“Not Dead Yet” by Peter James (2012)

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“I am warning you, and I won’t repeat this warning.”

I’ve been working my way through Peter James’ series for a few years now, slowly but surely. If you want reviews for the previous ones in the series, then they’re here, and because they’re a continuation, there may be some spoilers here regarding the series as a whole. If you’re not interested in the underlying plot – and the books are enjoyable enough without it – then feel free to carry on, but you have been warned.

In the eighth installment of the series, we meet another collection of colourful characters all involved in a series of plots that, at first glance, have very little to do with one another. Detective Superintendent Roy Grace has found himself leading a new case wherein a body has been found on a chicken farm, missing its head and limbs. The police are struggling to identify the body, with little to go on but a swatch of a very unusually patterned fabric. Elsewhere, Brighton is preparing to host a film crew ready to shoot their new movie about King George IV and his mistress Maria Fitzherbert, but the producer Larry Brooker is facing difficulties from a man who claims that Larry stole the script from him, and his temperamental lead actress, the pop star Gaia Lafayette.

Gaia herself has some problems, as one of her assistants has just been murdered outside her Bel Air home, and the police there believe that the perpetrator was intending to kill the star. And this is still all before we’ve got to Gaia’s number one fan, Anna, who has convinced herself that Gaia is communicating secretly with her; Eric, the strange and insular auditor who is beginning to rub the police up the wrong way; and two figures from Roy’s past that are back on the streets of Brighton, each with their own reasons for keeping an eye on Sussex Police’s golden boy.

As ever, James makes good use of the environment of Brighton and Hove, one of my favourite cities. His attention to detail is brilliant and his research is meticulous. He manages to combine a very rigorously described police inquiry with genuinely sympathetic characters who we grow to care about. After eight books now with many of the same faces, each of them develops more and more depth. Although they all could easily be written off with a singular defining trait – Glenn is a movie buff, Bella is consigned to a life looking after her mother, Norman is an old-fashioned copper with old-fashioned ideas – each of them has three very remarkably played out dimensions, and very little in this world is black and white. Some of the new characters are great too, including Gaia, a global icon in the vein of Lady Gaga, who shows real humanity beneath her public persona, and Larry Brooker, the Hollywood producer who can’t see why a dead body should hold up his production schedule. He’s so oblivious, but you just know that there are people out there like that. The kind of people who say “time is money” without irony.

Eight books in, we also begin to see some old plot threads begin to weave themselves together. Kevin Spinella, the ruthless and slimy journalist who always seems to immediately know what the police know, finally meets his match. There are unexpected relationships slowly being exposed, thus bringing about more depth and character development, and some long-held secrets from early in the series are finally revealed to the reader, but they only further some mysteries and don’t necessarily wrap things up as neatly as you’d hope. Fortunately, I’m not bothered – it just makes me even more intrigued.

The crime story is wrapped up well with a reminder to never ignore coincidences, but the ending itself is really rather sinister, but definitely builds up the interest for carrying on, which I undoubtedly will be.

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“Surfeit Of Lampreys” by Ngaio Marsh (1941)

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“Roberta Grey first met the Lampreys in New Zealand.”

With no Agatha Christie mysteries to fill my brain with, I have turned my attention to others from the Golden Age to find another author I can indulge myself with. My exploration somehow took me to the other side of the world with the New Zealander Ngaio Marsh.

The Lampreys are a large, sprawling family noted for being mildly eccentric but generally harmless. Their ignorance regarding the worth of money, however, comes to be an issue when they find themselves approaching bankruptcy once more. Head of the family Charles Lamprey intends to ask his miserly, rude brother Gabriel for a loan, but the evening doesn’t go to plan and before the night is out, Gabriel has been killed.

The police are called and begin to question everyone who was in the house, including Charles and his wife, the six children, the victim’s widow, the servants and Roberta Grey, a family friend who has only just arrived from New Zealand to spend some time with the Lampreys. With apparently everyone as a potential suspect with much to gain from the death of the old man, Inspector Alleyn must conduct his interviews and work out who is telling the truth and who is manipulating the facts to protect themselves – or maybe someone else.

Given this is only my first dip into Marsh’s oeuvre, it’s hard to say quite how she compares to others of her generation, but she’s certainly got something. The book does take a little while to get going but the language isn’t particularly florid or difficult. The main focus is given over to the solving of the crime, though, and while there are a couple of subplots regarding how some of the characters feel about one another, they don’t really come to the forefront and overshadow the primary story. I can’t say if I would have benefited from reading earlier novels featuring Inspector Alleyn, as he seems quite established here already, but I like him as a detective. He seems capable, able to think laterally and adjust his method of questioning depending on who he’s interviewing, be it the young son, or the unbalanced widow.

