A moment to cherish

The first copy of Dancing for the Hangman has arrived at Edwards Towers. It’s always an exciting experience to see one’s own book in its final form for the very first time. All those months (years, perhaps) of labour – at last in a shape suitable for sending out to an unsuspecting world.

I’m pleased with the look and feel of the book – Flambard Press are a smallish publisher, but over the years they have built up a very good reputation for quality, with major award successes and a very good roster of authors (including, in the crime field, Val McDermid and Harry Keating). It seems to me that they have done a terrific job. (The image above is the original artwork, not the final version, by the way.)

Of course, the pleasure is tinged with anxiety. Gone is the opportunity to fiddle yet again with the text – and, as someone who constantly revises, the thought that I’m no longer able to improve what I’ve written is inevitably rather agonising. And what will readers think of it? Are any reviewers likely to be interested?

The questions are more acute in the case of a book like this, which is so very different from my other novels. I’m conscious that Dancing for the Hangman doesn’t easily sit in a conventional category of crime fiction, and is not obviously ‘commercial’.

Yet this is a book I’m really glad to have written. So far, the reaction of those who have read it has been intensely positive, and that’s a great reassurance, especially as the advance comments from the likes of Frances Fyfield (whose quote now adorns the front cover), Andrew Taylor and Anne Perry come from novelists whose standards are high.

So I shall keep my fingers crossed and hope that readers of this blog are similarly enthusiastic!

Setting again

P.D. James is one of a number of writers whose imagination is sparked by setting. Many of her novels have sprung from a striking image of a distinctive and memorable place – The Black Tower and Devices and Desires are good examples, and I imagine that The Private Patient, about which I shall post before long, was also inspired in part by the image of an ancient stone circle, such as features in the book.

In the past, my ideas from stories didn’t tend to originate with a specific geographical location or feature. But this has begun to change, not least as I’ve absorbed thoughts about developing stories from other writers. The panel on settings at Bouchercon was quite thought-provoking – one question from the audience about where else we might set a book caused me to suggest Wales as a location I’d like to use (although I don’t know South Wales too well, I’m a lifelong devotee of North and Mid Wales.) This led to a mixed reaction (one fellow author commented that crime novels set in Wales tend not to succeed, though I don’t share that view) but the discussion was certainly interesting.

In one sense, ‘The Bookbinder’s Apprentice’ is the most successful thing I have written, because it won the CWA award - yet it is rare among my stories in having been directly inspired by a trip to Venice and a few moments spent gazing into the window of a musty bookbinder’s shop.

So although, when I went to Barcelona, I didn’t have a plot in mind, I had been there for less than twenty four hours when the idea for a short story set in the city came to me unbidden. Not quite sure when I’m going to write it, though. Or whether I will be able to resist the urge to call it ‘Gaudi Night'….

A Not So Perfect Crime

When visiting somewhere new, I always like to seize the chance, if possible, to read a book set there. So my trip to Barcelona offered the ideal opportunity to sample a debut novel by a Spanish academic, Teresa Solana, called A Not So Perfect Crime. It’s just published by Bitter Lemon, who have made available some quite splendid books not previously available in English translation.

The novel is told by Eduard, one of two twin brothers, who run a detective agency together. In fact, it’s more or less a phoney operation, since neither of them is much good as a detective, and they invent a secretary to impress clients, spraying perfume around in their little office before pretending the girl has gone off on an errand. The office even has false doors leading nowhere, to give a grand impression to visitors.

When a top Catalan politician asks them to investigate whether his gorgeous wife is having an affair with a painter for whom she has apparently modelled. The shameless Borja, much the more entrepreneurial of the twins, extracts large sums of money from the client for doing very little, but when the wife ends up dead, our heroes find they may have bitten off more than they can chew.

This is a funny and enjoyable novel, and I was amused by the coincidence that one scene of the book took place in a café where we’d had lunch twenty-four hours earlier. The twins are a memorable duo and there are some laugh-aloud scenes. The element of the book that satirises Catalan politics rather passed me by, but this didn’t spoil the fun. The zany plot is a mess – but, to some extent, that is the point: this is a sort of ‘anti-detective’ novel. If Solana brings the twins back, she will almost certainly have to treat the story-line more seriously, but I hope this doesn’t deter her from a follow-up. Such good characters deserve to live again.

