Forgotten Book - Marion, aka Murder Off the Record

I've discussed several of John Bingham's regrettably forgotten books on this blog during the past year or so, and today I'm turning my attention to a novel he published in 1957, when his reputation was at its height. This is Marion, and it's an interesting example of a post-war British novel of psychological suspense and irony, a sort of lineal descendant of Francis Iles' ground-breaking books from the 1930s.

Right at the start of the story, we are told the name of the killer, and also his alias; this is rather in the tradition of Malice Aforethought, but Bingham was a writer who liked to experiment, and his novel is quite original and distinctive. The narrator is a youngish journalist (Bingham himself had previously worked as a  journalist) who is recently married to the alluring and eponymous Marion. (Eponymous in the British edition, anyway; the alternative title Murder Off the Record doesn't strike me as a good one, even though it takes time for Marion's role in the story to become clear).

The narrator is, in fact, a conspicuously naive and pig-headed chap, and I soon found my tolerance of stubbornness waning, especially when he confesses to a crime that he didn't commit, and actually serves a short prison sentence because of it. He is besotted with Marion, but some of his actions, not least his evasiveness when the police interview him in connection with a murder, are not only stupid but irritating in the extreme. As in several of his other early books, Bingham handles the relentlessness of police investigations well, and one of the merits of his approach to writing is that you can never be quite sure what is going to happen next. I do find this appealing.

To an extent, Bingham was exploring the areas that the great Margaret Millar was examining in her novels of the Fifties, on the other side of the Atlantic. his work was popular, and Marion was adapted, as Captive Audience, for Alfred Hitchcock's TV series. Bingham wasn't as professional a writer as Millar, and this is evident in much of his work, but the intermittent waywardness of his narratives does have that charm of unpredictability. His portrayal of the relationships between men and women is very dated now, but this story doesn't deserve the oblivion that has been its fate for the past thirty years or so.

Forgotten Book - Vanish in an Instant

I've mentioned several times my admiration for the crime writing of Margaret Millar. She was, in my opinion, one of the best crime writers of the second half of the last century, and it's a shame that her reputation has faded somewhat, although that - sadly - is a fate common to many fine writers, as well as some who aren't quite so good. Happily, Pushkin Vertigo are reintroducing her work to readers of today, and when they asked me for a blurb, I was happy to oblige.

The book they sent to me for comment was Vanish in an Instant. It first appeared in 1952, at a time when she was moving away from her earlier, rather humorous stories, to crime novels which probed the well-springs of violence with subtlety and insight. The story starts at a point where Virginia Barkeley has been accused of murdering her lover, an unpleasant fellow called Margolis. Her mother brings in a young lawyer called Meecham, and he soon finds someone else confessing to the crime.

But Meecham isn't satisfied. The man who claims to have killed Margolis is seriously ill, and Meecham suspects he has an ulterior motive of some kind for making his confession. He begins to dig into the case, and starts to unravel a tangled web of multiple deceptions. As is often the case with Millar, there's a confusion about identity which plays a key part in the plot. It's a device I like, and she handles it very capably, time and again.

Meecham is in some ways a forerunner of her later protagonist, Tom Aragon. A cussed but likeable amateur sleuth, as he investigates, he also finds love. This isn't Millar at her absolute peak, but she was on her way up the ladder as she was writing this book, and there are plenty of good lines, as well as a plot pleasing enough to satisfy fans of the traditional mystery. Well worth reading. I'm glad Pushkin Vertigo have brought it back to the shelves.

Forgotten Book - Who's Calling?

I'm an admirer of the American writer Helen McCloy. She wrote engaging prose and was a skilled plotsmith. She also took care to vary her approach, so that even her series novels, featuring the psychiatrist Basil Willing, are pleasingly different. A case in point is my Forgotten Book for today, Who's Calling? It was first published in 1942, and I was pleased to pick up a Dell mapback edition in the bookroom at Bouchercon in New Orleans last September.

Frieda, a pretty but selfish young woman, is due to meet her boyfriend's family and friends when she receives a mysterious anonymous phone call, warning her off. Undaunted, Frieda goes to Willow Spring to meet the clan. Before long, someone is murdered. But it isn't Fieda. What's more, the murder method was that splendidly time-honoured method- yes, one of my favourites, poisoned chocolates!

Basil Willing is called in to assist the investigation, and his professional expertise is crucial in unravelling the mystery. In some ways, it seems to me that this book anticipates one that is rather better known, Beast in View by Margaret Millar, which appeared more than a decade later. I'd be interested to know if anyone else sees the parallels that seem to me to be quite striking (though I should add that Millar makes very good and original use of the central idea).

This is a highly readable and cleverly constructed mystery. Even though I figured out the identity of the culprit, I didn't pick up all the clues. There was one aspect of the story, concerning Frieda's reaction to the phone call, which I thought wasn't quite "fair play", but overall this is a crime novel that I can definitely recommend. McCloy was an excellent writer whose work deserves to be celebrated.

