Forgotten Book - Body Blow

Last year, I acquired a book called Body Blow by Kenneth Hopkins inscribed to John Arlott. Readers of a certain vintage may recall John Arlott as a famous (and very good) cricket commentator - his voice rippled through my younger days - but he was also a poet and bibliophile. Hopkins was a multi-talented writer, primarily a poet but, like so many poets over the years, he dabbled in detection, publishing seven books between the late fifties and early sixties along with a final book under a pen-name, Christopher Adam.

To be honest, I wasn't familiar with Hopkins, and the purchase was motivated mainly by the charming inscription, which reads 'and no prizes for recognizing the original of Dr Blow'. Dr William Blow is an elderly eccentric (and a big fan of Robert Southey) who, together with the slightly more worldly Professor Manciple, featured in three novels, of which Body Blow (1962) was the last.

The book joined the Himalayan range that is my to-be-read pile, but I was motivated to read it by a series of interesting emails from Paul Roberts. Paul was a friend of Kenneth Hopkins (who sounds like a delightful person) and he told me quite a bit about his life and work. I was, for instance, intrigued to learn that the model for Dr Blow was actually the writer E.H. Visiak, who was a good friend of Hopkins. This was yet another example of the fascinating correspondence that I'm fortunate to receive, and from which I learn so much.

The story begins with Blow buying a large quantity of books by Robert Southey at auction. But when he expects delivery, what in fact he receives is a large and heavy box containing the body of a dead woman. Strange! And it's even stranger when the box disappears again, almost immediately. There are quite a few funny lines and situations in this story, and if the plot is rather barmy, this isn't untypical of humorous crime fiction. I'm very grateful to Paul for drawing Kenneth Hopkins to my attention. 

Emily the Criminal - 2022 film review

Emily the Criminal is a fairly recent film which tells a pretty good story while also making some interesting points about modern society. It's all the more effective because those points, although made with clarity, aren't hammered home in a crude and tedious way. Emily is played, exceptionally well, by Aubrey Plaza (the inspiration for whose first name apparently came from a song by Bread). She is a flawed character, to say the least, but Plaza manages to enlist our sympathy for her.

Emily is weighed down by student debt. It's very sad that, around the world, there are many people like Emily, who have in effect been conned into taking out heavy student loans only to wind up in jobs that are less than rewarding. At the start of the film, we see Emily caught out in a lie to a prospective employer, and later in the story we see a ruthless employer trying to get her to do a six month unpaid internship.

Although Emily is driven to try to make a better life for herself, she finds herself lured into criminality in order to make it happen. We may not approve, but the script is good enough to make us understand and - at some points, anyway - root for her. John Patton Ford, who wrote and directed the movie, is a real talent.

Emily gets involved with a couple of brothers who are involved in credit card scams. She proves herself to be alarmingly adept at lying and cheating her way out of trouble, but there are occasional dark moments which get darker as the film goes on. From start to finish, we see people making 'bad choices'. I don't think this film sets out to justify crime, but it does quite a good job of showing how so many get sucked into it. Thought-provoking.

Dangerous Waters - 2023 film review

Ray Liotta was a compelling actor and he makes his presence felt in the later scenes of Dangerous Waters, a thriller which was the last movie he made before his sudden death in 2022. In many ways, though, the performance of Eric Dane is equally impressive. And so is that of a young Israeli actor, Odeya Rush, who has the central role in the story. She plays Rose, whose mother Alma (Saffron Burrows) has recently begun a new relationship with a man called Derek (Dane).

Derek has invited them to join him on a boat trip to Bermuda, but it's clear that Rose has reservations about her mother's choice of boyfriend. He works in the security business, a sector that covers a multitude of sins, but he does have a certain charm. Alma is impulsive and naive; Rose is much smarter. However, things take an unexpected turn when two villains board the ship. They kill Alma and shoot Derek. He survives, and so does Rose, who hid during the attack, but it's very clear by now that he has something to hide. What is it, though?

There's an entertaining review of this film in the Guardian by Phil Hoad, who said: 'Claustrophobic family drama, survivalist ordeal and balls-to-the-wall action barnstormer – any one of these would have amply filled out a single film. But director John Barr chucks all three into an unsubtle and faintly ludicrous outing that at least is never boring.' Faint praise, perhaps, but praise nonetheless. . I also liked Hoad's comparison of the 'offbeat intensity' of Liotta's performance to that of a 'deranged William Shatner'.

