Crime of Passion - 1957 film review

Was ever a femme more fatale than Barbara Stanwyck? So far as films are concerned, I think not. At her best, as in Double Indemnity, she had a magnetic screen presence. Even in less notable films she was seldom less than compelling. A case in point is Crime of Passion, which dates from 1957, and which I'd never heard of until I chanced upon it recently.

This is an interesting movie, made when she was approaching fifty, though you'd never guess. Her performance combines allure with menace, a characteristic blend, but there's also a good deal of vulnerability at key moments as her mental state deteriorates. She plays Kathy, a San Francisco newspaper columnist whose ambition and verve enable her to rise above crass sexism. When she encounters Bill (Sterling Hayden), a likeable detective from L.A., she falls head over heels and before she knows it, she has thrown up her job and settled down to married life.

But she soon becomes dissatisfied with the prattle of other police officers' wives and the limited horizons of their husbands. Bill is a decent chap, who wants to do his best to look after Kathy, but he lacks ambition. She becomes bored - dangerously so, when she encounters the top cop, Tony Pope (Raymond Burr). A fatal attraction develops between the pair of them.

Jo Eisinger's screenplay is crisply written, but this isn't a 'mystery' story. It's a drama, with some suspense, but perhaps because of the choices Eisinger makes, the ending may seem anti-climactic to many viewers. Indeed it did to me, but that's because Eisinger seems to have set out to say something about the nature of overweening ambition and its consequences. His focus is on character and above all the social attitudes of the time. This perhaps explains why the film is not quite powerful (or, frankly, convincing) enough to have earned classic status. But the acting is very good (Fay Wray and Stuart Whitman are also in the cast) and Stanwyck copes very well, in my opinion, with the demands the script puts upon her.

The Essex Millionaire Murders - ITV review

Six years ago, I visited the pleasant Essex island of Mersea and I can well imagine that it's a place that would appeal to a couple looking to wind down towards retirement. That seems to have been the thinking of Carol and Stephen Baxter, a wealthy couple with two children who relocated there some years ago. But the idyll turned into a nightmare, which this week has been the subject of a very interesting new two-part ITV documentary, The Essex Millionaire Murders.

It's a catchpenny title for a documentary that is a cut above the normal television true crime fare. The Baxters, in their sixties, were discovered at their home in Mersea by their daughter Ellena; an utterly horrific experience. They were in their armchairs, and both were dead. One possible cause of death, carbon monoxide poisoning, was quickly ruled out. And Essex police soon became suspicious.

The discovery of a strange document - not a legally valid will - set the investigation in a new direction. This purported to suggest that Carol's business should, in effect, be run by a neighbour, a youngish man called Luke d'Wit. Luke had started helping Carol with IT issues and had become increasingly important in the business. But he was also regarded as a caring friend. He was very popular in the local community and one can understand why the Baxters trusted him implicitly. Why they were quite so trusting of a mysterious American doctor whom Carol encountered online when in search of health advise is less clear. But it's easy to be wise from afar; I never forget that one of the smartest and most cynical of my friends was once conned out of £20,000 by a scammer; it's depressingly easily done. It's plain that the Baxters were casting about desperately for answers, and although they seem to have been intelligent as well as likeable, their vulnerability made them fairly easy prey.

The discovery of fentanyl in both bodies transformed the inquiry into a murder hunt. Ellena and Luke were both arrested, but it soon became clear that Ellena (who was the main interviewee in the programme) was innocent. Indeed, she was yet another victim of cruel manipulation. The documentary does a good job of charting a remarkable investigation at the same time as conveying the poignancy of the case. The Baxters' deaths were utterly, heartbreakingly tragic.

As for the culprit, his motivations are intriguing in the extreme, and not at all easy to understand. The judge said that this wasn't a sadistic crime, although this seems like a rather narrow interpretation of 'sadistic'. It wasn't all about money, either, although I imagine that money played a part in his thinking. (One remembers that Harold Shipman was only exposed after he forged a will.) I'd have liked to know more about the murderer's background and also about the Baxters' history and the nature of life on Mersea. At present, however, there are ongoing inquiries into other matters where he may be able to help the police with their enquiries, so this limits the scope for speculation. But I think the programme makers did well to avoid prurience and perhaps this sad story will make others more cautious about people whom they befriend online.

