Forgotten Book - Six Queer Things

Christopher St John Sprigg packed a great deal into his life before his tragically early death during the Spanish Civil War, when he was still not quite thirty. The detective novels he wrote are varied and interesting and one can only speculate about what he might have achieved in the genre had he lived (assuming, that is,he hadn't devoted himself to Marxism and writing poetry, two of his principal preoccupations at the time of his death). 

Six Queer Things was his last detective novel, published posthumously in 1937. I've read a range of reactions to the story on the internet. Some people are keen on it, others are less enthusiastic. I am in the former camp. I think it's one of his best mysteries, and although the narrative wanders about at times, the overall effect is pleasing.

At the start, we are introduced to Marjorie Easton, aged twenty, who lives with her mean old uncle, an accountant called Samuel Burton. She is planning to marry a decent young chap called Ted Wainwright, but her life turns in a dramatic new direction when she is offered a highly paid job by Michael Crispin and his sister. Crispin is a medium, of a very unorthodox kind as it proves.

It's clear that something sinister is going on - but what, exactly? The story careers along until finally murder occurs - and is quickly followed by a remarkable revelation about the victim. It seems an open and shut case of poisoning, but the stolid Inspector Morgan soon realises that there is more to the case than meets the eye. It's fair to say that this is a young man's book, brimming with energy as it bowls along, but with a few disconcerting digressions. But the energy is what counts, and I enjoyed the ride.  

Forgotten Book - Death of a Queen

Death of a Queen by Christopher St John Sprigg is definitely a Forgotten Book. I've been searching for it in vain for many years, but I finally had an opportunity to read the British Library's copy. If you found a nice copy in a dust jacket, it would be a good investment, I suspect, because the BL's republication of Sprigg's Death of an Airman has led to a renewal of interest in this fascinating author. Some people have told me that book is their favourite in the Crime Classics series.

Published in 1935, this was the last conventional whodunit to appear under Sprigg's name prior to his untimely death in the Spanish Civil War. (Six Queer Things was published posthumously). The book is sub-titled "Charles Venables' fourth case", and here the journalist is called upon by Whitehall to assist a sympathetic (and conveniently English-speaking) tiny state in the Balkans.

My heart sank when I realised that this story takes place in Iconia. So many Golden Age books have plots or sub-plots involving sub-Ruritanian kingdoms on the brink of revolution, and handle the material ineptly. But Sprigg recognises the difficulties, and explicitly, if rather cheekily, makes it clear at the outset that Iconia is no Ruritania. He also invents the country's history, heritage and architecture with great enthusiasm, and this makes the story all the more appealing.

What's more, there is a very good "impossible crime" at the heart of the story. How did the eponymous monarch - strangled with a silken cord - meet her end, when her chamber was under constant observation, and nobody saw the murderer go in or out? Sprigg handles the unlikely plot twists with gusto. All in all, this is an enjoyable story, extremely far-fetched, but told with youthful zest. I'm glad I overcame my initial reservations and read it through to the end.

Golden Moments

I'm drawing breath after a hectic week with a number of highlights. I've been involved in three events, including a murder mystery evening at Wrexham Library (hence the photo) which attracted a very large audience and a talk at Alsager Library. At both these events, a lot of interest was expressed in Golden Age detective fiction, and the same, perhaps more predictably, was true on Saturday, when I was the guest speaker at the annual general meeting and lunch of the Margery Allingham Society.

The theme of my talk to the Society was the recent renaissance of interest in Golden Age fiction - not just the work of Crime Queens such as Margery, but also other writers, many of them much less well known. John Bude is an example who springs to mind. Another is Christopher St John Sprigg. When asked which book I was happiest to have persuaded the British Library to publish in its series of Crime Classics, I chose Death of an Airman, and it's clear from reaction on Saturday, as on other occasions, that this is a widely appreciated title. I also made the point that some of the as yet unpublished titles n the series are, in my view, among the best of the list. Plenty to look forward to there, I can promise you.

