Forgotten Book - Of Unsound Mind

When Harry Carmichael's Of Unsound Mind was published in 1960, the blurb writer for Collins Crime Club didn't stint on the hype: 'This is an original novel of exceptional ingenuity. Seven human documents have been woven into one...It is a story that grips and never lets go, a story which displays Harry Carmichael's rare talent for mystery at its best.'

I found the story highly readable and entertaining. Insurance man Peter Piper comes across a sequence of apparently inexplicable suicides and enlists the help of his friend Quinn, a journalist, to make sense of the puzzles. I did figure out quite a lot of the plot early on, although this didn't detract from enjoyment, as the pace is lightning-fast from start to finish.

One reason I was able to make sense of the puzzle so quickly was that, in some key respects it resembles the central puzzle in a very good novel by John Bingham, NIght's Black Agent - but Bingham's book was published in 1961. Did Carmichael's central idea influence Bingham? It's possible, but it's also fair to emphasise that in other respects the books are totally different. And I enjoyed both of them.

Another thing that the two stories have in common is that the culprit is thinly characterised. I'd have liked a bit more about the murderer's character in both books, but this isn't a major complaint. Carmichael specialised in page-turners and although, when viewed in the cold light of day, his books often have flaws, they make such smooth reading that those weaknesses are easy to forgive and, sometimes, to overlook completely.

The Wasp - 2024 film review

The Wasp is a film with a script by Morgan Lloyd Malcolm, who adapted her own stage play. Those theatrical origins are fairly evident, given that there are only three significant characters (and one of those is only lightly sketched) and much of the action takes place in one location. But this is not something that detracted from my enjoyment of a movie that supplies a number of unexpected twists and turns.

Thirty years ago, Heather (Naomie Harris) and Carla (Natalie Dormer) were, for a short time, school friends. However, a shocking incident in which Carla killed a pigeon heralded the collapse of their relationship, with profound consequences. And then, Heather gets in touch with Carla, wanting to meet her urgently.

Since their schooldays, the pair have led contrasting lives. Heather is married to Simon (Dominic Allburn); they are wealthy but childless, and his behaviour is concerning. Heather is also bothered by the presence of a wasps' nest in their posh house. Carla is a mother of four who works on a till in a supermarket and is now pregnant again and very short of money. But Heather has a proposition for her that could change her life forever.

This is a dark film, well directed by the very talented Guillem Morales, and it benefits from a superb performance (in a challenging part) by Naomie Harris; Natalie Dormer is also very good. One slight weakness is that Simon is pretty much a cipher; I'm not sure I believed in him as a collector of obscure and rather unpleasant insects. Malcolm's real interest is in the shifting power dynamics of the relationship of the two women and she handles this very well. I like the way she avoids the obvious in the storyline, and the film is consistently watchable. 

AI, eh?

Artificial intelligence has the potential to change our world for the better in any number of ways. It's here to stay, it can't be uninvented, and governments should make the most of it for the good of their people. That's a point I've made several times recently when asked about it at events (and the fact the question keeps cropping up shows how important it is). But as I've also said, it would be folly to overlook the dangers that AI brings with it. And in particular, it would be crazy to allow the use of AI to damage creativity.

Yet that is what is happening, in all sorts of ways, and in this country as in others. No wonder everyone from Paul McCartney and Elton John to Richard Osman and Val McDermid have spoken very publicly about the threats. None of these famous creative people is a Luddite - far from it - but they recognise the threats, and I'm delighted they (and many others) have spoken up, especially given the UK government's approach to forthcoming legislation - see what the Society of Authors and their members say about it.

Let me give a couple of examples from my own experience of the misuse of AI. Like many authors, my email inbox and various social media platforms are now inundated each day with AI-generated garbage. I get tons of it, mainly because I've written and edited and introduced so many books. A typical example is an email pretending to come from someone who runs a 'book group' and telling me that my book is the best thing since sliced bread. It's a prelude to making dishonest money out of anyone naive enough to be tempted to respond. 

Offers of positive reviews on GoodReads and Amazon are also commonplace. I received one as I was typing this post. Authors are only human and we all want and need good reviews, so I'm sure some people succumb. So if you see deeply obscure books with zillions of five star reviews, it's worth asking yourself whether all those reviews and rankings are genuine (they may be, of course, in some cases). Incidentally, good writers often get more than their share of mysterious one star rankings, no doubt many of them from dodgy sources. So online rankings, especially when anonymous, need to be treated with caution and some scepticism.