Hoad is right. Dangerous Waters isn't boring and despite the mounting implausibilities, I kept watching. This was partly because of the acting, but the script moves with pace, and that's generally essential in a thriller. Overall, I'd class this as decent, undemanding light entertainment. 

Forgotten Book - Ring of Terror

Ring of Terror was the last book by Michael Gilbert to be published by Hodder, who had published his novels since his debut, Close Quarters, in 1947. The novel appeared in 1995, and introduced a new character, the likeable Luke Pagan, but when Gilbert wrote another Pagan book, Hodder turned it down. Eventually, the book was taken by Robert Hale, essentially a library publisher; they also published the third Pagan novel, which was Gilbert's last. Quite a come-down, to be honest, although I mean no disrespect to Hale, who published some good books over the years.

Thirty years ago, I was astonished and rather indignant - naive as it now seems - that a publisher could treat a loyal author in this way. I recall talking to the late Carolyn Caughey, a senior Hodder editor and a very pleasant person whom I knew for many years, about it. She said the second Pagan book read like 'an old man's novel', and maybe it did (it's next on my list to read), but even so I think it's sad that Hodder dumped him. 

Ring of Terror had a very small print run in the UK, I think. At the time of writing, there was no UK first edition for sale on Abebooks, and as far as I know there was no paperback edition. That's why, for all my enthusiasm for Gilbert, it's taken me so long to acquire a copy and read it. This copy is inscribed to Gilbert's fellow Detection Club member, the former spy Kenneth Benton, in gratitude for lending him a book about espionage written by Christopher Andrew, which perhaps Gilbert used when researching the later Pagan books. Ring of Terror is actually dedicated to Don Rumbelow, former policeman and CWA Chair, whom Gilbert describes as 'the only man I know who talks and writes sense about the Siege of Sidney Street'.

And Ring of Terror is unlike Gilbert's earlier novels in being, very clearly, based on a real life case - the Siege and the events that followed it, not long before the First World War. There are also glancing references to the Steinie Morrison case. Among other real life people, Winston Churchill has a cameo role in the story. 

Gilbert did his homework on the case, and he handles the thrillerish material (and the societal issues associated with immigration) with his customary polish. As usual in his novels, there are several different viewpoints, but Luke is at the centre of things and is in many ways a typical Gilbert hero, brave, modest, and intelligent. The main problem is that I've never been hugely interested in the Siege of Sidney Street, and so I found Luke's investigations into Russian anarchists less inherently interesting than most of the storylines in Gilbert's earlier novels, although as ever the action scenes are well done. I'd have preferred more emphasis on mystery. However, it's a readable story and I'm glad I finally caught up with it.

Forgotten Book - Charteris Royal

Long before there was Casino Royale, there was Charteris Royal. First published by Gollancz in 1941, this is an obscure book that I'd probably have remained unaware of if it hadn't been for Jamie Sturgeon, who drew my attention to the work of the author, Hubert Phillips. I hadn't heard of Phillips (though I'd come across one or two of his pseudonymous short stories) but the front cover of the dustjacket proclaims that he 'has been famous for many years as one of the most ingenious of men, as well as one of the most versatile'.

He was a renowned maker of puzzles, published in the News Chronicle, and also an expert in bridge, and a noted chess player. These gifts seemed to equip him splendidly to become a writer of detective fiction in the classic mould, but perhaps unexpectedly, Charteris Royal is a thriller, set in the run-up to the Second World War, rather than a cerebral whodunit. 

Jonquil Tatham, the attractive young secretary of writer Gerrard Davenall, is kidnapped. It soon becomes clear that she has fallen into the clutches of Nazis based in England and that they want to blackmail Davenall into giving away secrets. Davenall's response is to call on the services of Rusty Bendore, who runs a small organisation called Rho Beta, which aims to combat crime and Bad People, and is comprised of a variety of people who are skilled in different fields. This is, I think, a pleasing concept and has been used in modified forms plenty of times since.

The action develops over the course of twenty-four hours. The race-against-time is a good way of ratcheting up tension in a thriller. Unfortunately, Phillips' inexperience as a novelist is all too evident. There is far too much chit-chat between the different members of Rho Beta, and not enough variety in the action for my taste. As a result, the story seems drawn-out rather than tense and attention-grabbing. This is a pity, because Phillips had a good idea here (and he may have contemplated writing more books about Rho Beta), but I don't think he developed the story well enough. Perhaps significantly, he never published another novel, which may well indicate that he was disappointed by the outcome. I'd rate this an interesting curiosity.

