The cursed era of the Big Nasty continues, and the Quirky Muffin has suffered while I descend into mild depressions and strange moods. There has been some reading, but not a lot, and so it's time for another Literary Reflection, a non-comprehensive summary of some of the books that have passed through the stacks.
Let the odd ramblings commence!
'Police At The Funeral' (Campion) (1931) by Margery Allingham
The British tradition of filling stories with eccentrics, oddballs and noble matriarchs is in full evidence in 'Police At The Funeral', wherein Campion is asked to help out at a town house in Cambridge. The house in question is inhabited by an aged matriarch and her almost totally useless children, nephew and one useful great-niece. Well, perhaps that should be 'late nephew', as murders seem to be happening and no-one is clear on what is going on. Discreet help is needed, and no-one is more discreet than Albert Campion, called in by a friend of the family. The question is this: Can he stop the killings, and save Great Aunt Caroline from a hideous prodigal's return? 'Police At The Funeral' is not one of my favourites of the Campions I've read so far. That would be 'Sweet Danger', the following story, but this is solid. Ultimately, it's just too gloomy and the shadow of the television version hangs over it too much for this to be viewed independently. The beginning sequence in London is rather good, though. Is it a good book? Definitely yes, with a sordid undertone. (These notes written after far too long an interval.)
'Rumpole And The Golden Thread' (Rumpole) (1983) by John Mortimer
This set of six stories aligns with the fourth series of the vintage, classical and unparalleled television series also written by John Mortimer. Which came first, the episodes or the stories? I really have no idea, as it has all become unclear with time and may have varied, year by year. In this set, an eccentric artist seems determined to be convicted of forging, Rumpole is summoned to Africa to defend an opposition leader facing death, a couple are arrested for running a very very middle class brothel, Horace plots to get Miss Allways into Chambers, Allways' sister is accused of murder, and finally Rumpole resorts to extreme measures during a case before the Mad Bull. It's a nice collection of stories, but I'm so late in collecting these remarks (perhaps six months late) that it's not all entirely clear in my mind, especially having watched the television versions so recently. 'The Last Resort' does stir a memory, however, as it is the only prose version that I've read so far which includes a passage not written by Rumpole himself. I will not explain why that is so, but it does mark a high water mark in the set. I wonder what happened to Miss Allways, anyway? (These notes written after far too long an interval.)
'Sweet Danger' (Campion) (1933) by Margery Allingham
The Campion stories are adventures instead of mysteries, which is obvious to anyone who actually reads them or sees the television series. This entry, the fifth, both wonderful for its story but also for introducing the love of Albert's life, the sparky Amanda Fitton. As an early novel, it does have a television episode counterpart, which influences the reading, but it's jolly good by itself too. That said, it's impossible to not see Lysette Antony firing up the scene when Amanda is involved in the episode. In 'Sweet Danger', Albert and some companions set out to save a tiny European valley in the middle of nowhere, which is now valuable as it has acquired a coastline, and restore it to the ownership of a long forgotten British family. There are riddles, quests, a villainous financier, several brushes with danger, strange black magic motifs and more inside this book. Be warned! It is extremely readable! And absolutely wacky in the combinations of incongruous elements. A primitive electric car? Oh, oh, how much more interesting and less homogenous things might have been back in history... Maybe... Rose-tinted spectacles at the ready, everyone!
'The Stainless Steel Rat Gets Drafted' (Stainless Steel Rat) (1987) by Harry Harrison
When last we heard from Slippery Jim DiGriz, the titular Stainless Steel Rat, we had discovered his origin story and the fate of his mentor, the mysterious man known only as The Bishop. Now, in the wake of past events, Jim sets out to escape prison and exact revenge on the villain responsible for the Bishop's fate. In typical fashion, that involves Jim enlisting in a planetary army, becoming involved in an interplanetary invasion, subversion on a massive scale, the discovery of an ancient artificial intelligence, a wholly new social philosophy, and confusion at every turn in the narrative. This is definitely one of the messier Stainless Steel Rats, but it's good. Probably very good. Harry Harrison was a writer who had not problem pushing against his own genre, and I'm wondering when or if this series falls apart. This is the seventh instalment, published twenty-six years after the first. Where next? And will Harrison avoid the trap of trying to top himself every time now we're skipping around in DrGriz's timeline? Time will tell... (These notes written after far too long an interval.)
