John Malcolm R.I.P.

I'm sorry to report the death of another stalwart of British crime writing from the 1980s and 90s, John Malcolm. That was the pen-name of John Malcolm Andrews, who served as Chair of the Crime Writers' Association in 1994-5. I got to know John in the early days of my writing career and we had numerous enjoyable conversations. He was a quiet, pleasant man who was clearly both a capable businessman and a great expert on antiques.

That love of antiques played a central part in his novels. He introduced Tim Simpson in A Back Room in Somers Town (1984) and the Tim Simpson books were a staple of the Collins Crime Club, a first class list with a very good editor, Elizabeth Walter. John inscribed a number of copies of his books for me, and I found them sound, capable pieces of work, good to read even if (like me) one knows next to nothing about antiques.

John also published two non-series novels which I haven't read, as well as several non-fiction books about antiques and many articles. Born in 1936, he was educated at St John's College, Cambridge, where he studied engineering. His business career meant that he travelled extensively and he worked as a management consultant as well as a machinery broker.

I haven't seen John in person for a long time but the two last stories that he published both appeared in anthologies that I edited; the most recent, 'The Marquis Wellington Jug', appeared in Motives for Murder. He was diagnosed with Parkinson's in 2004, but we corresponded many times and I was delighted when he agreed to contribute an essay to Howdunit. In fact, he was one of the first Detection Club members to do so, and took a keen interest in the book's fortunes. I imagine that it was the last piece he wrote concerned with the crime genre. Ultimately he succumbed to cancer on 30 October this year. My condolences to his widow Geraldine and his son Sam. I shall remember him with affection as a good companion who was always willing to give some time to a young fellow crime writer.  

Forgotten Book - Post after Post-Mortem

I'm working my way slowly through the books of E.C.R. Lorac (and those published under the name Carol Carnac) and continuing to enjoy her work. I don't claim that she's a match for Christie, Sayers, Berkeley, or Wade, but to me she is a sound detective author of the second rank. I also keep musing about the precise reasons for her resurgence in popularity following the appearance of several of her novels as British Library Crime Classics (the most recent being These Names Make Clues - a really good one!) 

Often she focuses on setting, but she doesn't neglect character. As a generalisation, she takes more interest in her people than, say, John Rhode or Freeman Wills Crofts, but she is also adept at the mechanics of mystification. Post after Post-Mortem illustrates these virtues. The book was first published in the Collins Crime Club in 1936, but copies are very elusive and I've certainly never seen one in a dust jacket. Definitely a forgotten book, then, but one well worth a look.

The main setting this time is Oxfordshire - Stow and Moreton receive several mentions. In the first chapter, set in Upwood, a country house in that part of the world, we are introduced to the Surray family, whose lives appear to be idyllic. Young Naomi has just earned herself a First in Greats, while other members of the family include Ruth, an attractive but enigmatic figure who has established a successful career as a literary novelist. And literary matters play an interesting part in the storyline.

But then Ruth is found dead. At first, all the indications are that she has taken her own life as a result of a bout of depression. But then a misdirected letter that she sent to her brother Richard immediately prior to her demise comes belatedly to light and casts serious doubt on the inquest verdict. Richard consults Inspector MacDonald and the Scotland Yard man sets about unravelling a complex puzzle. This is one of the best Loracs I've read.   

Forgotten Book - Hell for Heather

Pat Flower was a British author who spent most of her life, and preferred to set her books, in Australia. Some of her later books were published in the Collins Crime Club, but even in her heyday, she was never well-known in her native country. Her work is rarely discussed and my guess is that only a handful of this blog's regular readers have come across her. But what little I'd heard of her made me interested, and when I discovered that my agent also represents her, or rather her estate, I managed to borrow a few of her books, which I promptly devoured.

Her first book appeared in 1958 and her fifth, Hell for Heather, was published in 1962. Like her other early novels, it featured Flower's regular detective, Inspector Swinton, but this is an inverted mystery rather than a conventional whodunit. The central character is Peter Baxter and we know from the outset that Baxter is determined to kill his rich wife Heather. But will he achieve his aim, and if so, will he get away with it?

Flower is a very readable writer and I raced through this book. My guess is that it marks a turning point in her career, a move away from more conventional fiction in favour of psychological suspense. There are some echoes of Patricia Highsmith and, perhaps especially Julian Symons, in her portrayal of mental disintegration. She wasn't quite their equal as a literary stylist - she has an odd habit of switching viewpoint mid-scene - but the quality of her writing is well above average.