Calibre - 2018 film review

As he has shown in Slow Horses, Jack Lowden is a terrific actor and his presence in the cast prompted me to take a look at one of his early starring roles in the film Calibre. This is a fairly low-budget thriller written and directed by Matt Palmer, whose work is otherwise unknown to me; but on this evidence, Palmer too has a good deal of talent.

The premise is straightforward and cut from familiar cloth. Lowden plays Vaughn, whose partner is pregnant, and who goes off on a hunting trip in the Scottish Highlands with his old school friend Marcus (Martin McCann), who is a rather cocky and self-assured, as well as wealthy, businessman. They head off to a small and remote village called Culcarran and meet an assortment of locals who seem faintly sinister. It's entirely predictable that Something Terrible will happen. 

So it does, but the strength of the film is that it doesn't follow an entirely formulaic pattern. This isn't - despite one or two red herrings - a rip-off of The Wicker Man. Palmer is interested in the moral choices made by his two protagonists. Unfortunately, most of those choices turn out to be extremely unwise. Nor does the film wallow in gore; I'm glad Palmer resisted this temptation, because the under-stated nature of some crucial scenes is effective.

I was confident from the outset that there would at some point be a chase through a dark wood and I wasn't disappointed. Overall, though, the relatively low-key approach of the film works well, and I'm not surprised that it has been well reviewed. I agree with those who said that it was a good decision not to make the incomers to Culcarran crude and boisterous and English. Lowden's presence in the film ensures that the two young men's essential vulnerability comes over well. This is essentially a story about the duality of Scottish life, the tensions between the moneyed urban world and the rural communities struggling for survival. But it's not preachy - and that is always a plus. 

All Good Things - 2010 film review

All Good Things is a film based on a truly astonishing real life case in the United States with which - until I watched the movie - I was completely unfamiliar. The story is, when you know about the case, very obviously based on the life of the real estate heir Robert Durst, although in the film he is called David Marks, and is played (very well) by the versatile Ryan Gosling. In this review, I'll concentrate on the film rather than the man who inspired it (and, amazingly, approved it).

Much of the story is set in the 1970s, in a protracted flashback from a court case. Marks is the son of a dodgy tycoon (strongly portrayed by Frank Langella) who owns a chunk of Times Square and is affected by a terrible experience - aged seven, he witnessed his mother's suicide. He meets a young woman, Katie McCarthy, who has ambitions to study medicine and they begin a relationship and eventually get married. 

Katie (again well played, by another high-calibre actor, Kirsten Dunst) wants to start a family, but Marks refuses to go along with this. When she becomes pregnant, he puts her under pressure to have an abortion. Gradually the couple drift apart and Katie focuses on her medical studies. To say much more would be a spoiler, but suffice to say that there are several significant plot twists.

Because of the real-life origins of the story, it veers around in the messy way that real life does, rather than in an artistically elegant fashion. This may be why the film hasn't garnered as much praise as perhaps it deserves. However, I thought it was interesting and unusual. If you aren't familiar with the Durst case, I suggest you do what I did, and watch the film before finding out about the background to it. You may be as startled by the true story as I was...

Forgotten Book - Mr Pendlebury Makes a Catch

Anthony Webb is a fairly obscure Golden Age author who earned some good reviews in his day, especially for his series featuring an amiable amateur sleuth, getting on in years, called George Pendlebury. Webb's real name was Norman Scarlyn Wilson (1901-96) and he also wrote titles for the 'Teach Yourself' series of educational books (I'm pretty sure I recall his name from reading a couple of the books about modern languages many moons ago). I came across him in his Webb incarnation when I had the chance to buy a lovely inscribed copy of his 1939 book Mr Pendlebury Makes a Catch.

As the title suggests, the book opens at a cricket match, although it has to be said that after this good start, there's nothing more in the story for cricket lovers. We settle down to a story that involve three murders investigated not only by a local superintendent but also by Mr Pendlebury's visiting friend, Inspector Wagstaffe, and the old gentleman himself.