The Society is clearly thriving under the chairmanship of that great expert on the Golden Age, Barry Pike, and the audience included two contemporary novelists, Mike Ripley (who has continued the Campion series) and Ann Granger, as well as a leading agent and several other luminaries. I enjoyed being shown the 'Crossed Red Herrrings' award (a forerunner of the CWA Silver Dagger) given to Margery for Hide My Eyes, and Barry also showed me an interesting part of the venue - the University Women's Club in South Audley Street, London- which was the room fictionalised by Dorothy L. Sayers as the place where Harriet Vane did her writing.

Although my talk was, to some extent, off the cuff, my theme was one I've been thinking about lately, with a view to the St Hilda's Crime and Mystery Week-end in August, where I'll be giving a paper on the Golden Age revival. That there is a revival, and that it is significant, is to my mind beyond dispute. There's a recent blog post by Curtis Evans on this subject, which I was pleased to read; I agree with his observations about the renaissance.

A few years ago, I assumed it was inconceivable that The Golden Age of Murder would attract a major publisher, let alone achieve lots of glowing reviews and two major awards. I think it's fair to say that the British Library were equally taken aback by their successes with the Crime Classics. What we GA fans must try to do now is to seize the moment, and help maintain this revival by encouraging the publication of more of the good books of the past, and continuing the very constructive discussions of them that are to be found on many blogs and elsewhere.

This isn't always straightforward. In particular, copyright complications (even assuming one can trace the copyright holder - no luck so far with one or two of my favourites, such as Milward Kennedy) can make the process of republishing in-copyright books fraught with difficulty. Never mind; estates of deceased writers are, more and more, realising the benefits of a co-operative approach, and realistic financial expectations, and I hope this trend will continue. On the larger question of spreading the word about the merits of the best GA fiction - and the fact that some of it is far from 'cosy' - I am aiming to make further contributions to the debate - watch this space!

Forgotten Book - The Corpse with the Sunburnt Face

The Corpse with the Sunburnt Face by Christopher St John Sprigg, first published in 1935,is a rare book by an author who has returned to public attention almost eighty years after his death in the Spanish Civil War. I've expressed my enthusiasm for his work on this blog more than once, and I'm gratified by the success of Death of an Airman, republished this year by the British Library. This particular novel displays once again his appealing sense of humour, although I do have reservations about the book as a whole.

The title is a good one, I think, although it is a long time before that particular corpse actually makes an appearance in the story, at a point where the plot complications are already coming thick and fast. I don't think I'm giving much away at all when I say that one minor but entertaining feature of the story is the use made of fake tan!

The first part of the book is set in one of those English villages beloved of Golden Age novels. Sprigg amuses himself at the start by having his vicat - of course the vicar plays a part in this kind of story, how could he not? - muse that "Nothing ever happens in Little Whippering". This is, naturally, the cue for all kinds of mayhem to take place. A mysterious and irascible stranger is the new tenant of "The Wilderness" and it soon becomes clear that there are dark secrets in his past. In due course, the body count starts to rise...

In the second part of the book, the actions shifts to an imaginary African country, where a policeman called Campbell pursues his investigation into a rather convoluted crime. One of the most interesting passages in the book comes when a senior British official says: "It's easy enough to call some deep-seated sentiment a superstition. Come to that, the British Empire s a superstition. There's only a group of independent nations acknowledging the imaginary domination of a hereditary Crown. Another superstition. There's no such thing as the British race, there's just a queer mingling of Normans, Gaels, Anglo-Saxons, Celts, Danes, and ancient Britons, with a good many French, Dutch, Italians, and Jews. Still another superstition! Yet these superstitions were real enough for men to die for them in millions during the war!"

I feel sure this passage represents the views of Sprigg, and I kept his views on race in mind when I considered his depiction of black people in the book. He was a progressive, yet there are snippets in the novel which, because of the language used, make for slightly uncomfortable reading nowadays.

More generally, I'm not convinced that the book works. I liked the witty lines, and there are plenty of them, and the plot has some neat twists, but it's rather rambling and - personally - I found it lacked grip in comparison to Death of an Airman. However, it illustrates Sprigg's praiseworthy fondness for trying to vary his approach, as well as his considerable writing skills..

More Crime Classics from the British Library

The British Library has just issued its catalogue for the second half of 2015, and it features half a dozen new Crime Classics,together with two Classic Thrillers. One of these books is an anthology that I've compiled, and I've contributed introductions to the other seven titles,so I cannot pretend to be impartial. That said, I'm very optimistic that fans of traditional mysteries and thrillers will find that at least one or two titles, if not more, whet their appetite.