In Australia, she was a successful writer of radio and TV scripts as well as novels, but there seems to have been a dark side to her life, as there was to many of her books; she committed suicide at the age of 63, a tragic end to a career of considerable achievement. I think her crime fiction deserves to be more widely read.

The Hooded Gunman by John Curran - review

John Curran is renowned as an expert on Agatha Christie, and his research into her private notebooks broke fresh ground in terms of the analysis of how detective novelists devise their stories. I've referred to his books many times, and I've no doubt that I'll be referring frequently to his latest book, The Hooded Gunman, just published by HarperCollins. It's a detailed assessment of that splendid, and much-missed imprint, the Collins Crime Club. I should disclose that I'm one of those thanked in the acknowledgements at the front of the book, but regardless of that, I can recommend this book unreservedly to all serious students of the genre.

The Hooded Gunman is a beautifully presented book, crammed with full colour illustrations of dust jackets as well as many photographs of great interest to the crime fan. It's the most gorgeous book about the crime genre I've seen since It's All One Case, a superb book about Ross Macdonald's work published three years ago which deserves to be much better known. Terence Caven's design work is admirable.

In one sense The Hooded Gunman is a coffee table book, because of the heavy focus on quality illustrations. But it's much more than that. I'm not quite sure if John has read every single book published under the Crime Club imprint, but I wouldn't be surprised. He's certainly done a huge amount of research, and as a result, the text is more interesting and valuable than is usually the case with coffee table books (something else it has in common with It's All One Case). A large section of the book is devoted to reprinting jacket blurbs which will be a very useful tool for readers who want to consider seeking out particular titles. 

There are also several short but informative sections, for instance about Crime Club card games and the dons' detective novel competition judged by Agatha Christie among others. John makes the point that E.C.R. Lorac was particularly well-served by the artists who produced dust jackets for her books, and there's evidence here to substantiate this claim. I've enjoyed reading John's text and I've also had a lot of pleasure simply leafing through this handsome volume, admiring the illustrations. A joy for book lovers, and a very good Christmas present for the detective fan in your life.

Forgotten Book - Obelists Fly High

I first came across the name of C. Daly King in Julian Symons' Bloody Murder. Symons was notoriously dismissive of many Golden Age writers, although he admired Anthony Berkeley and Agatha Christie, and he clearly had a sneaking affection for King's work. I think he recognised that although King's stories were usually quite barmy and riddled with flaws of various kinds, there was something breathtaking and at times admirable about the sheer outrageousness of his use of the tropes of the classic whodunit. My feelings are much the same.

Symons felt, and again I agree, that King's most notable novel was Obelists Fly High. When introducing a 1980 reprint for Collins Crime Club (which had published several of King's books - first editions are rare and much sought-after by collectors; the jacket image comes from Mark Sutcliffe's site), he summed it up as "one of the most extraordinary detective puzzles of the twentieth century". It was the third of the "obelist" books, each of which involved a bizarre killing aboard a particular form of transportation: the first as on board ship, the second on a transcontinental express, and this one on an aeroplane.

There are three diagrams, one of them a plan of the plane. Then comes a "schedule of reported movements" of the passengers, because this is one of those books where timings and whereabouts of suspects are key. And finally there is a "schedule of actual movements", whose contents are naturally rather different. But there is more. The book begins with an epilogue. And it ends with a prologue. King was one of those writers who played games with the structure of the whodunit, and I'm sure Borges would have approved.

There is also a "cluefinder", a device I really love. Basically, it ties in with the idea of "fair play" in detection, and highlights clues in the text that the reader may have missed. It's sometimes been said that King originated the "cluefinder", which isn't the case, although the example in this book is my favourite. J.J. Connington came up with one before King turned to fiction, and his example was followed by others, including Freeman Wills Crofts. If there was an earlier pioneer of this device than Connington, I'd be interested to know, but I'm not aware of one. (Similarly, whilst other writers have begun their books with an epilogue, has anyone else ended with a prologue as well?)

What of the story? Well, it involves a threat to kill a famous surgeon. Michael Lord, King's series cop, is tasked with guarding the surgeon, but suffice to say that he doesn't make a good fist of it. There is plenty to cringe about in the story, quite apart from Lord's bungling, and King's habit of giving his characters jokey names is especially irksome. He doesn't ramble quite as much as in some other books, but his habit of inserting his own idiosyncratic opinions in his stories is also rather challenging to a modern reader. So it is undeniably a flawed novel. But if you are fascinated by the structure and techniques of the Golden Age mystery, as I am, it is a must-read.

