Friday, 29 April 2016

She Faded Into Air by Ethel Lina White


published 1941

She Faded into air


[A London block of flats: a young woman and her father have arrived to meet the owner]

The porter gazed speculatively after them, watching the drifting smoke of the girl's cigarette and the silver-gold blur of her hair in the dusk. The skirt of her tight black suit was unusually short so that he had an unrestricted view of her shapely legs and of perilously high-heeled shoes.

[The young woman goes missing: her father is giving her description to a detective]

"She's about nineteen. Say five feet seven inches in her heels. I don't know her weight, but she's slim. …Blue eyes. Round face. A goodish bit made-up. She's got to cover a small red patch near her left eye."

"That birthmark is a bit of luck for you," said Foam bluntly. "It will save dragging you all over the country to identify casualties. Was she wearing distinctive clothes?"

"No, the usual smart west-end rig. Black suit, very short skirt, tan stockings, string of pearls and a white camellia." As he jotted down the particulars, Foam cursed modern standardization. He felt he would have had a better chance had the missing girl been black haired and green eyed, with a thin, vivid face.

 
commentary: In my bargain ‘boxset’ of Ethel Lina White novels (£1.49 for seven books on Kindle) this one is something of a makeweight – the last one, and not one that is rated by readers, not well-known (click on the author’s label below to see more reviews of her books). Spiral Staircase and The Lady Vanishes both became famous films, while this one rather faded away and seems to have few defenders. But actually I loved it, and couldn’t put it down. There is a classic setup, a really splendid mystery: the young woman above steps into a flat in the small building, and disappears into thin air, despite being surrounded by people just a few feet away. Has she run off, has she been kidnapped? But more to the point, whether she chose to go away or was abducted, how did she get out of the closed area?

I thought this was a satisfying setup, and an excellent puzzle. The plot, and the eventual explanation, are amazingly complex, and there is another disappearance later which is even more impressive. Yes of course all this is completely unbelievable, nobody could make a plan like that, but still I enjoyed it hugely because of two simple facts: I sooo wanted to find out how it happened, and when the explanation came I was satisfied. It was like a really good John Dickson Carr book, and there is no greater praise when it comes to impossible exits and inexplicable happenings (the usual term is ‘locked room’, but that’s not exactly the case here.)

As ever, White’s young women are bright and lively, sharp and active. In this one, Viola is strong-minded and brave – although sadly she has to have the crime ‘explained’ to her at the end by the young detective, despite the fact that he would have got nowhere without her. And, compared to other writers of the era, young women characters are allowed to be human and not virginal and easily-shocked. The hall porter is being questioned about the missing girl:
"And Miss Cross?"
"Ah, there you have me. I know a lady and I know a tart; but when they try to behave like each other, I get flummoxed."
"You mean--Miss Cross was lively?"
"That's right."


-- but this is just an observation, no-one thinks the worse of her.

I think it’s a pity White is mostly forgotten – her books are like Miss Cross: they have a lively quality. They are a breath of fresh air, very readable and highly entertaining.  Although I have come to the end of my set of novels, I will happily look for more by her.

Definitely a suit here on the young woman, not a coat and skirt, or a costume, as discussed in a post on a 1950s book yesterday. The camellia reminded me of La Dame Aux Camelias, here - surely not a clue?

The picture, from the Clover Vintage Tumbler, appeared in Vogue in 1940.











Thursday, 28 April 2016

Miss Hogg and the Bronte Murders by Austin Lee


published 1956



Miss Hogg and the Bronte MurdersMiss Hogg, BA, Private Investigator, turned up at the house in Kensington Gardens Court shortly after 4 o’clock, with Milly as attendant secretary…

Miss Hogg produced her visiting card.
‘I am making inquiries in connection with the death of Mr Lacey,’ she said.

The man looked at her uncertainly. He had had clear instructions to repel the Press, but a private detective, especially a female one, was outside his terms of reference. And Miss Hogg, in her purple woollen coat and skirt with her shapeless felt hat sporting a feather she had picked up two days previously near the Bronte waterfall was like no-one he had ever encountered before.


Miss Hogg


commentary: Earlier this week I blogged on Elizabeth Wilson’s She Died Young – a splendidly atmospheric thriller set in 1956. It was published this year, and is full of authentic and obviously well-researched details of the era. I said then that it contrasted comically with a murder story actually written back then. And of course, this is the true 1956 book.

Any committed crime reader will be able to tell what kind of book this is just from the excerpt above – there are no stereotypes being challenged here. Yes, Miss Hogg is a middle-aged lady who is game for adventure, and she has a willing assistant and a visiting card, and this is the kind of crime where she goes to Kensington to further her investigations. And I’m sure I need not tell you that there is no consideration of the Hungarian Revolution, or prostitutes, or secretive gay activities.

I was lured in by the title, and the book begins very nicely indeed, with a look at Haworth – not quite the centre of a huge Bronte industry as it is today, but still quite commercial. There is mention of academic discussion, of Cold-Comfort-Farm-like emphasis on Branwell Bronte – did he write the books?

Then there is a small attache case, which must contain something valuable. And in a bed-and-breakfast establishment there is a cleaning lady who goes into action with a vacuum cleaner,
producing all the sound effects of a Stratford production of King Lear.
But there is no movement or protest from room 3, and I think we can all guess why.

This was all shaping up very nicely, but I was rather disappointed that the emphasis on the Brontes was soon lost, and the action moves all over the place and is sometimes hard to follow. It’s not as much of an academic mystery as I was hoping.

