What Went Right, What Went Wrong: Printer's Error

 

Printer’s Error by Gladys Mitchell

published 1939

 

 

There’s quite the story behind this one, which I should have been blogging on months ago. I am involved in a Secret Santa with a number of other Golden Age Detective fans, and we each provide a guide as to what kind of thing we like, and anything we’re particularly looking for.

I said that the only book I really couldn’t find was this one, but said ‘good luck with that’, I really wasn’t asking for it or expecting it. I have been searching for it for ages, and it doesn’t even come up in very expensive second-hand versions.

So imagine my delight when I received a PDF copy, sent on Christmas Day via an honest broker third party to maintain the secrecy. I was stunned and happy.

Shortly afterwards I sat down to read it. It seemed to launch oddly, in the middle of certain events – explanations were being given, a crime was being solved. Was this the end of a previous case before launching into the main action? Well, Gladys Mitchell always a bit unpredictable, I thought – soon it would make sense.

What eventually made sense was that the book had mysteriously opened around 80% of the way through, and I had been reading the actual denouement. (This is something that has never happened before or since). I slammed it down in horror, and decided that the only thing to do was force myself not to think about the book, try not to remember anything that I had read, and give myself a big blank space (and many other books) before picking it up again.

And I will say that this worked a treat: after three months, when I tried again, I can say hand on heart that I remembered nothing of my ill-fated early excursion, and could read it in blissful ignorance – though still furious with myself for having to wait so long.

[A side-question is this: which books would be wholly spoiled by a few pages near the end, and which could be pushed to the back of the mind? With Gladys everything is weird, so could be memorable, but also it’s not all fitting together like an interlocking jigsaw. I can say that one of the end parts concerns a village girl who may or may not have seen something, and in neither reading did I think this was of any importance.]

Part of what I was looking forward to was finding out why Printer's Error is apparently rarely reprinted and doesn’t turn up in any of my usual places, and no old copies around. I assume the answer lies in the major plotline about the production of a book of anti-Semitic libels, which are being printed in England by some Germans. The proofs of this book are curiously hard to track down. There are two German migrants on hand, so it doesn’t take much to presume that one will be a Nazi and one not, but how will it pan out? There are some anti-Semitic remarks, but they are plainly meant to be outrageous, and there is this: ‘we are dealing with the type of mentality which is responsible for the horrors of concentration camps and so-called ‘purges.’ Ie Nazis.

There is of course a murder – the wife of one of the main characters – followed by a disappearance which may or may not involve a body, or rather parts of a body (ears and hand). Splendidly, one of the male characters has pierced ears (which I feel would have been most unusual) which can become a feature in identification.

A young solicitor, Bassin, hooks up with Carey, Mrs Bradley’s nephew, who is wandering the countryside painting inn signs (time off from his pig-farming, which features in this book Death Comes at Christmas). They eventually bring Mrs B into play.

There is a lot about a printing press and how it works.

And then – oh my soul – we suddenly hear of a nudist sanctuary. Mrs Bradley needs to do some psychological research there, obv, though disappointingly she does not undress, and then Carey is sent in to become a nudist and do some spying. The joy.

Strangely enough, there has just been a discussion in the comments on the use of ‘bags’ to mean men’s trousers in this era, particularly a large loose style. And so we have this:

Carey is greeted by a welcomer on arrival:

“I say, you know. Your bags, you know,” he said.

“I know. I’ll soon have them off,” said Carey soothingly.

“No, no. Your baggage. Your kit. Your suitcase and whatnot. I mean, what?”

“Kit?” said Carey blankly. “I’ve got my toothbrush and my shaving things. What the devil else should I want?”

 

I am happy to say that I have form here, with a post on a VERY obscure book:

Dress Down Sunday: Murder Among the Nudists

I have taken two of the pictures from this post – the second one has been used by me a number of times, it’s surprising how often I can find a place for it. (details below).

I am by now quite good at finding pictures for my blogposts (I like to think) but it all came back to me that you need to be very careful when examining this kind of topic. I will say, I think there are more pictures available now than when I did the earlier post in 2016.

Carey has a great old time in the nudist sanctuary, while being supported by Mrs B’s chauffeur George who waits in a car outside the boundary, ready to collect info and provide cigarettes and beer. I’m not sure how much Carey learns about the crime, but who would begrudge these scenes…Especially the ones featuring young women.

On the top of all the other joy, and my eternal gratitude to my Secret Santa, there was another satisfying moment. The poet Philip Larkin was a fan of the Mrs Bradley books (I think it was he who coined the term ‘The Great Gladys’) and in his writings on her he says:

One of her novels even ends with three people buried up to their necks as part of a surrealist exhibition, their heads shaved and painted purple: the murderer is the one on the right.

I have spent 40 years wondering which book this was, and I do not think it a spoiler to say that I have finally found it. (And it really isn’t a spoiler)

 

 

 

 The top picture is a postcard showing a nudist camp near Berlin in the era of the book (via Wikimedia Commons). I think they are doing their exercises.

The second one is from the NYPL, and is apparently a satirical illustration poking fun at women who will wear their furs even when they are wearing little else.

 Third picture:

File:Improvised volleyball Sparta Club (1933).png - Wikimedia Commons