Peter Lovesey R.I.P.

I was deeply saddened this morning to learn of the death earlier today of Peter Lovesey. I visited Peter at his home in Shrewsbury less than a fortnight ago - 27 March, to be precise - and he was extremely frail, but in remarkably good spirits. He was very much enjoying the company of his daughter and grand-daughter, who had come over from the United States to be with him. He and I both knew it would be our last time together and it was an extremely poignant and emotional occasion for me, as I believe it was for him. Even so, the news when it came was naturally a great blow. Peter was not only a much-loved and brilliant author, but also one of the kindest and most generous people I've ever met. I first met him at a CWA conference, back in the late 80s, and we've been friends ever since. I owe him a great deal.

Peter was a towering fiction in the British crime fiction landscape for more than half a century. He was one of a Fab Four of highly successful writers who were all born in 1936 and who all become good friends with each other. The other members of the group were Reginald Hill, Robert Barnard, and Peter Walker (creator of Heartbeat amongst other things). All great guys, and all people who - along with their wives - were very kind to me for very many years. Peter was the last survivor of this unforgettable quartet. His other close friends in the writing world included Michael Z. Lewin, Liza Cody, and Paula Gosling, with whom he did many events both in Britain and overseas. I remember going to watch them perform their show in Manchester - a fine ensemble, and in some respects a precursor of Murder Squad. 

I first came across Peter's name when I read his early Sergeant Cribb novels while still in my teens. The Cribb books were televised, with Alan Dobie in the title role, and Peter always paid tribute to the contribution that his wonderful wife Jax made to Cribb's success. She encouraged him to enter a competition for a debut crime novel, at a time when he was a full-time teacher, and the author of one book, The Kings of Infinite Distance, about athletics - which remained a great passion of his. Jax was, Peter told me, more of a crime fan in those days than Peter, but he took to fiction like a duck to water and Wobble to Death, Cribb's debut, won the prize and launched a career of remarkable achievement.

He changed periods to write one of my favourite crime novels, The False Inspector Dew, which enjoyed huge success, and then again to write three humous mysteries about Bertie, the Prince of Wales. There were stand-alones, including On the Edge, which became a TV film, and eventually the long-running and hugely successful series set in modern Britain featuring Bath cop Peter Diamond. I've reviewed quite a few of these on this blog and, as I said recently, the final Diamond novel, Against the Grain, was a wonderful way to bring the series to a conclusion. His powers as a crime writer never diminished.

He loved writing short stories and he was a master of that particular craft; his stories won awards and one was televised in Tales of the Unexpected. Despite his success and many commitments, I always knew that if I approached Peter and asked if he had time to contribute a story to a book I was working on, he would oblige. Not only that, he would write an absolutely terrific story. His inventiveness was fantastic, and it never flagged. He also contributed great pieces to two of my non-fiction collections, Truly Criminal and Howdunit. Last month saw the publication of Playing Dead, which includes a very clever story by Peter paying tribute to Simon Brett, 'Just a Minute'. The summer will see republication of another of his stories in a CWA collection that I've edited of high-calibre stories from past CWA anthologies. Earlier this year he wrote a marvellous story for me called 'Magic Moments', intended for an anthology I'm currently working which is in aid of autism charities in the US and UK. In our last conversation he told me how much he enjoyed not only writing the story but doing the initial research into Burt Bacharach's back catalogue!  

Peter won many awards, and was the only writer living in Britain to have been honoured with the CWA Diamond Dagger and as an MWA Grand Master. He was a very popular Chair of the CWA (and had several entertaining anecdotes to tell of his time in the chair) and was also a stalwart of the Detection Club. I had the great pleasure of compiling and editing an anthology of original stories by members of the Club in honour of Peter called Motives for Murder, for which the legendary Len Deighton wrote a foreword. I was able to present the book to Peter at a memorable dinner at the Dorchester when many of his friends and family were present. The book, incidentally, includes a terrific memoir by Peter himself about his life as a Detection Club member, while four of the stories were listed for the CWA Short Story Dagger, and Len Tyler's won the award. Peter had previously edited a Detection Club anthology, The Verdict of Us All, in honour of Harry Keating's 80th birthday.

