Is there any Golden Age novelist whose work is as fascinating and yet as frustrating as C. Daly King's? If so, I've yet to find him or her. My Forgotten Book for today is Arrogant Alibi, first published in 1939, and it's a case in point. Nowadays it's incredibly scarce. It took me years to track it down, and when eventually I got hold of a poor copy, I fell on it with delight.
And there are some superb elements in the story. A terrible flood in the vicinity of the crime scene lends atmosphere, while Eygptology and a mysterious mummy and other ancient artefacts play a part in the story. There's lot of complex plot material concerning alibis and the apparent impossibility of certain events. There's a neat double twist ending. Michael Lord, the cop who stars in King's books, and his pal Dr L. Rees Pons are on the scene as well. What's not to like?
The famous critics and Golden Age fans Barzun and Taylor really liked this book Since they could be very harsh judges, that's quite something. But I'm afraid I didn't get on with Arrogant Alibi. It's one thing to have all the right ingredients for a whodunit, quite another to make best use of them. And I'm afraid I felt that this is the sort of book that justifies people who don't like Golden Age novels in saying that they are boring. King spends pages, for instance, on explaining a telephone system that is connected to the storyline. I'm afraid this went so far beyond pleasingly authentic detail as to cause me to lose the will to live. And the characters didn't come to life at all as far as I was concerned. I wasn't expecting Sophie Hannah or Nicci French, but this wasn't even Freeman Wills Crofts.
Because my hopes had been high, I ended the book feeling disappointed, but not surprised that Arrogant Alibi hasn't been reprinted, as far as I know, in the intervening years. Yet this experience simply reinforces my curiosity about King, and the way he could veer from excellence, for instance in Obelists Fly High and The Curious Mr Tarrant, to tedium (and Obelists En Route shows both his best and his worst sides.) Dorothy L. Sayers admired some of his work, and so do I. And if you are lucky enough to find a first edition of this book in a fine dust jacket, it will no doubt be a good investment, even if not the best whodunit you'll ever read!
Showing posts with label Jacques Barzun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jacques Barzun. Show all posts
Friday, 27 December 2013
Tuesday, 2 July 2013
Alarum and Excursion by Virginia Perdue - review
Every now and then, a publisher brings out a series of classic crime novels of the past. I can think of a few series of this kind that, much to my regret, did not last very long. But one of the longest and best series was the "Fifty Classics of Crime Fiction 1900-1950", edited by two Americans with a great knowledge of and love for the genre, Jacques Barzun and Wendell Hertig Taylor.
I have read only about twenty of the fifty books they chose. Naturally, I've loved some of the books, and wondered about one or two why Barzun and Taylor rated them so highly. These things are to some extent a matter of personal taste. But their choices, if sometimes idiosyncratic, were always interesting. An example is Alarum and Excursion, by Virginia Perdue, her last book, first published in 1944.
I was prompted to read this one by an enthusiastic review by John Norris of Pretty Sinister Books. John, like Puzzle Doctor and Curt Evans among other enthusiasts for the classic mystery, is a blogger whose judgments about a book always command respect. This is a case of a book which I didn't love as much as John did, but I can see why he, along with Barzun and Taylor, admired it.
It's an amnesia story. The hero is a wealthy businessman in his sixties who has come across a formula for a fuel that could affect the course of the war, and much else besides. When he comes round, he slowly pieces together what has been going on in his life. As ever, the question is: who can he trust? Now, I am not a great fan of stories about secret formulae, and amnesia cases are also a bit of a cliche of the genre. But Perdue does a good job of creating an unusual story-line and I agree with John and others that the finale is excellent.
This book is good but not, in my view, an absolute classic - it reads a bit like a novel by Helen McCloy, but does not have quite the same power. All the same, it's an entertaining read, and I'm glad I gave it a go. As for Perdue herself, I know little. Even Barzun and Taylor don't rate her other books. Perhaps she died just as she was getting into her stride as a novelist, which is a sad thought.
I have read only about twenty of the fifty books they chose. Naturally, I've loved some of the books, and wondered about one or two why Barzun and Taylor rated them so highly. These things are to some extent a matter of personal taste. But their choices, if sometimes idiosyncratic, were always interesting. An example is Alarum and Excursion, by Virginia Perdue, her last book, first published in 1944.
I was prompted to read this one by an enthusiastic review by John Norris of Pretty Sinister Books. John, like Puzzle Doctor and Curt Evans among other enthusiasts for the classic mystery, is a blogger whose judgments about a book always command respect. This is a case of a book which I didn't love as much as John did, but I can see why he, along with Barzun and Taylor, admired it.
It's an amnesia story. The hero is a wealthy businessman in his sixties who has come across a formula for a fuel that could affect the course of the war, and much else besides. When he comes round, he slowly pieces together what has been going on in his life. As ever, the question is: who can he trust? Now, I am not a great fan of stories about secret formulae, and amnesia cases are also a bit of a cliche of the genre. But Perdue does a good job of creating an unusual story-line and I agree with John and others that the finale is excellent.
