Forgotten Book - Accessory to Murder

Do you know the work of Pamela Barrington? I didn't until recently. But I have now read her 1968 novel Accessory to Murder, and really enjoyed it. What is more, I would not have come across either Barrington or her Forgotten Book had it not been for one of the knowledgeable readers of this blog. Kacper contacted me a while ago and suggested I might be interested in Barrington. He said he'd been impressed with some of her work and thought I might like it too. He was quite right, and I'm really grateful to him for pointing me in her direction.

This little anecdote is an example, of course, of one of the very happy consequences of blogging. As a result of my posts here, I've come into contact with a wide range of people - some of whom I've been able to meet in person, many of whom I haven't - who have certainly proved delightful to talk to, either face to face or via email. And I've learned a good deal from these contacts, as well as benefiting from many kindnesses. It never ceases to amaze me how wonderfully the internet - whatever people say about its shortcomings- has opened up new horizons for us all.

Anyway, back to Barrington - whose real name, Kacper tells me, was Muriel Vere Mant Barling. She wrote about two dozen novels, with this one coming at the end of her career. It's a fast moving story, which opens with a man called Henry Deek, who seizes the chance to blackmail a rich local woman when he discovers a missing will. A legal point cropped up concerning the will, which I thought would be relevant, but was never mentioned again - one of the few flaws in an otherwise neatly constructed story.

When Henry is found murdered, there are a number of potential suspects, and Barrington does a good job of switching suspicion around. The twist at the end was, I felt, a bit weak, but all in all this was a lively and entertaining book. It reminded me of some of Margaret Yorke's early stand-alone crime novels. Margaret, of course, went on to win the CWA Diamond Dagger, whereas Barrington is now neglected. But as Kacper rightly said, she does not deserve to be. Incidentally, just as I was about to post here, Kacper has emailed me again with fresh information about Barrington (including the fact that she was born in Cheshire,which gives me a certain fellow feeling for her), and I hope to feature her again in this blog before too long.

Deadly Pleasures

I'm delighted to announce the publication this week of Deadly Pleasures, an anthology I've edited to celebrate the Diamond Jubilee of the Crime Writers' Association. The book is published by Severn House in hardback and trade paperback and will be available in the US as well as the UK.

Putting this book together has been a labour of love, since I've been lucky enough to receive a host of marvellous - and brand new - stories by some wonderful writers. Let me just pick a few at random to give you the idea. John Harvey has written a new Jack Kiley story, which deals with a tricky and highly topical social issue. Peter Robinson has supplied a fascinating story, based on a performance piece that he worked on last year along with the great folk singer Martin Carty. Liza Cody tells us a bit more about the fate of Anna Lee - or does she? Andrew Taylor, who just won (most deservedly) the Ellis Peters Historical Dagger, has contributed a very enjoyable story and so has Peter Lovesey.

David Hewson, recent author of a novelisation of The Killing, has a story in the book, and so does Lindsey Davis, who offers a sort of companion piece to a story she wrote for Mysterious Pleasures, the Golden Jubilee volume I edited for the CWA a decade ago. The other contributors of brand new stories are: Ann Cleeves, Cath Staincliffe,Simon Brett, Claire McGowan, Alison Joseph, Ruth Dudley Edwards, Michael Ridpath, Charles Todd and Christopher Fowler. Oh, and me!

I'm enormously grateful to the contributors, and also to Peter James, who wrote the intro. Let me assure you they didn't write these stories for the money, they just wanted to support the CWA, which is marvellous. There's one story that has been published before. Margaret Yorke, a former CWA chair who contributed to Mysterious Pleasures and other CWA anthologies I've edited, died while the book was in preparation. I wanted to include something by her as a tribute to her, and her family kindly agreed. All in all, it's a book I'm proud to be associated with, and I'm confident crime fans everywhere will love the stories written by some of the best writers around.