But Miss Hogg is rather good, I liked her and her straightforward manner and fondness for a tipple – as in so many English books of the 1950s (and later), opening time for pubs looms from time to time. And in a most unconventional moment, she takes back the tip left under a saucer on a café table because she needs the pennies for a call from a phonebox. (This is the kind of authentic detail that may have escaped the estimable Elizabeth Wilson).

And there is another nice contemporary detail. The town of Bletchley is very famous for something: the proverbial fact that it is exactly half-way between Oxford and Cambridge. No-one would nowadays think that was what was most notable about Bletchley, but back then its key wartime role (see the Robert Harris book Enigma) was unknown still, a desperate secret. ….

This Miss Hogg book has been republished by Greyladies, a quite splendid small press specializing in ‘Well-Mannered Books by Ladies Long Gone’, and known to me as the source of the wonderful reprints of Noel Streatfeild’s books for adults, written under the pseudonym Susan Scarlett.

In fact of course Austin Lee was a man. The author bio tells us he was:
A maverick clergyman, a thorn in the side of the Church of England, of which he outspokenly despaired.  He was a staunch socialist, pacifist and a colourful and stirring preacher, and wrote widely and controversially in the press on politics and social issues… In 1955 he turned his talents to fiction, creating Miss Flora Hogg, a former school mistress turned Private Investigator, and wrote other detective novels under the pseudonyms John Austwick and Julian Callender.  He never married, and died in 1965.
The book is not the best murder story in the world, but it is tremendous fun and very light-hearted, and I would read more about Miss Hogg.

I am fond of pointing out that 'coat and skirt' is the posho way of describing what most people would call a suit. 

The two tweedy ladies above have both featured on the blog before. The photo is Dame Ethel Smyth, picture from the Brooklyn Art Museum, and was used for The Tortoise and the Hare. The advertising illo is from the NYPL, and stood in for the missing lady in The Lady Vanishes.












Tuesday, 26 April 2016

She Died Young by Elizabeth Wilson



published 2016


She Died Young 2 The London hostess familiarly known to her friends as Reggie, took Charles’ arm as they paced the length of Longwall. She liked to be seen in the company of a good-looking man and Charles, only slightly taller than she, fulfilled the role perfectly…

‘You’re looking marvellous, anyway,’ said Charles. ‘Very Pre-Raphaelite, this coat really suits you. So good with red hair – marvellous scent, too. Chanel Gardenia, isn’t it?’

‘How clever of you, darling.’ Few men She Died Young 3noticed things the way he did. They’d say you smelled lovely or looked beautiful, but they weren’t interested in the creation of the illusion. That was actually just as well. Yet it was amusing to parler chiffons with a man who had taste. ‘I’m so glad you like the coat. I simply had to have a mauve coat – not purple, you know, violet – and I couldn’t find one anywhere. I had it made specially in the end. William was furious. Such extravagance! And do you like the scarf? She pulled it forward over her collar.
 
commentary: I was sent this book by the publisher and it is very beautiful – absolutely gorgeous cover, and very satisfying to hold (especially for someone who does a lot of reading on Kindle these days.)

It is the fourth of a series of crime novels Elizabeth WilsonShe Died Young 1 has written about 1940s and 50s England and Europe recovering from the Second World War. There are links and common characters in the books, but it is quite possible to read this as a standalone – I have read one of the previous books, and earlier plots are mentioned but not enough to make you feel excluded.

This time it is 1956, the time of Suez and the Hungarian Revolution. We follow a number of characters: a policeman and a journalist both investigating the seamy side of London gangland, the society hostess above, a number of students and academics at Oxford University. There is also a set of Hungarian refugees in Oxford. There have been a couple of deaths, and the search for the truth takes characters to Notting Hill, to night clubs, to a shady hotel, to a madam’s flat, to student lodgings, to the cafes of Oxford.

It was a very easy read, keeping up the interest and tension well. The policeman and the journalist didn’t seem different enough to me, but there was a real attempt to create the atmosphere and the book – although inclined to show off its research a bit too much – was full of authentic detail. I found the Hungarian aspect to be particularly interesting and convincing.

There was an odd tendency of characters to do strange and inexplicable things (Charles, above, blurting something out to the policeman; Sonia making a phonecall).

By coincidence, at the same time I was reading another crime story, set in 1955 and written and published in 1956. The difference between the two books is quite comical: to be fair, they were different kinds of crime story, but the 1956 one couldn’t have been less interested in contemporary events, or details of life at the time. (And if there had been a character like Charles, readers would not automatically have been assuming – as we do – that he must be gay.) More in a later post….

The woman in the coat is from a few years later, and you can tell, but I liked her coat and the other one too – which is mohair. Both from Kristine’s photostream. They are certainly not mauve, but I would myself call them violet. But then I’d call them purple as well… I don’t have the same eye for colour as Reggie. Coats for the sadly-missed Prince.









Monday, 25 April 2016

World Book Day: Learning to Love Books....



… by any means possible



Unpacking Samantha
Unpacking the new doll…..



It was World Book Day on Saturday, and last week the New Statesman magazine ran a special literacy week.

Regular readers of this blog will know that I rarely write anything about my own family, but this time I am making a books-related exception. My daughter contributed a piece to the NS literacy theme: she wrote about how she made the jump from spelling out words to being a proper reader, and started by asking me what I remembered about this key moment in her life. Strangely enough, there is a link between clothes and books here: she was bribed with a doll to dress up…

Below you can read my version of the story.

Then, you can go to the New Statesman and read the contributions of three young people describing how they learned to love books: my daughter’s is the third, she is Barbara Speed. All of them are charming memoirs.