Forgotten Book - My Brother's Killer

D.M.Devine was in many ways a writer in the classic Golden Age tradition, although his first book did not appear until 1961. This was My Brother's Killer, which has recently been republished as an Arcturus Crime Classic. Apparently, Devine entered it for a "don's detective novel" competition run by Collins Crime Club, but having been voted the winner - by judges including Agatha Christie - he was disqualified because technically he was not a don, but a university administrator - at a senior level, at St Andrews. An unlucky start, but the book deservedly found its way into print. What's more, Christie remained a fan, and when I visited her former home Greenway in May I remember seeing at least one book by Devine on the shelves there.

The story is set around a solicitors' office. Two brothers are partners. Simon Barnett narrates the story, and on one foggy night he responds to an urgent call from his brother Oliver only to find that Oliver has been murdered in his office. Oliver was a rascally character, and there are plentiful suspects, including a third partner called Fergusson.

Simon, a solid and decent sort of chap, is shocked to learn that Olive appears to have been a blackmailer. In addition, he betrayed his disfigured wife with a series of women in a squalid house that he rented under a pseudonym. A woman whom Simon once loved is arrested, but Simon is convinced of her innocence, and turns amateur detective, assisted by two colleagues.

The plot is elaborate and very carefully worked out. It depends in part on an alibi, and also on the extreme ingenuity and callousness of the culprit. Bearing in mind this was a first novel, I thought it was very well done, and I could see why Christie admired it. Devine went on to write a dozen more books, and although he never touched the heights, he was one of the mainstays of the Collins Crime Club for almost two decades. This is an extremely worthwhile reprint.

Forgotten Book - The Odd Flamingo

My latest entry for Patti Abbott’s series of Forgotten Books is by an author who is very far from forgotten. Nina Bawden is a writer of considerable distinction, now in her 80s, but it’s often overlooked that, early in her career, she published a couple of detective novels.

I came across The Odd Flamingo when it appeared in a series of Jubilee reprints celebrating 50 years of the Collins Crime Club, back in 1980. Julian Symons selected and introduced a dozen titles, many of which were relatively obscure. All are worth seeking out, especially the books by Shelley Smith and C.Daly King.

The Odd Flamingo is a first person story, narrated by solicitor Will Hunt. Humphrey Stone, a respectable head teacher, gets himself into embarrassing difficulties and his wife calls on Will for help. Murder follows, and Will’s enquiries lead to a strange and disreputable club called The Odd Flamingo. The book first appeared in 1954, and inevitably aspects of it are dated, but Bawden’s ability to tell a good story is an enduring strength.

Symons’ comments are characteristically astute: ‘The fact that it is the work of a young writer, lacking experience although not skill, shows at times. Will seems occasionally too naive to be true, and the club...has a slightly unreal air. Partly, no doubt, this was because Nina Bawden didn’t know such clubs well...’ But he liked the book (‘an ingenious puzzle and an interesting novel’) , and so did I.

Forgotten Book - Three-Core Lead

I was sorry to learn – in the first instance, in an email from our mutual friend Margaret Yorke- that Clare Curzon had died, about three weeks ago. As a small tribute to her, therefore, my choice for today’s entry in Patti Abbot’s series of Forgotten Books is the first Clare Curzon novel I came across, Three-Core Lead.

This novel was first published in 1988, not long after I began reviewing crime fiction – a hobby which introduced me to many good writers. It features Detective Superintendent Mike Yeadings, of Thames Valley Serious Crime Squad. He had a passing acquaintance with a ‘spook’ called Howard Swaffham, whose obituary he reads. Swaffham died in Prague, and soon Yeadings receives a posthumous letter from him, which makes enigmatic reference to a ‘three-core lead’.

This is a solid mystery, of the type so often published under the imprint of the Collins Crime Club in the days when the late Elizabeth Walter was a distinguished editor there; she was a woman with a real love of the traditional-ish crime story, and published many reliable purveyors of whodunits, such as Anthea Fraser, Martin Russell and Clare Curzon, as well as higher-profile writers like Reginald Hill and Robert Barnard.