Sometimes the message is almost plausible, sometimes it's laughably stupid ('Hi Edgar Wallace', I was greeted in one email, simply because I once wrote an introduction for a Wallace book, of which the email said: "your ability to turn stage drama into gripping narrative fiction while keeping that eerie, suspenseful atmosphere is something rare and powerful. The fact that it launched Collins’ Detective Story Club in 1929 already cements its place as a cornerstone of crime literature. But here’s the challenge: even with its rich legacy and gripping plot, it doesn’t yet have the volume of reader voices that match its importance".). And sometimes it's just horrible. While I was preparing this post, one writer friend of mine posted about a vile blackmailing message she'd received from these criminals, making all kinds of threats. 

I delete all this stuff permanently, but I worry for inexperienced and therefore often vulnerable writers who may not be as cynical about gushing flattery as I am. A common variation on this theme is an approach purporting to be from a famous author, expressing interest in my books. One week, I got no fewer than four emails from James Patterson! It is absurd, but one has to remember always that there are devious and ruthless scammers behind all this rubbish. 

The second point relates to this blog. Pageviews have been rising for a long time, but they have gone through the roof lately. Last month there were over 700,000 pageviews and I suspect that many of these involve AI piracy of posts that I've written. This kind of theft is commonplace. I make the point on the front page of the blog that use of it for AI purposes is not permitted, but this is no doubt ignored. I like to think that in the fullness of time, class actions will mean that litigation destroys at least some of the pirates and that the Anthropic settlement proves to be the first of many. Meanwhile, I am thinking about ways I might be able to protect myself and genuine readers. One option is for an increasing amount of content to appear in my newsletter instead of here, and I'd welcome your thoughts.

As Val McDermid said of AI piracy, 'I am a crime writer. I understand theft'. Me too. And I'd encourage all readers of this blog - the real readers, the ones I treasure - to hold governments throughout the world to account for any failure to do the right thing about the misuse of AI, misuse that can only devastate the creative world. 

 

Forgotten Book - This is the House

I've mentioned the crime fiction of Shelley Smith (the pen-name of Nancy Bodington) admiringly on this blog quite a few times over the years. Yet for some reason I've never got round to reading her third book, which dates from 1945 - even though I must have owned a copy for twenty years or more. This is the House was the first of her novels to be published in the Collins Crime Club, following two which appeared under a less prestigious imprint. The publishers describe her here as an author of 'outstanding merit', and I agree.

This is the House is an ambitious detective novel, full of interesting ingredients, especially by the standards of its time. Yet one has to bear in mind that it is, to an extent, an apprentice work, and I'd be the first to admit that it has several flaws. It has, however, earned rapturous reviews from such good judges as John Norris as well prompting a rather mixed reaction from Kate Jackson and Steve Barge

The title comes from the nursery rhyme 'The House that Jack Built', a rhyme which supplied a title for a very different detective novel, much later, by Eileen Dewhurst. However, I wasn't convinced that the use of the rhyme was much more than a gimmick. There's also a 'sort of' locked room mystery - the second murder in the book - which had a rather unsatisfactory explanation.

There's a pleasing amateur detective, Quentin Seal, who happens to write detective novels, and above all an unusual if fictitious setting in Apostle Island, most southerly of the Windward Islands. The local colour is well done, although now it's extremely dated. One of the characters has a pet gibbon and there's a Ukrainian refugee in the cast of characters. A mixed bag in more ways than one. But Shelley Smith would continue to develop her crime writing skills over the next decade, to considerable effect.

Camels, Cricket, Ian Fleming - and a new series about Q - guest post by Vaseem Khan

Crime writers are a diverse bunch, but over the years I've noticed that friends of mine who enjoy enduring success tend to be not only highly intelligent but also very hard-working. To name but a few, the list includes Ann Cleeves, Ian Rankin, Andrew Taylor, and the late Peter Lovesey and Peter Robinson. And also Vaseem Khan, whose latest novel will, I'm sure, rocket up the bestseller lists. I'm looking forward to reading it soon. Vas is always good company and someone with lots of interesting ideas. It was great to spend time with him in the Isle of Wight recently (below) and here's a guest post from him:

'I first became friends with Martin Edwards on the back of a camel.