Whereas mine is
 

a murky tale of capitalism, bribery and dolls



Our family moved from England to Seattle in January 97:  my husband, and me, and our two children – our daughter Barbara was 5 and our son, Alexander, 3. A new colleague with similarly-aged children invited us round in a welcoming manner: their little girl had an American Girl (AG) doll and Barbara was immediately desperate to have one herself.

I investigated these dolls – they were very expensive, and the assumption was that you would later buy more clothes and accessories for them, also spendy. We would normally only buy such a thing for her birthday, which was a long way off. 

Then I read an interview with the owner of the AG company, a formidable businesswoman called Pleasant Rowland. She said very firmly that although this was an unpopular opinion, and not in her own interests, she believed no girl should have an AG doll until she could read unaided an American Girl book.

I got hold of a book, and it was way ahead of what my daughter was doing at the time. (One of the books that came home with her from her Kindergarten class contained the sentences: Chip hits zip. It’s a Fly!  - neither of us was able to make head nor tail of the baseball references.) I had felt some concern because she wasn’t advancing in reading nearly as much as I thought she should, even allowing for the move, time not in school etc.

So I decided to use her love for the doll: I said she could have Samantha when she could read proper books – so she had to demonstrate this by reading a number which I think was 20. She got a sticker for each one, for a chart on the fridge.  They had to be a bit more than a picture book – less than a full-scale chapter book. She and I also ploughed our way through the first Samantha book (I thought it was turgid and not particularly well-written) and I could see that Barbara wasn’t really going to be ready for that when the doll had been earned. But still, I was convinced that she was perfectly capable of reading a lot better than she was.

 
yellowstone 99 B A and Samantha
Samantha on B’s shoulders at Yellowstone Park
 
I was right – she completely took off with reading  then, having realized over a couple of weeks that if she could read fast she could read great stories, didn’t have to read boring simple books or persuade people to read to her.  And very quickly she was demanding 4 books from the library, bringing books home from school and reading them overnight. Her reading style and capability literally did change very dramatically in those few weeks. And has continued (mother’s boast) to the extent of doing a degree in English Literature at Oxford University.


B and Samantha 97 ferry to Olympics
Barbara and Samantha

It was complete and blatant bribery, on some very shaky ground, but bizarrely it all cancelled out to have exactly the right outcome.



We owe a debt of gratitude to Pleasant Rowland and American Girl – though not a debt of money, we ended up spending a fortune there.



Katy hat profileSamantha has appeared on the blog before now – for  a book called Happyland by J Robert Lennon (which is most emphatically NOT ABOUT Pleasant Rowland in any way at all) and as Katy from What Katy Did at School, and actually as my avatar for a time.
 American Girl 1
American Girl 2



















Sunday, 24 April 2016

Dress Down Sunday: Fashion is Spinach by Elizabeth Hawes


published 1938

** blogfriend Shay points out in the comments that you can find this book free online

LOOKING AT WHAT GOES ON UNDER THE CLOTHES




Elizabeth Hawes



[The economics of fashion magazines and advertising]

If advertisers were bright enough to make ads which the public really wanted to read, if Celanese would only print attractive little stories and bright quips on the pages for which it pays, then a fashion magazine could be published which was all ads. Then the business manager wouldn’t forever have to remind the editorial board that if they don’t do something about Lady-Dee corsets, we will lose the advertising.


 
Elizabeth Hawes 1933


As it is, Lady-Dee corsets takes a certain number of pages a year, for which they pay some $1500 each, for the purpose of telling the world about what divine corsets they make. At the same time, Lady-Dee corsets expects the editorial department to tell the world what divine corsets they make and do a much better job of it than any advertising agency on earth.

It’s not that the editorial department can’t come through. It is that, sometimes, they don’t just happen to think that Lady-Dee corsets are wonderful. They ignore Lady-Dee corsets, wilfully. The advertising manager comes in. He bangs his fist on the table. He gets results. A photograph of a girl in Lady-Dee corsets and cellophane comes out in the editorial pages. The account is saved….

The thing of it is, what the public sees in the pages of any fashion magazine is not always what is selected for the good of the public but often what is selected for the good of the advertising department.

commentary: See earlier entry for more on Fashion is Spinach, and how I came to read it.


The book is jammed full of financial details: Elizabeth Hawes studied economics at Vassar, and obviously took the subject very seriously. She explains where the money goes on a dress. She looks at the way manufacturers work. She examines specific markets such as handbags. And all this is done in the most entertaining and convincing way possible.

I always enjoy books on the fashion industry,  and this is one of the best – as it winds its way through the 30s you feel you understand more about life and about clothes and about Elizabeth Hawes. And you wish she could have made clothes for you. She says clothes must be comfortable and beautiful. She wants you to be able to move in them. She explains why anything bought ready-made is probably not going to fit you properly. She wants to make clothes for everyone.

And in addition to this, she was a feminist, a political and social activist and a strong believer in unions – she later worked herself as a union organizer. She just sounds great: someone with a warm heart and a concern for people.

She was married for a time to the film director Joseph Losey.

One picture is editorial from a magazine in the 30s, via the Clover Vintage tumbler, the other is from a corset advert.










Friday, 22 April 2016

Fashion is Spinach by Elizabeth Hawes



published 1938

** blogfriend Shay points out in the comments that you can find this book free online.





Elizabeth Hawes 1
 


[A potential customer] has never taken the time off to decide what kind of a person she either is or wants to appear to be. Therefore she misses half the fun of buying clothes and makes it just twice as difficult for her dressmaker and herself.