I don't really care for the term 'cosy crime', but if it fits any Golden Age book, it fits this one. There may be three violent deaths but the mood throughout is serene and charming - if you're charmed by Webb's light, humorous writing, that is. For me, it's something to be taken in small doses. Mr Pendlebury's circumlocutions and digressions can become a bit much, although he does get to the truth of the case in the end.

Anthony Berkeley, Milward Kennedy and Sir Hugh Walpole were among those who reviewed Webb's Pendlebury books favourably. They retain a genuine period charm, and the mystery plot is competently constructed. I have to admit that I didn't really care too much about the victims or who killed them, but I think that perhaps I wasn't intended to. I read this book in lovely summer weather - ideal for cricket - and it made perfectly satisfactory super-light entertainment. 

  

Return to Aberdyfi

I'm back home after a delightful, and highly nostalgic, birthday trip to Aberdyfi in mid-Wales. This was the seaside resort where we stayed as a family for many years while the children were growing up and we were accompanied by my mother, who was a key member of the party. After she died, I felt that Aberdyfi and the Trefeddian Hotel, where we stayed, were so closely associated with her memory that a break would be a good idea and this was my first time back since 2008. It was wonderful to revisit old haunts and the whole five-day experience brought back many happy memories.

Much has changed in my own life, and in a good way, since my last visit to Aberdyfi, but I'm glad to say that not a lot has changed about this lovely part of Wales, at least so far as I could tell; it is just as gorgeous and appealing as ever. One highlight was a trip on the world's oldest preserved railway, the Talylynn. This is an old favourite of mine, running through lovely countryside from Tywyn on the edge of Cardigan Bay to Nant Gwernol, with some pleasing stops in between, notably at the Dolgoch Falls. Next year sees the railway's 75th anniversary: an impressive achievement, and a great credit to all the volunteers who make it possible.

When I was working in the law full-time, I used to find my trips to Wales restful and therapeutic, and also positive in terms of giving me time and space to come up with fresh story ideas, sometimes connected with research in the locality. The same was true this time as we explored such places as Corris, Harlech, and Barmouth, as well as watching a kite festival on the expansive sands of Aberdyfi.

On my birthday itself there was a trip to Borth and Aberystwyth, including a return visit to the funicular railway and the camera obscura on the top of Constitution Hill as well as a wander through the ruins of Aberystwyth castle. And there was one memorable if weird incident, too. Whilst I was playing mini golf with my son at the hotel, a police car turned up and a woman police officer said that I bore a resemblance to a missing person and asked my name. It was quite surreal and unexpected. I'd like to think that the person who has gone missing is a George Clooney lookalike, but there is a deplorable counter-theory that he is suffering from dementia. But in terms of provoking ideas for mystery stories, this brief encounter was quite something!

Mulholland Falls - 1996 film review

Mulholland Falls is a very good thriller dating from 1996. I liked the script, acting, camera work, and music, and I'm rather surprised that critical reaction seems to have been mixed, although that eminent film critic Roger Ebert was a fan of the movie, which was set in the early 1950s, a period captured with verve and style.

Nick Nolte, as Maxwell Hoover, leads a four-man squad of the LAPD, apparently based on a real life team, which takes a ruthless approach to law enforcement. The title of the film comes from the cops' habit of dropping miscreants from a great height off Mulholland Drive. Bruce Dern, who makes an impact in a cameo role, is the chief of police who turns a blind eye to his men's violent way with criminals.

A young woman is found dead at a construction site. She seems to have fallen from a great height - but there are no cliffs nearby. She turns out to be a good-time girl called Allison Pond (evocatively played by Jennifer Connelly) and the big twist is that, although Maxwell Hoover is happily married (to the equally attractive Melanie Griffith), he had a torrid six-month affair with Allison.

The plot thickens when a film emerges of Allison having sex with a Very Important Person. I don't want to give spoilers, but the story builds pace after a relatively steady start and I found the plot development - the script was written by Pete Dexter - quite gripping. Dave Grusin's soundtrack is well-crafted, and Chazz Palminteri, who plays Maxwell's sidekick, a man much influenced by his psychiatrist's advice, almost steals the film. All in all, a very entertaining film.

Forgotten Book - The Sister of Cain

I was unfamiliar with the work of Mary Collins unless Stark House Press reprinted her novels, but now I've read The Sister of Cain, I can see why Greg Shepard of Stark House was tempted to bring her work back into print. This book, which dates from 1943 is a strong novel combining domestic suspense with a whodunit mystery and stylistically it reminds me a little of the work of Elisabeth Sanxay Holding.