A decade ago, we were both invited to speak at the Emirates Literary Festival in Dubai where the organisers took us out into the desert and mounted us atop camels for a photoshoot. I was newly published back then, while Martin was already eminent as the Chair of the UK Crime Writers’ Association (CWA). We became friends, discovering a mutual like of historical mystery fiction and cricket.

Wind the clock forward and, having followed in Martin’s footsteps and completed a stint as Chair of the CWA, we both find ourselves as stalwarts of the genre. The focus of this guest blog – which Martin has been kind enough to allow me to pen – is to entice you with the publication of my latest book, the first in a traditional mystery series featuring Q from the Bond franchise, whilst taking a whistle-stop detour through the annals of espionage fiction.

In Quantum of Menace, Q – aka Major Boothroyd – finds himself unceremoniously booted out of MI6. A man at sea, he decides to return to his small hometown – the fictional Wickstone-on-Water – to reinvestigate the mysterious death of his childhood friend, a quantum computer scientist.

Quantum of Menace is not a spy novel, though Q’s past remains a lurking presence. This is a book about a man who has lost his bearings, contemplating a lonely future where he has become superfluous to requirements. It’s also a book about what modern Britain stands for and what fighting the good fight now means. Q has fought that fight for more years than he cares to remember. Now he must call upon his intellect to solve a more local crime.

Whilst writing the book, I reflected on the history of spy fiction, ever since James Fenimore Cooper’s The Spy, published in 1821, (arguably) kickstarted the phenomenon. In the late 1800s, several Sherlock Holmes novels involved espionage-heavy plots, giving the genre a shot in the arm. In 1907, Joseph Conrad, of Heart of Darkness fame, penned The Secret Agent, an anarchist spy story heavily cited after the September 11 attacks in New York due to its terrorist theme. John Buchan’s The Thirty-nine Steps (1915) remains an enduring classic.

Spy fiction flowered during, between, and after the world wars. A standout offering: Eric Ambler who introduced gritty realism to his spy fiction, especially in Epitaph for a Spy (1938). The post-war period saw a battle between two giants: Fleming and John Le Carré. Fleming’s Bond was charismatic, ruthless, and more of an assassin than a spy. In the films, he behaves a tad eccentrically for a secret agent, routinely announcing his presence to those hellbent on rooting him out. In contrast, Le Carré’s characters were grounded, subtler in their assessments of self and others, and often struggling with the ethical dilemmas of their actions.

Quantum of Menace combines what we love about the Bond canon – for instance, the prickly relationship between Bond and Q – whilst bringing in everything a sophisticated traditional mystery audience has come to expect i.e. dry wit, quirky personas and an emphasis on the puzzle rather than, say, rocket launchers fired from the tops of speeding trains. We also, at long last, get to see the man behind the myth. The tone of the novel lies somewhere between Mick Herron’s Slow Horses and Richard Osman’s The Thursday Murder Club. There's real insight into Q's life at - and post - MI6, his messy past, and, yes, Commander Bond puts in an appearance. How could he not!

I would be delighted if you gave the book a go. In the meantime, Martin and I will ponder the future of the genre and England’s chances in this year’s cricket Ashes tour down in Australia…' 

 

 

Fedora - 1978 film review

I don't find it easy to make up my mind about Fedora, the 1978 film that was a late entry in the illustrious career of director Billy Wilder, whose earlier triumphs included Double Indemnity, Some Like it Hot, The Apartment, and - most relevantly to Fedora - Sunset Boulevard, a film about a reclusive actress which stars William Holden. And guess what? Fedora stars William Holden as 'Dutch' Detweiler, who is on the trail of Fedora, a reclusive actress with whom he once had a brief fling.

Fedora displays Wilder's trademark cynicism, and as in Sunset Boulevard, a great deal of that cynicism is aimed at the film business. It's not in the same league, though. Apparently, Wilder wanted Marlene Dietrich to play Fedora and Faye Dunaway to play her daughter. Had he got his way, they might have delivered performances more memorable than those of Hildegarde Knef and Marthe Keller, who are both perfectly competent but not really compelling enough to bring complete conviction to a storyline that really does require disbelief to be suspended.

