.
Chris adds: "The book’s final literary quotation, recited by Jonathan as he carries the sleeping Deborah, is from Michael Drayton’s song 'Florimel’s Ditty' (1630). Suitably enough, this is for the ears of Laura, who has already indicated, in her interruptions to Deborah’s lecture in Chapter 14, that she is an admirer of Drayton’s poetry." It's also completely fitting that Jonathan shares this particular verse with the grounded (literally and figuratively) Laura in that moment and not with his attractive but perhaps superficial fiancée; the lines call out the inevitable fading of beauty with time!
And whilst with time we trifling stand
To practice antique graces,
Age with a pale and withered hand
Draws furrows in our faces.
Joyka mentions that the author's underlining of Deborah Cloud's physical charms is off-putting. Regarding the character's gift of dress and shoes from Mrs. Bradley: "Why another scenario revolving around The Deb’s beauty? Of all of GM’s reoccurring characters, Deborah is my least favorite. She is stubborn, willful, skittish, prudish, but all is to be ignored because she is beautiful!"
MASCULINE AND FEMININE
Speaking of ingénue Deborah, Chris and Martyn both tracked the mild-mannered but physically strong Alice Boorman's attraction to the object of conventional feminine beauty. Martyn starts by observing the contrast with Mitchell's depiction of the males from the nearby college, who should be the ladies' natural romantic counterpoints in a genre with straightforward societal mores: "How dull and formulaic are the beefy, rugby-playing male students of Wattsdown with their bulging torsos and fairy costumes compared with the mercurial, playful, ingenuous females of Cartaret. No wonder Alice had a crush on Deborah."
Chris goes further, and his analysis is very much aligned with my interpretation of the author's views and interests of female relationships as Mitchell presents them in her writing. He begins by noting that Laurels' "central action, comprising the bonding of the girl-gang and its adoption of Deborah, I would describe as a blend of semi-adult schoolgirl adventure with screwball comedy – the latter being the favoured form of romantic comedy on stage and screen in the 1935 to 1945 period. In both genres, the emotional substance of same-sex friendship and of heterosexual romance is coolly downplayed or screened by competitively witty dialogue."
MASCULINE AND FEMININE
Speaking of ingénue Deborah, Chris and Martyn both tracked the mild-mannered but physically strong Alice Boorman's attraction to the object of conventional feminine beauty. Martyn starts by observing the contrast with Mitchell's depiction of the males from the nearby college, who should be the ladies' natural romantic counterpoints in a genre with straightforward societal mores: "How dull and formulaic are the beefy, rugby-playing male students of Wattsdown with their bulging torsos and fairy costumes compared with the mercurial, playful, ingenuous females of Cartaret. No wonder Alice had a crush on Deborah."
Chris goes further, and his analysis is very much aligned with my interpretation of the author's views and interests of female relationships as Mitchell presents them in her writing. He begins by noting that Laurels' "central action, comprising the bonding of the girl-gang and its adoption of Deborah, I would describe as a blend of semi-adult schoolgirl adventure with screwball comedy – the latter being the favoured form of romantic comedy on stage and screen in the 1935 to 1945 period. In both genres, the emotional substance of same-sex friendship and of heterosexual romance is coolly downplayed or screened by competitively witty dialogue."
Chris continues, "Half-concealed behind the straight, albeit 'screwballed', romance of Jonathan and Deborah there is a chastely discreet but visible thread of lesbian fantasy, reaching its culmination in the final College Ball, for which “the Deb.” has been especially beautified by Kitty as the Belle. In the expected straight finale, Deborah would of course be swept off for the last waltz by her fiancé; but he has been borrowed at this point for the capture of a hidden suspect. Fully aware that Alice has adored Deborah since the moment in Chapter 4 when she saw her emerge from her bath ('Isn’t she lovely!'), Laura steps in as Fairy Godmother, guiding Deborah instead to 'Take young Alice, and make her happy for life.' This is probably the nearest that Gladys Mitchell could safely get in 1942 to a Sapphic happy ending."
