Forgotten Book - Panic in Box C

My Pan paperback of John Dickson Carr's Panic in Box C  (see the above cover image) contains the ultimate endorsement - a positive quote from Agatha Christie, who said, 'Very few detective stories baffle me nowadays but Mr Carr's always do.' Of course, the two writer were friends, but it's certainly true that at his best, and even when not quite on top form, Carr was very, very good at bamboozling his readers. Alas, this is a story when I was able to figure out whodunit, even if some aspects of the solution weren't clear to me.

This was the penultimate novel to feature Dr Gideon Fell, although he pops in and out of the action in a rather disjointed way. The novel was published in 1960, and although Carr was barely sixty years old at that time, it does read like an old man's work, lacking the tightness and intensity of his excellent Golden Age mysteries.

The first two chapters, which are quite lengthy, represent a sort of extended prologue. They take place on ship, the RMS lllyria , which is sailing for the States. Fell is on board, and so is a famous actress called Margery Vane. We are given quite extensive chunks of information in slightly indigestible form, and events conclude with Margery Vane talking about a ghost and apparently being shot at.

We then leap forward several months, and Fell again becomes involved with Margery Vane and members of her circle. There's a lot of discussion about a performance of Romeo and Juliet and some of the odd bits of trivia that Carr drops into the narrative are interesting if not always hugely relevant. But some of the characters are irritating (the relationship between Fell's pal Philip Knox and his long-estranged wife Judy in particular - this pair were far less appealing to me than they seemed to be to Carr). And the murder mystery aspect of the novel is disjointed. All in all, I was pretty disappointed with this one. 

70 Up

I'm not a fan of reality television, mainly because it seems to me to present a false version of 'reality', but I have long admired 7 Up, the long series of documentaries which have followed the lives of a group of British children, from the age of seven, sixty-three years ago, to today. The show began as a 'World in Action' documentary, with a political axe to grind - an examination of the nature and future of the 'class system' in Britain - but evolved over the years into something more fascinating and thought-provoking. It's really a study of humanity.

Michael Apted, the film-maker whose achievements included a Bond film and Gorillas in the Mist, was the key figure who kept the show on the road, although it has now been revealed that by the time 63 Up was shown he was in the early stages of dementia, and he died in 2021. 70 Up makes clear that he did make mistakes, and he admitted himself that he was excessively judgmental in his early days. To some extent, clips were chosen selectively to make specific points (much to the annoyance of John, for instance, the public schoolboy who became a KC and felt - with some justice - that he was exploited, and that of the women who were challenged about their willingness to marry young). So even this 'reality' show is not beyond criticism.

Overall, though, Apted did a great job. One or two of the participants dropped out over the years, but most stayed the course. It was very sad to learn that Nick, the young Yorkshire lad who became a scientist in the US, had died of cancer just three days after filming his final clip. He was one of the characters who fascinated me particularly, as did Neil, an equally likeable but more obviously vulnerable person who has struggled with depression for many years. Andrew, the solicitor, seems on the surface to have had an unusually untroubled life, while Tony, the charismatic former jockey, was as engaging as he was outspoken. Everyone had a story to tell that was well worth hearing.

Of course you can question some of the choices made at the start of the series, which helped to define the way it developed, as well as the rather patronising way that Michael Apted interviewed some of the young women in the early shows. But as a window in the lives of real people over the course of a lifetime, this series is unmatched. I can't be the only viewer who felt a great deal of warmth towards everyone who took part over the years. The final sequences were poignant, the whole exercise genuinely impressive.  

Frederick Knott and Dial M for Murder

I'm fascinated by books which give a detailed insight into the way leading crime writers think. Examples that spring to mind are John Curran's study of Agatha Christie's notebooks and Barbara Reynolds' explanation of the collaborative writing process of The Documents in the Case by Dorothy L. Sayers and Robert Eustace, in her bio of Sayers (extracts from which I included in Howdunit). 