Forgotten Book - Death of the Home Secretary

I was tempted to acquire a copy of Alan Thomas's Death of the Home Secretary because a copy became available that bears a fascinating inscription, dated in the month of publication - October 1933. Thomas inscribed it to his friend Vernon Bartlett 'in the hope this book may provide an hour's relief from the blight of the world situation!' Bartlett was a writer and journalist, sometimes described as the BBC's first foreign correspondent. He left the BBC in controversial circumstances in 1933 and was destined to become quite a well-known political figure, becoming an MP in 1938 and holding his seat for twelve years. And this is a novel which shows Thomas was himself interested in politics, though he was primarily also a journalist. 

One intriguing piece of trivia about the book. I'd always assumed that 'unconscious bias' is a modern term, and indeed some internet sources suggest this. But it crops up, quite significantly, towards the end of this novel.

Thomas is best-remembered for his 'impossible crime' novel The Death of Laurence Vining, which I reviewed here. In that book, the detection is undertaken by the painstaking but sound Inspector Widgeon, and he reappears here, although he never returned. Like the earlier book, this one is soundly written and definitely very readable. But one failing they both have in common is that there is quite a bit of padding.

Having said that, I enjoyed this novel. Even though there aren't enough suspects to justify the length of the book, in my opinion, the late twists are good enough to justify the investment of time in reading the story. Thomas was obviously interested, like Anthony Berkeley, in the ambiguous nature of justice, and this is a key ingredient in the story. Not an easy book to find, and not cheap if you do come across the first edition, but I was glad to have bought my copy. And that lovely inscription really appeals to me. The more things change, the more they stay the same? 

Joy Swift: a guest post about her original murder mystery weekends

 

 

I first met Joy Swift when she and I were very young - about 40 years ago! I was fascinated by the sound of her murder mystery weekends, and as my girlfriend (the future Mrs Edwards) had just moved to Southport, home to the hotel which was the original setting for the weekends before Joy branched out across the country and even overseas, we decided to join in the fun. It was a fantastic weekend - and I don't just say that because I solved the puzzle and still have the certificate to prove it! Joy and I have stayed in touch, and after a recent lunch together I invited her to contribute a post about her weekends: 

'I met Martin when he and his lovely wife came on one of my original Murder Weekends. Perhaps I may almost have sparked off Martin’s illustrious writing career! He certainly got the bug for solving mysteries that weekend.

Since inventing Murder Weekends in 1981, I have written 156 plots, each lasting for three days and they have through necessity, been very complex, diverse and often contain contain puzzles and codes to keep our guests entertained.

To celebrate our 25^th anniversary, I decided to create an online Murder Mystery Investigation, as a present to my guests. During lockdown, I was shut for 18 months and rather than going insane , I thought it was the perfect time to create two Online Investigations, which have been praised internationally and even won an award in the US.

For those of you who love a tangled mystery that will keep you enthralled for up to 20 hours, with 12 chapters, 12 murders and a delightful ‘lightbulb’ moment – come join the wonderful world of my Murder Mystery Investigations. Play Chapter One of Cold Case #1 for free on https://murdermysteryinvestigations.com/

A Cluefinder for Gallows Court

When I wrote Gallows Court, I imagined it was going to be a one-off. I wasn't confident the book would find a publisher, because it's so very different from my previous novels. The storyline was not only not planned in advance to any extent, it was not only complex but also - and this was deliberate, because it seemed artistically 'right' if unlikely to be commercial - highly melodramatic. A thriller, really, rather than a whodunit. To my delight, the book found favour, and I was offered a two-book deal. When I came to write book two, Mortmain Hall, I decided to write a Gothic take on the classic detective story, with clues and red herrings galore. So it seemed like a fun idea to include at the end a Cluefinder.

At that time the Cluefinder was forgotten. This is a device that enjoyed a hey-day in the late Twenties and Thirties, and C. Daly King created some extremely elaborate Cluefinders which I've long admired, but it had fallen out of fashion after the Second World War. To my delight, readers responded to the Cluefinder with great enthusiasm. I'm not exaggerating when I say that the next three Rachel Savernake books have included Cluefinders by popular demand. And a Cluefinder will also play a key part in Miss Winter in the Library with a Knife.