Chris concludes, persuasively, that "it is surely significant that what in any other novel would be the climactic moment of the murder-mystery, the arrest of the culprit by detective and sidekick, is entirely displaced into offstage action (very briskly summarised later), so that centre-stage can be claimed by Alice being taken into Deborah’s arms. Jonathan has no erotic significance beyond the conventionally decorative (“the Heathcliff specimen”, as one of the Wattsdown boys sums him up), his official status as suitor serving as a fig-leaf for the book’s stronger interest in same-sex attractions."
More on the author's penchant for offstage resolutions in the paragraphs to come. It is worth noting that, while male queer-oriented characters in Gladys Mitchell's work are almost non-existent, women who do not conform to society's "weaker-sex", feminine expectations abound. After Laurels Are Poison, the series is anchored on the relationship between a formidable, successful professional and her capable, athletic, and independent secretary in the form of Laura.
More on the author's penchant for offstage resolutions in the paragraphs to come. It is worth noting that, while male queer-oriented characters in Gladys Mitchell's work are almost non-existent, women who do not conform to society's "weaker-sex", feminine expectations abound. After Laurels Are Poison, the series is anchored on the relationship between a formidable, successful professional and her capable, athletic, and independent secretary in the form of Laura.
Lesbian figures in Mitchell's canon are visible and, even if not explicitly labeled, are rarely tormented by their emotions (such as a Christie mincing homosexual might be). Examples can be found in the first Mrs Bradley novel Speedy Death (1929) and later titles like Nest of Vipers (1979) and Here Lies Gloria Mundy (1982). Seven Stars and Orion (1934), the excellent historical novel published under the pseudonym Stephen Hockaby, features two memorable Sapphic pairings, one between two novices at a convent and the other between a rebellious tenant farmer and the lady of the feudal house that owns her land.
CRIMES AND PUNISHMENT
Joyka notes the author's penchant for letting her guilty characters stop short of being executed, at least by the courts. This may in part be due to the author's personal views of capital punishment, and (to my mind) also may be connected with Mitchell sharing her detective's view that there are degrees of guilt and culpability, especially when motive and situation are assessed. Joyka writes: "I have noticed in all of the Mrs. Bradley books that the perpetrators rarely go to trial, prison, or get the death penalty. Even though her son, Ferdinand, is a brilliant trial lawyer, we rarely see him in action, with the exception of [a highly memorable] murder trial in Speedy Death. I am trying to remember if there is another actual trial with sentencing in any of her books." There may be, but it would be the exception to the rule. It would also surely be treated the way Rex Stout handled the trials of murderers in his Nero Wolfe books: as a coda, meriting little more than a mention.
Joyka notes that the guilty party in Laurels "is allowed to take the easy way out [through suicide] rather than paying society for the murder [of two people]. The vicious pranks are forgotten. One should feel sorry for the police when Mrs. B gets involved. The bad guy or girl is sure to be identified and buried almost at the same time."
Joyka notes the author's penchant for letting her guilty characters stop short of being executed, at least by the courts. This may in part be due to the author's personal views of capital punishment, and (to my mind) also may be connected with Mitchell sharing her detective's view that there are degrees of guilt and culpability, especially when motive and situation are assessed. Joyka writes: "I have noticed in all of the Mrs. Bradley books that the perpetrators rarely go to trial, prison, or get the death penalty. Even though her son, Ferdinand, is a brilliant trial lawyer, we rarely see him in action, with the exception of [a highly memorable] murder trial in Speedy Death. I am trying to remember if there is another actual trial with sentencing in any of her books." There may be, but it would be the exception to the rule. It would also surely be treated the way Rex Stout handled the trials of murderers in his Nero Wolfe books: as a coda, meriting little more than a mention.
Joyka notes that the guilty party in Laurels "is allowed to take the easy way out [through suicide] rather than paying society for the murder [of two people]. The vicious pranks are forgotten. One should feel sorry for the police when Mrs. B gets involved. The bad guy or girl is sure to be identified and buried almost at the same time."
Tracy K found the explanation that the murderer was insane unsatisfying, and understandably notes that she doesn't enjoy that revelation in any mystery story. I certainly sympathize; a "crazed" killer, even if there is a logical pattern of action, tends to be disappointing. Mitchell can also be criticized for relying on insane villains too often (at least until the nondescript smugglers settle in for good in the stories from the 1950s on). I return to the choice of a psychoanalyst as series sleuth, and wonder if the diagnosis felt like it fit comfortably within the purview of her character.