And now I've read an interesting study of a niche topic - the way that Frederick Knott went about writing his highly successful stage play Dial M for Murder, famously filmed by Alfred Hitchcock. Richard Weill's Frederick Knott and Dial M for Murder: The Creation and Evolution of an Iconic Thriller, published by McFarland, gives info about Knott's life and other work for stage and screen, as well as including a previously unpublished version of the play.

One of the key points that emerges from the text is the extent to which Knott laboured over his work. He was something of a perfectionist, and this may explain why he was very, very far from prolific (it probably helped that he earned a great deal of money from Dial M, despite selling the film rights for just £1000). There is a lot of detail about how he tinkered with apparently small elements of the story; this, I think, illustrates a level of care about his work that is common to a number of really successful creative people.

Knott met a variety of interesting people during his life - names like Selwyn Jepson, Maurice Evans (a fascinating character who not only starred in the stage play, but also, by the way, among other notable achievements, encouraged Hal David to become a lyricist), Roald Dahl, and Grace Kelly appear in the text: Weill squashes the notion that Knott and Kelly (who starred in the film of Dial M) had an affair, by the way. I was very glad to read this book and, who knows, it may well be a contender for next year's Edgar awards.

Forgotten Book - Illegal Tender

I felt a genuine sense of regret when I finished reading Dominic Devine's 1970 novel Illegal Tender. Not because of any flaws in the storyline, but because it meant I'd read all thirteen of his novels. They are all stand-alones, which usually means that quality can vary quite a bit, but in fact Devine is very, very good at ringing the changes while making the most of his strengths, which are considerable.

His ability to construct a strong whodunit plot is especially impressive. But he also understood office life, and its tensions, and the secrets hidden within seemingly respectable lives. His fiction gives a pretty good insight into the social mores of middle-class Britain at the time. Most of his stories are set in Scotland, and even those that aren't generally have some Scottish characters or scenes. He was very strong on academic life, which he knew intimately, but he also seems to have had a very close knowledge of local government and how it operates on a day to day basis. The background seems to me to be highly authentic.

This story is set in a fictitious local authority, Kilcrannon, and it's one of a number of crime novels written during the same period which deal with local government corruption. Michael Gilbert's The Crack in the Teacup was another, but Devine explores the topic in greater depth, even though his protagonist, Jennifer Ainslie is, like Gilbert's, a trained lawyer. In some ways, their work was prescient, because not long after those novels appeared, the Poulson scandal began to unfold. 

There haven't been many major crime novels in recent times that I can think of which deal with similar themes, which is surprising, because corruption in local government definitely hasn't gone away. The municipal hierarchy in Scotland at the time was evidently quite complex, and Devine might have given us a bit more explanation about how it operated, but he is content to tell the story in a pacy way and trust his readers to work things out for themselves. 

Did I manage to deduce the identity of the culprit? In this case, no, I was miles out. Devine was a very crafty crime writer indeed.

  

Books

 

This week saw the publication by the British Library of The Classic Crime Companion, my updated and expanded version of the award-winning The Story of Classic Crime in 100 Books. Here is a link if you're interested in buying from Amazon.

And next week sees publication by Head of Zeus of the paperback edition of Miss Winter in the Library with a Knife. Of all the books I've written, this has - already - been the most commercially successful, and the most widely translated. If you're interested in preordering from Amazon, you can do so here.

Torquay Books

I came home from Torquay with an interesting haul of books, and pride of place goes to Lucy Foley's latest. I'm pleased to say that Lucy has written an essay for Agatha Christie: A World of Mystery, edited by another Lucy (Ms Rowland) and myself for the British Library exhibition about the Queen of Crime. That book is due out on the day the exhibition opens officially, 30 October, but Lucy's novel is already available.

I've been interested in Lucy's writing ever since she turned to the crime genre with her fourth novel, The Hunting Party, eight years ago. That book established her distinctive style, which makes skilful use of multiple first person viewpoints, and was one of the novels that has helped to revive the 'whowasdunin' type of mystery, which I'd argue dates back to Anthony Berkeley's Murder in the Basement, in recent times. She has achieved huge success and, during the pandemic, I enjoyed moderating an online panel to which she made an excellent contribution.