I have many happy memories of time spent with Peter, far too many to recount right now, and I enjoyed interviewing him when he was a guest of honour at CrimeFest and joining him for a celebratory dinner. Ali Karim's video of the event can be found here. We also had a great time when he came to Gladstone'e Library for the weekend to take part in Alibis in the Archive (and gave a witty talk about the writing of James Corbett as well as discussing crime writing archives with Sheila Keating and me) and at many CWA and Detection Club events. Here are just a few photos from those occasions

From the start, he offered me great encouragement and support as a writer, giving a lovely endorsement for my fourth book, Yesterday's Papers - was it really more than thirty years ago? (Many years later, he also wrote an introduction for the ebook edition - still very much available!) And this continued to the end - only a few weeks ago he was recommending his fans to subscribe to my newsletter. One thing I did feel was that if people like Peter, Reg, and Bob appreciated my writing, then I must be getting something right, because although they were generous and loyal people, they were also men of integrity who would never flannel anyone. When I can, I try to bear their example in mind when I meet young writers who are new to the game and who deserve support, because it really was an outstanding example. 

Just over two years ago, on 19 March 2023, I received an email from Peter breaking the news that he'd had a terminal diagnosis. It came as a great shock, not least because despite the passing years he always looked so fit and well. What he said was so characteristic that I must quote it: 'I find it difficult to handle sympathy, which is why I've kept my news to a small circle of friends. I know I'll be in your thoughts, but I'll feel sorry for myself if you tell me so. I'll be happiest if like George Smiley, you read the contents of this and act as if you hadn't received it. I've had 86 marvellous years and actually I'm still quite positive, eating well and getting about.'    

Despite the diagnosis, he did remarkably well, and by July he was up for a visit. We had a great day together in Shrewsbury, and he jumped into his car and took us all out for lunch. (The photos at the top and bottom of this post, as well as those of his library, were taken that day). He said the doctors were amazed by how well he was doing and that he was regarding it as 'a period of grace'. I spent a lot of time with him in his library, admiring his awards and book collection. I also admired (and envied) the way he was so organised. He could put his finger on any file - and there were lots of them - and know what was in it (this high level of efficiency, by the way, was reflected in the way he dealt with any writing commissions - very impressive, right to the very end.) He presented me with numerous books and also a lot of his literary correspondence, as he knew I would do whatever I could to pick out and preserve key memories of his career. He has been inscribing his books to me for decades, and in recent years he has added to the novels a personal note about each of them. My collection of inscribed books is quite sizeable, but the Peter Lovesey collection is a highlight. As for his letters, they are fascinating to read, but above all are a testament to his warmth and popularity. Everyone liked him. He is a great loss, above all to Jax and the rest of the family, including his son Phil (another extremely talented writer, by the way).

He kept writing, because he loved writing and I'm sure it contributed greatly to his contentment in recent times, as did his positive mind-set. We were in regular touch, but kept the focus on fun stuff rather than his state of health. Astonishingly, he even hoped to make it to CrimeFest this year. And then just over a fortnight ago I received an email from him inviting me back to Shrewsbury, saying 'make it soon'. So of course I went - and believe me, I'm very glad I did.

I shall miss Peter enormously and right now I feel a sense of sorrow. But I know that the right mind-set is to make a determined effort to focus on the wonderful legacy he has left - to all of us in the shape of so many fine novels and stories, and to me for all the memories of a man who meant such a great deal to me. Rest in peace, Peter. You were one of the best of the best.

   

Black Snow (series one) - TV review

My recent trip to New Zealand has fuelled my interest in things Antipodean, and although I've never been to Australia (one of these days, possibly) when I came across Black Snow, a six-part series set in Queensland, I decided to give it a go. And I'm glad I did, even though the show is a mixed bag, with flaws as well as strengths.