Forgotten book - Fear and Miss Betony

My latest contribution to Patti Abbott's series of forgotten books is Dorothy Bowers' Fear and Miss Betony. Once rather obscure, this title has recently been republished in a modestly priced paperback edition by the admirable Rue Morgue Press. Rue Morgue have revived some very interesting yet neglected Golden Age writers and Dorothy Bowers is possibly the most interesting of them all. They have reprinted all five of Bowers’ crime novels. This one, first published in 1941, marked the final appearance of her likeable series detective, Inspector Dan Pardoe, although he only turns up towards the end of the story. Bowers’ early death from TB robbed British crime fiction of one of its great hopes – she was seen by some as a natural successor to that other Dorothy, Miss Sayers. This book was much praised in its day, not least by the great American critic James Sandoe, and the publishers summarise its appeal thus: ‘The Golden Age of detective fiction was known for elaborate plots. This may well be the most ingenious one of them all.’ Oddly, though, I’m not sure that the ingenuity of the plot is the real reason why the book deserves to be revived. Bowers’ writing style is literate and appealing. Here, the encounter between the eponymous Emma Betony and a sinister fortune teller called The Great Ambrosio is highly atmospheric and memorable. The setting is nicely done; the story gives a reminder that, albeit changed, life in England still went on while the Second World War raged. And Bowers understood the importance of character. Right at the end, Pardoe makes the point that: ‘The key to this was character – as to so much else. The impact of character on circumstance, circumstance on character.’ The structure of the book is unusual. Emma is brought in by her former pupil, Grace Aram, to help understand an apparent campaign to murder a patient run at the nursing home-cum-school that Grace runs. But the victim is not the person whom one has been led to expect: shades of Agatha Christie's Peril at End House. Unfortunately, the detective work seems a bit perfunctory and at least one clue is withheld from the reader. More important, there are too many characters and so one quickly comes to the conclusion that the culprit is likely to be one of the few who are truly memorable. In the end, I still can’t understand why the murderer went to so much trouble. It seemed to me that the objective might have been achieved more easily and at much less risk. The over-riding merit of the book lies not in the plot but in the splendid characterisation of Emma Betony.

The Detection Club

My thanks again to those who have commented on my Detection Club post, or sent emails. To the world at large, the Club is best known for the production of a number of well-known books, both anthologies and 'round-robin' novels by various hands, and I will post about some of them at a future date. In the meantime, I thought I might answer a few of the questions I've been asked.

Is there a fixed number of members of the Detection Club? I'm not sure of the answer, but in his brief history of the Club, contained as a finale to the excellent 2005 anthology The Detection Collection, Simon Brett says the number 'has always ended up round the fifty mark.' He explains that election is by secret ballot, and that no-one knows their names have been put forward unless and until they get a letter informing them of their election' (and I can confirm this is absolutely true.) He adds: 'I have never been aware of anyone lobbying to get themselves elected. Which I think is just as well, because lobbying is not behaviour that would endear anyone to the membership'.

Simon's account also contains selective information about the Initiation Ceremony, the form and content of which has changed over the years (Ngaio Marsh recalled that Dorothy L. Sayers fired a pistol on one occasion, but who knows whether there was a touch of fiction in her reminiscence?) There's no secret handshake, but one element of 'apparent continuity' over the years has been that the President wears what Simon describes as 'a rather splendid quasi-academic gown'.

He concludes: 'Like everything else about the Detection Club, the mythology is...blurred and unreliable...which I must say I find one of the most enduring - and endearing - qualities of the organisation.'

And long may it continue!

In the Club

For me, Tuesday, 28 October, was a deeply memorable occasion. It was the day when I was formally confirmed as a member of the Detection Club. And because I’m a lover of the traditions of the genre, it meant a good deal to me that I’d been elected to join the oldest association of crime writers in the world.

There’s a pleasing, and highly appropriate, air of mystery about the Detection Club, which I gather has about 60 members in all. Even the precise date of its formation is uncertain – some say around 1928, others put it a year or two later. The first president was G.K.Chesterton, and he was succeeded by Dorothy L. Sayers and Agatha Christie. More recently, presidents have included Julian Symons and Harry Keating; the current incumbent is Simon Brett.

Essentially the Detection Club is a social gathering, with three dinners in London each year. Last week’s dinner was held in the august setting of Middle Temple Hall, shown in the photos (but the exterior shots don't do justice to the grandeur of the interior.) My wife Helena and I had the delightful experience of sitting on the top table with the likes of P.D. James, Jessica Mann, Simon Brett and his wife Lucy, the eminent journalist Katharine Whitehorn (whose late husband Gavin Lyall was a member), and the guest speaker, Lynne Truss, famed for her best-seller about punctuation, Eats, Shoots and Leaves. With us was my Murder Squad colleague, Ann Cleeves, who by a happy coincidence is the other person who has just been elected to membership.