Forgotten Book - Snap

My Forgotten Book for today is another from that very fine writer Jacqueline Wilson, one more of that sadly all too short sequence of crime novels she wrote in the 70s.Snap was published in 1974, when she was just 29 years old. In some ways, it reminds me of the books that Margaret Yorke started writing at around the same time - stories about very ordinary people who find themselves caught up in events that lead to murder.

There are three connected storylines in Snap. Katy is a 14 year old girl (and Wilson excels at depicting teenage girls) who has a crush on her schoolteacher. Unfortunately, it's a relationship that he encourages. It's easy to foresee that it will end badly - but how, exactly?

Meanwhile, Katy's mother, Frances (a very likeable woman) is a widow who writes romantic stories for magazines. She comes to the attention of George, a literary agent who is recently bereaved. His wife was someone he never loved, and who made his life a misery. When he meets Frances for lunch, the attraction is mutual.

Unknown to George, his secretary, Ellen,is secretly infatuated with him. When George invites her out for a drink, she seizes her chance to develop the relationship, with disastrous consequences. Wilson manages the different narratives with considerable expertise,and springs one particularly good surprise close to the end. When I looked back at the earlier chapters, I found myself admiring the skilful and subtle way she had planted the clues to that particular twist.

This is a good example of how a very short novel can be intensely gripping. One can only guess at how prominent Wilson would have become as a crime writer, had she not changed course and become a stellar children's writer instead. I think she might have given even the great Ruth Rendell a run for her money.

Margaret Yorke R.I.P.

I was very sorry to learn earlier today, via our mutual friend Kate Charles, that Margaret Yorke, one of Britain's most distinguished crime novelists, has died at the age of 88. I'd learned a short time ago from Margaret's family that she was very unwell, news that came as a great shock, given that she was sending me cheery emails as recently as a couple of months ago. I shall miss her greatly.

I've mentioned Margaret numerous times on this blog, and regular readers will therefore know that I was a great fan of her work. I started reading her in the late 1970s, and among my favourites of her books were Devil's Work and No Medals for the Major. The latter marked a change of direction in her writing. She'd begun with romantic fiction, and then wrote light detective novels with Patrick Grant as her sleuth. But her greatest achievements came with stand-alone novels of psychological suspense. She excelled at studies of domestic tension, spilling over into violence, and her characterisation showed profound insight into human nature.

Much later, after I became a published writer, I met Margaret occasionally, not only at the St Hilda's Crime Week-end, which Kate organises, but also when she received the CWA Cartier Diamond Dagger to mark her outstanding and sustained achievements as a crime writer. This was a memorable occasion, at the House of Lords, and made such an impression on me that it later gave me the opening scene for Take My Breath Away.

Margaret also contributed a couple of stories to anthologies that I edited, but I came to know her much better in the last few years. The catalyst for this was my research into the provenance of a pastiche of Golden Age detective fiction, Gory Knight, by Margaret Rivers Larminie and Jane Langslow. To cut a long story short, both writers were related to Margaret, and she became as fascinated as I was by trying to fathom how they'd come to write the book and by trying to prove Jane Langslow's real identity. The result was an article published in CADS to which Margaret made a massive conribution.

After that, she offered me much help and advice as regards my continuing researches into the history of detective fiction, and one of her last emails, which arrived out of the blue, was a kind note congratulating me on my foreword to the reprint of Ask a Policeman. I was fortunate to be invited to visit her at her lovely cottage in Buckinghamshire a couple of times, when she made excellent lunches, as well as providing stimulating and convivial company. Age had not dimmed her at all, it seemed to me; she was a truly perceptive woman, with a terrific fund of anecdotes. I am sad to think that there will be no more of those conversations.

