#1937Club: Two Golden Age Crime Novels

The 1930s were of course the hey-day of the so-called Golden Age crime novels, and both of the authors below were prolific during this period, so little wonder that I managed to find a book each of them published that year.

Ngaio Marsh: Vintage Murder

This is the fifth novel to feature Scotland Yard detective Roderick Alleyn, but the first to be set in the author’s home country of New Zealand. Alleyn is on a prolonged holiday in that country, recovering from surgery. On the train he meets a British theatre company currently touring New Zealand. Although he tries to keep his identity as a policeman a secret, he gets tangentially involved when there is a case of theft on the train and the impresario/director Alfred Meyer of the company claims someone nearly pushed him off the train.

Once they arrive at their destination, he not only gets to see the acting troupe perform but is also invited to the birthday party of the charismatic leading lady Carolyn Dacres, who also happens to be the wife of the director. Meyer has planned an elaborate contraption with a magnum champagne bottle descending from the ceiling. However, in spite of numerous successful rehearsals beforehand, the champagne bottle falls down on Meyer and kills him. So the good inspector has to step up and help his NZ colleagues to solve the murder.

Marsh was passionate about theatre and had personal experience of touring companies as an actress in her youth, so she fills this book with a lot of technical theatrical terms, as well as all the ‘types’ of actors you might find in a professional company: the bitter older comedian, the young ingenue who’s there largely because of nepotism, the motherly character actress, and even the hangers-on. While some of the characters feel a little thin, and the discussions of the props and balancing of the weights a bit too detailed, this is very much in keeping with the writing of the time (think Dorothy Sayers and bell-ringing, Agatha Christie and poisons) – and perhaps with readers’ patience and expectations of a crime novel, rather than the present-day obligatory corpse on the first page (or at the very least the first chapter).

While the puzzle is quite intricate, and there are added psychological complications with a leading man who is in love with the beautiful Carolyn – and Alleyn too succumbing to her charms, what I found particularly interesting was the introduction of Maori elements to the story. There is a Maori doctor (educated in Britain) who plays a significant part, and a Maori fertility pendant that is given to Carolyn as a present. There are some openly racist remarks from certain characters in the book, and we are supposed to feel indignant about those, no doubt. However, even Alleyn musing about cultural differences can skirt dangerously closely to ‘noble but dangerous savages’ territory:

His fingers encountered the box that held the tiki. He took the squat little monster out.

‘This is the right setting for you, only you should hang on a flaxen cord against a thick brown skin like Te Pokiha’s. No voluptuous whiteness for you, under black lace, against a jolting heart… Sweaty dark breasts for you, dark fingers, dark savages in a heavy green forest. You’ve seen a thing or two in your day. Last night was not your first taste of blood, I’ll be bound.’

Nevertheless, Doctor Te Pokiha makes some very interesting and far more nuanced observations about colonialism, which must have been quite forward-thinking at the time:

The pakeha [white man] has altered everything, of course. We have been unable to survive the fierce white light of his civilisation. In trying to follow his example we have forgotten many of our own customs and have been unable wisely to assimilate his… Most of my people are well content, but I see the passing of old things with a kind of nostalgia. The pakeha give their children Maori christian names because they sound pretty. They call their ships and their houses by Maori names. It is perhaps a charming compliment, but to me it seems a little strange. We have become a side-show in a tourist bureau – our dances – our art – everything.

Another interesting element is the weight of the year 1936 (when the action takes place). There are some troubling clouds on the horizon, after all Hitler and Mussolini were already in power, and the Spanish Civil War had started. Although Europe must have felt remote to New Zealanders, the memories of the First World War are not too far away:

‘What do you think, Mr Alleyn? If there’s another war will the young chaps come at it, same as we did, thinking it’s great? Some party! And get the same jolt? What do you reckon?’

Agatha Christie: Dumb Witness

There is far less political and social topicality in Christie’s novel published that same year: this is mostly a family drama about inheritance, extravagance, domestic rivalries and guilt. I’m not entirely sure to what extent the title is ironic: it refers to the dog Bob, who is witness to a possible murder but cannot talk. I’m not sure to what extent ‘dumb’ was also used to mean ‘stupid’ at the time in Britain. Certainly, the Americans opted for a different title that same year: Poirot Loses a Client (although this might have more to do with selling it as a Poirot novel). Aside from the problematic title, reviews at the time concluded that ‘it’s not Mrs Christie’s best’ but still above average. I have to agree with that – it’s not particularly memorable, but a fun read.