Mary Collins (1908-79) grew up in California and wrote six novels between 1941 and 1949, all of them set in San Francisco, a city which has made a compelling background for so many crime stories over the years. I imagine that it was the brevity of Collins' career that has resulted in her descent into obscurity over the last seventy years, since there's no doubt that she could write.

One of the strengths of the book is the picture it gives of domestic life in the US during the Second World War, and after Pearl Harbor. While home life in the US wasn't affected as dramatically by the war as, say, life in London or Liverpool during the Blitz, there was nevertheless an impact. Here, the narrator, recently married Hilda Moreau, goes to stay with the six sisters of her husband David, who has gone off to war. Hilda is pregnant, and so, at the time she wrote the book, was Collins. The fact that she is on her own and in only limited contact with David adds to the tension and sense of claustrophobia, which Collins build with an assured touch.

The oldest sister, Pauline, is a deeply unpleasant and hypocritical woman who rules her siblings with a rod of iron. Each of them has a motive to murder her, and so do a couple of other characters - as well as Hilda herself. In fact, there are so many women behaving badly in this book that if a man had written it, he would probably be accused of sexism. It comes as no surprise when Pauline is murdered, but Collins shifts suspicion around quite skilfully and I found the story engaging. This is a good find.

The Best of Peter Lovesey Stories

The Best of Peter Lovesey Stories is a meaty volume just published by Allison & Busby and it represents a fitting memorial to the work of one of Britain's finest practitioners of the crime short story. Peter often said that he loved writing short stories and I always knew that if I asked him to contribute a new story to an anthology I was compiling, not only would he respond with his customary courtesy and positivity, he would send in a story that was of the highest calibre.

The best crime writers generally have a considerable range; they don't just stick to one type of writing. This was certainly true of Peter and his short stories covered not only a broad mix of subjects and settings, they demonstrate his mastery of narrative structure. One of my old favourites, 'Youdunnit', is a perfect example and I'm glad to see it in this book. Another is 'Arabella's Answer.'

The book kicks off with 'How Mr Smith Traced His Ancestors', a cunning tale told with characteristic felicity which was televised as 'A Man with a Fortune' in the famous ITV anthology series Tales of the Unexpected. There are several stories in the book which I commissioned, and I was touched to find Peter giving me a mention in connection 'And the Band Played On', which he wrote for Music of the Night. This was entirely characteristic of the kind man he was.

I'm very glad to say that, shortly before the end came, Peter wrote yet another story for me - 'Magic Moments' - for an anthology of stories inspired by the music of Burt Bacharach. It may even have been the last story he ever wrote - what I can say for sure is that it is terrificm and I'm looking forward very much to publishing it in due course. In the meantime, this splendid book is a wonderful compendium of good crime fiction that will give any aficionado a great deal of pleasure.

 

Five million pageviews

 

Yesterday was very enjoyable, mainly because I took part in a fun event at Warrington Central Library, but also because this blog passed five million pageviews whilst I was out. That's an awful lot of pageviews, and even if some of them are attributable to AI (which may be the case, hence the note on this blog making it clear that AI scraping of my writing is not something I agree to), there's no doubt from the number of messages and emails I get from people around the world that the 'genuine' figures are very much on the rise.

For this, I'm truly grateful. The support you give me by reading these posts, and reaching out to me directly from time to time, is really heartwarming. I've made so many good friends and pleasant acquaintances since the blog began nearly 18 years ago. Before long, I hope to pay tribute to one of those special people, whose death earlier this year was a grievous loss. But for now, let me just say - thank you.

I was delighted to be asked to take part in Warrington's 'crime week', supported by the Friends of Stockton Heath Library, who do a great job. I was also very pleased that yesterday's event gave me the chance to collaborate again with Sarah Ward, a fine writer and delightful company. I've read several of Sarah's novels over the years and she is an author of high calibre. The audience was very engaged, asking some excellent questions.

Rachel Ralston and Sandra Corfield did a great job of organising the event, and I was also pleased to provide a signed book for the winner of a quiz that I've devised, which has run alongside the exhibition about crime writing that I've provided for Warrington Libraries among others. The libraries in Warrington are facing various challenges due to budget cuts, but I shall always be very glad to support them, as they have for so long supported me.