Now she's been appointed by the Agatha Christie estate to write continuation novels featuring Miss Marple, and the first is Murder at the Grand Alpine Hotel. She hasn't tried to ape Agatha's style, and again it's a 'whowasdunin' with multiple viewpoints (not Miss Marple's, though - some mysteries have to be preserved!). What I liked about this story was the cunning way she used one of Agatha's favourite pieces of trickery (no, I'm not going to say what it is, but it features in at least two novels and one short story, arguably more) but gave it a very distinctive twist of her own. So distinctive that I have to admit I didn't see it coming. I'm now kicking myself, of course...

A word too for a pleasing new 'stocking filler' book, Agatha Christie: The ABC of Murders, written and illustrated by Tom Racine. Well worth considering as a Christmas present for the Christie fan in your life.

     

The Jurassic Coast and Cornwall

It's a long way from Cheshire to Torquay, and so I planned to turn my participation in the International Agatha Christie Festival into a larger trip that involved exploring a number of places in the south west of England that were unfamiliar to me, but which had potential for research. Sometimes I plan my research meticulously in advance, with a view to getting a better sense of places (in Britain or overseas) that I intend to use in a specific story, while on other occasions I treat trips like voyages of discovery, without any specific story idea in mind - but hoping that one or two will come to me, as in practice they often do. I find that visiting fresh ground like this can be inspirational - for instance, I've just finished work on the first draft of a short story with a setting inspired by my trip in July to the Llyn Peninsula in Wales. 

The Jurassic Coast has interested me for a long time, and I was impressed by the use made of it some years ago in Broadchurch, but it's an area I don't know very well - apart from a long ago visit to Dorset. This time, I explored a number of interesting coastal spots - Seaton, Sidmouth (where, opportunistically, I took the chance to sign half a dozen copies of my newly published anthology, Eat, Drink and Be Murdered) and Budleigh Salterton, none of which I'd ever visited before. Good weather helped for a memorable trip. And a quick trip to Ladram Bay, notable not only for a massive caravan park but also for some intriguing sea stacks, was definitely worth making.

After Torquay, it was a case of driving over to Cornwall (with a stop-off en route in South Zeal in Devon to call on my crime writing pal Mike Jecks, pictured above) and an overnight stay at Bedruthan Steps, a fascinating and picturesque location. The next day saw my first ever visits to Padstow and Bude, two contrasting seaside resorts. This time there was a bit of drizzle, but I was still able to get a flavour of the locations before heading over to Barnstaple, which I last visited more than thirty years ago - long before that area became the setting for Ann Cleeves' Two Rivers series.

What fictional use will I make of these explorations? It's too early to say, as it often is. For instance, some years ago I visited Bletchley Park and found it fascinating, but it was quite a while afterwards when another trip (this time to Gorey on Jersey, during a festival) that my thinking gelled and the short story 'The Sound of Secrecy' emerged from the ether. But I enjoyed the trip very much, and picked up plenty of food for thought...  

Forgotten Book - Such Friends Are Dangerous

Such Friends Are Dangerous, written by Walter Tyrer and originally published in 1954 by the relatively obscure firm of Staples, is a novel to which my attention was drawn by Nigel Moss, who is extremely widely read in the genre, especially in terms of Golden Age detective stories; he's also a shrewd judge of a story. I discovered that the novel had also been highly praised by another good judge, John Norris, and even by the critics Barzun and Taylor (who weren't afraid to heap criticism, and were often sceptical about books I'd regard as very good). So I was curious to read it.

Did it live up to expectations? Yes, I'd say it did. I have a few quibbles, for instance about the title and some oddities of structuring, but overall this is an extremely enjoyable story, written in a light and pleasing style which shifts the spotlight of suspicion around the cast of characters in an effective way.