Wealthy spinster Emily Arundell writes to Hercule Poirot in the firm belief she’s been the victim of an attempted murder after falling down the stairs in her house. By the time Poirot actually receives the letter, however, she has indeed died, apparently of natural causes. The only problem is that her nephew and nieces, who expected to be her heirs, have been thwarted, as she left her fortune to her lady’s companion, Minnie Lawson. Is that an indication that the second attempt at murder was successful and that she was pointing the finger of suspicion at her family? Or is Minnie a far more scheming and devious creature than she appears at first sight?

Poirot feels guilty that he was unable to prevent her death, so he sets off to investigate, initially pretending to be a possible buyer for Emily’s house in the countryside. He proves to be willing to deceive people in his attempt to discover what’s going on, which shocks the strait-laced Hastings. However, I did enjoy the interaction between them in this book, it feels like they are growing to be more serious partners, rather than Hastings being the ‘dumb’ foil for Poirot’s brilliance. And the interactions with the dog are utterly delightful – Christie clearly loved her dogs, and it’s in fact a portrait of her own dog, Peter, on the cover ‘who disclaims any connection with the events of the tale’.

What Got You Hooked on Crime, John Grant?

Nothing like shaking things up a bit, so it’s Wednesday rather than Monday this time for my customary questions about reading passions.

It’s my pleasure to introduce you today to a very prolific author and dynamic blogger, Paul Barnett. Under the name John Grant, Paul is an award-winning writer and editor, born in Aberdeen, Scotland but now living in New Jersey, USA. He has written more than twenty-five fiction books (mainly in the fantasy genre but also a couple of fantasy/crime crossovers) and non-fiction books on an eye-watering variety of subjects, such as Walt Disney’s animated characters, crank and corrupted science, fantasy and science fiction and, most recently, film noir. His second story collection, Tell No Lies, was published just before Christmas. He has won the Hugo (twice), the World Fantasy Award, and a number of other awards. You can find out more about John Grant and his books on his website, but I personally got to know him via his insightful reviews of films noirs. I was also delighted by his wry humour when commenting on this blog. You can also find Paul/John on Twitter @noircyclopedia.

How did you get hooked on crime fiction?

The first time I got hooked on crime fiction was probably through reading Sherlock Holmes stories during childhood. My mum tried to get me to read Father Brown stories too, but for some reason I didn’t enjoy them as much.

Another milestone came when, still during childhood, I went with the family for a short B&B holiday in the north of Scotland. It was one of those places where there wasn’t much to do except go look at the cemetery. Even this bit of excitement was out, though, because it rained the whole time. I swiftly worked my way through all the reading material I’d brought with me, and then discovered there was precisely one other book in the B&B, presumably left behind by a previous guest. That book was Ngaio Marsh’s Scales of Justice, and I can remember being most reluctant to read it. Aside from anything else, it wasn’t science fiction, which had become my genre of choice by then. But it was either read the novel or watch the rain on the windows, so in I plunged . . . and loved it. It didn’t entirely break me of my science fiction habit, but it meant that from then on there was the occasional crime novel tossed into the mix.

What really did it was something silly. By my late teens I was an editor at a book publisher on London’s Fleet Street. More or less just across the road was the St. Bride’s Public Library, which naturally became a haunt. The UK publisher Gollancz used to publish all of its science fiction and crime fiction in uniform yellow covers, which made it easy for me to find the stuff. It wasn’t long before I worked my way through all the Gollancz sf in the place, so I thought I might as well give those other Gollancz yellowjackets a go . . . One protracted binge later, plus another binge on Wilkie Collins, and crime fiction had become an important staple of my leisure reading. These past few years, in fact, it’s become predominant.

Are there any particular types of crime fiction or subgenres that you prefer to read and why?

I’m really not picky, to be honest. I try to make sure there’s a good admixture of translated work in there, just so’s I’m not always reading the same old, same old. I’m not hugely fond of modern cozies, although I do enjoy reading (or rereading) Golden Age mysteries, many of which are of course cozies. I like pulp hardboiled, although I haven’t yet read nearly enough of it to feel I’ve got a proper grasp of the subgenre. Scandi noir has become a favorite too, although I’m off it a bit at the moment having read a few over the past year or so that really didn’t impress me. I used to enjoy noirish urban fantasy until it became all werewolf detectives and nymphomaniac vampires. I’ve written a few stories in that fantasy/noir borderland myself (sans the werewolves and vampires, of course!).