Like in many novels, the children don’t always speak like children, but then again it was a different time and around this era children seemed to have to grow up faster. Plus it’s a high-class family, so things are always different among the aristocracy – as a working class chap myself, I can only imagine. On the whole though, it’s a sharp, funny, tightly-plotted novel and I shall definitely be returning.

I’m currently crowdfunding to get my second novel, The Third Wheel, published. In it, we meet Dexter who is struggling with the fact that he’s the last single friend of his group. When aliens invade, however, it puts a lot of things into perspective. The project is over 90% funded, and if you’d like to know more or pledge your support to the project, please click here.

“The Z Murders” by J. Jefferson Farjeon (1932)

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“Places, like people, have varying moods, and the moods of London are legion.”

As first lines go, that’s one of the best I’ve ever read. The opening paragraph describing the many moods of Britain’s capital should alone have given J. Jefferson Farjeon a place at the table of the great crime writers of the 20th century. And yet, odds are you’ve never heard of him. I hadn’t. He somehow slipped from the public consciousness despite writing over sixty novels that were, in his lifetime, highly regarded. Fans included the famously tough critic Dorothy L. Sayers, and it seems remarkable that someone so prolific could now be forgotten. Still, thanks once again to the British Library who are continuing to rediscover forgotten gems from the Golden  Age of Detective Fiction, and have brought to us here one of the alphabetically-last novels in the library. Ladies and gentlemen, The Z Murders.

We open in London, with a train pulling into Euston station at five o’clock in the morning. On it is Richard Temperley, come to London to visit his sister, and having had a disagreeable journey sat next to a loud snorer. Arriving in the city far too early to arrive at his sister’s house, he goes to a hotel over the road where he can sleep in the lounge until the dawn fully breaks. Unfortunately, the snorer comes too and is soon seen slumped in a nearby chair. But he’s not snoring anymore – he’s dead.

Shocked, Temperley examines the body and it becomes apparent he’s been shot. Is the incident at all related to the pretty but tense young woman who fled from the lounge mere minutes before the body was discovered? After the police have investigated, Temperley notices the woman’s purse forgotten in one of the chairs. He decides not to inform the police of his findings, and instead seeks the woman out. The police, however, are not stupid, and everyone is soon embarking on a game of cat and mouse that will take them all over the country, by train and taxi, on the hunt for a serial killer with a mysterious motive.

For some reason I keep being surprised when books of this age are funny, like I forgot it was possible that our ancestors had a sense of humour. The book is heavy in silly moments and smart quips, and the heroes are easily likeable. Richard Temperley is a bit gung-ho but is the sort of chivalrous chap who won’t think twice about crossing the country to help a woman in need. The woman in question, Sylvia Wynne, is secretive and you can’t be sure, really, how involved she is in everything. The policeman in charge of the case, Inspector James, is also a great character, and reminded me of Christie’s Inspector Japp, but there’s a suggestion that it’s actually his colleague Dutton who really knows what’s what.

Ted Diggs, the taxi driver who gets lumbered with driving Richard and Sylvia around the country is also great fun, and deeply fleshed out, perhaps slightly more so than even the main characters. Much of the humour comes from the difference in class between characters like Richard and Ted, which is common to novels of the time. In fact, it really is the characters that make this story. The plot is fine, but hangs a bit loose for me, and it’s a tiny bit farcical. Also, several details of it are never quite fully explained, but the resolution is satisfying enough.

The British Library also published Murder in White by Farjeon which was an unexpected success, so I daresay I’ll be returning to him at some point. After all, sixty to get through? Sounds like a challenge to me.

I’m currently crowdfunding to get my second novel, The Third Wheel, published. In it, we meet Dexter who is struggling with the fact that he’s the last single friend of his group. When aliens invade, however, it puts a lot of things into perspective. The project is over a third of the way funded, and if you’d like to know more or pledge your support to the project, please click here.

“The Listerdale Mystery” by Agatha Christie (1934)

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“Mrs St Vincent was adding up figures.”

My journey through Christie is almost at an end, and I find myself back at an earlier book, The Listerdale Mystery. Published in the thirties, there is little in the way of murder here, and none of her recurring detectives put in an appearance. The stories instead focus primarily on theft (usually of jewels), deception, liars, mistaken identities, almost all with issues of class buried within. Class isn’t something I’ve focused on especially in my reviews of Christie I don’t think, but it’s always there. You wouldn’t be able to write a book set in these times without touching on the fact that servants are still common and neither the upper or lower classes respect each other.