If some lady came in to me (and sometimes they do) and said, “look here, I’m 47 and I have grey hair and look rather severe and forbidding. It is essential to me that on Wednesday March 17th, at 8 o’clock, I look 35 and very very appealing. I will be in a modern livingroom with dark gray walls and silver and white furniture. There will be yellow flowers. I am a perfect 36 except for my chest which is flat. My breasts droop a little and one of my hips is two inches bigger than the other. What shall we do?” Then I can whip out an answer in the guise of a few possible dresses.
 
 
commentary: Kate Walker is a good friend to this blog, and has recommended many a book to me. She told me about this one ages ago, along with a NYTimes article on Hawes, which is here.

And this is such a good book – I want to recommend it to many of my blog friends eg Lucy Fisher & Daniel Milford Cottam who I know would love it (and of course may already know of it). I got hold of a reprint copy – there are various options to find the book, and you can get it on Kindle and via itunes.

I had never heard of her before, but Elizabeth Hawes was a very successful American designer of the 1930s, and this book combines a form of autobiography and her theories on fashion. The title comes from the celebrated New Yorker cartoon of the little boy being asked to eat broccoli: “I say it’s spinach - and I say to hell with it.”

The book is a free and easy wander through Hawes’ career up to the date of writing, interspersed with her theories on fashion. She went to Paris as a young graduate in the 1920s, and this section reminded me of the works of the great food writer MFK Fisher (the young American girl discovering life in Europe) and is quite like an early version of Elaine Dundy’s The Dud Avocado. It is full of fascinating detail of the world of high fashion there, and she explains the way designs from the top Paris fashion houses – then seen as the only places to find good clothes – were disseminated downmarket via legal and less legal means. This is the world of the copyists and the sketchers, and it is riveting.

But Hawes decided good clothes could come from other places, so she returned to the USA to set up as an American designer, making clothes in New York. Her contention is that ‘Fashion’ is a terrible term, a lie and a myth that stops people from dressing well. She wants to make clothes that last at least three years, and that suit the wearer – so not necessarily based on what some designer says is in or out in the way of waists and hemlines.

She’s a very immediate and interesting writer – I think the book could have done with a good edit, sometimes it seems to be all over the place, but that didn’t stop me from being completely riveted by it, couldn’t put it down. It’s full of anecdotes and jokes and charm, and on the same page you can find a para that is complete history, redolent of the times, a different world – and also a comment on fashion, or clothes, or women’s lives that makes you say ‘that could have been written today.’ She sounds like a tremendously interesting woman, full of ideas and theories and notions. There will be another post on the book.

The picture shows an advert for chewing gum. Hawes provided the clothes for filmstar endorser Joan Bennett – she explains in detail how this practice worked, and what a boost it could be to sales.

Smuggled designs from the Paris shows were a feature of the 1960s Murder a la Mode, and there have been many other fashion-related books on the blog – including Anne Scott James’s In the Mink, and this look at a Dior show.











Thursday, 21 April 2016

Not Working by Lisa Owens


published 2016



Not working 2



“Why are you dressed like an unwell teenager?” says Luke when I enter the kitchen.

“I need to be able to focus on the road. I can’t have my hair falling into my eyes or my sleeve getting caught on the emergency brake.”

Not working 3
We are hiring a car to visit Luke’s parents, therefore my attire (headband, tracksuit bottoms, thin-soled tennis shoes – no laces) has been carefully chosen for maximum comfort and minimum hazard.

“Time I dusted off my driver’s licence,” I said when I first had the idea. “Take control, be bold. Brave new world.”

“You go, girl.” Luke had snapped his fingers to and fro, though his eyes Not Working remained faithful to the soccer game.

Now he says, “Are you sure you’re OK to do this? I’d be really happy to drive.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I really want to,” I say.
 


commentary: This was another stop along the way in my attempt to read more varied books this year – normally I lurch between endless crime stories, books by great women authors of the mid-20th century, and engrossing, informative non-fiction.

This one is the standout so far – a complete winner, a brilliant unique book built in surroundings that are far from extraordinary. Claire Flannery has quit her so-so job in order to find out what it is she really wants to do in life. We follow her progress as she struggles with everyday life, watches what is going on around her, and thinks about her future. But if that sounds serious, it’s not – the book is completely hilarious, hysterically funny. But it is also thought-provoking, it makes really unusual observations on everyday life, and has moments of sadness and reality.

It is often wincingly honest, and sometimes you want to shake Claire as she behaves badly and says the wrong thing. There is an enigmatic plotline relating to incidents in her childhood – Owens walks a line here and I think succeeds, and that must have been very difficult to achieve.

The book has an unusual style – there are little headings for each paragraph, and some of the sections are just random jottings, stuff that Claire notices as she is out and about. She gets away with this potentially-dangerous structure. There are maybe 10 sections that I think are tending towards me-and-my-magazine-column style, and could have been ditched.

Another positive aspect is her relationship with her boyfriend Luke – it is sometimes problematic, but they both come over as really nice people, with a basically relaxed relationship. Can’t remember the last time I came across that in a book. Their conversations are wonderfully real. I loved this as they are watching a documentary about Missing Persons:
“Hey, that reminds me. Will you do me a favour?” I dab his leg with my foot. “If I ever disappear, please could you tell them to put me down as ‘medium build’? I’d take ‘slim’ or ‘slight’, obviously, but understand if that might be a push.”
“Medium,” he says. “I’ll try and remember.”
“I should pick out some photos just in case,” I say…. “I can’t imagine anything worse than being described as ‘heavyset’ on the 10 o’clock news.”
“What about ‘heavyset’ and ‘unemployed’?” asks Luke, going right for the jugular.