What is the most memorable book you’ve read recently?

Oh, lordy, that’s a difficult one. I guess it would have to be Joël Dicker’s The Truth About the Harry Quebert Affair, which I read last autumn. I don’t know if it’s the best crime novel I’ve read recently, but it really spoke to me. It’s a very long book, but I devoured it in just three or four days and loved every minute of it. A good English translation (by Sam Taylor), too. Last year I was also impressed by Ariel S. Winter’s The Twenty-Year Death — another long book! — and blown away by my discovery of Karin Alvtegen.

But I’m not very good at ranking things. If you asked me this same question in just a few hours’ time, I’d be adding a few books, consternated because I hadn’t thought of them first time round.

If you had to choose only one series or only one author (crime fiction) to take with you to a deserted island, whom would you choose?

I’m not a great reader of series, although there are exceptions (Ian Rankin’s Rebus books, Peter Robinson’s Alan Banks books). Usually, though, I prefer standalones . . . and even with series books I generally leave a long enough gap between them so that they become in effect standalones. The one big exception to all this is Ed McBain’s 87th Precinct series. I gravitate towards these not just because of their near-uniform excellence but also, at least in part, precisely because of the series context. Mixing with Steve Carella and the rest of the gallant boys of the old Eight-Seven feels like coming home to me. In later years McBain was able to play all sorts of games using the basic format as a substrate — Fat Ollie’s Book, for example, is a marvelous piece of metafiction as well as hugely entertaining and funny — but I like the earlier ones too, where you knew exactly what you were letting yourself in for. So, yes, that’s the series I’d take with me to my desert island. An additional advantage of this series is that it gives me lots of books to read! In fact, I’ve even written a crime/fantasy novella, The City in These Pages, as a (surreal) homage to Ed McBain.

All of that said, I’m not sure McBain is the single author I’d choose to take with me. He might just get pipped at the post by Wilkie Collins, another prolific writer. Collins’s novels, for all their ups and downs in terms of quality, have a capacity to engross me — in a very schoolboy way, really: mouth open, eyes wide, turning the pages eagerly . . . Besides, it’s far too long since last I read most of them, so they’d make a good choice.

What are you looking forward to reading in the near future?

That’s another problematic one. My day job, as it were, is writing nonfiction books — such as (plug, plug) my recent YA book Debunk It! — and my research reading for these has to be pretty structured, as you can imagine. So I make it a matter of deliberate policy not to plan my leisure reading too far ahead. I have several bookcases full of stuff I haven’t read yet, and I enjoy browsing through these to select my next book on whim.

The big exception comes, of course, when I’ve borrowed books from the library. I know that I’ll soon be reading Alicia Gimenez-Bartlett’s Death Rites, recommended to me recently, because it has to go back to the library soonish. I’m trying to cut back on my library habit a bit, though, precisely because I enjoy not knowing what’s the next book I’ll read until I actually pick it out.

We recently bought a tablet to use as an e-reader, so that’s likewise stuffed with goodies waiting for me. A lot of them are public-domain items from places like Gutenberg. A small part of the motivation for getting the tablet was that I’d become interested in expanding my horizons to encompass some of the mostly US crime/mystery writers of the early 20th century about whom until recently I’ve known virtually nothing: Isabel Ostrander, Anna Katharine Green, Mary Roberts Rinehart . . .

I also want to get round to having a second — and long overdue! — bite at G.K. Chesterton’s Father Brown stories.

Outside your criminal reading pursuits, what author/series/book/genre do you find yourself regularly recommending to your friends?

Some fantasy/sf writers: Terry Pratchett, Diana Wynne Jones — both much missed — Tom Holt, Sylvia Louise Engdahl, Charles De Lint. In nonfiction: Martin Gardner, Paul Davies. Others: George Eliot, George Gissing. I recommend my own books interminably, of course, but only to strangers who don’t know my home address and whom I think there’s little chance I’ll ever run into again.

Thank you very much, John (or should that be Paul?) for a very entertaining look at your reading passions and for adding a huge amount of new authors to my TBR list (and not just for crime fiction, either). I am glad to see some old favourites there too, such as Wilkie Collins, Ed McBain and Terry Pratchett. 

For previous participants in the series, just follow this link. This series depends so much on your participation, so please, please let me know via Twitter or comments if you would like to share your criminal passions with us.