But back to it, here are twelve tiny little stories that have been packed into a single collection. When faced with a short story collection, I find it’s sometimes hard to find something to say about them all, so I’ve just picked out some of the best, as there are a couple of duds here that don’t sparkle quite so brightly.

The titular story, “The Listerdale Mystery” is one of the collection’s best, and also notably one of the very few Christie puzzles I have solved before the answer was revealed. (About time too!) In it, Mrs St Vincent and her children move into a charming Westminster house and are asked to pay only a “nominal rent” as the mysterious owner, Lord Listerdale, would rather have someone in the house who loved it than the money. Aided only by the perfect butler Quentin, the family set about making a home for themselves and have to wonder if Mr Listerdale is even still alive, or is he boarded up in the walls? It’s quick and clever.

In “Philomel Cottage” we meet Alix Martin, who is starting to become fearful of her husband when she finds cuttings relating to a serial wife murderer in his desk. Is she about to become the next victim? Alix, however, is no slouch when it comes to secrecy herself, and soon it’s hard to tell who might be hunting whom. The story is fine, but my favourite part has to be the gardener who has such a wonderfully funny written accent that you just have to read his lines out loud.

“The Manhood of Edward Robinson” and “Mr Eastwood’s Adventure” both feature a man caught up in an adventure that is not his own after he’s mistaken for another person. In the first case, Edward Robinson longs to be like the heroes in the romantic adventure novels that he reads, which happens to him when he accidentally gets in the wrong car and ends up part of a diamond theft. In the latter, Mr Eastwood is an author struggling with his new plot, when the universe provides him one all thanks to a simple word – cucumber. Although he gets more than he bargains for. It might be my favourite story in the collection.

In “Accident”, Inspector Evans finds himself on the trail of a woman who has killed a couple of husbands, although the deaths are always played off as purely accidental. The woman, however, knows that someone is on her trail, so Evans must try and stop her before she strikes again. It’s actually a very clever story, and I hadn’t quite known what was coming until it did.

Almost identically to another story in the collection, “The Girl in the Train”, “The Golden Ball” features young George Dundas who has just been fired from his uncle’s company. He meets a girl who picks him up in her car and immediately asks him to marry her. Keeping up with the joke, they set out into the country to look at potential houses for their future, but danger is in the air and the people who own the house don’t seem so keen on snoopers. It’s a silly story, but I enjoyed it for that, and it’s fancifulness is what makes it so charming. It’s one of the wackier stories of Christie’s canon.

Finally here, “The Rajah’s Emerald” features a man called James Bond who, unlike his more famous namesake, is wetter than a weekend in Wrexham. While making use of a private beach hut, he accidentally puts on the wrong trousers and finds a stolen jewel in the pocket. Should he use it to impress the higher class lady that he loves, or should he try and return it? More than any, this story is particularly about the class war and how money and breeding doesn’t necessarily make you a decent person.

And so I leave here with a mixed bag of stories and find myself in a position where I only have one of Christie’s mysteries left to read. That’s going to be a momentous occasion, I feel, so until then, let’s savour some other stories. On we go.

I’m currently crowdfunding to get my second novel, The Third Wheel, published. In it, we meet Dexter who is struggling with the fact that he’s the last single friend of his group. When aliens invade, however, it puts a lot of things into perspective. The project is over a third of the way funded, and if you’d like to know more or pledge your support to the project, please click here.

“Decanting A Murder” by Nadine Nettmann (2016)

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“One thousand seven hundred and forty-two.”

I love a drink. A good glass of wine, a fancy well-made cocktail, a perfectly poured pint of Guinness. As I write, I’m drinking a salted caramel flavoured vodka. However, it’s wine that I favour above all others – a large Viognier if you’re buying, thanks.

It’s also well documented that I’m a big fan of murder mysteries, so a novel about a trained sommelier solving a murder felt like it should be right up my vineyard. And yet, I emerge from the book, fresh from the Napa Valley wineries, torn about the whole thing.

Katie Stillwell is a sommelier in a fancy San Francisco restaurant, with only two obsessions: her job, and practicing for the Sommelier Certification exam. Known among her friends and colleagues as “The Palate”, she has a remarkable ability to successfully name wines in most blind taste tests. When she’s invited to a party at the highly secretive and exclusive Frontier Winery, courtesy of her friend Tessa, she leaps at the chance to meet the owners and sample some of the Napa Valley’s best wine.