We begin by seeing Mrs Luton, who is devoted to an unworthy husband who treats her badly. Even worse, it turns out that although he's keeping her short of money, he is showering gifts on a younger married woman, Kitty Pinnock. It soon becomes clear that Kitty has made plenty of enemies in the local community and it comes as no surprise when she is murdered.

Much of the action centres around the local golf club and the detection is undertaken by the amiable DI Frodsham of Scotland Yard, who is aided and abetted by a mischievous local journalist called Charlie Weaver, who specialises in cadging drinks from his forbearing fellow villagers. I don't want to say anything that gives away the final twist. Suffice to say that I had a clear inkling of the truth early on, but there was one critical issue that eluded me completely, and which lifts this book from the ranks of the competent into something rather more interesting. 

Does Tyrer play completely fair? This is debatable, but I enjoyed the story so much that I'm happy to give him the benefit of the doubt. It's a pity that, so far as I know, he published nothing of similar quality. He is mainly associated with Sexton Blake stories and young adult fiction. This one is good enough to make one interested to read more of his work, just in case there are some hidden gems there. 

Miss Winter - a pre-order discount

Readers in the UK who are interested in the forthcoming paperback edition of Miss Winter in the Library with a Knife may like to know about a very limited-time promotional offer - pre-order a copy of my book from Bookshop.org between 23-27 September and save 20% with the code: SEPT20 - every sale supports real independent bookshops across the UK! Check out on Bookshop.org

The book hits the shelves on 8 October...

The International Agatha Christie Festival

I've just returned home from the International Agatha Christie Festival in Torquay. This was the third time I've taken part in the festival, which seems to be growing all the time. I was asked to take part in 'Roger Ackroyd Day', namely 17 September, and to give a presentation about Agatha and the Detection Club. Family commitments meant the overall trip was shorter than originally planned, but I still managed quite a lot of sightseeing on the long journey to and from the south west and I'll highlight some of my experiences on another occasion.

All festivals require a good deal of hard work on the part of a considerable number of people - not just the festival director, Matt Newbury, and administrator Jo Barlow, but a range of others working hard in the background. It all seemed to go very smoothly, and that's no mean achievement, as the logistics for an event of this kind can be quite challenging to manage. 

It was interesting to return to the Grand Hotel, where I first stayed during the Agatha Christie Centenary celebrations in 1990 - before I was a published crime novelist! Equally interesting to reflect on everything that has happened since then; many wonderful things that I never foresaw, that's for certain. One of the great pleasures of a festival is the chance to catch up with old friends and to meet other people for the first time. It was good to see Tina Hodgkinson again, and she kindly introduced me to fashion expert and TV presenter Amber Butchart. Now I'm nobody's idea of a fashionista, but Amber proved to be very charming and told a great story about her experience as a winner of Celebrity Mastermind.

I was pleased to chat with David Brawn, always good company, as well as Agatha guru John Curran, her great-grandson James Prichard, Robert Thorogood (whose conversation with Ben Miller was excellent), true crime expert Angela Buckley, and many more. Thanks to David, I also came away with an inscribed copy of Lucy Foley's new novel featuring Jane Marple, which I look forward to reading. It was a great trip. 

Forgotten Book - A Corpse for Charybdis

A Corpse for Charybdis was the fourth novel published by Susan Gilruth, and the first to appear under the imprint of Hodder & Stoughton. This marked a step-up for her after being published by Robert Hale. In saying this, I mean no disrespect to Hale, who did a good job for many, many years, producing books for library readers. Many of their titles were very enjoyable. But print runs were small, and I suspect the editing was minimal. 

For many authors coming towards the latter stages of their career, Hale provided a decent enough home (perhaps the major British detective writer they published in his later years was the great Michael Gilbert), but for a younger and ambitious writer, the opportunity to move on to a major firm like Hodder must have been welcome, as well as (relatively) more remunerative.