I’ve so far avoided one point of comparison: Bridget Jones. People are far too ready to bandy her name about – they sometimes seem never actually to have read any of Helen Fielding’s books when they do so. I am a huge fan of Jones, and have always claimed her Diaries are much better than their light-heartedness leads readers to believe. And so I would say the same about this book: Owens is a fabulous writer, and I hope she is going to write a shed-load more books.












Tuesday, 19 April 2016

Cross-Blog Reviewing: Tony & Susan


My friend Christine Poulson (her blog is over at Christine Poulson: A Reading Life) and I decided that we would set each other a book to read, then each publish our reviews (as yet unseen by the other) on the same day. So earlier this year she got me to read the wonderful Tortoise and the Hare by Elizabeth Jenkins - my review is here, Chrissie’s here.
So then it was my turn - and this is what I offered:

*You can read Chrissie's review of Tony & Susan here.


the book:  Tony & Susan by Austin Wright

published 1993



tony and susan cover



My choice was a book I hadn’t read myself, always a chancy business. I have no idea, yet, what Chrissie made of it, and I had a very complicated reaction to it – but for sure it was a good choice because you wouldn’t run out of things to say about it, and I think it probably divides readers rather dramatically.

Some history: Austin Wright is an American academic (1922-2003) who wrote a handful of novels. This one was published in 1993 to very good reviews, but didn’t find many readers. It was republished a few years ago as one of those cult classics, with plenty of publicity to tell us all that we should have read it, that it was a lost masterpiece (a bit like John Williams’ Stoner).

This is the back-cover summary of the book:
Many years after their divorce, Susan Morrow receives a strange gift from her ex-husband [Edward]. A manuscript that tells the story of a terrible crime: an ambush on the highway, a secluded cabin in the woods; a thrilling chiller of death and corruption. How could such a harrowing story be told by the man she once loved? And why, after so long, has he sent her such a disturbing and personal message...?
There are alternate sections of Edward’s novel, and of Susan’s reactions and circumstances as she sits at home reading it. She also looks back at what happened between her and Edward, how she left him for her long-time current husband, Arnold. He is away at a conference, up to who-knows-what.

So. For the first half of the book I was astonished and gripped, completely held by the story, and full of admiration for the writing and the structure. Edward’s thriller is a truly terrifying story of death and violence, as a cheerful happy family sets off for a vacation. You can imagine it as a standalone book. It is grim, with some very strange characters, and gruesome violence. (I wasn’t particularly expecting this to be the case – I knew of the double structure before starting, but naively thought the second tale would be some drama of US academics’ lovelives… couldn’t have been more wrong.)

 
tony and Susan 1


Susan’s sections give the reader a welcome chance to draw breath, and are entertaining in a different way: this is everyday life and recognizable situations. (There’s a role for Susan’s cat – on reading the passage beginning ‘Jeffrey wants to go out. She opens the door, lets him go’ I had a few moments when I thought this was one of her children.)

Her reactions to the book are interesting:
She feels bruised by her reading, and by life too. She wonders, does she always fight her books before yielding to them? She rides back and forth between sympathy for Tony and exasperation. If only she didn’t have to talk to Edward afterwards. If you say Tony is going mad – or turning into a jerk – you need to be sure Tony is not really Edward.
[Tony is the protagonist of the book-within-the-book]

But the book started to lose me in the second half. I still very much wanted to know the outcome, but the whole setup was starting to annoy me: a bit too clever, and the tribulations of Tony became less convincing. I think it’s often the case that when writers of literary fiction try to write a crime novel, they find it not as easy as they think.

I was very conflicted by the ending - because it was clear in one way, but inconclusive, and it actually took me completely by surprise and made me laugh, as well as mystifying me. You are left to make up your own mind here, he is not going to spell out for you what is going on, what you are supposed to take from the book. Can an ending be clear, and inconclusive, and mystifying, and enjoyable? Yes, apparently…

I really didn’t know what I was supposed to understand from the book. There were the classic questions from literary theory: who is the narrator? What is the story? – and I think Wright may have very clever and academic answers. But I was left rather puzzled by it all, I’m still not sure what I was reading. Looking at the (very varied) amazon reviewer responses to it was instructive, and then I came across this one:
Talk about nuance! If you're not a careful, close reader you will miss the staggering impact of this book's conclusion. Very well done.
Which made me feel even worse. No, no idea.

One thing’s for sure – Wright thought about every aspect of this, nothing is casual or without meaning. I just don’t think I got all the meaning.

The book has been made into a film – it’s called Nocturnal Animals, which is the name of the book-within-the-book, and due out later this year. The picture above is a still from the film. It’s hard to imagine, but perhaps it will be something like the double-structure film version of John Fowles’ French Lieutenant’s Woman in the 1980s.

Chrissie is an academic who also writes crime fiction – so might be the intended reader for this book, and I wonder if she understands better than I do the literary theory questions here. I am more than usually curious to see what she has to say, and am going over there in great anticipation – suggest you do the same.

ADDED LATER: Now I've read Chrissie's review - and obviously we had very similar reactions to the book. She and I have really got to find some books we disagree on!
