Forgotten Book - Rose's Last Summer

Margaret Millar is not, thankfully, a forgotten author, but I think it's fair to say that Rose's Last Summer is not among her best-known books. In fact, I've had a copy for years, and never bothered to read it - possibly because the title didn't entice me. So I think this novel, first published in 1952, can definitely be regarded as a Forgotten Book - not least forgotten by myself. But I finally got round to reading it while in Norway, and I'm really glad I did. It's terrific.

Rose French is a faded actress who has worked her way through five husbands and all her money. She is now lodging with a rather unpleasant landlady, and has made a friend of a nice young man called Frank, who is a sort of social worker. When the news comes that she has been found dead in the grounds of a house belonging to a family with which she had no obvious connection, a puzzled detective seeks Frank's help in the task of finding out what became of Rose.

The story develops in an unusual way, but as usual with Millar there are excellent twists. These are not, perhaps, as difficult to anticipate as in her finest books, but they are still pretty good. For a long time, it's not clear that this is really a detective story, and is certainly not a conventional book, but it ticks the whodunit box as well as plenty of others.

What is so admirable about this book, though, is the quality of Millar's writing. Her descriptions of people and places are incisive, witty and original. Time and again I found myself admiring the way she can capture someone in a couple of precise phrases. Her literary gifts, as much as her skill at concocting excellent plots, help to explain why she is regarded as one of the finest female crime writers - perhaps the finest ever to come from Canada. I have been a Millar fan for many years, and can't quite believe how long it took me to read this very good novel.

Hunting the Northern Lights

Although the theme of last week's boat trip up the coast of north Norway was "hunting the lights", the first thing for me to say is that my camera and photographic skills proved not to be up to the challenge of capturing the Northern Lights when, finally, I did see them. Though there were plenty of moments during the trip when the quality of light over the coastline before darkness fell was absolutely mesmerising. The above shot was taken as the sun went down over Vardo. Landing there gave an opportunity to fellow passengers more intrepid than me to bathe in the Arctic Ocean - at least for about thirty seconds...

Well, it takes all sorts, I suppose! During that brief stop in Vardo, (safely encased in many layers of warm clothing!) I visited the most northerly fortress in the world. In the twilight it had an especially eerie charm.

Other ports of call included Hammerfest, one of many small towns in Norway which seems to be benefiting from the exploitation of the country's massive natural resources. I was interested in the lifestyle of people who come to this very cold region from warmer countries - some clearly love it, and there is plenty to love, I can see that, even though personally I'd find the total absence of sunlight between late November and late January very hard to take.

The quality of the light on snowy mountains and sea just below Hammerfest was magical - my photos really don't do it justice. As for the Northern Lights, there were two cloudy and blank nights before the first message came that they were visible. I'd been surprised to learn that many Norwegians, even, have never seen with the naked eye the green lights that are often portrayed in dramatic photographs, and I didn't either, though a charming fellow traveller - a Turkish brain surgeon, yes, it's a cosmopolitan world up there - has captured them in a photograph as stunning as any you see in the books and I[m planning to retweet it..

My own first sighting of the Northern Lights was truly memorable - out on deck in an Arctic gale so powerful it was almost impossible to stand - but there were the legendary lights, a pinkish red glow. Later that evening, there were two further displays - more elaborate and longer-lasting this time, strange shapes in the sky of a ghostly white hue. All in all, it was a remarkable experience. It was only a short break, but I've never had a holiday like this one. I much prefer to be warm rather than cold but I'm really very glad I returned to this fantastic country.

And there's one bonus of life in that part of the world, when it gets dark early. You have plenty of time to read, and I rattled through a number of enjoyable books, by authors as diverse as John Buxton Hilton, Joyce Porter, Winston Graham, and Margaret Millar. I'll be featuring all of them in this blog before long.

Troubled Daughters, Twisted Wives - review

Troubled Daughters, Twisted Wives, is the rather brilliant title of one of the most interesting anthologies of crime fiction that I've read in a long time. Edited by Sarah Weinman, and published by Penguin, the book collects some fine stories by a number of the finest female writers of suspense fiction in the twentieth century. Weinman's introduction is interesting and incisive, but of course, the meat of the book is in her story selection. And what a good selection it is.

Here we find some famous names, and some forgotten ones too. I was particularly pleased to see a story by Nedra Tyre, an author whose name, I suspect, will be unfamiliar to many. "A Nice Place to Stay" made a great impression on me when I first came across it many years ago - in, as far as I can recall, one of the many fine anthologies edited by Ellery Queen. It inspired me to write a story called "A Job for Life", which eventually appeared in print, and is possibly the earliest of my stories to have done so.