Margaret was a strong character, with strong opinions, which she was never afraid to express (she recalled, for instance, once coming to "verbal blows" with that talented writer Michael Dibdin in a radio broadcast, when he made some rather ill-judged criticisms of Agatha Christie, of whom Margaret was a big fan). I found her unflinching honesty wholly admirable, whether or not I agreed with her opinions, (in fact, as with the Mike Dibdin debate, generally I did agree). There were many examples of her kindness and generosity, and it's also worth adding that she did all writers a service with the work she put in to the campaign to secure Public Lending Right.

To lose someone, whatever their age, is hard to take, but Margaret's family and friends will all know that she, and her books, will long be remembered, not only with admiration, but with great affection and appreciation. I am so glad I had the chance to get to know her.

Writers at Work

I am always fascinated to see the places where other writers live and work. When – twenty years ago, I can hardly believe it! - I first visited Greenaway, where Agatha Christie lived, I was greatly intrigued, and I mentioned a while back my pleasure at visiting Margaret Yorke in her delightful cottage, with a study crammed with books. And Eileen Dewhurst, now retired but a Wirral based writer of note, has a great set-up in her flat in Birkenhead.

Closer to home in Cheshire, Kate Ellis has for many years worked out in the garden in a specially designed garden room. But now she’s moved her study and workplace indoors. She is a gifted plotter, and it’s fascinating to see how she maps out her intricate mysteries in a very visual way. This is something I don’t do, but it’s a method that has a good deal to commend it, I think. And the success of Kate’s ingenious puzzles shows that it works very well in accomplished hands.

What Kate and I do have in common as writers is that we both know the solution to the main mystery from the outset. My own starting point is almost invariably an interesting motive for murder. And that is why I am not one of those crime writers who does not know where the story is going to wind up when they begin writing. But all methods are valid – they are simply a means to an end. What really matters is the quality of the end product.

The Octave of Jealousy

Some of my regular readers may recall my mentioning Margaret Yorke, and her comment about writing a book rather along the lines of La Ronde. This led to mention of the long-deceased short story specialist, Stacy Aumonier, and his tale ‘The Octave of Jealousy’ – of which I’d never heard.

Well, thanks to the generosity of Fiona B, I’ve received a splendid Penguin paperback, containing the story, and I’ve just read it with much pleasure: what a nice thing it is to be a blogger, connecting with people such as Fiona, whom I’ve never actually met. I should say that although Aumonier wrote some well-regarded crime stories, this is not a mystery. It’s simply a rather neat and vivid comment on human nature.

There are eight sections in the book. It begins with a tramp feeling a pang of jealousy when he spots someone with a more settled domestic life. We then see that someone in close-up, and find that he envies someone else, who in turn,... well, you get the picture.

It’s a nice idea, and nicely done. I’m surprised, on reflection, that this type of story has not been done in the crime genre more often. Perhaps the nature of crime writing militates against it. All the same, I’m tempted to have a go myself. One of these fine days...

Writing Ideas and Inspiration

The mysterious nature of the source of inspiration and ideas for writing is a constant subject for debate – especially, perhaps, among those who do not write. Those who do write are probably just thankful that ideas do come to mind, and don’t spend a lot of time analysing where they spring from. Such analysis can be fun, though, if it isn’t overdone.

‘Where do you find ideas?’ is such a common question at book talks that I once wrote a short story with that title. It’s not a very well known story, but I much enjoyed putting it together – and it became the title story in my one - and so far only - collection of short stories.

When I told Margaret Yorke I was featuring The Small Hours of the Morning in this blog, she told me: ‘my plan was to have a sort of La Ronde where each character linked to the next one going in a circle and also the heroine had no physical contact with a soul, not a touch..I must read it, don't remember the details’

I was very interested in this. The La Ronde idea strikes me as a very good one. And I wasn’t in the least surprised that Margaret didn’t remember the details of a book she wrote 35 years ago. Non-writers may imagine that writers retain in their heads all the nuances of books they have written, but it simply is not so. I forget some of the aspects of my early books, that’s for sure. But it can have a positive effect. When Suspicious Minds was finally published in the US, more than 15 years after it was written, I re-read it and was, oddly enough, very pleasantly surprised! It seemed to have rather more merit than I’d remembered...