Monday, 18 April 2016

The Hidden Legacy by GJ Minett



published 2015



hidden Legacy


In the other photo, which clearly predated it by a few years, the same man was joined by a young woman. They were framed by the arch of a lychgate, he dressed in a uniform Ellen didn’t recognise, she smiling self-consciously and caught in the act of thrusting up a hand to keep her troublesome veil away from her face. A young couple, on the cusp of a new life together. Ellen peered closely at her and smiled. ‘Hello, Eudora,’ she said quietly. She put the photos back on the shelf and picked up a vase of chrysanthemums and carnations, which had clung on to life for a little longer than their mistress but not much. The stagnant water did nothing to relieve the dank and oppressive smell which permeated the room. Cold as she was, she had to suppress the urge to throw open the window and every door in the place and let in the fresh air. She wondered briefly about the flowers. Clearly they were not from the garden – not in February.

 
commentary: Came across this one over at Sarah Ward’s blog, Crimepieces, where her guest reviewer Rachel Hall gave it a good writeup. I liked the sound of the concept, and was not disappointed when I read the book.

First of all I should say that it is described as ‘A Dark and Shocking Psychological Drama’ – and I don’t think that is quite right. I would be unlikely to read a book with that description – it was only reading Hall’s thoughtful review that made me give it a try. This book is far from cozy, and it deals with some quite nasty crimes: but to me that off-putting description suggests a much more horrible book, the kind that I avoid (gory details, too much violence and abuse, hideous crimes against women and children). I hesitate to make this point – because I know some innocent readers do enjoy those books, and I wouldn’t like to put anyone off from reading this. But I honestly think that that description does NOT do the book justice, and perhaps the publishers might rethink?

The book does start with a sad and horrible incident involving young people, and it is not for the faint of heart. But then the plot moves on: a modern day woman gets a letter telling her she has inherited something from a woman she has never heard of. She is intrigued, of course, and unsure if she should accept, and tries to find out what exactly is going on. But whom can she trust? I thought the character of Ellen was very believable, very well done – I would have guessed that a woman had written the book if I didn’t know that GJ Minett is a man. The details of her daily life as a mother-of-two were all too convincing, and I liked her passing comments on life:
When it came to her own staff, she’d take artificial and mannered over rude and aggressive any day of the week.
There’s a dogged journalist, O’Halloran, in the picture, also apparently trying to find out what the mysterious bequest is about – I liked another character’s view of him:
O’Halloran assured me he had no intention of adding to my grief by telling anyone what he knew. I had nothing to worry about. You have to know him to understand just how worrying that was in itself.
Some of the plot was guessable, but there were still surprises, and I liked the good heart of the book – that may sound unlikely in the context of a story about a serious crime, but there was a warmth alongside the sadness. I will be interested in reading any future works by Minett, who seems to me to be very talented.

I think most serious crime fiction readers are constantly puzzled by which works make it onto the bestseller list and which don’t: this is a book that I would put ahead of many of the current and recent big names.

The picture is from the Public Record Office of Northern Ireland, which has a lovely collection of wedding photos – this one is from 1945.







Sunday, 17 April 2016

Dress Down Sunday: Christie versus Fleming


LOOKING AT WHAT GOES ON UNDER THE CLOTHES

 

The Case of the City Clerk by Agatha Christie

short story from the collection  Parker Pyne Investigates


published 1934


 
[Mr Roberts is on the night train from Geneva to Paris, and is trying to help a young woman in trouble: he comes to her compartment]
Parker Pyne 2The door was pulled open, he was seized by the arm, pulled through into the farther compartment, and the girl closed and bolted the door behind him.

Roberts caught his breath. Never had he imagined anything so lovely. She was wearing a long foamy garment of cream chiffon and lace. She leaned against the door into the corridor, panting. Roberts had often read of beautiful hunted creatures at bay. Now, for the first time, he saw one - a thrilling sight.

"Thank God!" murmured the girl.

She was quite young, Roberts noted, and her loveliness was such that she seemed to him like a being from another world. Here was romance at last - and he was in it!

She spoke in a low, hurried voice. Her English was good but the inflection was wholly foreign. "I am so glad you have come," she said. "I have been horribly frightened. Vassilievitch is on the train. You understand what that means?"

Roberts did not understand in the least what it meant, but he nodded.

"I thought I had given them the slip. I might have known better. What are we to do? Vassilievitch is in the next carriage to me. Whatever happens, he must not get the jewels. Even if he murders me, he must not get the jewels."

"He's not going to murder you and he's not going to get the jewels," said Roberts with determination.

"Then what am I to do with them?"

Roberts looked past her at the door. "The door's bolted," he said.

The girl laughed. "What are locked doors to Vassilievitch?"

Roberts felt more and more as though he were in the middle of one of his favourite novels. "There's only one thing to be done. Give them to me."

She looked at him doubtfully. "They are worth a quarter of a million."

Roberts flushed. "You can trust me."

The girl hesitated a moment longer, then: "Yes, I will trust you," she said. She made a swift movement. The next minute she was holding out to him a rolled-up pair of stockings - stockings of cobweb silk. "Take them, my friend," she said to the astonished Roberts.

He took them and at once he understood. Instead of being light as air, the stockings were unexpectedly heavy.

commentary: If this extended excerpt sounds ridiculously over the top and unreal – well, it’s meant to be.

If it hadn’t been published so early, you would think Christie was satirizing Ian Fleming’s From Russia With Love – as we saw last week, that was full of mysterious foreigners, and encounters on the train, and under-dressed women. It’s interesting that Christie is poking fun at the clichés, but the clichés were still going strong in the Bond books 20 years later.

Parker Pyne is very different from Christie’s other series characters – he is an ‘expert on happiness’ who advertises in the paper:


Parker Pyne


And then he solves people’s problems. The stories are mostly rather light-hearted – some don’t even have a crime connection. Mr Parker Pyne also goes on holiday to exotic locations, and comes across all kinds of people he can help.

I find the stories tremendously attractive and satisfying – I know some Christie fans dislike them intensely. Personal taste.

