Forgotten Book - Look to the Lady

At Bodies from the Library last weekend, Jake Kerridge talked engagingly about the merits of Margery Allingham as a mystery writer. I like Allingham - although I prefer Christie and Sayers - and I was prompted to read one of her novels that I haven't tried previously. Look to the Lady, known in the US as The Gyrth Chalice Mystery, was an early Albert Campion novel, published in 1931.

It's a novel which illustrates the fact that it's often unhelpful to lump crime writers and their work into categories. In its early days, the Detection Club made much of the distinction between detective stories and thrillers - I guess this was due largely to the views and influence of Sayers and Anthony Berkeley - and thriller writers weren't even allowed to become members. But the fact is that Christie wrote several thrillers in the 1920s, as well as in later years, and there's no doubt in my mind that if I was forced to categorise Look to the Lady, I'd describe it as a thriller, not a detective story.

But that isn't a criticism. This story is a romp, generally light-hearted, but with one or two darker moments, notably when Campion is about to be kicked to death by an aggressive horse; this is a crafty murder scheme devised by a pleasingly villainous baddie. Of course, our hero survives, but it's a memorable scene.

The novel concerns a family legend concerning a priceless artefact, the Gyrth Chalice. The legend reminded me slightly of a pleasing ingredient in Derek Smith's later book Whistle Up the Devil, but the stories are really very different. There are two maps (not counting the one of the lovely first edition dustjacket, pictured above) and plenty of incident, much of it entertaining. Not a masterpiece, but well-written and enjoyable light fare.

Forgotten Book - The Fashion in Shrouds

The description "forgotten book" is, to be honest, a misnomer when it comes to Margery Allingham's 1938 novel The Fashion in Shrouds. The famous Observer critic Torquemada extolled the book, saying, "To Albert Campion has fallen the honour of being the first detective to figure in a story which is also by any standard a distinguished novel". I'm not sure whether Dorothy L.Sayers would have agreed; perhaps she'd have thought that she'd beaten her friend Allingham to that particular achievement. But it's undeniably a stylish novel.

Time and again there are pleasing and inventive turns of phrase, of a kind that one doesn't usually find in the typical Golden Age mystery. What's more, the presentation of the fashion world, which provides, in the early stages of the story, an interesting setting, is convincing. Allingham's presentation of character generally avoids the usual cliches, and the relationship Campion has with the lovely young Amanda Fitton is quite subtly done.

It's not easy to read this book in the precisely way that readers in 1938 would have read it. There's a good deal about social class, and the role of women in society, that relates to the time, and although Allingham handles these issues in a thoughtful way, so much has changed. Overall, I did not find these aspects of the book to be as compelling as some of her admirers suggest. For me, as with Sayers' Gaudy Night, Fashion in Shrouds does sacrifice something in the attempt at literary sophistication. The plot simply isn't as exciting as, say, the plot of Christie's The ABC Murders or Wade's Lonely Magdalen.- and the latter also offers a fascinating picture of society, and the role of police in enforcing the law.

What of the story? The amoral Georgia Wells poses a threat to the relationship between Campion's sister Valentine and Alan Dell (for whose company Amanda works).Georgia's husband is murdered, and the fate of his predecessor also comes under the microscope. But the plot is secondary, I think, and for that reason I don't feel tempted to rave about this book in the way its most ardent fans do. Even so, I enjoyed reading it, and as Torquemada said, the writing is distinguished.

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Forgotten Book - The Case of the Late Pig

The Case of the Late Pig by Margery Allingham was first published in 1937, and I suppose there is room for debate as to whether it really qualifies as a Forgotten Book. After all, Allingham's reputation has survived much better than that of many Golden Age writers, and the Margery Allingham Society is a flourishing body, with an excellent journal and a range of activities for members. What I can say is that this is a short novel (it began life as a paperback original, and a UK hardback edition didn't appear for more than a quarter of a century) which definitely deserves to be remembered. It offers more entertainment than many much longer efforts.

An unusual feature of the book is that it's narrated by Albert Campion. An ambitious move on Allingham's part, I think, because Great Detectives aren't naturally suited to recounting their own cases - Sherlock Holmes seems to me to have been a noticeably less effective narrator than Dr Watson, for instance. It's maddening enough when a sleuth (Poirot, for example) declines to tell his sidekick whom he suspects and why. The risk of frustrating the reader is much greater when the detective is actually telling the story. Christie was wise, I think, not to have Poirot or Miss Marple act as narrators. Perhaps Allingham was experimenting -she did not repeat this particular experiment in another novel. And yet here, I think, she gets away with it, and does so rather stylishly.

A mysterious unsigned missive persuades Campion to attend the funeral of the late and unlamented "Pig" Peters, with whom he was at school. But the plot really starts to thicken five months later, when Campion returns to the splendidly named village of Kepesake. There has been another death - but this time, once again, the deceased is Pig Peters. What on earth is going on?

This is a splendid village mystery, neatly plotted and with plenty of twists. It's a very good example of Allingham's technical skill as a writer - she was able to vary her approach with much more flair and success than most Golden Age novelists, and this is, surely, one of the reasons why her work has lasted so well. I enjoyed The Case of the Late Pig - and the TV version, starring Peter Davison as Campion, which I saw some time ago, isn't at all bad, either.