However, after some flirting with the vineyard manager Jeff, the party takes a dip for the disastrous when the winery’s owner, Mark, is found dead in one of his vats with a bottle opener stuck in his back. Tessa is nowhere to be seen, and all the evidence begins to point to Katie’s friend being the one responsble. Katie, however, is sure that Tessa is innocent, and drops everything to help the police in solving the mystery. After all, if Katie can detect the subtlest notes in a glass of wine, surely she can turn that detection to other things, right?

OK, so let’s give the book some credit. I rather cockily decided quite early on that it was obvious who was responsible for the murder, but Nettmann actually managed to pull the wine label over my eyes so I wasn’t completely correct. The characters are generally quite well fleshed out, if not entirely appealing people, and you can’t deny that she knows her stuff, being a Certified Sommelier herself. There’s also a pleasant touch of each chapter being headed with a wine pairing, although given the speed I read and the fact I read most of this book on my morning commute, following along with it seemed inadvisable.

And yet.

Far be it from me to call a book amateurish given the stage my career is at, but I can’t help but feel that this could’ve done with another round or two with an editor. Some of the dialogue is a little forced and exposition-heavy, and occasionally characterisation doesn’t sit well. The clues we’re given are either forced or written in riddles, and many plot points seem a tad unbelievable and laden with coincidence. Katie is very bland as a character, and she seems quite content to tell us all about herself, or how she views herself at least. She has a deep, repressed secret that is built up to be quite serious, and while the consequences of it clearly were, the actual event itself is quite silly.

Altogether, it’s not a bad story. There’s a good, solid mystery here, but the edges just need tidying up. This is apparently the first in a series, and I’m not sure if I’ll find my way back here. But, never say never.

I’m currently crowdfunding to get my second novel, The Third Wheel, published. In it, we meet Dexter who is struggling with the fact that he’s the last single friend of his group. When aliens invade, however, it puts a lot of things into perspective. The project is over a third of the way funded, and if you’d like to know more or pledge your support to the project, please click here.

“The Maltese Falcon” by Dashiell Hammett (1930)

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Not pictured: her gams that won’t quit

“Samuel Spade’s jaw was long and bony, his chin a jutting v under the more flexible v of his mouth.”

Every so often a book comes along that births or redefines a whole genre. Agatha Christie’s The Murder of Roger Ackroyd blew wide open what was possible in a murder mystery. Mary Shelley is widely agreed to have invented science fiction with Frankenstein. And The Lord of the Rings ensured that in all future fantasy worlds the dwarves have beards and the elves are irritatingly smug. Dashiell Hammett takes his spot among these greats with The Maltese Falcon, popularising and cementing in many of the tropes associated with the hard-boiled detective novel. Though not the inventor of the genre – that title arguably falls to Carroll John Daly – it’s Hammett and his detective Sam Spade that we think of first when we find ourselves exploring this route.

It’s 1928, and a the beautiful Miss Wonderly has just walked into the offices of Spade and Archer. She wants them to tail a man called Floyd Thursby who has run off with her sister, and she’s worried. Before the night is over, Thursby is dead and so is Archer. The police immediately question Spade, who refuses to tell them anything.

Soon, Miss Wonderly is revealed to be Brigid O’Shaughnessy, a woman who is on the trail of the Maltese Falcon, a statuette of a black bird worth millions of dollars. She however, is not the only one. Joel Cairo, a Greek homosexual and Casper Gutman, an enormously fat and desperate man, are both after it too, although no one seems to know where it is, and no one seems very keen on telling the truth or admitting who they’re working for or with.

Are any of them in it together? Who is the young man tailing Spade all over town? Was Archer’s wife really leaving him to run off with Spade? With his work cut out for him and the police on his tail, Spade must get to the bottom of the business with the Falcon before it’s too late and he’s found floating face-down in the harbour.

Sometimes you read a book and think, “Something is off about this but I’m not sure what”. I had that here, and it took a few chapters for it to sink in. The book is told in the third person, which is far from uncommon, but it is perhaps the purest third person novel I’ve ever read. At no point do we get any hint of what people are thinking, what occurred in their backstory, or how they feel about situations. We are only told what people look like, what they’re doing and what they say. It’s easy to see, because of this, why the film was so readily produced. It’s a very visual piece, focused in the here and now so you aren’t distracted by knowing about Spade’s childhood, or how Brigid feels about her involvement.