SOLUTIONS AND SHORTCOMINGS
Which leads us to GM's handling of her mystery plotlines, both in her work in general and in Laurels in particular. Chris writes that here "the usual satisfactions of a murder-mystery are withheld by keeping the detective process largely offstage, and the murderer completely offstage until the final twist. Puzzle-purists have grounds for complaining that fair-play conventions have not been upheld. That said, this oddly unsatisfactory design is, within its limits, cleverly constructed in that Laura’s central viewpoint is used to misdirect our suspicions towards her prime suspect while Mrs Bradley pursues the true solution elsewhere."
Personally, I admired - and was frustrated with - the narrative structure for exactly these reasons. In these last chapters leading to the ostensible climax, the reader is given a limited view into Laura's thoughts, and the other actors, like Jonathan and the not-overcurious Miss Crossley – chosen by Mrs Bradley because she is a "good stupid horse that will eat [her] oats"! – have limited knowledge of the detective's surmises. In this way, Mitchell is able to deliver a pleasantly surprising perception shift when we realize that the scenario is not what we (or the players) imagined.
But that shift is not brought about by fair play clueing but instead by some late-chapter information that puts a key relationship in the correct perspective. More frustrating to me and the reading group was the choice that most of the important scenes involving the murder story are indeed "offstage" (or alluded to rather than shown). As the Mrs Bradley books over the decades continue, this becomes the norm, as we follow a benign pair of reader proxies who have some physical proximity to the mystery – they discover a body on the moors or are teachers at a school where an instructor goes missing – but they do not actively engage in the drama itself. (They are never really suspects or stakeholders, for example.) Instead, they are perpetual commenters, and Mrs Bradley may visit and talk with them, but likely victim (already dead), suspects, and killer will all remain on the periphery.
Prefacing her earlier note about the strain of insanity in GM's work, Joyka writes, "I find the endings of her books to be the weakest part of her writing." It is another point of dissatisfaction for classic mystery fans: the reveal of the who, why, and how should be the most triumphant part of the journey, the moment they have been waiting for. Tracy observes that Mitchell "uses a different approach from other mystery authors of the same period. Thus, if the reader's main intent is to read a coherent plot that leads logically to the answer, the reader will not get what they want. You have to be open to a circuitous course and (in some cases?) a resolution that may be questionable." I find that a very fair summary, and I understand when a reader's patience is tried along the way.
Even with this criticism, our readers still found many elements and moments to celebrate; this is, after all, a Gladys Mitchell novel. From Martyn: "The initial crime, and the people it involved, is a grim and tawdry affair. It is a miracle that GM managed to concoct such a high-spirited confection with such memorable denizens within it." The characters in Laurels, Deborah's vanity aside, are enjoyable and affecting. Joyka's summary is that "Gladys Mitchell’s Mrs Bradley books keep me interested even when I am rereading. I enjoy the characters, the settings, the descriptions of the countryside and, most of all, the dialogue and dialect."
Tracy also singled out the women student characters in Laurels, and enjoyed Kitty Trevelyan most of all. (She stood out for me on this reading also.) And Chris saw the utility of providing younger, vibrant characters to attract a wider reading audience. He writes that, with that goal, "the lively portrayal of the 'Musketeers' group is successful, of course at the price of sidelining Mrs Bradley and the crimes she investigates."
Writes Tracy: "One major reason I enjoy vintage mysteries is the time that they are set in, and how the life of that time is described. In this case I was surprised that the book was published in 1942 and there was no mention of the war going on. There are plenty of mysteries by other authors of this time that ignore the war. Was this because they wanted to provide entertainment over reality, or because it was impossible to know the outcome at the time?"
Which leads us to GM's handling of her mystery plotlines, both in her work in general and in Laurels in particular. Chris writes that here "the usual satisfactions of a murder-mystery are withheld by keeping the detective process largely offstage, and the murderer completely offstage until the final twist. Puzzle-purists have grounds for complaining that fair-play conventions have not been upheld. That said, this oddly unsatisfactory design is, within its limits, cleverly constructed in that Laura’s central viewpoint is used to misdirect our suspicions towards her prime suspect while Mrs Bradley pursues the true solution elsewhere."