And yet, there is plenty to enjoy in this film if one's expectations are not too high, and it begins well. I don't want to give away the plot twists, but suffice to say that after the initial, tantalising air of mystery - what is going on at Fedora's hideaway? - dissipates, the story loses its way to some extent, because it's highly melodramatic and far from convincing. And bringing Michael York - playing himself - into the plot really didn't work for me.

So overall, Fedora doesn't come close to matching Wilder's greatest achievements.But if you can forget that it's a Wilder film and just look on it as straightforward, and not too serious, entertainment, then you will probably find it a decent watch, as - on balance - I did.   

Death in the Dales 2025

 

I'm back home after my third weekend festival in successive weeks. This time it was up the M6 to Sedbergh to take part in Death in the Dales. Jean Briggs and her team did a great job with the first of these festivals last year and I was delighted to be invited back. The number of attendees was up (a reward for the success of 2024 and also a tribute to good marketing) and the atmosphere from start to finish was terrific.

Sedbergh is set in delightful countryside, and I did a bit of exploring as well as enjoying the festival. Sedbergh is also England's Book Town but it tends to fly somewhat under the radar, especially compared to somewhere like Hay-on-Wye (which is just over the border in Wales), so events like this will, I hope, given the town and the Book Town Trust a welcome fillip. Events got off to a good start on Friday night with a showing of that excellent film noir Scarlet Street, hosted by Matthew Booth. Pizza and wine made an excellent accompaniment.

On Saturday morning Mike Craven and I and our wives had breakfast together as Mike and I were in conversation as the first event of the day and needed to catch up; but we decided not to over-prepare! We have been on a panel together before, at Cockermouth some years ago, and again the conversation flowed very nicely. We talked about many things, not least Mike's The Final Vow and Miss Winter in the Library with a Knife - hence the photo at the top of this post. 

The other events of the festival were highly enjoyable. I was on a Golden Age panel with Dolores Gordon Smith, Matthew Booth, and Steve Barge, which was good fun, though it had felt a bit like And Then There Were None in the run-up, since no fewer than three of our friends and fellow panellists had to cancel their participation due to a variety of health-related misfortunes. The programme was very varied and the speakers consistently interesting: and that's the recipe for success. It was also great to see so many old friends again. I do hope the popularity of the weekend will prompt Jean and her colleagues to run the festival again. If they do (and I'm very optimistic!) please feel strongly recommended to attend. You won't regret it.

Forgotten Book - Dewey Death

Dewey Death, originally published in 1956, was the first crime novel of Charity Blackstock; this was one of several pen-names used by Ursula Torday (1912-97), others including Lee Blackstock and Charlotte Keppel. She was born in London, daughter of a Hungarian father and Scottish mother, and studied at Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford and the LSE. During a varied and prolific writing career, she had a crime novel nominated for an Edgar award, while one of her romances won the Romantic Novel of the Year award. At one point she worked as a typist in the National Central Library in London, and her experience there clearly informs Dewey Death.

This is a 'workplace mystery novel', as are Sayers' Murder Must Advertise and Forester's Plain Murder, which are set in advertising firms, where both those authors worked. As with those books, Dewey Death gains a great deal from the authenticity of the setting, even if the Inter-Libraries Despatch Association is a fictional creation. The protagonist, a typist called Barbara Smith who moonlights as a romantic novelist, was presumably, in part at least, a self-portrait. We gain insight into a very different time, before the advent of computers, which render obsolete much of the work done by the characters in the story. We also get a picture of very different social attitudes, and relationships between the sexes are portrayed in a way that would be unthinkable now.

This is a well-written book, with nice turns of phrase, and a genuine interest in character (even if I found it inexplicable that so many women swoon over the handsome and brave but often deeply unpleasant war hero Mark Allan). The first half of the story is especially strong, with tensions mounting between colleagues as one member of staff makes more enemies than is wise. When murder occurs, the investigation is conducted by two amiable, low-key cops, who seem smart enough but are by no means quick to unmask the killer.

And that is odd, because the mystery at the heart of the book isn't especially baffling. I get the impression that the author was more interested in her characters and the background than the plot, which is competent but not as striking as some other aspects of the novel. However, this was my first experience of Charity Blackstock's work, and it was a positive one. An interesting writer, for sure.