Unexpectedly, but much to my delight, both my agent and my publisher have been urging me to come up with a Cluefinder for Gallows Court. The paperback is due to be reprinted shortly, so now was the time to see whether it was viable. I was unsure, because Gallows Court is written differently from the later books in the series; in many ways, it's more of a thriller with plot twists than a detective story.

I've therefore been reading Gallows Court again, for the first time since it was published. I don't often reread my books, mainly because I'm instinctively self-critical and I know I'll feel the urge to make changes to them. But to my relief and, if I'm honest, surprise, I really enjoyed the experience. It's a better book than I remembered! And I'm very pleased to say that I discovered that the rereading resulted in my being able to devise a Cluefinder. So the next printing of Gallows Court in the UK will indeed be a revised version! 

Forgotten Book - Seascape with Dead Figures

Roy Hart was a talented crime writer whose career encompassed eleven novels. The first two were published by Robert Hale for the library market and are little-known. He found a wider readership when he moved to Macmillan with a series featuring a senior cop called Roper. These police stories, published between 1987 and 1993, remind me of the work of his Macmillan stable-mate Jill McGown; they are carefully written, with a satisfactory blend of characterisation and plot. Like McGown's books, Hart's deserve to be better known.

John Cooper has long been a fan of Hart's work, and it was his advocacy that first interested me in this author. When I got the chance to acquire John's Hart collection, including some signed copies and letters, at a modest price, I couldn't resist. I've begun the Roper series at the beginning, and Seascape with Dead Figures (1987) is a well-crafted story that is a good, quick read.

At new year, the body of a man in his seventies called Winterton is found at the bottom of a cliff. Roper concludes early on that he was murdered, and suspicion falls on a group of people who had attended a new year party at Winterton's house. One slight weakness of the story is that there are an awful lot of suspects, and so one or two of them are not developed in depth. But Hart's concise style means that doesn't matter too much.

Winterton, it turns out, was a very nasty piece of work, so plenty of people had reason to wish him ill. Suspicion switches from one individual to another but another body is found at the bottom of the cliffs before Roper is able to identify whodunit. Some of the behaviour of the suspects is a little hard to credit, but Hart was just about able to persuade me to suspend my disbelief. Overall this is an accomplished mystery and I enjoyed reading it.

Life - 2017 film review

I've always liked science fiction, although I prefer to consume it in fairly small doses. Two of the best sci-films I've seen over the years are Alien and Gravity, and it's fair to say that in various respects Life, which dates from 2017, is indebted to those movies. (There's also, arguably, a touch of The Blob about it!) Yet although the storyline is far from original, the film has enough about it to be worth watching. And the script, despite weaknesses in terms of characterisation, is strong in terms of suspense and occasional bursts of action.

The setting is an international space station crewed by half a dozen astronauts. A probe returns from Mars, bringing various soil samples from the 'Red Planet', and a British biologist, Hugh Derry (Ariyon Bakare) studies the material collected, he manages to revive a dormant cell - so yes, there is life on Mars! And before long, the cell grows and becomes increasingly complex. Its juvenile charm earns it a nickname - Calvin.

When Calvin goes into hibernation, Hugh tries to stimulate it, with unfortunate results. Calvin turns nasty and does serious damage to Hugh's hand. Calvin's next move is to devour a lab rat, rather spectacularly. And continues to grow. Rory, an engineer played by Ryan Reynolds, tries to rescue Hugh, but suffers the consequences...

It falls to Jake Gyllenhaal and Rebecca Ferguson to do battle with Calvin - and, just possibly, save life on earth from an extremely hostile invasion. There is limited scope for the two fine actors to display the full range of their skills (a sentimental scene involving reminiscences about a children's story doesn't really work) but the tension is ratcheted up successfully, and there's a plot twist at the end that I enjoyed.

 

The CWA North Symposium at Ilkley

This weekend saw the revival of a great tradition - the CWA Northern Chapter Symposium. In my early days in the CWA, these weekends were a highlight in the calendar, usually organised by either Peter Walker or Reginald Hill, though I organised one weekend at Knutsford and a number of other people, such as Meg Elizabeth Atkins, were also involved. The number of other events in the calendar meant there was less demand for these events, but the recent demise of the CWA annual conference (I don't know the reasons for this) prompted Jason Monaghan, with the highly efficient support of Dea Parkin, to arrange a symposium at Ilkley. The venue, the Craiglands Hotel, was also the venue for a memorable annual conference way back in 2008; a highlight of that weekend was Bob Barnard giving us a guided tour of Haworth Parsonage.

