Anthony, Ambler, and Words in the Square

A quick trip to London for two contrasting events began brilliantly, when I received an email telling me that The Golden Age of Murder has been shortlisted for an Anthony award, at the New Orleans Bouchercon this September. The shortlist includes, as well as Kate White's popular MWA cookbook, and two other highly informative and interesting books, Val McDermid's book on Forensics, which I rushed out to purchase shortly after its original publication.

So The Golden Age of Murder has won two awards and been shortlisted for two others; three of my novels have, over the years, been shortlisted for major awards (one of which, the Theakston's award for best crime novel of the year, for which The Coffin Trail was a contender, was actually won by Val) but I've never had an experience like this. It's a once in a lifetime thing, and to say I'm delighted is a massive under-statement.

On Friday evening, I was one of no fewer than eight speakers at the British Library, talking about Eric Ambler. Three of Ambler's post-war novels have just been reissued in the BL's Classic Thrillers series, and I wrote introductions for each of them. I'm an Ambler fan - my favourite is his masterpiece, The Mask of Dimitrios - and it was a pleasure to chat about his work. I particularly liked Stav Sherez' suggestion that Ambler's work has something in common with that of the noir writers. A thoughtful and persuasive observation, I think.

The next day, I headed for St James's Square (pictured above) for the London Library's celebration of its 175th anniversary, Words in the Square. There was a glittering cast of speakers, so I felt honoured to be included among the invitees. Last year, Golden Age expert and commentator Helen Szamuely took me on a guided tour of the Library, and I thought it a fantastic place, full of atmosphere and history.

The panellists whom I was moderating were James Runcie (son of the Archbishop, literary curator, documentary producer and author of the books on which the highly successful TV series Grantchester is based), Simon Brett, and Kate Summerscale, author of The Suspicions of Mr Whicher, one of the most successful books about real life crime in living memory. Simon told the story of the creation of The Sinking Admiral, which is due to be published next month - something that I hope all crime fans who like a bit of fun with their fiction will anticipate eagerly. With writers of such pedigree, moderating is an easy task, and the hour sped by. The audience seemed to enjoy it, and I certainly did.

The Third Man

Watching Carol Reed’s superb 1949 film The Third Man again, not long after reading Eric Ambler’s novel of ten years earlier, The Mask of  Dimitrios, I was struck by the similarities between the novel and Graham Greene’s screenplay. Both feature an apparently dead villain whose story is sought after by a rather naive popular novelist, and the two story-lines develop (despite many differences) in a broadly comparable way.

There can be little doubting Ambler’s influence on Greene, yet The Third Man remains a distinctive and enjoyable piece of work, and it is, I think, a very good example of how one story-teller can properly borrow from another, and yet still make his work very much his own. 

The setting in post-war Vienna is highly atmospheric, and of course the famous sewer sequence, as well as the scenes shot near to the Wiener Reisenrad, which long pre-dates The Millennium Wheel, are intensely memorable. The cinematography is complemented by Anton Karas’ zither music, and “The Harry Lime Theme” became an international hit.

Greene’s narrative has plenty of pleasing twists and turns, as well as a downbeat ending, and he and director Carol Reed are extremely well served by the cast. This includes those British stalwarts Trevor Howard, Bernard Lee and Wilfred Hyde-White, as well as Joseph Cotten and, best of all, Orson Welles. It is, at heart, a story about friendship and betrayal, and is a first rate example of how a tale that is very much of its time can nevertheless stand the test of time.

Forgotten Book: The Mask of Dimitrios

It seems odd to class Eric Ambler’s The Mask of Dimitrios as a Forgotten Book. It is widely acknowledged as one of the great espionage thrillers of the 20th century, and it was the basis for a film (which I haven’t seen) as well as influencing writers of a subsequent generation such as John Le Carre. Yet I’ve not seen much discussion of it in recent years.

I read it in youth, because Michael Gilbert, a super judge, said it was a masterpiece, but when I was 13 or 14, the subtleties of the story eluded me. I appreciated it much more on a recent re-reading while on holiday. And I loved Amber’s device of taking a writer of Golden Age fiction, Charles Latimer, and making him come face to face with real villainy.

Latimer’s quest for the mysterious Dimitrios is a strange one. He’s become fascinated with the man after being shown his dead body in a morgue in Istanbul. He wants to find out what made him tick, and Ambler tells much of the story in flashback. Yet somehow he maintains pace and suspense throughout – a remarkable feat of writing. All the more remarkable because he produced this book when he was just 30.

I think it’s fair to say that there is a widespread consensus that, despite his later successes, Ambler never wrote a more powerful or more atmospheric book. (Though I haven’t read many of the later books, and two did win CWA Gold Daggers.) He lived another 60 years, and the left wing views that gave this book such energy faded as he became disillusioned first with Russia and then with the domestic politics. In due course, he became a tax exile in Switzerland, along with his second wife, who co-wrote the screenplay for Rebecca. But he deserves not just to be remembered, but to be celebrated, as a master of his craft. If you haven’t read The Mask of Dimitrios, you have a treat in store.