The Isle of Wight and elsewhere

 

The past week has been as hectic as it's been varied, and above all it's been great fun. A lunch in London with my editor Bethan and my agent James to celebrate Miss Winter in the Library with a Knife was very convivial and the discussion turned, excitingly for me, towards a variety of possible future projects. Having a supportive editor and agent really does make a difference to a writer. That afternoon Bethan took me around various bookshops to sign books and it was good to see Miss Winter taking her place alongside the big names - as in Hatchards, pictured above, and Goldsboro, where Bethan is beside the pile of books to be signed.

After a short pit stop in Cheshire, I was on my travels again, this time to the Isle of Wight Literary Festival. Along the way we stopped in Romsey, at a country inn beside the River Test (fictionalised as the Didder in Cyril Hare's Death is No Sportsman). There was a chance to visit Mottisfont Priory, a lovely country house that was converted from a religious institution during the Reformation. The last owner was Maud Russell, a fascinating woman who was a lover and mentor of Ian Fleming, and the National Trust were staging an exhibition devoted to the artwork of Fleming's Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

Next day it was off on the car ferry to Cowes, and a pleasant dinner in the opulent surroundings of the Royal Yacht Squadron, where I had the chance to chat with Angela Buckley, a very good writer of non-fiction in the crime genre, and meet Marc Thompson of Seabourn Cruises, with whom I travelled earlier this year. On Saturday I visited Lyndsey Greenslade, whom I've known for quite a long time and last met at the London Book Fair. Lyndsey sells detective fiction on eBay (as colliejack) and his list is always well worth studying. This was a chance to inspect his fantastic collection, including lots of jacketed first editions of Lorac and Carol Carnac, and much more beside. 

We had lunch together in Brighstone and then, after looking in at Ventnor, it was back to Cowes for a drinks reception in an art gallery. En route I called in at an Asda supermarket, and for the very first time in my entire writing career, I had the pleasure of seeing a hardback novel of mine for sale on the supermarket shelves. (It's also available at Sainsbury's).

On Sunday, following an enjoyable breakfast with Vaseem Khan, I was involved with two events at Northwood House, a terrific venue. Both were run, with quiet expertise, by Angela. One was an interview with me, the other a panel with Vaseem and Graham Bartlett, both of whom were excellent. It was also great to meet Mary Grand again. We first crossed paths the last time I was at the Isle of Wight Literary Festival, before she was a published novelist. Since then, she's gone from strength to strength, which has been wonderful to witness. 

On Monday it was time to leave the island and head for Salisbury, a city I've always loved, and catch up with family - but there was also time to look around the city centre and sign books in Waterstones. All in all, a terrific trip, and after the long drive back home on Tuesday I was able to reflect on many pleasant encounters - as well as to start planning the next journey - on Friday, as it happens, to Death in the Dales.

Death on the Nile - adapted for the stage by Ken Ludwig - review

It's ages since I last went to the theatre. Not through lack of enthusiasm, but simply due to lack of time. However, some friends proposed a trip to see the new version of Agatha Christie's Death on the Nile, as adapted by Ken Ludwig, at the Lowry in Manchester. I've visited the Lowry several times over the years (most recently to mooch around the exhibition the day after recording the final of Christmas University Challenge at nearby Media City) but the only other time I've been to a performance there was to see Dionne Warwick in concert, ages ago.

The whole experience was a novelty, because we dined in the restaurant at the Lowry before the first act and ate our desserts during the interval. The latter was a bit rushed, but overall it was most enjoyable and the cuisine was excellent. A good start to the evening!

Now to the show itself. Ken Ludwig is an American playwright who has achieved huge commercial success over the years, although I've not seen his work previously. Nor, indeed, have I seen Agatha's own stage version of the story, known as Murder on the Nile, though the book is of course an old favourite. The set was excellent and imaginative, a real highlight of the show for me.

The script was radically different from the novel. Only one murder and some significant changes to the cast of characters. I thought that overall, the dialogue and structure were perfectly serviceable, although not outstanding. The acting was mixed. I'm afraid the actor who played Hercule Poirot had a nightmarish time, forgetting his lines and jumbling some of them up; the stress caused his accent to falter, too. I felt sorry for him and he had to be helped out at one point by the actor playing Colonel Race. A pity, because Poirot is such a central figure in the story. All the same, it was a fun evening out.