Jason's plan cleverly solved the problem of rising hospitality costs. All the talks were given on Saturday, so one realistic option was just to attend for the day and not incur hotel charges, which have risen so much in recent times. I think this was a good way of addressing a real challenge. It's always a good plan for such an event to be held in an attractive venue, and Ilkley is certainly that. And the company was just as pleasant and enjoyable as ever it was.

As it happens, I'll be back in Ilkley in a couple of months for a book fair, and so on arrival in the town (after a pleasant journey, and a canal trip in the sunshine in Skipton) I met up with local book dealer Louise Harrison and Mike from the Grove Bookshop to discuss the plans. Then it was on to the hotel and a chance to meet up with old friends and make one or two new ones before a convivial dinner in a local bistro (photo taken by Martine Bailey; it was great to see her and husband Martin again).

The talks on Saturday were on a pleasingly diverse range of topics, from a leading editor (Katherine Armstrong of Simon & Schuster) and agent on the current market, from an ex-cop (Roger A. Price) on undercover police work, a CSI officer turned coroner's officer on her work, a marketing expert on book promotion, and a self-published writer on the business of indie publishing. All the speakers were very good. Then a pleasant stroll in the town followed by another good meal in good company. Some of us visited the Manor House in Ilkley on Sunday morning before returning home. All in all, this was as successful a venture as could have been hoped for. Congratulations to Jason and Dea for all their hard work.

Forgotten Book - Death in Budapest

It's often forgotten just how many Golden Age detective novels - not just thrillers by the likes of Ethel Lina White or Francis Beeding - written by British authors are set in foreign, exotic (at least at that time) locations. Agatha Christie was responsible for plenty, of course, while E.R. Punshon ventured to the south of France, Freeman Wills Crofts fictionalised a Mediterranean cruise holiday, and so on. Today, my focus is on another example. Death in Budapest, by Val Gielgud and Holt Marvell (that is, Eric Maschwitz) is an entry from 1937 in their series featuring Inspector Simon Spears. My own copy of this book bears the above inscription from one of the co-authors: 'To Mother - to add to her collection of other responsibilities! with love from Val.'

Gielgud and Maschwitz were colleagues at the BBC in its early days, two dynamic and talented innovators who played an important part in the Corporation's development. Maschwitz became a renowned songwriter, while Gielgud eventually moved into television. Gielgud, unlike his friend, remained committed to crime fiction and was one of the early chairmen of the CWA. He sounds to me like a fascinating man.

Both men had continental, Jewish heritage, and their fascination with Europe gives their story set in Hungary (which has a few wry observations about the treatment of Jews, as well as about the Nazis) an added tang. It's a very readable story which reunites the two BBC men, Julian Caird and Max Wycherley, who appeared in the authors' most famous novel, Death at Broadcasting House. I suspect there was an element of self-portrait in both characters.

The duo travel to Hungary for a well-earned holiday, only to find that they are staying in a hotel where an international police conference is taking place, and their old acquaintance Spears is attending. So, in an amusing if minor diversion that doesn't entirely enhance the credibility of the story, are all the top detectives of fiction, including Wimsey, Poirot, Father Brown, and Mr Fortune. I was also entertained by discussion about the famous murderous m.o. in Dorothy L. Sayers' Unnatural Death.

We learn that Caird, like Wimsey (and Gideon Fell, Nicholas Slade, and Carolus Deene) is a Balliol men, and he encounters someone he knew at college who has now transformed himself into an opera singer, the tenor Arturo Cecil. Cecil is besotted, for reasons I found hard to fathom, with a truly awful diva called Beatrice Rocca, whose rascally husband is pursuing an affair with an equally unlovable Hungarian singer. Meanwhile, Caird falls for a young American woman who wants to become a detective.

Needless to say, murder follows. The essential plot of the story didn't greatly appeal to me, but overall that didn't really matter. The tourist stuff does involve quite a lot of padding, but Gielgud and Maschwitz have such fun with the material that I found myself carried along quite merrily.

Peter Lovesey R.I.P.