Forgotten Book - The Small Hours of the Morniing

My choice for today’s entry in Patti Abbott’s series of Forgotten Books is The Small Hours of the Morning, by Margaret Yorke. When I decided to pick one of Margaret’s books, I had a couple of dilemmas. First, I’m not sure it’s fair to describe them as ‘forgotten’, since she still has a substantial and devoted readership, even though she has not published a novel for several years. Second, which to choose? One of her strengths was achieving a very even (and high) standard of consistency with her stand-alone novels of psychological suspense, something which is far from common.

As a result, my choice of this particular novel was slightly random – there are a good may others I might have picked, and I may well feature some of them here in due course. But The Small Hours of the Morning does illustrate her gifts very well. Those gifts include swift and sure characterisation of ‘ordinary’, but interesting people, confident plotting and an ability to build suspense without sensationalism.

The book opens splendidly. The opening line is simple: ‘Cecil Titmuss was a careful man.’ A very well-organised chap, Cecil. But his wife June is discontented. She gets up in the night for solitary drinks of gin. And, although it is one o’clock in the morning, an un-named person is studying the Titmuss household through a pair of binoculars.

A great set-up is developed very neatly. Margaret Yorke increases the tension all the more effectively because of the very ‘normal’ ambience of the segment of society that she is depicting. Her insight into the subtle nuances of domestic life is deep, and she has always had a rare story-telling gift. This is one of many of her books that should not be forgotten.

I took the picture of Margaret, by the way, on a visit to her home last month. She was in great form and, as always, a delightful hostess. As on so many occasions, I reflected how lucky I am to have got to know personally writers whom I have long admired, and who prove to be terrific company in person.

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.

A Visit to Midsomer

One of the great joys about being part of the community of crime writers and readers is that one forms friendships, sometimes gradually and over many years, that are enormously rewarding. I first came across that fine novelist of psychological suspense Margaret Yorke in person in the 1990s, though I’d been reading her books avidly for a long time before that. But it’s only in recent times that I have come to know her better, and discover what a fascinating conversationalist she is.

I talked with Margaret recently at a Detection Club dinner, and, on learning that I’d be coming down to Oxford this past week-end, she invited me to have lunch at her home, which is only half an hour away from the city of dreaming spires. Needless to say, it was an invitation I accepted with alacrity.

I found that Margaret lives in a village that has the classic prettiness of the kind of English village beloved of Golden Age writers – and it did not really come as a surprise when she told me that some episodes of Midsomer Murders are filmed there. Margaret’s own cottage is delightful – low beams, a lovely garden and oodles of character. And it’s packed, of course, with books.

Margaret’s novels are crammed with insight into the way that people behave, and the forces that sometimes propel them into crime. When talking to her, it’s easy to see how her abiding interest in human motivation informed her fiction, and gave it the strength and credibility that earned her such a high reputation, and ultimately the CWA Diamond Dagger. Spending around three hours at the home of such a distinguished writer (who is also, incidentally, someone who cooks a very good lunch) and learning more about her life and experiences as an author – she even showed me her very first rejection slip! - was not just a pleasure; it was a privilege

Margaret Yorke

I’ve mentioned Margaret Yorke before in this blog, partly in connection with that Thirties parody Gory Knight. That book was co-written by a successful novelist called Margaret Rivers Larminie, who happened to be Margaret’s first cousin, once removed. Margaret’s maiden name was Larminie, and when she published her first novel in 1957, she used another family name, Margaret Yorke, as a pseudonym, to avoid confusion with her famous relative.

Margaret’s debut, Summer Flight, was not a crime novel, and she only turned to the genre when she created Patrick Grant, a likeable amateur detective who was to appear in five novels, starting with Dead in the Morning in 1970. She told me that the later Grant stories ‘were set in places I'd been to and Silent Witness was inspired when I was on a skiing holiday. Outside the window in the hotel where I was staying, a chair lift, empty at such an early hour, descended and rose while we were having breakfast and I said to my friends, “What if a body came down on a lift?” It all arose from that.’

