Margaret Millar – one of the greats

 

 

I have been diving into the works of favourite American crimewriter Ross Macdonald lately, for a reason that will pop up very shortly: I was talking to top podcaster Sergio Angelini (an old friend from his blogging days) for his Tipping My Fedora podcast – my epi hasn’t dropped yet, but there’s plenty of other great items to listen to…

Now. Ross Macdonald was married to Margaret Millar another excellent crime writer, so it seemed like a good idea to re-read her too – both have featured on the blog already, use the tags at the end to find the posts.

Added later: Susan D has pointed out in the comments below that both were Canadian though they lived in California for a large portion of their lives (and Ross M was born in the USA)

Julian Symons (in his Bloody Murder book on crime fiction) is often not enthusiastic about women writers, but makes an exception for Millar, praising:

…her ability to create an atmosphere of uneasiness and terror, which in other hands might have descended to the absurdities of the Gothic novel, but in her case is always used to create a situation based on the conflict of character.

His dismissive attitude to women can make his judgements not perfectly trustworthy, but in this case he is right (in my important opinion).

In a long-ago post on her,

Vanish in an Instant by Margaret Millar

I said this:

It’s probably fair to say that Millar is revered among crime fiction fans, but not well-known outside that circle. She wrote sharp thrillers, dark and serious, with normal people thrust into dangerous and difficult situations. She didn’t waste words, and crammed a lot of plot into relatively short books (some modern authors, stretching themselves out over 500 pages, could learn a lot from her). There was usually a very good twist or surprise at the end: one that would make you think back and work out with satisfaction that no, X and Y had never been in the room together. She was a mistress of plotting.

 

How like an Angel  by  Margaret Millar

 

published 1962

 

A very compelling story with a wonderful setup: a washed up private detective, Joe Quinn, has lost everything gambling in Reno. He hitches a ride to reach someone who owes him money, and gets left on the side of the road. The only place to go is a remote religious community who will give him food and shelter for a night. While he’s there, Sister Blessing asks him to look for someone in the nearby town, and she gives him some money she has illicitly saved, against the rules of the community. Joe goes looking, and finds the man concerned, Patrick O’Gorman, died some years before. (Sister Blessing, btw,  can  tell that Joe's suit, although old and worn, was of good quality tweed - top picture)

Joe travels between the quiet town and the very dubious religious cult, collecting and giving information. It is not clear exactly what happened to Patrick O’Gorman – his body was never found – and could there be a connection with a woman who was caught embezzling money a while later? She came from a prominent local family, and her brother, mother and sister all have different opinions. The posh controlling mother has a splendid sentence about one of the features of the case:

The right people just do not receive mysterious letters

There’s a young woman who has an interest in these matters – she picks up Joe in a café to find out what he’s up to, and wears a turban on her head (improvised from a scarf) to hide the very distinctive colour of her hair. It is very difficult to find any turban picture which actually hides all the hair – though I had fun trying. This one from a gorgeous modern day French site offering scarves to fold into turbans and has the right air. Indira de Paris - Turban facile - Turbans femme – Indira de paris

It is a mysterious and compelling story, and the final pages are breathlessly tense, right up to the final lines…  A most impressive book.

 

Stranger in my grave by Margaret Millar

published 1960

 

This is the story of Daisy Harker, a young unhappy housewife who worries that her life is falling apart, because she has dreams about visiting her own grave. Yes, another startling and gripping setup.

The action is in a small Californian town, with a most definite right and wrong side of the tracks. A major feature of the story is the racism concerning the Mexicans inhabitants vs the ‘white’ Americans. Millar doesn’t pull any punches…

Daisy hooks up with a private detective, Steve Pinata, to try to find out what happened to her on a certain date, and what is going on in the graveyard.

There is great use of language – I loved this when they are questioning the busboy in a bar:

Chico made a dash for the back room, riding his broom like a witch frightened by a bigger witch.

And the whole picture of the neighbourhood is haunting – the local people are being checked for TB, x-rayed, and there is a child who is being taken off into hospital, presumably a sanatorium. It’s well-intentioned but comes over as high-handed and authoritarian.

There’s a young woman who works in a bar and is obviously up to her ears in this:

The haze was beginning to lift and he could see her quite clearly: a young woman, slim and pretty in a blue and white fullskirted dress with a red sweater flung over her shoulders and red snakeskin shoes with heels like needles.

The scene where someone breaks down a door with a large heavy crucifix is particularly unnerving.

As in one of last year’s books (by Elizabeth Ferrars) there is a lawyer who doesn’t seem to have client confidentiality in his mind – it is sadly all too convincing that he feels he must tell Daisy’s husband what she consulted him about.

The secret of what went on is outrageously unbelievable in various ways, but the whole book is memorable, disturbing and very very clever.

 

Beyond this Point Are Monsters by Margaret Millar

published 1970

 

Last year I identified what I like to think is a previously undefined, but very real, genre, Reservoir Noir. See explanatory post:

Reservoir Noir and Long Hot Summers

I was very much saying this was a UK thing:

‘The reservoir is a great British setting. French writers have the beach at St Tropez, Americans have bathing holes in the woods and the California surf, but in the UK the watery centre of attention is an unattractive man-made lake.’ 

And here’s Margaret Millar to prove me wrong: Reservoir Noir is in fact universal. The opening line is

‘In Devon’s dream they were searching the reservoir again for Robert.’

It’s another very atmospheric book, set on a ranch in California with Mexican workers - very Interesting on prejudice and Mexican/US relationships. A man has disappeared.

I thought this one had loose ends and separately, an ambiguous end – I really didn't know how to take the final page. So still an excellent book, but perhaps a slight falling-off.

Margaret Millar wrote great books and was obviously a person of high moral values – her takes on racism, inequality and corruption would not be found in many of her contemporary writers, although her husband obviously shared her views. But neither of them ever becomes preachy, and they both do dynamite plots. I hope people still read them both.