I was deeply saddened this morning to learn of the death earlier today of Peter Lovesey. I visited Peter at his home in Shrewsbury less than a fortnight ago - 27 March, to be precise - and he was extremely frail, but in remarkably good spirits. He was very much enjoying the company of his daughter and grand-daughter, who had come over from the United States to be with him. He and I both knew it would be our last time together and it was an extremely poignant and emotional occasion for me, as I believe it was for him. Even so, the news, when it came from his agent of so many years, Vanessa Holt, was naturally a great blow. Peter was not only a much-loved and brilliant author, but also one of the kindest and most generous people I've ever met. I first met him at a CWA conference, back in the late 80s, and we've been friends ever since. I owe him a great deal.

Peter was a towering figure in the British crime fiction landscape for more than half a century. He was one of a Fab Four of highly successful writers who were all born in 1936 and who all become good friends with each other. The other members of the group were Reginald Hill, Robert Barnard, and Peter Walker (creator of Heartbeat amongst other things). All great guys, and all people who - along with their wives - were very kind to me for very many years. Peter was the last survivor of this unforgettable quartet. His other close friends in the writing world included Michael Z. Lewin, Liza Cody, and Paula Gosling, with whom he did many events both in Britain and overseas. I remember going to watch them perform their show in Manchester - a fine ensemble, very entertaining, and in some respects a precursor of Murder Squad. 

I first came across Peter's name when I read his early Sergeant Cribb novels while still in my teens. The Cribb books were televised, with Alan Dobie in the title role, and Peter always paid tribute to the contribution that his wonderful wife Jax made to Cribb's success. She encouraged him to enter a competition for a debut crime novel, at a time when he was a full-time teacher, and the author of one book, The Kings of Infinite Distance, about athletics - which remained a great passion of his. Jax was, Peter told me, more of a crime fan in those days than Peter, but he took to fiction like a duck to water and Wobble to Death, Cribb's debut, won the prize and launched a career of remarkable achievement.

He changed periods to write one of my favourite crime novels, The False Inspector Dew, which enjoyed huge success, and then again to write three humorous mysteries about Bertie, the Prince of Wales. There were stand-alones, including On the Edge, which became a TV film, and eventually the long-running and hugely successful series set in modern Britain featuring Bath cop Peter Diamond. I've reviewed quite a few of these on this blog and, as I said recently, the final Diamond novel, Against the Grain, was a wonderful way to bring the series to a conclusion. His powers as a crime writer never diminished.

He loved writing short stories and he was a master of that particular craft; his stories won awards and one was televised in Tales of the Unexpected. Despite his success and many commitments, I always knew that if I approached Peter and asked if he had time to contribute a story to a book I was working on, he would oblige. Not only that, he would write an absolutely terrific story. And he did this time and again - amazing. His inventiveness was fantastic, and it never flagged. He also contributed great pieces to two of my non-fiction collections, Truly Criminal and Howdunit. Last month saw the publication of Playing Dead, which includes a very clever story by Peter paying tribute to Simon Brett, 'Just a Minute'. The summer will see republication of another of his stories in a CWA collection that I've edited of high-calibre stories from past CWA anthologies. Just a few weeks ago he wrote a marvellous story for me called 'Magic Moments', intended for an anthology I'm currently working which is in aid of autism charities in the US and UK. In our last conversation he told me how much he enjoyed not only writing the story but doing the initial research into Burt Bacharach's back catalogue, the breadth and quality of which had taken him aback!  

Peter won many awards, and was the only writer living in Britain to have been honoured with the CWA Diamond Dagger and as an MWA Grand Master. He was a very popular Chair of the CWA (and had several entertaining anecdotes to tell of his time in the chair) and was also a stalwart of the Detection Club. I had the great pleasure of compiling and editing an anthology of original stories by members of the Club in honour of Peter called Motives for Murder, for which the legendary Len Deighton wrote a foreword. I was able to present the book to Peter at a memorable dinner at the Dorchester when many of his friends and family were present. The book, incidentally, includes a terrific memoir by Peter himself about his life as a Detection Club member, while four of the stories were listed for the CWA Short Story Dagger, and Len Tyler's won the award. Peter had previously edited a Detection Club anthology, The Verdict of Us All, in honour of Harry Keating's 80th birthday.