 

Forgotten Book - A Death at the Bar

Kenneth Giles' crime writing career began in 1965 and ended with his death in 1974, when he was only 52. In that relatively short time, however, he managed to publish a couple of dozen detective novels, all of them appearing under Victor Gollancz's imprint. In addition to books published under his own name, he wrote as Edmund McGirr and Charles Drummond. I know very little about him, other than that he was at one time a journalist and that his early books were admired by such good judges as Anthony Boucher and Edmund Crispin (although Barzun and Taylor, who were impressed by his debut mystery, soon got fed up with him).

I'd never read him until I came across the fifth and final Charles Drummond novel, A Death at the Bar (1972). I managed to snaffle a copy with the splendid inscription: 'For Ted, the model of all my sinister characters, Luv from Ken'. I've no idea who Ted was, but this inscription does give the impression that Giles was a fun character, and there's no doubt that humour is the strength of this particular novel.

The story begins at a brisk clip, ten days into the New Year, with snow falling, when Drummond's protagonist Sergeant Reed is greeted by a barman from the Admiral Byng pub with the news that the landlord, Harry Alwyn, has been murdered - his head has been bashed in. On page two, we're introduced to the pub cleaning lady, who rejoices in the name Mrs Crippen. Already the tone is set.

There are some very funny lines in this book that I really enjoyed. Unfortunately, the prose is cluttered and so is the plot. There are various improbable gangsters and some equally improbable police work. I get the impression that Giles/Drummond wrote quickly, and didn't bother much with editing. There's enough good stuff here for the ingredients to have been blended into a much more satisfactory book, but as it is, things do rather go downhill after that wonderful inscription.   

Forgotten Book - Inspector Rusby's Finale

Virgil Markham (1899-1973) was an American author who produced eight crime novels between 1928 and 1936, in other words at the height of the Golden Age, and then abandoned the genre. Why he gave up, I don't know, but given that Dorothy L. Sayers and Anthony Berkeley, two giants of the Golden Age, also stopped writing detective novels at much the same time - in Berkeley's case, just three years later - perhaps one factor was a sense that intricate mysteries were beginning to fall out of favour.

I've blogged about two of Markham's novels in the past - Death in the Dusk and Shock! aka The Black Door and when John Norris blogged about Inspector Rusby's Finale (1933) five years ago, I very much liked the sound of the book. But I couldn't find a copy. Eventually, John began to sell his collection and I was able to buy his copy from him, complete with the inscription he mentions, in which Markham describes the book as 'an outstanding example of my splendid craftsmanship'. He's quoting from the blurb of the Albatross paperback edition! 

This is an unusual mystery novel, eccentric in some respects, but it does make enjoyable reading. The opening chapter, set in Rapallo, and featuring a conversation between a group of women, is faintly disconcerting to a mystery fan, but in fact it contains information relevant to the storyline. The mystery proper begins when Inspector Myles Rusby sets out to go to a country house party near Salisbury at the request of the enigmatic but lovely Mrs Cade-Jack. He arrives late, and is greeted by her. But when he awakes, the house is deserted - except for a dead body.

It's an intriguing situation and Markham throws the kitchen sink at the reader, loading the story with all kinds of Golden Age tropes, not least a rather pleasing amateur detective called Thriddle. It's a sort of riff on Trent's Last Case (the prototypical country house whodunit, in which the detective fell in love with the main suspect) but it's very different. It's also well-written, with some witty lines as well as entertaining characters such as a gardener with a passion for crossword puzzles. Good fun. 

The June 2025 newsletter

I've been delighted by reaction to my new free monthly newsletter. The June issue is just out, and you can sign up for it here: https://substack.com/@martinedwardsbooks/

To whet your appetite, apart from reports about my own doings, there are contributions from two very interesting writers, Sarah Rayne and Christina Hardyment, and news of a forthcoming in-depth interview with John Cornwell.

I'm always interested in suggestions for enhancing the newsletter or any other feedback.

The Gold - BBC TV - series 1 review

I've belatedly caught up with the first series of The Gold, which I missed first time around. And the first thing to say about this example of TV 'faction' is that it's extremely watchable. The acting is terrific - I don't think there's a less than excellent performance in the entire six episodes. The series was created and written by Neil Forsyth, and on the whole the script is excellent, despite some flaws.