'An Antarctic Mystery (AKA The Sphinx Of The Ice Fields)' (1897) by Jules Verne
This is an odd one. Having been used to the famous Verne novels, it seemed like time to get a bit obscure and so we end up with 'An Antarctic Mystery', which is apparently a direct sequel to the Edgar Allen Poe story about some guy called Pym. Pym had a (it sounds rather gruesome and morbid) maritime adventure in the Antarctic Circle, which ended in disaster (Poe!), and Verne's story features a geologist hitching a ride home from a remote island with a ship whose captain's brother died during the Pym story. This ride ultimately converts into a trip to the as yet unreached speculated continent of Antarctica, in search of survivors from that trip many many years before. The chief weakness of this story is that it would be completely non-existent without the earlier work, is ultimately just pointless flotsam if, like myself, you are not a fan of Poe. However, there are good points. The gigantic lodestone at the South Pole is interesting, destroying vessels by extracting all the metal fasteners and equipment, and destroying whatever (or whoever) happens to be between those items and this 'antarctic sphinx'. Some of the geographical knowledge about the near Antarctic islands is quite good too. However, there are far too many coincidences, and mutinous crewmen have been so overdone as to cause torpor at this point. Overall, it was a very erratic experience.
O.
Sunday, 29 November 2020
Books: The Literary Reflection, XXIII
Book: 'Whose Body?' (Lord Peter Wimsey) (1923) by Dorothy L Sayers
The first Lord Peter Wimsey novel doesn't feel like the first. It feels like the second or third. That's a good thing. We don't get the exposition of the various characters' backgrounds, but learn by example. Lord Peter already knows his police partner Parker, Bunter is already his valet and confidante, and the mystery is the thing.
The first time I read through the Wimsey series I was both impressed and a little deterred by its core strength: Its sheer intellectual power. Sayers was a reasoning machine in her writing, and what flashes of emotion we get are brief and powerful. 'Whose Body?' is excellent and impressive while still being disposable in some strange way, but it was more appealing the second time through. The crime, a classic case of corpse switching, is one that takes a while to unravel in the reader's mind. In my case, I didn't work out until a short while after Wimsey did, despite having read the story before.
The curious nature of the Wimsey series is difficult to really articulate. In this book, you might perhaps be reading about people while looking through a stainless steel shield, held by a reverent knight intent on guarding their little universe. Or is that too fanciful? Perhaps it's all in my mind. The notion of post traumatic stress disorder was barely developed in the years following the Great War, but here we have a nobleman, an ex-officer of the battle line, stranded in a now peaceful land and looking for excitement to fill up his life and incidentally help his recovery from what was then called 'shell shock'. We never really get to know Wimsey, but we do know of him.
'Whose Body?' is not the best in the series (you might need the character of Harriet Vane to qualify for that distinction), but it is a very solid opener. This read through will continue...
O.
Book: 'The Last Templar' (Medieval West Country Mysteries) (1995) by Michael Jecks
This is the first entry in a fantastically long series of medieval mysteries that have been championed by the 'In Search Of The Classic Mystery Novel' blog run by the Puzzle Doctor. It's nice to see these stories reaching new eras of history, and not just languishing in the Victorian era and later. Jecks' writing is good, with some imagery thrown in to avoid the bland bestseller style you find in so many modern-ish novels.
'The Last Templar' tricked me, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. Yes, there are spoilers ahead. There are several murders, which according to classical mystery story telling should all be connected, but I can't decide whether the actual solutions to the various intrigues breaks an important rule of these kinds of books or not. Or whether it is ultimately satisfying. The high quality of writing means I'll definitely come back for another one or two in the series, though. The trick behind the title is also very misleading, but feels much fairer in how it works.
The world of policing in the medieval age is so completely different as to be fascinating. There are essentially no policemen apart from a few sheriffs and a bailiff or two, and they have to organise a posse if they ever need to investigate trouble. Yes, a posse, often referred to as 'The Hundred'. It is also a world without light, and one with an awful lot of fire. Fire was the high technology of the time, and was a more common method of murder. It's also a world where people would still be crucified and burned at stakes. How strange it all seems now, even while our hero, Simon Puttock the newly chosen Bailiff of Lydford Castle investigates the murders in his area and meeting his new friend, and suspicious newcomer, Sir Baldwin Furnshill.
Where will this series go? We will have to wait and see. I'll keep going until either the end or the onset of fatigue.
O.