I have many happy memories of time spent with Peter, far too many to recount right now, and I enjoyed interviewing him when he was a guest of honour at CrimeFest and joining him for a celebratory dinner. Ali Karim's video of the event can be found here. We also had a great time when he came to Gladstone'e Library for the weekend to take part in Alibis in the Archive (and gave a witty talk about the writing of James Corbett as well as discussing crime writing archives with Sheila Keating and me) and at many CWA and Detection Club events. I recall having lunch with him in Windermere, probably close to thirty years ago and listening to his very funny story about how Cubby Broccoli (famous for the James Bond films) regaled Peter with tales about potential film deals, none of which ever happened. Not forgetting time spent together at Malice Domestic (and the Library of Congress) about twenty years ago and conversations over coffee at the Dallas Bouchercon in 2019. Here are just a few photos from those occasions

From the start, he offered me great encouragement and support as a writer, giving a lovely endorsement for my fourth book, Yesterday's Papers - was it really more than thirty years ago? (Many years later, he also wrote an introduction for the ebook edition - still very much available!) And this continued to the end - only a few weeks ago he was recommending his fans to subscribe to my newsletter. One thing I did feel was that if people like Peter, Reg, and Bob appreciated my writing, then I must be getting something right, because although they were generous and loyal people, they were also men of integrity who would never flannel anyone. When I can, I try to bear their example in mind when I meet young writers who are new to the game and who deserve support, because it really was an outstanding example. 

Seventeen years ago, Peter was the person who proposed me for membership of the Detection Club, with Tim Heald as seconder. On the night of my initiation, at the Middle Temple Hall, it was a great thrill to listen to Peter reading the encomium. I'll never forget that night. That memory alone would be cause for lifelong gratitude. 

Just over two years ago, on 19 March 2023, I received an email from Peter breaking the news that he'd had a terminal diagnosis. It came as a great shock, not least because despite the passing years he always looked so fit and well. What he said was so characteristic that I must quote it: 'I find it difficult to handle sympathy, which is why I've kept my news to a small circle of friends. I know I'll be in your thoughts, but I'll feel sorry for myself if you tell me so. I'll be happiest if like George Smiley, you read the contents of this and act as if you hadn't received it. I've had 86 marvellous years and actually I'm still quite positive, eating well and getting about.'    

Despite the diagnosis, he did remarkably well, and by July he was up for a visit. We had a great day together in Shrewsbury, and he jumped into his car and took us all out for lunch. (The photos at the top and bottom of this post, as well as those of his library, were taken that day). He said the doctors were amazed by how well he was doing and that he was regarding it as 'a period of grace'. I spent a lot of time with him in his library, admiring his awards and book collection. I also admired (and envied) the way he was so organised. He could put his finger on any file - and there were lots of them - and know what was in it (this high level of efficiency, by the way, was reflected in the way he dealt with any writing commissions - very impressive, right to the very end.) He presented me with numerous books (including, on my final visit, his James Corbett collection and his lecture notes about that bizarre writer!) and also a lot of his literary correspondence. Again on that final visit, he suggested I use his stair lift to transport the books downstairs, a process that had us both in fits of laughter, despite the bittersweet nature of the occasion. He knew I'd want to do whatever I could to pick out and preserve key memories of his career, and that I certainly will do my best to justify the trust he placed in me. He has been inscribing his books to me for decades, and in recent years he has added to the novels a personal note about each of them - a real privilege. My collection of inscribed books is quite sizeable, but the Peter Lovesey collection is, believe me, a highlight. As for his letters, they are fascinating to read, but above all are a testament to his warmth and popularity. Everyone liked him. He is a great loss, above all to Jax and the rest of the family, including his son Phil (another extremely talented writer, by the way).

He kept writing, because he loved writing and I'm sure it contributed greatly to his contentment in recent times, as did his positive mind-set. We were in regular touch, but kept the focus on fun stuff rather than his state of health. Astonishingly, he even hoped to make it to CrimeFest this year. And then just over a fortnight ago I received an email from him inviting me back to Shrewsbury, saying 'make it soon'. So of course I went - and believe me, I'm very glad I did.

I shall miss Peter enormously and right now I feel a sense of sorrow. But I know that the right mind-set is to make a determined effort to focus on the wonderful legacy he has left - to all of us in the shape of so many fine novels and stories, and to me for all the memories of a man who meant such a great deal to me. Rest in peace, Peter. You were one of the best of the best.

   

Black Snow (series one) - TV review

My recent trip to New Zealand has fuelled my interest in things Antipodean, and although I've never been to Australia (one of these days, possibly) when I came across Black Snow, a six-part series set in Queensland, I decided to give it a go. And I'm glad I did, even though the show is a mixed bag, with flaws as well as strengths.