This book is good but not, in my view, an absolute classic - it reads a bit like a novel by Helen McCloy, but does not have quite the same power. All the same, it's an entertaining read, and I'm glad I gave it a go. As for Perdue herself, I know little. Even Barzun and Taylor don't rate her other books. Perhaps she died just as she was getting into her stride as a novelist, which is a sad thought.
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
Broadchurch and the lure of whodunit
Broadchurch had its seventh and penultimate episode, and the question of who killed Danny continues to spark a great deal of debate. I've really enjoyed this series, which has provided a terrific reminder of the appeal - I'm tempted to say, the eternal appeal - of a really good whodunit. I was impressed by the first episode, but I've been even more impressed by the way the momentum has been maintained.
Most of us like to try solving a puzzle. I'm struck by the fact that my murder mystery events, which are interactive, almost always attract much larger audiences than conventional talks, and I'm also struck by the fact that people who come along tell me that the fun of trying to solve the mystery is at least as enjoyable as actually getting it right. That's a view I share. When I was reading Agatha Christie for the first time, I enjoyed the books where she fooled me even more than those where she didn't. As long as the fooling was 'fair'.
But the best detective stories offer added value along with the puzzle, in my opinion, which is where I part company with strict traditionalists like the late great Jacques Barzun. And this explains why Broadchurch scores so highly. The acting and the production values are excellent, but there is also a convincing portrait of a community torn by grief but also contaminated by suspicion. Yes, there are some implausibilities, but show me the whodunit where that isn't the case. There aren't many that are 100% credible; it's almost unavoidable, to rely on coincidence and unlikely developments, given the nature of the form. (Though I think it would be possible to write a whodunit that was totally credible in all respects. I'd be interested in any opinions about books already published which fit that description.)
There seems to be quite a widespread and growing consensus on the internet about the surprise twist regarding the identity of the killer. I'm not sure I go along with it, but I'll be fascinated to find the answer, and like everyone else, I hope it lives up to the expectations generated by this excellent series.
Most of us like to try solving a puzzle. I'm struck by the fact that my murder mystery events, which are interactive, almost always attract much larger audiences than conventional talks, and I'm also struck by the fact that people who come along tell me that the fun of trying to solve the mystery is at least as enjoyable as actually getting it right. That's a view I share. When I was reading Agatha Christie for the first time, I enjoyed the books where she fooled me even more than those where she didn't. As long as the fooling was 'fair'.
But the best detective stories offer added value along with the puzzle, in my opinion, which is where I part company with strict traditionalists like the late great Jacques Barzun. And this explains why Broadchurch scores so highly. The acting and the production values are excellent, but there is also a convincing portrait of a community torn by grief but also contaminated by suspicion. Yes, there are some implausibilities, but show me the whodunit where that isn't the case. There aren't many that are 100% credible; it's almost unavoidable, to rely on coincidence and unlikely developments, given the nature of the form. (Though I think it would be possible to write a whodunit that was totally credible in all respects. I'd be interested in any opinions about books already published which fit that description.)
There seems to be quite a widespread and growing consensus on the internet about the surprise twist regarding the identity of the killer. I'm not sure I go along with it, but I'll be fascinated to find the answer, and like everyone else, I hope it lives up to the expectations generated by this excellent series.
Sunday, 28 October 2012
Jacques Barzun R.I.P.
There's an excellent tribute on Curt Evans' blog to Jacques Barzun, who has died at the ripe old age of 104. Curt says most of the things I'd like to mention about Barzun,a crtic of whom I first became aware through reading Julian Symons' Bloody Murder. Symons disagreed with Barzun about many aspects of crime fiction, but I'm certain both men had a great deal of respect for each other.
A Catalogue of Crime is a fascinating reference work, and long ago I invested in both editions. Barzun and his collaborator Taylor comment on many books that were otherwise ignored in reference works about detective fiction, and I suspect they would be delighted to know that "forgotten books" of the type they enjoyed are finally emerging from obscurity thanks to digital publishing and internet commentaries. It is, mind you, an idiosyncratic text, and like all reference books it contains the occasional howler (such as locating Knutsford in Ireland). But it's a terrific book to dip into, and one I strongly recommend.
One does not have to agree with all (or even most) of what Barzun wrote about the genre to recognise the value and importance of his contribution to crime fiction criticism. His love of classic detective fiction became unfashionable, but - even though I'm more in the Symons camp in many ways - I think that the best of the books that he lauded will endure for as long as crime fiction is read, and his acute assessments of many of those books will remain indispensable not only for confirmed Golden Age fans but also for others who come to recognise the merits of the classic mystery, as well as its potential limitations - a group that is, I sense, growing quite rapidly, something of which Barzun would surely have approved.
A Catalogue of Crime is a fascinating reference work, and long ago I invested in both editions. Barzun and his collaborator Taylor comment on many books that were otherwise ignored in reference works about detective fiction, and I suspect they would be delighted to know that "forgotten books" of the type they enjoyed are finally emerging from obscurity thanks to digital publishing and internet commentaries. It is, mind you, an idiosyncratic text, and like all reference books it contains the occasional howler (such as locating Knutsford in Ireland). But it's a terrific book to dip into, and one I strongly recommend.