In 1974, she published a splendid novel of suspense, No Medals for the Major, which earned much critical acclaim – from H.R.F. Keating and Edmund Crispin, among others. She didn’t make as much money from it as she deserved, as her publishers soon went out of business, but her writing became increasingly serious, often dealing with complex social themes. She says, ‘Cause for Concern, my last novel, is about mothers being battered by their sons. I know of two cases here, in one of which I twice called the police. My difficulty was to devise a set-up totally unlike those I knew about...’

The authentic tang of Margaret Yorke’s work earned her the CWA Cartier Diamond Dagger for a career of outstanding achievement, in 1999. Margaret is now in her 80s, and contentedly retired. I don’t think she has any plans to write any more novels, but those she has published are well worth seeking out. In addition to No Medals for the Major, I specially recommend The Cost of Silence and Devil’s Work.

In the Lords

I spent a chunk of Thursday attending a reception at the House of Lords to celebrate the 35th anniversary of the establishment of Local Solutions, a Merseyside social enterprise that does wonderful work in caring for vulnerable members of our society. The event was hosted by Lord Alton, maybe better known as the former Liberal MP David Alton, who is a previous chair of Local Solutions. The speakers included two people who spoke very movingly of how Local Solutions had changed their lives for the better – one the mother and carer of a severely disabled woman, and the other a former refugee from Rwanda who fled from genocide and is now herself a trained, and, I have no doubt, highly compassionate carer.

I’ve visited the Lords once before, to attend a Crime Writers Association Diamond Dagger ceremony – the recipient that day being a terrific writer, Margaret Yorke. I was so impressed by the setting, with its wonderful views up and down the Thames, that I used it as a backdrop for the first chapter of my London based novel of psychological suspense, Take My Breath Away. The book was not a massive commercial success, but I'm fond of it, and some people whose judgment I respect reckon that first chapter is one of the best things I’ve written.

After the reception, I went with a colleague and the rector of Liverpool Parish Church (which itself featured in Waterloo Sunset) to look round Westminster Hall and sit in on a debate. A number of famous faces were there to be seen, although the debate – on defence – lacked obvious drama. I wondered about looking in on the House of Commons debate on MPs’ expenses, which by all accounts was a bizarre affair, but decided against. Though perhaps I could have learned something - some of the expenses claims we have been reading about recently suggest that our elected representatives are accomplished exponents of creative fiction

Forgotten Book - Gory Knight

Gory Knight, my latest contribution to Patti Abbott’s series of forgotten books, was published in 1937, not long after the appearance of Dorothy L. Sayers’ renowned Gaudy Night. It’s a parody, written by the partnership of Margaret Rivers Larminie and Jane Langslow.

The story parodies the celebrated detectives Hercule Poirot, Lord Peter Wimsey (and his manservant Bunter), Reggie Fortune, Dr Thorndyke and Inspector French – although the French character appears only in the final stages of the book .The sleuths gather, by improbable means, in an English country house, and are immediately greeted by the disappearance of the cook (the eponymous Ms Knight.)

It’s a fun book. The plot is slight, and perhaps stretched out too much, but there is much pleasure to be had in the rendering of the eccentricities of Poirot, Wimsey and Bunter in particular. I was glad to stumble across it – initially in the pages of Jamie Sturgeon’s catalogue. Jamie sold the book before I called him, but he referred me to another crime fan, the locked room expert Bob Adey, who was able to supply me with a copy.

There is an intriguing family connection between Larminie and a leading contemporary writer, Margaret Yorke. I hope to write an article about this aspect of the story at a future date. But I know nothing about Langslow. If anyone can tell me anything about her, or about how the book came to be written, I’d be very interested to hear it.