Let's start with the positives - and there are quite a few of them. This is a story about a cold case in a hot climate. The trigger for the action in the small town of Ashford is the opening of a time capsule that was sealed 25 years ago, at the time a 17 year old girl called Isabel was murdered, a crime that was never solved. Eerily, her voice has been recorded, saying: 'In 2019 I predict Ashford will still be full of predators disguised as friends.' It soon becomes obvious to cop James Cormack (Travis Fimmel) that someone local was responsible for the murder. 

The story follows a twin timeline. We see events in 1994 in the lead-up to the murder as Cormack, a decent man with (naturally) a number of personal demons, painstakingly tries to establish the truth. There are some absolutely beautiful scenes, not least of the sugar cane fields (the title refers to the ash from burning sugar cane). It's a very well-made series and I learned about the South Sea Islander community, about which I was previously ignorant.

The trouble with Black Snow is that, like so many contemporary TV shows, it's far too drawn-out for its own good. I lost count of the number of times Isabel's message was repeated; it became a blunt instrument. Even worse, from a relatively early point, it's pretty obvious who the murderer will turn out to be. This is because the scriptwriters are clearly writing with an agenda (and it's not a bad agenda at all) which necessitates a particular outcome. This might be ok in, say, a 90-minute show. In a six-hour series, it's a major weakness. Which is a pity, because Black Snow does have a lot going for it - other than pace. 

The new edition of The Golden Age of Murder - and Happy Blog News!

 

I'm truly delighted to have received an early copy of the new, 10th anniversary edition of The Golden Age of Murder. This edition is substantially expanded from the original. When I was kindly invited by HarperCollins to produce a second edition, the one condition I laid down was that it needed to offer real value for money even for those who already have the original edition. There is a great deal of new material - over 200 additional books and authors are mentioned - so I think we did manage to achieve this aim. Official publication date is 8 May and copies will be widely available (I hope!) in good bookshops; they can also be pre-ordered here.

I've also had some good news about this blog. Over the past weekend it passed 4.5 million pageviews. There has been a huge surge in numbers since December. Last month alone there were over 180,000 pageviews. I'm not exactly sure what has triggered this upsurge, but I'm quite happy!

And I've also been advised that the blog has just been ranked #9 in an international list of crime fiction blogs, (the Top 80 crime fiction blogs, listed here), which they assess in relation to 'relevance, authority, social media followers and freshness'. Gratifying! 

 

Forgotten Book - Bother at the Barbican

Judy Piatkus was a publisher with an eye for talent. I say that slightly with tongue in cheek, since she took me on when I was a new writer, but it's still true. Among others, she took on Judith Cutler and Kate Ellis at the start of their careers, and the Piatkus name is now a respected imprint of Little, Brown. My first novel, All the Lonely People, appeared in 1991 and in the very same year Judy published Guy Cullingford's final novel, Bother at the Barbican, although she did tell me a while back that she could not, after so many years, actually recall it.

I've mentioned my enthusiasm for Cullingford before. She (the name was a pseudonym for Constance Taylor) tried to do something different with every book. And here, she mines her own experience of life in a flat in the Barbican complex in London to interesting effect. Oddly enough, I have some knowledge of flat life in the Barbican since back in the late 70s, Michael Shanks, a lovely man whose daughter later became Mrs Edwards, and who had a flat in the Barbican, kindly let us stay there for a week while we explored London. Very memorable.

So what about the story? We begin in what you might call Celia Fremlin territory. Bertha Harris, recently widowed, leads a solitary life in her flat, but finds her niece and three nephews suddenly taking an interest in her. She suspects, quite rightly, that they have inheritance in mind. Her anxieties grow, and before long she wonders if one of them might be contemplating her murder.

This is a slow-burn novel. Cullingford was born in 1907 and this is a book about an old lady that is evidently written by an old lady. And yet, there's something insidiously seductive about the storyline. Eventually, I realised that this is the closest thing I've ever read to Francis Iles' story about a born victim, Before the Fact. Except that it's much more obscure - I've never even come across a review of the story. The ending is perhaps rather too peremptory, especially considering the very steady pace of the build-up, but this is an interesting and unusual story which I enjoyed reading. Like so much of Cullingford's work, it deserves to be better knonw.