Let's start with the positives - and there are quite a few of them. This is a story about a cold case in a hot climate. The trigger for the action in the small town of Ashford is the opening of a time capsule that was sealed 25 years ago, at the time a 17 year old girl called Isabel was murdered, a crime that was never solved. Eerily, her voice has been recorded, saying: 'In 2019 I predict Ashford will still be full of predators disguised as friends.' It soon becomes obvious to cop James Cormack (Travis Fimmel) that someone local was responsible for the murder. 

The story follows a twin timeline. We see events in 1994 in the lead-up to the murder as Cormack, a decent man with (naturally) a number of personal demons, painstakingly tries to establish the truth. There are some absolutely beautiful scenes, not least of the sugar cane fields (the title refers to the ash from burning sugar cane). It's a very well-made series and I learned about the South Sea Islander community, about which I was previously ignorant.

The trouble with Black Snow is that, like so many contemporary TV shows, it's far too drawn-out for its own good. I lost count of the number of times Isabel's message was repeated; it became a blunt instrument. Even worse, from a relatively early point, it's pretty obvious who the murderer will turn out to be. This is because the scriptwriters are clearly writing with an agenda (and it's not a bad agenda at all) which necessitates a particular outcome. This might be ok in, say, a 90-minute show. In a six-hour series, it's a major weakness. Which is a pity, because Black Snow does have a lot going for it - other than pace. 

The new edition of The Golden Age of Murder - and Happy Blog News!

 

I'm truly delighted to have received an early copy of the new, 10th anniversary edition of The Golden Age of Murder. This edition is substantially expanded from the original. When I was kindly invited by HarperCollins to produce a second edition, the one condition I laid down was that it needed to offer real value for money even for those who already have the original edition. There is a great deal of new material - over 200 additional books and authors are mentioned - so I think we did manage to achieve this aim. Official publication date is 8 May and copies will be widely available (I hope!) in good bookshops; they can also be pre-ordered here.

I've also had some good news about this blog. Over the past weekend it passed 4.5 million pageviews. There has been a huge surge in numbers since December. Last month alone there were over 180,000 pageviews. I'm not exactly sure what has triggered this upsurge, but I'm quite happy!

And I've also been advised that the blog has just been ranked #9 in an international list of crime fiction blogs, (the Top 80 crime fiction blogs, listed here), which they assess in relation to 'relevance, authority, social media followers and freshness'. Gratifying! 

 

Forgotten Book - Bother at the Barbican

Judy Piatkus was a publisher with an eye for talent. I say that slightly with tongue in cheek, since she took me on when I was a new writer, but it's still true. Among others, she took on Judith Cutler and Kate Ellis at the start of their careers, and the Piatkus name is now a respected imprint of Little, Brown. My first novel, All the Lonely People, appeared in 1991 and in the very same year Judy published Guy Cullingford's final novel, Bother at the Barbican, although she did tell me a while back that she could not, after so many years, actually recall it.

I've mentioned my enthusiasm for Cullingford before. She (the name was a pseudonym for Constance Taylor) tried to do something different with every book. And here, she mines her own experience of life in a flat in the Barbican complex in London to interesting effect. Oddly enough, I have some knowledge of flat life in the Barbican since back in the late 70s, Michael Shanks, a lovely man whose daughter later became Mrs Edwards, and who had a flat in the Barbican, kindly let us stay there for a week while we explored London. Very memorable.

So what about the story? We begin in what you might call Celia Fremlin territory. Bertha Harris, recently widowed, leads a solitary life in her flat, but finds her niece and three nephews suddenly taking an interest in her. She suspects, quite rightly, that they have inheritance in mind. Her anxieties grow, and before long she wonders if one of them might be contemplating her murder.

This is a slow-burn novel. Cullingford was born in 1907 and this is a book about an old lady that is evidently written by an old lady. And yet, there's something insidiously seductive about the storyline. Eventually, I realised that this is the closest thing I've ever read to Francis Iles' story about a born victim, Before the Fact. Except that it's much more obscure - I've never even come across a review of the story. The ending is perhaps rather too peremptory, especially considering the very steady pace of the build-up, but this is an interesting and unusual story which I enjoyed reading. Like so much of Cullingford's work, it deserves to be better knonw.