Personally, I admired - and was frustrated with - the narrative structure for exactly these reasons. In these last chapters leading to the ostensible climax, the reader is given a limited view into Laura's thoughts, and the other actors, like Jonathan and the not-overcurious Miss Crossley – chosen by Mrs Bradley because she is a "good stupid horse that will eat [her] oats"! – have limited knowledge of the detective's surmises. In this way, Mitchell is able to deliver a pleasantly surprising perception shift when we realize that the scenario is not what we (or the players) imagined.
But that shift is not brought about by fair play clueing but instead by some late-chapter information that puts a key relationship in the correct perspective. More frustrating to me and the reading group was the choice that most of the important scenes involving the murder story are indeed "offstage" (or alluded to rather than shown). As the Mrs Bradley books over the decades continue, this becomes the norm, as we follow a benign pair of reader proxies who have some physical proximity to the mystery – they discover a body on the moors or are teachers at a school where an instructor goes missing – but they do not actively engage in the drama itself. (They are never really suspects or stakeholders, for example.) Instead, they are perpetual commenters, and Mrs Bradley may visit and talk with them, but likely victim (already dead), suspects, and killer will all remain on the periphery.
Prefacing her earlier note about the strain of insanity in GM's work, Joyka writes, "I find the endings of her books to be the weakest part of her writing." It is another point of dissatisfaction for classic mystery fans: the reveal of the who, why, and how should be the most triumphant part of the journey, the moment they have been waiting for. Tracy observes that Mitchell "uses a different approach from other mystery authors of the same period. Thus, if the reader's main intent is to read a coherent plot that leads logically to the answer, the reader will not get what they want. You have to be open to a circuitous course and (in some cases?) a resolution that may be questionable." I find that a very fair summary, and I understand when a reader's patience is tried along the way.
Even with this criticism, our readers still found many elements and moments to celebrate; this is, after all, a Gladys Mitchell novel. From Martyn: "The initial crime, and the people it involved, is a grim and tawdry affair. It is a miracle that GM managed to concoct such a high-spirited confection with such memorable denizens within it." The characters in Laurels, Deborah's vanity aside, are enjoyable and affecting. Joyka's summary is that "Gladys Mitchell’s Mrs Bradley books keep me interested even when I am rereading. I enjoy the characters, the settings, the descriptions of the countryside and, most of all, the dialogue and dialect."
Tracy also singled out the women student characters in Laurels, and enjoyed Kitty Trevelyan most of all. (She stood out for me on this reading also.) And Chris saw the utility of providing younger, vibrant characters to attract a wider reading audience. He writes that, with that goal, "the lively portrayal of the 'Musketeers' group is successful, of course at the price of sidelining Mrs Bradley and the crimes she investigates."
Writes Tracy: "One major reason I enjoy vintage mysteries is the time that they are set in, and how the life of that time is described. In this case I was surprised that the book was published in 1942 and there was no mention of the war going on. There are plenty of mysteries by other authors of this time that ignore the war. Was this because they wanted to provide entertainment over reality, or because it was impossible to know the outcome at the time?"
Certainly the omission of world events here was a conscious choice for Gladys Mitchell, but she was not one to ignore her circumstances, and in fact used the war and its high global stakes in three intriguing works from that period: Printer's Error (1939), Brazen Tongue (1940), and, most strikingly, in Sunset over Soho (1943), set during the London Blitz. Indeed, GM managed to write and publish eleven titles (!) between 1939 and 1945, in addition to teaching, so one could hardly fault her for being hesitant or idle.
I certainly thank everyone who has contributed their thoughts and those who have read along with us! (I know there were a few, as I heard from them through emails this month, and we had some enjoyable sideline chats.) The next group reading will likely be in Spring 2021, and I want to consider another title published in the 1940s. If you want to make a suggestion or two, hire Ferdinand Lestrange to plead your case and send proposals to [email protected] .
Cheers and happy reading – Jason
Cheers and happy reading – Jason
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