Some years after reading this book, I came to know Clare Curzon personally, as she regularly attended CWA conferences. She was a pleasant companion, and a highly professional writer, who produced a long series featuring Yeadings and was latterly published, like myself, by Allison & Busby (whose list features a number of former Collins Crime Club novelists.) Her real name was Eileen-Marie Duell-Buchanan (her late husband, who also attended CWA conferences regularly, was Jimmy Duell) and she also wrote as Rhona Petrie. She was 87 years old – but I gather that her latest book is due to appear in paperback in August, so clearly she was productive to the end. Three-Core Lead may not be a ground-breaking masterpiece, but it is a decent book, which should not be forgotten. And I am one of those who will remember Clare Curzon with affection.

Forgotten Book - Treason in the Egg

My latest entry in Patti Abbott's series of Forgotten Books is the final novel by L.A.G. Strong, Treason in the Egg, published in 1958.

If John Rhode's Vegetable Duck is the oddest title for a detective novel that I know, Treason in the Egg runs it close. Anhd it is not just the title that is a bit out of the ordinary. The novel is described on the title page as ‘a further police diversion’ and the author refers to it in the dedication as ‘this mad offering’. When Ellis McKay, Strong's regular Scotland Yard detective, explains the solution to the mystery to a female admirer, she describes it as ‘a mad rigmarole’. So we may be sure that Strong himself regarded this as a rather eccentric story – and he was right.

Not for the first time, McKay ventures out to the west country and at the start of the book calls at the office of his old chum, Inspector Bradstreet, who is being troubled by a dope-smuggling scare. The reason for McKay’s visit is, however, nothing to do with police work. He is, in his spare time, an accomplished musician and he has been persuaded to speak at a course on Modern Art conducted at nearby Armada House, as a last minute replacement for a lecturer who has been taken ill. Following his arrival at Armada House, McKay finds himself embroiled in a sequence of strange events, including the showing of a bizarre arty film, the highlight of which is a scene featuring an image of an enormous egg. What follows tested my credulity, however.

Strong was a well-regarded novelist - and poet - in his day, although his reputation has not lasted, which is a shame. Sadly, he died suddenly in the year this book first came out. His light-hearted and economical prose style remains agreeable to read, and in McKay and Bradstreet he created a couple of amiable fellows, but his plotting skills were modest. Two other poets who became crime writers and were being published in the Collins Crime Club at the same time, Nicholas Blake (Cecil Day Lewis, an old friend of Strong’s) and Julian Symons, are giants of the genre by comparison. This book certainly has curiosity value, but the whodunit aspect of the story barely registers.

Forgotten Book - Death and Transfiguration

One of the reasons that Patti Abbott’s series of Forgotten Books appeals to me is that it offers a chance not only to come up with ‘hidden gems’ of the genre, but also, quite often, with authors who have slipped off the radar but who do not deserve such a fate.

In that list, I’d include Stephen Murray, creator of DCI Alec Stainton, and author of, by my count, seven crime novels, of which the last to be published was Death and Transfiguration, which appeared in 1994. I’d hazard a guess that most readers of this blog are not familiar with Murray’s name, but when I started out in crime writing, he was already becoming established as one of the youngest and most promising writers whose work came out under the legendary imprint of Collins Crime Club. He is much the same age as me, but struck me as likely to be more of a high flier, and he’d taken the courageous step of giving up his day job as a surveyor to write full-time. I was never brave enough to do the same and give up the law, but I got to know Stephen and his family (the Muirray surname was a pseudonym), and we met quite often at events organised by the northern chapter of the Crime Writers’ Association.

All the Murray books are solid, literate, readable mysteries, and Stainton is a likeable fellow, if not someone to set the pulse racing too fast. Death and Transfiguration was, I felt at the time, Murray’s best book, not least because DS Liz Pink played a prominent role, and she was a character of great potential.

In this book, a philanderer called Crossland goes missing, having abandoned his car on Stainton’s turf. Meanwhile, a serial killer called the Carver is wreaking havoc. Suspicions grow that Crossland and the Carver are one and the same.

Regrettably, this was the last crime novel that Stephen Murray had published. The Crime Club imprint disappeared, and he seems to have found it difficult to stay in the game. I included a very good short story he wrote, ‘Landfall’, in a CWA anthology called Crime on the Move, in the hope this would attract publishers to his writing, but so far it doesn’t seem to have happened.

A pity. He is a good writer, and his books, in particular Death and Transfiguration, should not be forgotten. Fifteen years ago, he kindly inscribed my copy of the book ‘To another rising star’. I still hope that Stephen’s star will rise again in the crime firmament.