Of the novels, I'd like to highlight Death of an Airman, which I've blogged about previously, and The Z Murders, by J. Jefferson Farjeon. They are both fascinatingly original. The Farjeon book is an early example of the serial killer mystery that I found extremely gripping. There are also two books written by Alan Melville in his younger days; he later become a well-known TV personality and humorist. His detective stories are light and witty, and have long been neglected.

Silent Nights is an anthology of Christmas mystery stories, the third of five collections that the British Library has commissioned me to compile. As usual, my aim has been to bring together a range of stories that show the very different ways in which inventive crime writers may tackle a particular theme. The contributors include Dorothy L. Sayers, but there are a couple of exceptionally obscure stories, including one by Farjeon that was kindly unearthed for me by Golden Age expert Monte Herridge when it emerged that not even the British Library had a copy. I've written an intro to the book, and also a piece preceding each story; my aim, however, has been to try to avoid repeating myself, so that there are items of fresh information even in relation to authors whom (as with Farjeon) have featured previously in the Crime Classics series.

Crime fans will be heartened to know that there's more to come from the British Library. Much,much more. This past week-end, I put the finishing touches to the fifth Classic Crimes anthology, and also completed two intros for excellent thrillers, as well as working on intros for two more rare and accomplished novels of psychological crime from the Thirties. And I gather that a deal may be in the offing that, if concluded, may lead to the publication of one of my all-time favourites. Can't wait...
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Forgotten Book - Death of an Airman

Death of an Airman, which dates from 1935, is today's Forgotten Book,but the fact that it counts as forgotten has nothing to do with its quality - which is high - but everything to do with its scarcity. Most of the seven detective novels written by the author, Christopher St. John Sprigg, have been hard to find for more than half a century, though the publishing revolution may change things soon. My copy of this book was loaned by a kind friend. He has a wonderful Golden Age collection, but even his copy of this one is an American reprint rather than the UK first edition.

Sprigg knew a good deal about the world of aeroplanes, and this makes the background - a small, fictitious aerodrome in the south of England - both credible and fascinating. His story involves an apparently impossible crime, and here again his inside knowledge contributed to the plot. But there is more to this story than technical detail - the suspects are not drawn in great depth, but they are at least entertainingly characterised.

One of the main viewpoint characters is an Australian bishop, and he is pleasingly portrayed as a decent man whose presence at the scene of a plane crash, in which a pilot's corpse is discovered, proves the catalyst for a discursive investigation which takes in an elaborate international cocaine smuggling operation. Books - especially perhaps those from the Golden Age - in which cocaine smuggling plays a part tend to have to do a lot to convince me of their merit, but Sprigg does a surprisingly good job of weaving the scam in with a clever whodunit plot.

Overall, there is a great deal to like about this book, and it's the best Sprigg I've read to date. In fact, I enjoyed reading it much more than I expected, partly because of the period detail, but also because Sprigg writes with a light and deft touch. What a tragedy and a waste that this gifted man died before he was 30, fighting in the Spanish Civil War. He really could write well..

Forgotten Book - A Dagger in Fleet Street

My Forgotten Book for today is R.C. Woodthorpe's second novel, A Dagger in Fleet Street, first published in 1934, and applauded at the time, but now neglected and very difficult to find. In fact, I owe my copy to a kind person who supplied it to me when all other attempts came to nothing. And, as usual with Woodthope, the book boasts a number of attractive features.

This is, like Sayers' Murder Must Advertise, a workplace mystery. Woodthorpe had set his debut novel, The Public School Murder in a fictional version of the place where he used to teach. He moved from education to journalism with the Daily Herald, which in the novel becomes the Daily Hope. And Woodthorpe's knowledge of newspaper life makes his portrayal of it more powerful and authentic than Christopher St John Sprigg's entertaining Fatality in Fleet Street, published at much the same time.