Peter Lovesey gave me a very generous introduction in the joining ceremony, and Robert Barnard did the honours for Ann. After it was all over, Lynne Truss, Frances Fyfield, Helena and I wandered through the streets of London in a torrential downpour, searching in vain for a taxi. Earlier the same evening, it had been snowing in London for the first time in October for seventy years. But for me, the reason why it was an unforgettable night was nothing to do with the weather, and everything to do with the Detection Club.

Back from Barcelona

Just returned from a four-night family break in Barcelona, which proved a bit more challenging than expected – a lost passport and absolutely torrential rain weren’t in the script, for a start. So my apologies for not tracking down an internet café and moderating the numerous very welcome comments on this blog as quickly as usual.

There were moments over the past few days when Barcelona seemed wetter than Manchester at its worst, but the sun did eventually materialise, and I enjoyed a look at one of Europe’s great cities, though I’d like to go back there one day in less fraught circumstances.

One enjoyable feature of the trip was the chance to do some concentrated reading in the evenings. Much as I love reading, and above all reading crime, I’ve not had as much time for it over the past year as I’d wish and so this was a real bonus. I’ll be posting about my thoughts on the books over the next week or so.

Mr Loveday

I really enjoyed watching a re-run of the BBC 4 version of Evelyn Waugh’s classic short story ‘Mr Loveday’s Little Outing’. I first came across this little gem at school, in the sixth form, when a very good English teacher called Jack Hetherington, who was also a terrific actor, read it to us. Jack, now sadly deceased, was politically in the opposite corner from Waugh, but he was smart enough to recognise a great story when he saw it – and I’ve never forgotten his very funny rendition of it.

The tv adaptation followed the story precisely, without either abridgement or change to Waugh’s chilly, economical prose. The cast was stellar, featuring Prunella Scales (aka Sybil Fawlty), the brilliant David Warner (almost typecast as the mad lord) and Andrew Sachs (aka Manuel from ‘Fawlty Towers’) as the eponymous Loveday.

If you haven’t read the story, I’m not going to spoil it for you in this post. You have a treat in store. It isn’t crime fiction really, and yet…mention of it is not, I think, out of place in this blog.

A witty, polished piece of work. If you get the chance to see it, do seize the opportunity and I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

Charade

I’ve watched, for the first time since my teens, a classic comedy thriller, Charade. Charade stars Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn (as well as the likes of Walter Matthau and George Kennedy) and boasts a soundtrack from Henry Mancini when he was writing at his very best, so it’s not surprising that it achieved great popularity.

What I hadn’t realised before was that the screenplay was co-written by Marc Behm, author of a number of novels, including perhaps most famously The Eye of the Beholder. I first came across Behm’s name back in the 1980s, when Maxim Jakubowski produced one of those excellent Zomba omnibus volumes of his work (the same series introduced me to two wonderful American writers, Cornell Woolrich and Fredric Brown.)

Charade is an ok movie, but I have to say that on this viewing, I wasn’t entirely spellbound. The main attraction is undoubtedly the interplay between Grant and Hepburn, but the story-line is no better than competent. I much prefer Grant in North by North West, which has stood the test of time astonishingly well.

A Sleeping Life

A Sleeping Life was one of the first Wexford novels by Ruth Rendell that I read, and it has stuck in my mind because of the clever twist upon which the plot depends. So when the chance came to watch a repeat of the televised adaptation, featuring George Baker in his most famous role as DCI Reg Wexford, I seized it – and I wasn’t disappointed.

It’s classic British television from the 80s, with a first rate class. In addition to Louie Ramsey and Christopher Ravenscroft playing their usual parts as Dora Wexford and Mike Burden with great accomplishment, this episode saw appearances by two stars, Sylvia Syms (very good as drunken Mrs Crown) and Imelda Staunton.

When Rhoda Comfrey is stabbed to death on a visit to Kingsmarkham, it appears to have been a crime of passion. Rhoda was returning to her roots, seeing her dying father in hospital. She has lived in London for over twenty years. But when inquiries are made – nobody in the capital admits to knowing anything about her, and no trace of her existence can be found. Eventually, a link is established between Rhoda and a missing novelist, but even then all the leads turn into dead ends until a visit to the theatre gives Wexford the vital clue.

Just as I enjoyed the novel (which I can recommend) I enjoyed the tv version. I’ll be looking out for more Wexford repeats in the future.