The novel appeared in 1956 and there was no paperback edition, nor (as far as I know) any overseas edition, although the story was adapted for BBC Radio. So, like most of Gilruth's seven novels, it's quite a rare book - I've never seen a physical copy, only a pdf. I decided to read it while on a cruise, because it is set on a cruise, and one of the fascinating elements of the story is the light it casts on cruising in the post-war era - suffice to say that it was a very, very different experience.

Another historical point of interest is that the story is set during the Cold War, and the ship in question is a Yugoslav cargo ship, which is only carrying a handful of passengers. These include Liane Crauford, who again narrates, and her husband (I'm tempted to say, her long-suffering husband, but to be honest he is a bit dull, if pleasant enough) Bill. Gilruth's interest in true crime is reflected in her reference to the James Camb 'porthole murder' case from real life, while her knowledge of detective fiction is evidenced by a pleasing 'red herring' about the m.o. in Sayers' Murder Must Advertise. There's also a plot device slightly similar to that in another holiday whodunit, Christie's A Caribbean Mystery.

One of the merits of a cruise mystery - and quite a lot of them have been written over the years- is that the setting provides a 'closed circle' of suspects. Helpfully, there is a plan of the passenger deck and Gilruth also includes a cast of characters at the start of the book. This reveals that Liane's chum Hugh Gordon of Scotland Yard will make an appearance at some point. I don't think this is a spoiler of any meaningful sort, though I did wonder how Gilruth would work him into the story. Suffice to say that she does so in a more or less plausible way. This is a teasing mystery, and although Gilruth didn't focus on 'fair play' in the Golden Age manner, there's an undeniable charm about her writing. 

Rogue Agent - 2022 film review

What a terrific actor James Norton is. I first came across him in the first series of Happy Valley, in which he was superb as a villain, and I've followed his career since then with interest as well as admiration. When I saw that he had the lead role in Rogue Agent, a Netflix film inspired by a true story of crime, I was keen to watch it, and I certainly wasn't disappointed.

Norton plays Robert Freegard, a seemingly likeable and definitely plausible individual. When we first meet him, he's posing as an MI5 agent and conning three naive young people into abandoning their old lives. Years later, he's selling posh cars and when an attractive lawyer, Alice (Gemma Arterton) passes by, he chats her up. Before long, they are living together. 

Alice checks into Robert's background and learns from a private detective that the man she has fallen for seems not to exist. When she confronts Robert, he tells her that he works for MI5, and she believes him. He also persuades her to start up a business venture with him. When he drains the account, she doesn't seem to realise the legal implications of a joint account until a policeman explains them to her, which I thought was rather odd for a supposedly hot-shot lawyer. The scenes in her office I didn't find convincing, but overall, the script is strong and the story really interesting, in this particular case all the more so because of its real life origin. 

I didn't know much about Robert Freegard until I watched this film. As a general rule, I'm wary about films that dramatise recent events involving living people, because they can embellish the facts in a way that seems deeply unfair. But as far as I can tell, even though significant elements of the storyline are invented, there's actually nothing unfair about Rogue Agent. If anything, it flatters Freegard, a cruel conman, by having such a charismatic actor portray him.   

The Names by Florence Knapp - and Italy

I planned September this year as a month mainly devoted to holidays, and celebrating various publications, before things were disrupted, but a trip to Italy in the company of Kate Ellis and her husband Roger Bullock proved very relaxing, a chance to unwind away from home. And for once I decided that for my holiday reading I'd focus on a novel that isn't a work of crime fiction. There are certainly crimes committed in Florence Knapp's much-acclaimed debut The Names but they are incidental to the main story - or, I should I say, stories.

The premise appealed to me greatly (even if I don't think it's actually true): the idea that one's path through life is affected by the name one is given at birth. Florence Knapp traces a boy's development in seven-year stages, according to whether he is called Gordon (after his bullying father, a doctor), Julian (a name favoured by his mother Cora, as a sort of compromise), or Bear (a name chosen by his sister Maia). I did wonder if the cover quote saying that the novel is 'life-affirming' was a euphemism for 'twee', but it proved to be anything but. 