Book: 'The Merchant's Partner' (Medieval West Country Mysteries) (1995) by Michael Jecks
There are so many exclamation marks at the end of dialogue! Yikes! It's sometimes as if the characters are speaking in an episode of 'Batman'! How's that for a cold opening, huh? We return to Michael Jecks, and on this occasion I will be less positive, if only because 'The Merchant's Partner' has some structural similarities to the first book in the series and because of the exclamation marks! The temptation is to put the quibbles aside and lump it all into the 'second book problem' category of woes, which has afflicted so many authors and series. The first book is usually a labour of love, but the second book is often a labour of toil as the author tries to work out what on Earth to do next, given the success of the first instalment.
In that first book, 'The Last Templar', there were were three murders and the strong presence of darkness, which was a major problem back in history. When you only had fire as a source of light, the night time was a dangerous time indeed. This time, there are two murders and the natural problem of coldness, as this is definitely a winter's tale, with snow and potential death by hypothermia around every corner. There but for a few gadgets would we all be. On the other hand, the much deeper symbiosis with the environment seems a far more natural way of life that the sterile isolation from all things animal we have now. Anyway, back to the plot. Sir Baldwin Furnshill, Keeper of the Peace, has invited his old friend Simon Puttock, Bailiff of Lydford, and his wife to visit, but unfortunately two murders complicate matters tremendously. In addition, snow is falling by the yard, Baldwin the unhappy bachelor is desperately pining for a love to call his own. Oh, and one of the victims is supposed to have been a witch...
This one is curious. Overall, it's very solidly constructed and written. The second string narrative of the visiting stranger and his wanderings is quite similar to that in the first book, and exists mainly as a potential red herring to keep us guessing. The medieval setting is still fresh and unusual for a mystery novel, but the long narrative journey to get us to the conclusion seems a bit drawn out and burdened with exposition. It seems a bit far-fetched that neither Furnshill nor Puttock could have guessed at the real nature of the potion that Spoilery Person Number Five took, and Furnshill fell in love so ludicrously fast that his heart may have broken the sound barrier. Still, that could well be my cynicism seeping through.
Second books are always difficult, and this is pretty solid and good on many levels, so the third shall be the real test. It's not time to leave Devon yet...
O.
Wednesday, 18 November 2020
Book: 'The Big Clock' (1946) by Kenneth Fearing
Spoilery times ahead.
It's going to be difficult to talk about this without making a comparison to the rather excellent Ray Milland movie version, but let's try. In 'The Big Clock', we are introduced to our main protagonist George Stroud, who is an editor of the crime magazine 'Crimeways', part of tycoon Earl Jaroth's publication group. He's an average guy, except for being a bit sleazy at times, who gets involved with Jaroth's mistress and then witnesses his boss at her home on the night she is murdered. What follows is a thriller, where the murderer Jaroth tells Stroud to employ the entire magazine group staff on a manhunt to catch... Stroud. There are other wrinkles to it all, but the (mostly) innocent Stroud has to protect himself while trying to deflect the investigation toward the true culprit.
Maybe we should talk about the movie, after all, as the differences are important. Here, in the book, Stroud is saved by a freak event which gets the manhunt called off, and is then mysteriously considered in the clear. He is also clearly a philanderer, which is a real flaw to add to the main protagonist. In terms of the climax and likeable characters, the movie is much much better, since Stroud is instrumental in the climax and fate of Jaroth, instead of being the recipient of good but dumb luck. Also, in the movie, he spends the evening with the doomed lady in bars and antique shops, but it is nowhere near being the grand weeks long infidelity depicted in the novel. Ultimately, the novel is hard-boiled noir, and the movie is filled with more likeable characters.
In an unusual move, each chapter of 'The Big Clock' is written from the point of view of a character, most of them George Stroud. There are, however, several narrated by other characters in the story. At the moment, I can't think of another novel that does that in my collection, although it seems as if there is at least one, currently hidden away by memory. Is it necessary, or a gimmick, or both? There are definitely versions of this story which could successfully be told exclusively from Stroud's point of view, leaving the machinations of Jaroth to the reader's imagination.
All in all, this is a good and short thriller. There is an issue with the ending being so sudden and incidental, leaving Stroud in the clear for no reason, but this is purely a subjective problem. The ending of the movie is definitely preferable. It's more satisfying to tie the ending into your protagonist than not, after all. Still, it is a famous crime novel, so Fearing probably knew what he was doing! It's well written, humorous and serious, but a bit brief. Also, there is an eccentric artist! On the other hand, it's a bit too preoccupied with sexuality and mores for me, but that's not an uncommon problem.
O.