Forgotten Book - The Crime at Black Dudley

Margery Allingham is widely regarded as one of the great British crime writers, but although I like her short stories, I’ve had mixed feelings about her novels. But I decided to give her another go, and my choice for today’s Forgotten Book is the 1929 novel in which Albert Campion made his debut, The Crime at Black Dudley.

In reading the book, it’s vital to remember that Allingham was only 23 when she wrote it. The story is breezy, and begins very well, with a pleasingly mysterious ritual in a country house, and murder being done in the dark. But after that, I’m afraid, things fall apart.

A sinister gang commanded by a nasty German hold the house party hostage, and I felt it all became rather silly and tedious. Only when we get back to the main plot do things improve, but vital information is withheld from the reader; it’s not really a fair play whodunit at all.

Campion is presented as almost a rogue. Allingham’s main focus is on a pathologist called Abbershaw, who does the main detective work. The real merit of this book for modern readers lies not in the story-line but in its historic interest, as the apprentice work of a very interesting and unpredictable writer.

Police at the Funeral

Quite some time ago I invested in the complete set of DVDs featuring Peter Davison as the legendary sleuth created by Margery Allingham, Albert Campion. I have to admit that I have only just opened the box, but this is not due to any particular lack of enthusiasm. I'm afraid that I have three other box sets still awaiting attention – too many shows, too little time!

I started by watching Police at the Funeral, simply because I had heard good things about the book on which the episode was based. What I did not know was that the plot bears a passing resemblance in some respects to a rather good Sherlock Holmes short story. But Allingham handled the material in her own distinctive style, and to good effect.

Peter Davison has always been a likeable actor and, although I do not claim to be any sort of expert in Allingham's work, it does seem to me that he is rather well cast as Campion. He is aided and abetted by the splendid Yorkshireman, the late Brian Glover, who plays the part of Lugg. I always relished the enthusiasm that Brian Glover seemed to bring to every role, and he was in his element here.

The supporting cast included Timothy West, who was as watchable as ever. The story moved at a brisk enough pace and I enjoyed the episode, possibly more than I expected to. I shall certainly not leave it too long before watching another instalment in a series

When Should a Series End?

One of the fascinations about the fast-paced conversations that blogging and social networks facilitate is that a single contribution to debate can create a fresh and intriguing direction for the discussion. The way in which these cyberspace conversations mimic, yet differ from, spoken conversations would be a good field for research.

But today my focus is on a thought-provoking comment made on this blog by Paul Beech in relation to detective series. He asked: when should a series end? Let me quote directly from him:

‘The author running out of steam or simply fancying a change doesn’t quite justify a “never again” ending with a popular character, surely? After all the author might discover a fresh head of steam after a break. But what if the series was conceived thematically as a cycle and this is now complete? Or if the character’s personal goal is achieved – a relationship (Daniel Kind / Hannah Scarlett), reconciliation with a daughter (John Harvey’s Frank Elder), etc. Is it then time, regretfully perhaps, to move on?’

Series can come to an end, or an apparent end, in a variety of ways. Conan Doyle decided to dispose of Sherlock Holmes because he became frustrated that detective stories were getting in the way of his other activities – but, of course, public pressure forced him into a re-think. Nicolas Freeling, presumably bored with his finest creation, killed off Van Der Valk, but then had the detective’s widow investigate subsequent cases.

More commonly, an author decides upon a change of direction, but prudently avoids killing off the detective – just in case. It's still relatively uncommon for series to be conceived thematically as a cycle, although as Paul says, it does happen. Increasingly in the money- and sales-driven business climate of the modern publishing world, the decision is taken out of the author’s hands when the publishers simply decree that they will not produce any more books featuring a particular detective. If the author is lucky, the publisher will accept further books with a different set-up. But often, nowadays, the author is cut adrift. I can think of several friends who have suffered this fate, and it is a great shame.

Oddly, an unsuccessful television series can so disappoint a writer that they are reluctant to write about the character again – the protagonist has, in a sense, been ‘spoiled’ in their eyes. I can think of two British writers, one male and one female, of whom this could be said.

Sometimes, it’s simply the case that the author’s focus switches, and the framework and characters he or she has created in the series do not accommodate a more ambitious approach. This is, you might say, the Dorothy L. Sayers conundrum. Lord Peter Wimsey began almost as a Bertie Wooster type of character, but became a much more serious and substantial figure in later books. Arguably, she might have created a major new series detective, but she preferred to stick with Wimsey. Likewise, Margery Allingham’s Albert Campion evolved quite remarkably as the years went by. Today, I think publishers would prefer their authors to make a fresh start.

In my own case, I wrote seven successive books featuring Harry Devlin, as well as a number of short stories. I then decided that I wanted a change, even though it would have been possible to take up a further contract offer. By the time I’d written a non-series book and was ready to return to Harry, my editor had moved on – and my new editor suggested a series with a rural setting. Hence The Coffin Trail and the beginning of the Lake District Mysteries.

However, I never lost my enthusiasm for Harry, and when Liverpool was European Capital of Culture in 2008, it provided the perfect opportunity to revive him in Waterloo Sunset. It was a book I really enjoyed writing, and I think it is possibly the best of all the Devlins. But commercially, there is not as much demand for that series as for the Lake District Mysteries, so it will (unfortunately) be some time before Harry returns. But I hope he will, one day.

As for Paul’s question about Hannah and Daniel getting together – we’ll just have to wait and see! But here's a hint: their developing relationship is the spine of the series, but I didn't conceive the series in cyclical terms. In my mind, it's very much open-ended. A journey without a particular end in sight....

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