Woodthorpe is good not only at describing the nature of journalistic life, but also at capturing the uncertainty faced by working people in the aftermath of the Slump. No job was safe, and one character says, "Thank God for the National Union of Journalists." That isn't the sort of sentiment that is generally associated with Golden Age detective fiction is it? An illustration, I suggest, of how the Golden Age is frequently misunderstood. Woodthorpe's writing regularly reflected his political views. The same woman turns out to be a communist; she is portrayed positively throughout, though she is smart enough not to reveal her political views to the newspaper's proprietor, or the acting editor, who is a "petty Mussolini," and who finishes up with the titular dagger in his throat.

Woodthorpe supplies some very good lines, and sharp social comedy. The only snag is that he is obviously uninterested in his plot. He was a writer, I think, who used the detective form as a peg to hang his writing on, but he was not very good at constructing a mystery. The puzzle, involving a rather insipid and ridiculous campaign by the newspaper against a pretty young woman, is third rate at best. But I'm really glad I read th book, because it gave me an insight, albeit quite light-hearted, into life in Fleet Street at a fascinating time of our history.

Forgotten Book - Fatality in Fleet Street

A recurrent theme of my blog posts about books of the past has been the great work done by a variety of small presses in resurrecting hidden gems from long ago. One of the newer kids on the block in this respect is Oleander, which recently set up a fresh imprint, London Bound. I'm hoping to cover another of their titles in this series before long, but today I want to focus on a particularly fascinating author and novel.

The writer is Christopher St John Sprigg, and the book is Fatality in Fleet Street, first published in 1933. When I spoke about the Golden Age at St Hilda's recently, a lady came to speak to me afterwards and said that her husband was a great admirer of Sprigg, and had been presented by Sprigg's family with copies of all of his detective novels. Lucky chap. They are rarities, and of genuine interest for their period feel. An added bonus is that Sprigg was himself was such a remarkable man.

He was only in his mid-20s when he wrote this book. He became better known as Christopher Caudwell, a poet and Marxist who was killed at the achingly young age of 29 fighting in the Spanish Civil War. I do not claim that his detective novels are masterpieces, but those I have read are definitely enjoyable. This one opens with an argument between a politician and a newspaper owner. Very topical, as I'm sure my British readers will agree!

The newspaper magnate, Lord Carpenter, is using his influence to stoke up anti-Russian feeling, despite knowing that war is bound to ensue. The Premier, Claude Sanger,is desperate to stop him. There's an echo here of Stanley Baldwin's battles with the Press, although Sprigg carefully sets his story in the near-future: Needless to say, Carpenter is murdered within hours. Could the Prime Minister be guilty? Or was it one of the many people at the newspaper who had good cause to hate Carpenter? Or even his betrayed wife?

It must be said that the story has too many characters, but even so I found it fairly easy to figure out the culprit early on (though the precise means was not clear to me). This didn't matter, because Sprigg compensates for a certain amount of clutter in his narrative with some very engaging scenes and several good lines. When you think of his youth, this book is  a notable achievement and absolutely fascinating as a period piece. I'm delighted that this London Bound issue has enabled me to read it at last. Recommended.

Oleander Press and The Charing Cross Mystery

Oleander Press is a small but enterprising publisher which has launched a brand new imprint, "London Bound". The clue, of course, is in the title - this is a series of London-based books, and they are vintage crime novels. I was delighted to receive through the post the first of them today. This is The Charing Cross Mystery by J.S. Fletcher, a prolific and once very successful author who is now pretty much neglected.

The book is very well produced, with striking jacket artwork, and I'm looking forward to reading it. Looking forward, also, to the appearance of further titles in the series. At present we are promised The Doctor of Pimlico by that larger-than-life character William Le Queux, due later this month, and another book of which I have very high hopes.

This is a very rare Golden Age book, one I've never seen, Fatality in Fleet Street. The author was Christopher St John Sprigg, who was a truly fascinating man. He wrote six detective novels, all now highly sought after, but was better known for his poetry, which he wrote under the name Christopher Caudwell. He became a Marxist and joined the International Brigades who were fighting in the Spanish Civil War. He was killed while manning a machine gun at the battle of Jamara. He was just 29 years old.

Well, that's a treat in store for me and I'm sure for many other fans of Golden Age fiction. It's such a good thing that publishers like Oleander are making books like this available again at long last. Meanwhile, it'll be interesting to see how The Charing Cross Mystery shapes up.