Elisabeth Sanxay Holding is represented by a long and very clever story, almost a novella, called "The Stranger in the Car". I liked the twists in this one, as well as the insightful characterisation. Holding was a gifted writer, but even more talented was Margaret Millar, one of whose all too rare short stories is also included here. And we also have some very fine writers, ranging from the superb Shirley Jackson and the often creepy Patricia Highsmith to the subtle Celia Fremlin and the author of fhat very good story "The Purple Shroud", Joyce Harrington (and no, it was not the inspiration for The Frozen Shroud!)

Reviewers have been quick to heap praise on this book, and I'm with them. Among the most interesting assessments, as you might expect, is one from Jon L. Breen, arguably the finest living crime critic in the US. He notes Weinman's suggestion that the writers she has chosen lacked an editorial champion, but points out that their success (and they were highly regarded in their day, even if most have now faded from view) indicates that the feminist crime writers of the 70s and 80s were not breaking as much fresh ground as is sometimes argued. But what matters most is that the stories in this book represent really good entertainment. I look forward to more anthologies from Sarah Weinman.

Three Great Endings to Detective Stories

I was gratified by the interest shown in my last post, on detective story endings, and I thought I'd keep the pot boiling by mentioning a few of my fave endings.

First, a real classic - the closing lines of And Then There Were None, by Agatha Christie. Dame Agatha was a dab hand at great endings, but this one, which I read when young, has always stuck in my mind.

Second, an ending that gave me an idea for a very different book of my own - Yesterday's Papers. The great ending was in Margaret Millar's A Stranger in My Grave. What I borrowed from this marvellous book was a structural device, and I was really pleased with the result. Yesterday's Papers remains a personal favourite among my own titles I wish it was still in print.

Third, a bitter remark made by Francis Pettigrew at the end of Tragedy At Law by Cyril Hare. Totally original, and quite marvellous - especially for a lawyer!

If you don't know the Hare or the Millar, I heartily recommend them both.

Forgotten Book - Wall of Eyes

Margaret Millar, Canadian born, and wife of Ross Macdonald, was a brilliant crime writer. Many people – including me – prefer her books to those of her highly successful and talented husband. My latest contribution to Patti Abbott’s series of Forgotten Books is an early Millar from 1943, Wall of Eyes.

Millar excelled at openings and this book begins splendidly:

‘They moved briskly along the street, the girl carefully indifferent to the stares of the people who passed, the dog unaware of them. He padded along looking neither to the left nor right, his eyes careless and shifty. But when he came to a hole in the sidewalk, he guided Alice around it and she felt the firm gentle tug of his harness and followed him.

I wonder if he knows I’m not blind, Alice thought.’

This strikes me as very clever writing – creating a situation, and then changing the reader’s perspective on it in a single sentence. You really have to keep reading.

Millar’s early detective, Inspector Sands, features in this book: ‘He had no strong sense of identity…Because he lived in a vacuum he was able to understand and tolerate and sometimes to like the strange people he hunted.’ I have always been rather sorry that Millar abandoned Sands, although her later books were, in the main, even better than this one – and this one is very good.

The late reviewer Matthew Coady said: ‘In the whole of crime fiction’s distinguished sisterhood, there is no-one quite like Margaret Millar.’ I agree. Matthew was a terrific judge (not only because he reviewed my debut novel kindly!) and anyone who has not read Margaret Millar has a treat in store.

Forgotten Authors

For me, the Crimefest convention kicked off with a panel that I moderated on Thursday afternoon. The topic was ‘Forgotten Authors’, and the panel comprised Barry Forshaw, Declan Hughes, Sarah Rayne and Mary Andrea Clarke. It was good to have the benefit of Barry’s expertise (he wrote The Rough Guide to Crime Fiction and edited the massive, two volume encyclopaedia about the genre in Britain, published by Harcourt at the turn of the year) and Declan, Sarah and Mary displayed real passion for their chosen writers – factors which contributed to a lively and, I think, hugely entertaining debate.

Declan focused on that great husband and wife team, Ross Macdonald and Margaret Millar, while Mary’s choices were two writers of a very different type, Georgette Heyer and Ethel Lina White. White’s name is not widely known these days, but she wrote the books on which three very successful films were based – The Lady Vanishes, The Spiral Staircase and Wax – and was a specialist in the ‘Had I But Known’ school of crime fiction.

Sarah spoke with much enthusiasm about Francis Iles and that mistress of ingenuity, Christianna Brand, two writers I’m very fond of myself. Barry ranged over writers such as Eric Ambler, the neglected Alan Williams, the thriller writer Francis Clifford, and Peter O’Donnell, who created Modesty Blaise. My own choices were Michael Gilbert and Julian Symons.

The audience became very enthusiastic and involved, and I’m sure it wasn’t simply because there was a goody bag of books to be awarded to whoever asked the best question (Jennifer Palmer got the vote.) All in all, it really was one of the most enjoyable panels I’ve ever been involved with.