Spade himself is a difficult character to pin down. Despite the fact he’s emotionally detached, a chauvinist, and willing to let any and all the women in his life believe that he loves them and them alone, I don’t altogether dislike him. He’s sharp and determined, although his sense of justice may not always align with ours, and I also find him quite funny. When being questioned by the police, he’s more than happy to wind them up, and he isn’t fond of taking shit from anyone. He’s inordinately brave, although perhaps its just sheer foolishness, and I’d trust him to solve any case I had. I wouldn’t trust him to not sleep with my wife before he’s through, however.

Plotwise, I suppose it holds together well enough but I found myself drifting a few times, though as usual that’s more of my own fault than a failing in the text – it’s been a long week. I like the set up that seems to be taking the novel one way, only for it to shift abruptly onto another tangent, a device I like employing in my books. It’s iconic in the genre, and I spent much of suddenly wanting a cigarette, a trench coat, and a dame with legs that won’t quit to walk into my office. Even though I know she’s going to be trouble.

An interesting read, but I’m informed by a crime aficionado friend that Raymond Chandler is a step up again. I’ll get there soon.

I’m currently crowdfunding to get my second novel, The Third Wheel, published. In it, we meet Dexter who is struggling with the fact that he’s the last single friend of his group. When aliens invade, however, it puts a lot of things into perspective. The project is over a third of the way funded, and if you’d like to know more or pledge your support to the project, please click here.

“Gently Does It” by Alan Hunter (1955)

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“Chief Inspector Gently, Central Office, CID, reached automatically into his pocket for another peppermint cream and fed it unconsciously into his mouth.”

Due to the sheer number of crimes that take place annually within fiction, it follows that there have been an awful lot of detectives invented to catch the criminals. Each has appeared with their own methods, and many of them are household names. Hercule Poirot relies on psychology. Miss Marple uses her knowledge of human nature to pin people down. Hamish Macbeth and Roy Grace are methodical and hard-working, Sherlock Holmes is highly observant, and Thornley Colton, now forgotten by most people, is blind and makes use of his highly-honed other senses. And then there’s George Gently, who does the graft and will stop at nothing to ensure justice is done.

In the first of the George Gently books, our hero is on holiday hoping to do a spot of fishing but finds himself roped into helping the local constabulary when a dead body is found. Nicholas Huyssman, a Dutch timber merchant, is discovered by the maid on the floor of his study having been stabbed in the back. His son, Peter, is believed to have been the last person to see him alive, but he’s gone missing, which leads the police to come to the obvious conclusion as to the killer’s identity. Gently, however, is not so sure. There are plenty of other people with a motive.

Huyssman was domineering to his daughter Gretchen, was disliked by his chauffeur Fisher, and the manager of his timber yard, Mr Leaming, potentially stands to inherit the business now that his boss is out the way. Gently must get everyone to admit the truth and work out what connects a knife stashed in a chest, a missing key, a football match and a cache of stolen money to find his killer.

There’s something oddly likeable about George Gently. The local police find him irritating and they clash horns quite badly, given that Gently won’t just settle for the first answer and instead is determined to work out exactly what has happened. It actually feels like the premise of The Poisoned Chocolates Case working as a full plot. He is a smooth operator, knowing exactly what questions to ask and when to remain silent and let his interviewee fill the silence with something they may not meant to have let slip. He’s also shown to be good with children, and doesn’t ignore the potential a child has to be a good witness, as long as you can tailor your questions to their interests.

But his most overriding feature is his obsession with peppermint creams. Rarely does a page go by without him popping another one of the sweets into his mouth, and he seems to become agitated when he doesn’t have any to hand, then relying on his pipe to provide a distraction. In fact, the book is quite heavy on food in general, often describing Gently and his dining companions’ meals in a curious level of detail. This does lead to some good adverbs when Hunter describes Gently as talking with his mouth full, the best of all being when Gently speaks while crunching through toast, his voice coming off “butteredly”.

There are over forty books in the George Gently series, and while I’m in no immediate hurry to dive into them all, I daresay that I’ll drop in again in the future and see what he’s up to, particularly if this is an anomaly and he behaves differently around his own staff. It’s a good solid crime novel though, not a whodunnit as Hunter politely reminds his readers at the book’s opening, and the solution is immensely satisfying.

I’m currently crowdfunding to get my second novel, The Third Wheel, published. In it, we meet Dexter who is struggling with the fact that he’s the last single friend of his group. When aliens invade, however, it puts a lot of things into perspective. If you’d like to know more or pledge your support to the project, please click here.

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