This one features a middle-aged man, very sedate and usually happy with his quiet life, who is looking for one burst of danger and excitement before settling down into old age. The way Parker Pyne helps him (and helps the British Government at the same time) is neat and clever and highly enjoyable. By the end of the story – and this is not a spoiler – Mr Roberts can pick up his favourite exotic thrillers and tell himself that he knows whereof he reads:
He opened his book again and read happily. No longer was there a wistful expression on his face. He too, was of that glorious company to whom Things Happened.
 
Who knew that you went to Christie rather than Fleming for realism and satire?

I have done a couple of entries on other PP stories – The House of Shiraz, one of my all-time favourite bits of Christie, and The Case of the Rich Woman.

The picture is from the wonderful Kristine’s photostream.






























Friday, 15 April 2016

A Pair of Wellingtons by Esther Gordon



published 2015


Pair of Wellingtons 1
Pair of Wellingtons

[Cassie and Celia are coming to stay with their uncle and aunt]

Both girls came in from another trip to the car carrying their backpacks and plastic bags which had obviously been packed in a hurry. Their long stripy scarves were hanging out of their mud splashed green wellingtons…
Pair of Wellingtons 3

They were almost 12 years old and identical, except for tiny differences that mostly only they recognized. Celia was usually the first to act in any situation, while Cassie was the more thoughtful one. They were tall for their age, with lively features and light brown wavy hair that was rarely tidy. They liked to dress in a similar way but often chose different colours.
Pair of Wellingtons 2

 
commentary: This is a charming children’s book dealing with an eventful time in the life of Cassie and Celia. Their father has to go abroad for his job, their mother goes with him, and the girls stay with a much-loved aunt, and have to start a new school. Then some worrying news comes from abroad, and the girls have to decide how they will cope with their difficulties.

The story is short and easy to read, and although it shows a comfortable, happy family, it is very contemporary, and does not shy away from the prospect that things can go wrong.

I have a particular dislike of children’s books that show too much jeopardy and misery – described as Dreadlit in this article I wrote for the online magazine Slate. But Esther Gordon’s book is a model of how to make a story exciting and even worrying without going too far and (spoiler alert) it has a happy ending. I liked the book because it has a strong moral framework, and because it showed the existence and importance of community in modern-day life.

Esther Gordon trained as a teacher specializing in remedial work and art, then later joined a Catholic lay community called The Grail, where her creativity could flourish. She has been involved in many aspects of the community’s extensive activities, including writing books, articles and dramas.

Read more about The Grail - a fascinating group with a most impressive 20th century history – at their website here.

Top picture is  The Twins by Thomas Bowman Garvie from The Athenaeum website , other twin pictures from the internet.








Thursday, 14 April 2016

Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope–part 2


published 1858


Doctor Thorne 2



[Louis Scatcherd makes his entrance. He and Mary are first cousins, though they do not realize that]

The doctor was saved the trouble of answering by the entrance of the baronet. He was dressed in what he considered the most fashionable style of the day. He had on a new dress-coat lined with satin, new dress-trousers, a silk waistcoat covered with chains, a white cravat, polished pumps, and silk stockings, and he carried a scented handkerchief in his hand; he had rings on his fingers, and carbuncle studs in his shirt, and he smelt as sweet as patchouli could make him. But he could hardly do more than shuffle into the room, and seemed almost to drag one of his legs behind him. Mary, in spite of her aversion, was shocked and distressed when she saw him. He, however, seemed to think himself perfect, and was no whit abashed by the unfavourable reception which twelve months since had been paid to his suit. Mary came up and shook hands with him.

 
commentary: I tried to keep my thoughts on Doctor Thorne down to one entry, but there was too much to say. See the earlier post for more explanation of the plot.

Trollope has a light, and quite modern, touch with many aspects of his plot. One of his main points is that people’s snobbery and uppishness is easily challenged by money: wealth wipes away scandal and low origins in an almost absurd way. But then, there is a lot of talk about good birth, and breeding, and blood, and Trollope seems unsure whether he believes in it or not. For all Mary’s goodness, her killer uncle and his son - the drunken cousin shown above - are rather to be sneered at for a lack of social skills and in the son’s case his attempts to mix with his betters. For them, money has not achieved anything – perhaps you have to be a beautiful young woman for it to work.

There has recently been a TV mini-series of the book, written by Julian Fellowes of Downton Abbey fame. One of the things I noticed in the book was that although inheritance, the male line, and entails are vital here, there was a lot less talk about the estate being in trust, and the male heirs having any obligation to their ancestors and descendants, than there is at Downton – although the issues are somewhat similar. Trollope was less precious about it, even if he is disposing of Mary’s property in a cheeky manner (see earlier entry). On the other hand, there is the sad tale of the romantic life of one of Frank’s sisters: played for laughs by Trollope and right up Fellowes’ street - you could easily imagine the whole plot in Downton Abbey, with its women doing each other down.

But he is somewhat even-handed - he does also have a go at the awful Lady Arabella, who is an Earl’s daughter, and controlling, snobbish, bossy and vindictive. When some of her daughters die, this is described as going to ‘that bourne from whence no further journey could be made under the Lady Arabella's directions’. (I have said before, Trollope’s women are so much more real than Dickens’s – Dickens would surely never have said that about the death of young women.)