The story is based on the Brink's Mat gold bullion heist of 1983 and it's made clear from the outset that although it's based on real events, some characters and 'element's have been created or changed for dramatic purposes. My general feeling about this approach to writing is that it's fair enough: the real question is how well the writer tells the story. I accept, however, that the result is often closer to fiction than what actually happened. For instance, the writer has to be very careful about how people in the story who are still alive are portrayed. You can bet that there will be a very proper anxiety about avoiding libel, although of course this can lead to some parts of the story being sanitised. There's definitely a danger that viewers will assume that the portrayal of people and incidents is closer to reality than is actually the case.

The Gold has, perhaps not surprisingly, been criticised in some quarters for soft-pedalling on its presentation of criminality. The two most interesting criminals in the story are Kenneth Noye and John 'Goldfinger' Palmer and both men are portrayed by exceptionally charismatic actors, Jack Lowden and Tom Cullen, so inevitably the characters on screen seem more appealing than I imagine their real life equivalents are or were. It's a casting choice that seems questionable to me, even though Lowden and Cullen are absolutely terrific. In contrast, Sean Harris as Gordon Parry exudes menace from start to finish, and his portrayal seems rather more likely to be close to the truth.

More debatable, though, is Neil Forsyth's decision to add a layer to his storytelling which involves portraying the villains, quite repetitively, as class warriors. Those who are still alive might like to rationalise their actions that way, but overall the effect of the many set-piece speeches comes across as inauthentic. An attempt at 'fine writing' that, for me, failed to work, despite Forsyth's obvious talents.

And those talents are considerable. He's very good at his portrayal of the cops. Hugh Bonneville is at his compelling and humane best as the lead detective, Boyce, while his sidekicks played by Emur Elliot and Charlotte Spencer are excellent. Spencer is especially impressive, one of the stand-outs in a cast of uniformly talented actors, although the character she plays is invented, and to some extent a 21st century idea of what an appealing female cop of the 80s might have been like.

The Gold is, I think, best regarded as an entertaining thriller loosely based on a real life crime, even though my guess is that Neil Forsyth had additional aspirations. The points the script makes about class and aspiration were made more cleverly in The Long Good Friday, which was not based on real life and perhaps all the better for it. But viewed primarily as entertainment, The Gold is very good indeed, and I shall definitely watch series 2. 

  

Bodies from the Library 2025

I've taken part in every Bodies from the Library since the event began ten years ago. Each time it's been highly enjoyable but I must say that this year the organisers - take a bow John, Mark, Susan, and Liz - excelled themselves. Attendance equalled the previous best ever figure and the mood from start to finish was extremely convivial. The crime writing and reading community is one I've always loved and this particular branch of it is delightful.

The previous evening I'd enjoyed a lovely dinner at St Pancras with two of my friends and fellow speakers, Christine Poulson and Moira Redmond, and the pleasurable mood continued throughout Saturday. Space doesn't permit me to mention all the people I enjoyed chatting to, but the programme offered plenty of variety and some very knowledgeable speakers. 

The morning kicked off with a conversation between me and Gary Wrigglesworth, who is in charge of marketing the British Library's Crime Classics, and we were followed by Victoria Dowd who talked about Gothic elements of Golden Age fiction. John Curran celebrated Bodies' tenth birthday by highlighting vintage mysteries with 'ten' or 'X' in the title, and Tony Medawar somehow managed to give a comprehensive account of Ngaio Marsh's long career in the space of thirty minutes and Jake Kerridge and Moira had a fascinating conversation about reference works dealing with Golden Age fiction. Ronaldo Fagarazzi took us through some clips from that great TV series Detective, while Len Tyler discussed the murder of Sir Edmund Godfrey. Ronaldo, Kate Jackson, and Moira talked about blogging and then a group of us answered questions from the audience before a wine reception sponsored by HarperCollins

In addition, Christine and I had a conversation about Fiona Sinclair. This was special for me because the audience included a large group of Fiona's family members and family friends, who had arranged a reunion connected to the event (and republication of Scandalize My Name). It was poignant to meet some of them, including Fiona's daughter, and to appreciate how much the republication of Fiona's first novel has mean to them.

I enjoyed myself from start to finish. A truly memorable day.