I really enjoyed this book. The writing is excellent from start to finish and I'm fascinated by the structural premise, one that has always appealed to me - there's a Sliding Doors moment at the start of the book, when Cora is going with Maia to register the birth, and the ways in which Florence Knapp takes the stories from there is consistently engaging. She really is a fine writer and the only question now is: how does she top this achievement?

As for my own writing, my British Library anthology Eat, Drink and Be Murdered was published while I was away, and the previous anthology in the series, Puzzles of the Parish received a wonderful review in Barry Turner's final column on classic crime in the Daily Mail: 'Edwards makes an excellent start with G. K. Chesterton’s sharp-witted Father Brown exposing a religious charlatan who is also a murderer.
The challenge for Edwards is to maintain the standard for the rest of the book. This he achieves magnificently with a rich assortment of astute priests including an amateur detective who recovers a church treasure and a rector who, having disposed of a blackmailer, takes advantage of an open grave made ready for another funeral. While the masters of crime fiction such as Michael Gilbert and Edmund Crispin are well represented, there are rarer names of the genre here. And very good they are, too.'

The Italy trip started in Lucca, a wonderful old walled city that appealed to me greatly; a climb up a tower was rewarded with fantatstic views. There was a trip to Pisa; I've been there twice before, but this was the most enjoyable visit of the three. Moving from Lucca to Genoa involved a stop in Porto Venere; we managed to fit in a climb to the church before having lunch during a prolonged and truly spectacular thunderstorm. 

My daughter Catherine had told me that Genoa was well worth a visit and she was proved right. I liked it a lot and felt that, despite getting around the city a good deal, there was still more to explore. A trip to upmarket Portofino, by boat from Rapallo, was very enjoyable, as was the climb to the church, museum, and lighthouse. Weather conditions prevented a boat trip to Cinque Terra, despite the fact that the sea was quite calm, but we visited Monterosso and Vernazza by train; charming places. I'd like to go back there another time, should the opportunity arise.  

Dream Lover - 1993 film review

Dream Lover is a thriller written and directed by Nicholas Kazan (son of the legendary director Elia Kazan, and himself an Academy Award nominee). I assumed the famous Bobby Darin song 'Dream Lover' would feature, but it was not to be, and this is certainly a film that confounded my expectations in quite a number of ways. 

It's a strange film in some respects, and over the years it has attracted both admiration (from the eminent critic Roger Ebert, for instance) and scorn. I can see both points of view and I find myself rather undecided on whether its strengths outweigh its flaws. I don't want to say too much about the flaws, because that would entail spoilers, but suffice to say that the sudden and melodramatic ending of the film seemed to me to be very unsatisfactory as well as unexpected (and I admit that I didn't expect it). I'm all in favour of twist endings, but this was one I didn't care for.

I was completely unfamiliar with the cast of the film, but James Spader, who plays a wealthy and charming young architect has evidently had a successful career. His character is called Ray Reardon, which added to the strangeness, since that's a name I associate with the famous snooker player. At the start of the film, Ray is getting divorced from his wife; although he struck her in a moment of anger, she still seems devoted to him. 

Soon Ray develops an obsession with a beautiful and enigmatic young woman, Lena Mathers (Madchen Amick). Their passionate relationship leads to marriage and children, but Lena is a mysterious character and Ray becomes increasingly puzzled about her, and for good reason. There were one or two elements of the film that reminded me of the brilliant Body Heat, in which another naive professional man becomes besotted with a gorgeous woman, but there's no doubt that Body Heat has stood the test of time much better. 

Forgotten Book - Who Killed Robert Prentice?

The first Crime Dossier created by Dennis Wheatley and J.G. Links was Murder off Miami (in the US, File on Bolitho Blane) and it proved to be a huge success, bringing together Golden Age elements such as the 'challenge to the reader' in a dossier format, like a three-dimensional version of books such as The Documents in the Case by Dorothy L. Sayers and Robert Eustace. 