One does not have to agree with all (or even most) of what Barzun wrote about the genre to recognise the value and importance of his contribution to crime fiction criticism. His love of classic detective fiction became unfashionable, but - even though I'm more in the Symons camp in many ways - I think that the best of the books that he lauded will endure for as long as crime fiction is read, and his acute assessments of many of those books will remain indispensable not only for confirmed Golden Age fans but also for others who come to recognise the merits of the classic mystery, as well as its potential limitations - a group that is, I sense, growing quite rapidly, something of which Barzun would surely have approved.
Friday, 17 February 2012
Forgotten Book: A Collection of Reviews
Something a bit different for today's Forgotten Book. Today others are focusing on Donald Westlake, but as it's a long time since I read one of his books (the wonderful novel on which that great movie Point Blank was based) I've opted for a book by another American, who was at least as talented as Westlake. It's a slim volume by an author who, long after his death, remains well known and well regarded. But this particular book is itself unfamiliar to most, being produced (I think exclusively, but I stand to be corrected on this) as a signed limited edition. It's A Collection of Reviews by Ross Macdonald.
Macdonald was one of the finest of all writers of private eye novels. I've enjoyed several of them, though I don't count myself as an expert. My favourite of those I've read is The Zebra-Striped Hearse, which is very good. On the whole, I think his wife, the brilliant Margaret Millar, was a superior writer, and her books were certainly more varies. But Macdonald was still very good.
This collection covers a wide range of subjects, starting with A.E. Murch's history of the genre, which includes "a youthful likeness of the lady I love" - nicely put! He is rather more cutting about Barzun and Taylor's A Catalogue of Crime, a massive tome which I really like - but with countless reservations. Macdonald doesn't like it all, and much of his criticism is understandable, even to someone who sees many more positives in a book which does, at least, comment on countless books that would otherwise go unnoticed.
Macdonald is most comfortable writing about someone with whose work he is in sympathy, like James M. Cain, whose work he analyses splendidly. As he says, in Double Indemnity, Cain shows he knows how to "dispense with everything inessential". It is quite a skill, that's for sure. Overall, despite its brevity, this book is a thoughtful and interesting read, and you can tell that Macdonald must have been a thoughtful and very interesting man.
Macdonald was one of the finest of all writers of private eye novels. I've enjoyed several of them, though I don't count myself as an expert. My favourite of those I've read is The Zebra-Striped Hearse, which is very good. On the whole, I think his wife, the brilliant Margaret Millar, was a superior writer, and her books were certainly more varies. But Macdonald was still very good.
This collection covers a wide range of subjects, starting with A.E. Murch's history of the genre, which includes "a youthful likeness of the lady I love" - nicely put! He is rather more cutting about Barzun and Taylor's A Catalogue of Crime, a massive tome which I really like - but with countless reservations. Macdonald doesn't like it all, and much of his criticism is understandable, even to someone who sees many more positives in a book which does, at least, comment on countless books that would otherwise go unnoticed.
Macdonald is most comfortable writing about someone with whose work he is in sympathy, like James M. Cain, whose work he analyses splendidly. As he says, in Double Indemnity, Cain shows he knows how to "dispense with everything inessential". It is quite a skill, that's for sure. Overall, despite its brevity, this book is a thoughtful and interesting read, and you can tell that Macdonald must have been a thoughtful and very interesting man.
Friday, 5 June 2009
Forgotten Book - A Catalogue of Crime
Patti Abbot’s series of Forgotten Books focuses this week on non-fiction. I’ve enjoyed collecting books about the genre for years, so I’m spoiled for choice, but I’ve opted for A Catalogue of Crime by Jacques Barzun and Wendell Hertig Taylor. This monumental volume first appeared in 1971, and a revised and enlarged edition came out in 1989. not long after Taylor’s death. Barzun is now aged 102 – a remarkable man, by all accounts, and someone with whom I’d have loved to converse.
And A Catalogue of Crime is, beyond doubt, a remarkable book. It’s described as ‘A reader’s guide to the literature of mystery, detection and related genres’ and the second edition is nearly 1000 pages long. There are several sections, but the meat of the book is in the massive collection of brief summaries of thousands of crime novels, many but not all dating from the Golden Age. There is also a vast amount of information about short stories, both singly and in collections and books about the genre, as well as material about true crime and Holmesiana. The whole book is a gathering of the fruits of two lifetimes of avid reading, and this accounts for the rather random nature of the choices.
Barzun and Taylor are fans of the classic puzzle, and tend to be dismissive of ‘psychological suspense’. Many of their judgments are controversial, and some of them seem to me to be perverse. But never mind. Their opinions are intelligent and usually well-reasoned, and even when they are infuriating, they command attention. And there is a wealth of information here that is indispensable for trivia lovers. Of course there are mistakes in a book of this size and range. How on earth could they believe that Knutsford, town of my birth and model for Elizabeth Gaskell’s Cranford is located in Ireland? Such glitches shake one’s faith – but they certainly should not destroy it, for this is a marvellous book, and a labour of love that, for all its failings, deserves to be cherished by anyone who is fascinated by the history of the mystery.
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