Wednesday, 22 April 2020
Diary Of A Stay At Home, VII
Sixteen days have elapsed since the last update, in which everything has continued more or less as before, but with less nervous tension and more sleeping. Doesn't that sound nice? Things really have stayed much the same, which is eerie in many ways, as the country (and the wider world) struggles with the Big Nasty that no-one ever expected. Oh, many have suspected that a killer virus would emerge to wreak vengeance on the species that has caused so much imbalance and ickiness, but those suspicions were never 'this year' or 'this week'. Oh well, we deal with what we're dealt. And then go to sleep each night. That's the British way.
Meanwhile, here in Old South Wales, your genial author is contenting himself with convalescing from that nervous schism that followed the outbreak of the oncoming storm, by diversions such as endless games and escalating reading time. It will be alright. In fact, a re-readathon has been kickstarted, succeeding the monumental string of previously unread stories. Now, unread stories are wonderful, but so is returning to old friends. Thus, 'Belgarath the Sorcerer' makes a reappearance, as does 'The Beiderbecke Trilogy' (not as good as the television shows, but decent), 'Conan The Barbarian', and 'The Columbo Collection' (not even close to being as good as the television series again, but a diversion). I suspect this is going to be a period re-integration of old things with the new. Maybe a new synthesis is occurring in the world, where many of the non-essential fripperies will be put aside for a long time. Maybe pigs will also fly.
It's hard to learn how not to be nervous while essentially cowering away in your dwelling. It's hard to not panic, or fret. Fortunately, there is emotional release through television, movies and even radio plays. Tomorrow, there should be a Clive Merrison and Michael Williams Sherlock-athon. Huzzah! You can't go wrong with those two. You also can't go wrong with just flinging frisbees (or obsoleted flying rings) in the garden, if you have a garden. It's a nice way to get out of the house during this endless sunny spell, about which no-one has really talked. It has been sunny for weeks, and often more like Summer than Spring, and is extraordinarily annoying. Why, oh why, torture us this way, Great Bird Of The Galaxy? However, let's get back to frisbees. If you happen to be lucky enough to have a frisbee, and a number of rings, you can play target frisbee. You throw the disk, and then try to get as close as possible to it with the rings. Yes, it sounds dull, but it's very relaxing, if you can relax enough about wind direction, strength, and what might be drifting from where. Target frisbee is relaxing in the same way that air conducting is a release. It might be time to take a trip to the Teary List in order to feel better...
Will we all have learnt to be more independent when this is over? Will we? And will I want to leave the small book fortress that will have accumulated? Just wait and see... Incidentally, what would be the best way to make a book drawbridge?
O.
Monday, 6 April 2020
Diary Of A Stay At Home, VI
It was the year of staying home, of lemony drinks, of being suspicious of winds from the bungalows next door, and of herbal teas most foul. It was the year of being practically unemployed, of anxiety, and of uncertainty as to where the next batch of food might be coming from. It was the year of 2020, and it still is, and it will be for many more months.
The world is hurrying out there, beyond these walls. Researchers and medics are hurriedly trying to repurpose existing medications and vaccines, in the hopes that they might help, while other do their best to develop medicines especially for the Big Nasty as quickly as possible, while not cutting so many corners that they produce completely worthless rubbish. Inventive people are developing equipment that can be 3-D printed, while merciless tycoons and unsavoury leaders try to push unsafe medications on their peoples, in exchange for favours as yet undisclosed to us, the general public. All of these things at once, while here in the United Kingdom, the Prime Minister I never wanted is hospitalised with an uncertain future.
Yes, it is the year 2020, and everything has gone rather ca-ca. Still, it could be worse. Indeed, it could be far, far worse, and we'll just have to wait and see what will happen. Here, things continue in an endless loop, and the squirrels in the garden continue to frolic. We're up to four now. They're nice little rapscallions. There's something hypnotic about the way they move: Fast jumping runs interspersed with moments of utter stillness. That's the beauty of squirrels. Maybe they'll take over one day. That would be nice, and much better than 'Planet Of The Apes'. Yes, I'll have to write 'World Of The Squirrels'. What a wonder that would be!
Yes, this post has to end with 'World Of The Squirrels'. That has blotted out all else, even the incredible irony of a tobacco firm claiming to have developed an antigen, which it's growing inside its plants. Even that has been eclipsed by the squirrels. It could be a great series of novels. 'Birth Of The World Of The Squirrels', 'Revolution Of World Of The Squirrels', 'Dance Of World Of The Squirrels', and... 'Nut Festivals Of World Of The Squirrels'. It must happen.
O.