A follow-up was inevitable, and it came in the form of Who Killed Robert Prentice? which boasts some intriguing clues as part of the package. Unfortunately, since the clues include a particular perfume on certain correspondence, they don't always stand the test of time. When copies turn up on the second hand market, items are often missing - my first edition lacks an important newspaper cutting as well as some face powder (!) but one curiosity is still present and correct. This is a little wallet of pieces of a torn-up photograph - which turn out to display a topless woman in the company of a man: in other words, it's a compromising picture used for the purposes of blackmail. Racy for 1937, that's for sure.

The British police are baffled by the death - by strychnine poisoning - of the wealthy Prentice. His widow contacts a visiting American detective called Schwab and asks him to look into the case. He soon finds that there are several plausible suspects, including the deceased's step-son and his mistress. 

After some intricate stuff concerning alibis, it eventually becomes clear that the crime turns on a plot device which is by no means original (I associate it with another strychnine poisoning mystery, which in other respects is very different) but which still works pretty well in this context. This was actually the first Crime Dossier I ever read, and rereading it thirty years later was equally pleasurable. 

Cellar Door - 2024 film review

Cellar Door is a fairly recent American film which takes a situation with a number of rather familiar ingredients and and manages to make something quite interesting and entertaining out of them. As a result, I found it more watchable than I might have expected, given that the script does have a number of flaws. In a way, it's a Faustian pact story with a difference. 

A young couple, Sera and John (Jordana Brewster and Scott Speedman) who have recently suffered a miscarriage decide to make a new start by looking for a house in the country. An estate agent introduces them to a slightly mysterious chap called Emmett (Laurence Fishburne) who makes them an offer that they find it impossible to refuse.

Emmett lives in a gorgeous mansion which has seen some kind of unspecified tragedy in the past. He offers the couple the chance to acquire the house for nothing, subject to one condition only - they must never open the cellar door. Of course, they say yes, but soon John is itching with curiosity, desperate to find his way past that pesky cellar door.

The plot thickens when a work colleague of John's turns up at the housewarming party and subsequently accuses him of sexual harassment. There's a pleasing twist near the end of the film, and it becomes clear that the primary significance of the cellar door is metaphorical rather than actual. I'm not sure everything in the story made complete sense, but there were just about enough interesting developments to keep me engaged to the rather ambivalent ending.   

War of the Worlds - 2005 film review

I vividly remember reading H.G. Wells' The War of the Worlds, aged about 12 or 13, after borrowing the book from my school library. I was so impressed that I was tempted to buy a paperback copy of The Time Machine for myself, and I also read quite a few of his short stories. I even tried his 'social realism' fiction, but at that age, I certainly didn't find it gripping, and I think it's fair to say that today he is much better remembered as a writer of sci-fi than for his non-genre fiction.   

About seven years ago, I enjoyed a BBC TV version of the story - some key scenes of which were shot in Great Budworth, a lovely Cheshire village well-known to me - but I've only just caught up with Steven Spielberg's 2005 film version, set in the United States. This begins and ends clunkily, in my opinion, with a solemn and rather banal explanatory voiceover by Morgan Freeman, but the action in between is very good.

The cast is led by Tom Cruise, whose performances in action films generally strike me as excellent. I know that some people don't like his portrayal of Jack Reacher, partly because of his lack of height, but I thought he did a pretty good job. And under Spielberg's direction, he is on top form here, as Ray Ferrier, a dock worker whose marriage is over and whose ex-wife Mary Ann (now pregnant by her new bloke) has custody of their children, moody adolescent Robbie (Justin Chatwin) and young Rachel (Dakota Fanning). At the start of the film, Ray is late to collect his children for a few days, and his lack of attention to punctuality sums up the unreliability that has ended his marriage.