And there’s a modern-sounding attack on her for not breast-feeding:
Of course Lady Arabella could not suckle the young heir herself. Ladies Arabella never can. They are gifted with the powers of being mothers, but not nursing-mothers. Nature gives them bosoms for show, but not for use.
There is a lovely Trollop-ian and very funny detail when the Lady Arabella goes to have an important and emotional talk with the good Doctor Thorne:
She was no whit dismayed by the pair of human thigh-bones which lay close to his hand, and which, when he was talking in that den of his own, he was in the constant habit of handling with much energy; nor was she frightened out of her propriety even by the little child's skull which grinned at her from off the chimney-piece.
Throughout their highly-strung discussion he brandishes the bones, uses them as dumb-bells and rubs them together; it’s an unnecessary detail, and in one sense it adds nothing - but it makes the scene very visual and memorable.

Late on in the book an important letter gets delayed, and the complaints about this are absolutely the same as modern moans – it was being sent somewhere nearby, but had to go via the distant central town. Trollope would have known all about this, as he was a Post Office inspector. In fact the late letter has almost no effect on the plot, while Thomas Hardy would have made much more of it, and betrayal, destruction and death would surely have resulted. In this book, someone ends up being worried a bit longer than necessary. Feeble.

The dandy-ish fellow above is the right era, from the NYPL – not perhaps quite as fancy as Louis Scatcherd, but described as a Brummell of his times.










Tuesday, 12 April 2016

Tuesday Night Club: Phoebe Atwood Taylor writing as Alice Tilton



Our Tuesday Night Bloggers – an informal group of crime fiction fans writing about a different author each month – have moved on to Phoebe Atwood Taylor. Tuesday Night Bloggers Taylor
All contributions to the meme are welcome – and if anyone wants to guest-blog here on Taylor do let me know, there’s space here…


Last week’s contributions were collected by Curt at the Passing Tramp here.

Logo courtesy of Bev Hankins from My Reader’s Block.
 

File for Record by Phoebe Atwood Taylor

published 1943
 
File for Record
 

[Suzanne Quarl has taken a job delivering heating oil to households, to help out in wartime]

Leonidas said: …’Tell me just one more thing – er- why -er why did you – er- choose to wear a mink coat on such a job?’

‘Why,’ Suzanne said simply, ‘I have just two decent cloth coats to my name, and they’ve got to do for the duration. You can’t get wool, you know. Only three per cent mouse fur, six per cent rat hair, nine per cent old pasteboard, and the rest milk. I’m certainly not going to wear out my good cloth coats messing around in the oil business!’

‘I see. Er – just using up the old mink. Er -m’yes.’ Leonidas could see the twinkle in Meiklejohn’s eyes. ‘M’yes. Very thrifty and prudent of you, I’m sure. Dear me, yes!’

commentary: Last week I covered the first of Taylor’s Asey Mayo books, The Cape Cod Mystery. She wrote a second series as Alice Tilton, featuring investigator Leonidas Witherall. He looks like William Shakespeare, lives in Boston, and solves crimes.

This book had a rather splendid WW2 setting – plenty of detail of rationing and (to my surprise) blackouts. I had no idea there was a fear of enemy bombing on the East Coast – and was very interested to find this reminiscence from Barbara Yeoman, a resident of Cambridge Massachusetts, online:
There were blackouts in preparation for possible enemy bombing attacks. I feared planes bombing our homes but learned later that blackouts were also needed so that city lights would not silhouette our ships in the harbor for the prowling U-boats. No lights were allowed, not even the tiny radio dial light. Blackout curtains were in every window. Air raid wardens patrolled the streets with their white helmets and arm bands. When the Air Raid sirens screeched warnings, the wardens would tell everyone to get off the streets and go into their homes. A cheer would go up when the ``all clear'' sounded.
This is very much what is described in the book (although there is something suspicious about this particular event…) and there is also a lot of detail of rationing and shortages. Much of the action centres on two Victory Swaps, social Lady Baltimore cakeevents where locals swap goods they have for what they need. One of the main characters has made a Lady Baltimore cake for swapping: luckily for you readers, I know more about this obscure and half-forgotten bakery item than seems feasible. I even read a lost book about the cake – a full rundown can be found in a blogpost here.
 
[ADDED LATER: and have realized that the reason I had this book on my shelves was because my good friend Noah Stewart recommended it for its Lady Baltimore content....]
 
And – yet another favoured Clothes in Books feature – we have a department store, and a stocking sale. As in the Colm Toibin novel Brooklyn, as in Elizabeth Smart’s By Grand Central Station, as in an authoritative look at stockings in literature that I did for the Guardian here.

And there are mink coats everywhere on the blog –  I just used a picture for James Bond on Friday. I loved the very reasonable explanation above as to why Suzanne was wearing a mink coat in the oil delivery truck – and, it reminded me of the non-fiction Merchant of Prato where we found out that your furs were not your expensive clothes in 14th & 15th Century Italy.

Beyond all that – from what I can gather, this was a typical example of the Leonidas books: full of comic mishaps, strange goings-ons. A collection of eccentric people finding clues, losing each other, getting knocked out, trying to solve a mystery.

The Wikipedia description of the series seemed to sum it up well:
[In each book] Witherall is confronted with a corpse under unusual ….circumstances, requiring him to enlist a motley crew of assistants, use disguise and impersonation to escape discovery, and engage in at least one scavenger-hunt-like chase before solving the crime. Once in every novel, Witherall references the radio program's constant repetition of "Cannae"—an ancient battle….This mention of Cannae means that Witherall is about to marshal his assistants as part of a clever scheme to deliver the murderer to justice.
I thought the book was amusing and entertaining, but too long, just too many characters and new incidents. I might read another one, but only after a gap. But I did very much enjoy the WW2 homefront setting and details.

Mink picture from the invaluable Kristine’s photostream.