Forgotten Book - Black Aura

Timing is everything in the world of writing, as so often it is in many walks of life. John Sladek's misfortune was to demonstrate a mastery of the locked room mystery at a time when that delightful form of detective fiction was deeply unfashionable. He was primarily a science fiction writer, but he published two books of this type before giving up on mysteries.

As Sladek said in an interview with David Langford in 1982, 'those two novels suffered mainly from being written about 50 years after the fashion for puzzles of detection. I enjoyed writing them, planning the absurd crimes and clues, but I found I was turning out a product the supermarket didn't need any more – stove polish or yellow cakes of laundry soap. One could starve very quickly writing locked-room mysteries like those. SF has much more glamour and glitter attached to it, in these high-tech days.' How lucky we fans of detective fiction are that the wheel has turned full circle, and locked room puzzles (genuine locked room puzzles, as well as the 'closed circle' mysteries that are similarly if erroneously badged) are all the rage. 

I first came across Sladek's witty and clever detective fiction many moons ago, and my enthusiasm for his work was revived recently when I was lucky enough to acquire inscribed copies of both Black Aura and Invisible Green from the writer Scott Bradfield, who got to know Sladek (who was American) when the latter was in London in the 1990s.

Black Aura was published by Jonathan Cape in 1974. Sladek had won the 1972 Cape/Times short crime story competition, which earned him a prize of £500 and an offer to publish a novel. The short story introduced an American living in London called Thackeray Phin, and in the novel he operates very much in the grand tradition of the Great Detective, solving baffling impossible crimes with aplomb.

The setting of the story is a commune presided over by a very dodgy medium called Viola Webb. Phin believes she is a fraud and moves in with a view to debunking her. The way that the ingenious puzzles in the book are counterpointed by witty vignettes of life in Seventies London makes this book a real treat. It's such a shame that Sladek abandoned the genre. I'm tempted to argue that this book and Invisible Green were the best locked room mysteries of the 1970s. 

Skibo Castle

Starting in my teens, I've had a good many enjoyable trips to Scotland, so when I say that last week was very special and the most memorable of all those experiences, you can be sure that it was quite something. We were lucky enough to spend six nights at Skibo Castle as guests of generous friends, Shelly and Steven, who are members of the Carnegie Club. The Club is based at the castle and takes its name from Andrew Carnegie, the great benefactor of libraries (amongst many other philanthropic projects) who bought and transformed the castle at the end of the nineteenth century. If I remember rightly, the first library event I ever took part in as a writer was in a Carnegie library in Merseyside, and I've been to plenty more since then. But nothing prepared me for Skibo. 

I'd anticipated that the weather might be iffy and took plenty of books, but as things turned out, there was barely a drop of rain from the moment our plane landed at Inverness, and I hardly read a word. Very lucky. The castle offers a wide range of outdoors activities and although most of these are not really my cup of tea, I did try my hand at axe-throwing and archery. Of course, I was hopeless at both, but at least I didn't injure anyone! The castle grounds are lovely, with many secluded walks. And the castle itself has fantastic facilities, as well as an archivist who gave us two very interesting tours. I thought the Queen Mary was luxurious, and it is, but Skibo is in a league of its own.

Because the sun shone, it seemed like a good plan to get out and about in the surrounding area, north of Inverness. So there were trips to Dornoch, with its beach, ancient cathedral, and pleasant local shops, the massive Dunrobin Castle (superbly situated by the Moray Firth) and a spur of the moment pilgrimage to find the former home of Anne Perry, who died a couple of years ago. I recalled Anne telling me many years ago about the charm of her secluded home on the outskirts of the seaside village of Portmahomack, and the place certainly lived up to what she told me about it.

There were two hosted dinners in the castle itself, while lunch and dinner was otherwise taken at the Clubhouse, situated beside the golf course. You don't need an alarm clock at Skibo, because every morning at 8 am, a bagpiper marches around the castle. At 9 am, an organist plays in the great hall to accompany your breakfast. Afternoon tea, served either in the castle or in the gardens from the old potting shed, is delightful. The library is first-rate (as is, it must be said, the whisky library, where we enjoyed an excellent tasting). There was a visiting falconer called David whose birds gave a fine display. Everything is luxurious without being flashy. And the resident pianists play Burt Bacharach on request - what more could anyone wish for? I met some interesting people and I did think the quality of the service provided by the staff was impeccable - quite a tribute to those in management, because achieving such high standards and maintaining them is no easy task. All in all, it was a unique experience and I'll never forget it.