There are news reports of electrical storms in Ukraine, and soon strange clouds form overhead. Before you know it, alien tripods are causing havoc - and their first appearance is quite memorable. The story focuses on Ray and his children, and is well handled, with several moments of very high tension. You can interpret Wells' storyline in a variety of ways, but what matters most is that it really is a very good story, a landmark title in science fiction that has stood the test of time. 

Andrew Shanks R.I.P.

No 'Friday Forgotten Book' today, because I want to pay a personal tribute to my brother-in-law Andrew Shanks, who died on Tuesday. This tragic news came as a great shock, and it will be a considerable time before we come properly to terms with his loss. Andrew was a writer and translator of distinction, although his field was far removed from crime writing; he did, however, provide me with advice several times. He's mentioned in the acknowledgements to Blackstone Fell, having given me a good deal of help with my research for a pivotal chapter in that book, set around a church service. He was a priest (at different times he had rural and inner city parishes and he also served as Canon Theologian at Manchester Cathedral for a decade) and also a philosopher. In a message to Andrew's widow Dian Leppington, his friend Rowan Williams has already expressed his admiration for Andrew's personal qualities with great eloquence and poignancy.

Andrew was the eldest of the four children of Michael and Juliet Shanks: he's on the left in the above photo, with Chris, Roland, and Helena. Michael was a distinguished economist (whose influence continues to the present; his ideas were referenced last week in his column by the economics editor of the Sunday Times) and author. Andrew read History at Balliol, his father's old college, and he and I overlapped there, although he enjoyed Balliol less than I did and we didn't meet until after I'd got to know his sister, whom I first met at the same college. I've often said that Andrew is the cleverest person I know, but even more important than his formidable intellectual gifts were his personal qualities, his compassion, warmth, and playful sense of humour. 

Andrew played an important part in my life, more important than perhaps he realised. Not only did he officiate at our wedding, he guided me through after the death of my mother at the darkest time of my life and delivered a tribute at the memorial service when I simply couldn't manage it. And there was much more: he and Dian frequently hosted us, and my crime writing friend Eileen Dewhurst at their home in Leeds when we stayed en route for northern CWA events in Yorkshire. On one occasion he and Dian looked after our children at short notice while we were away and I'd messed up the arrangements. At different times, when they had homes in Hornby (E.C.R. Lorac country!) and Grassington, we stayed there for holidays. There was a memorable family gathering in Liverpool two years ago when we all spent a January weekend together to celebrate his 70th birthday, visiting the Lady Lever Art Gallery at Port Sunlight in Wirral, among other things (the below photo). And there was much else besides.

I very much enjoyed our conversations over the years, at family get-togethers or sometimes when we  played chess or watched Match of the Day together. He was never less than fascinating to talk to and it's safe to say that I learned a lot more from him than he did from me. I think we had many shared values, though it's fair to say that our ideas about how society could best implement those values were often very different. On his extremely interesting website Andrew describes himself as a 'neo-Hegelian...politically however (more and more) a sort of anarcho-pacifist.' In the last really lengthy discussion we had, he explained to me his ideas about reforming the House of Lords. These are set out on a page of his website and I think they deserve serious consideration by serious people (even if Andrew's confidence in the charitable sector is greater than mine). In any event, the point is not really whether you agree 100% with his argument: what matters is the quality of the thinking behind it.

Andrew suffered from serious ill-health of various kinds for many years, but it was a tribute to his courage and indomitable spirit that he bounced back so many times, and was able to devote himself to his writing and his happy and fulfilling personal life with Dian right to the end. I cannot deny that books such as his first, Hegel's Political Theology, were too difficult for me, but he achieved something special in recent times with his impressive translation of the poetry of the German Nelly Sachs. She was a winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, but I confess I'd never heard of her until Andrew explained what an extraordinary individual she was. His translations seem to me to be highly successful and he won two prizes for them. As I've mentioned, his father's legacy endures. So too, I have no doubt, will Andrew's. I shall remember him with gratitude and huge affection.