Elizabeth Peters’s 1981 novel The Curse of the Pharaohs is the second in her Amelia Peabody mysteries. At her death there were nineteen books in the series; a twentieth was completed in 2017 four years after her death. This is the fourth I’ve read (the others were 1-The Crocodile on the Sandbank, 3-The Mummy Case, and 6-The Last Camel Died at Noon); clearly you don’t have to read them in sequence, though you may miss some back-references by not doing so. They’re thoroughly enjoyable with two strong main characters, wryly comic in tone yet interlaced with oodles of fascinating archaeological detail.

This first-person story narrated by Amelia occurs in 1892. Dear reader, she has married Emerson, the professor she met in the first book. ‘Five years of marriage have taught me that even if one is unamused by the (presumed) wit of one’s spouse, one does not say so... Emerson is a remarkable person, considering that he is a man. Which is not saying a great deal’ (p2). They’re Egyptologists but stuck in a rut – family life and a young precocious son, Walter, known as Ramses taking up their time. However, their ennui is about to be relieved by the arrival of Lady Baskerville whose husband died under bizarre circumstances while on a dig in Egypt.

Before long they have deposited Ramses with relatives and head for Egypt and Lady Baskerville’s

Dig. Lady Baskerville: ‘There was no colour in her cheeks, but her mouth was a full rich scarlet. The effect of this was startling in the extreme; one could not help thinking of the damnably lovely lamias and vampires of legend’ (p26).

The married pair are constantly at loggerheads. ‘ "I never raise my voice," Emerson bellowed’ (p108). Though invariably they kiss and make up at the end of the argument (most of which Amelia wins). ‘My suggestion that I call my maid to help me out of my frock was not well received. Emerson offered his services. I pointed out that his method of removing a garment often rendered that garment unserviceable thereafter. This comment was greeted with a wordless snort of derision and a vigorous attack upon the hooks and eyes. After all, much as I commend frankness in such matters, there are areas in which an individual is entitled to privacy. I find myself forced to resort to a typographical euphemism’ (p38). In short, three asterisks (for a scene break).

There are plenty of suspects, of course. They meet up with Mr Milverton, a photographer who has an air of mystery about him; Karl von Bork, ‘I was not surprised to find him prompt at his meals; his contours indicated that a poor appetite was not one of his difficulties’ (p66); American Cyrus Vandergelt; the overbearing Madame Berengeria and her artist daughter Mary; and journalist O’Connell.

Despite superstition threatening the dig, our erstwhile characters go ahead: ‘... crystalline powder, clinging to the men’s perspiring bodies, gave them a singularly uncanny appearance; the pallid, leprous forms moving through the foggy gloom resembled nothing so much as reanimated mummies, preparing to menace the invaders of their sleep’ (p153).

Another murder and a poisoning add to the mystery. Throughout Amelia’s narrative we’re treated to suspense and amusement with a dash of tension and delightful colourful descriptions. ‘Alarm seized me. Emerson never speaks French unless he is up to something.  “You are up to something,” I said’ (p223).

I have several more unread books in the series about this indomitable Victorian sleuth piled on a shelf. Something to look forward to in due course.

Elizabeth Peters is the pen-name of Barbara Mertz (1927-2013) with a PhD in Egyptology. She also wrote as Barbara Michaels.

LJ Ross’s second DCI Ryan novel Sycamore Gap was published in 2015, several years before two deranged dullards actually felled this famous tree. It is a sequel to her Holy Island bestseller.

It begins with a Prologue: in 2005 on 21 June, the Summer Solstice. The murder of a woman is committed alongside the Roman wall by an unknown man.

Then, ten years later on the same date a female skeleton is discovered buried in the Roman wall itself. Ryan and his team are brought in to investigate.

Ross has deservedly garnered a vast readership with her mix of gruesome murders, personable detectives and humour. ‘...she carried an enormous designer handbag that Mary Poppins would have been proud of’ (p14). There’s also believable police procedural detail and apt social commentary: ‘It was easy to talk about restorative justice and the value of rehabilitation when the damage and destruction had never hit too close to home’ (p149).

Finding the murderer is not easy – and there is a second one before long. The team – older, experienced Phillips and bright and brave MacKenzie with Ryan – work well together and there are moments of charm, friendship and compassion. Ryan is still plagued by the awful murder of his sister. There is a lingering threat from the far-from-moribund black magic Circle. And Ryan’s relationship with Anna hits a few speed-bums during the case. The final pages speed towards a suspenseful denouement.

Not surprisingly, while this murder case is wrapped up satisfactorily, there are sufficient hints of more future trauma aimed at Ryan and Anna, doubtless in book three, Heavenfield.

LJ Ross’s twenty-fourth DCI Ryan Berwick is due out in November.

Editorial comment - for the benefit of writers:

Ryan puts his hands in his jacket pockets (p11). We don’t see him removing them yet he ‘shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket’ again on p12.

Ryan refers to the discoverer of the skeleton as Colin (p13). Yet his name isn’t seen to be revealed to him before this.

‘I’m sure that’s it,’ he nodded (p204). That sentence should end with a full stop. He nodded – as separate sentence. Or it could have been written as ‘I’m sure that’s it,’ he said and nodded...

The stories formed the basis of the popular ITV series Grantchester.

Sydney is in his early 30s and is partial to whisky – ‘favourite tipple... only kept for medicinal purposes’ (p4) – rather than sherry. He fought in the War with the Scots Guards and ruminates on the survivors of the conflict: ‘... rest of their lives lived in the shadow of death’ (p24),

After a funeral that Sydney officiated at mourner Pamela Morton informs him that the reported suicide of a solicitor, Stephen Staunton, was actually murder. The local detective, Inspector Geordie Keating is Sydney’s regular drinking pal and reluctantly goes along with Sydney investigating. Staunton’s widow is German, Hildegard, at a time when memories of the war were still bitter.

The characterisation of all involved in these stories is well done, and the descriptions evoke the place and the feel of the period. ‘As the leaves fell the landscape revealed itself, like a painting being cleaned or a building being renewed’ (p55). This allusion to a painting pre-echoes a later tale, The Lost Holbein.

Sydney is invited to Nigel and Juliette Thompson’s New Year dinner party; it ends in chaos and mystery when an engagement ring goes missing. By now Sydney is worrying about how his life is being affected: ‘... to be suspicious, to think less of less of everybody, suspect his or her motives and trust no one. It was not the Christian way’ (p113). Almost all those gathered at the dinner table are suspects.

In A Matter of Time Runcie cleverly begins with thoughts on four minutes – the time to boil an egg, run a mile, etc – and concludes reflecting on those four minutes.

‘Singing is the sound of the soul’ (p80). Sydney loves jazz and, in the hope that he can convert the inspector, he takes his pal Geordie to see an American jazz singer, Gloria Dee – ‘Ain’t got no husband. You don’t keep the carton once you’ve smoked the cigarettes’. Sadly, there is a murder. ‘He looked like a man who was stuck in a dream of falling from a high building; someone who knew that he would go on falling for the rest of his life...’ (p231).

Sydney has a girl-friend Amanda – it’s platonic though he’d like it to be more – and while helping him she manages to get into a dangerous situation while investigating a missing Holbein painting.

To go into detail about any story would spoil the enjoyment. Suffice it to say that the writing is very good and involving. Sydney and Geordie come alive, as do others. There’s poignancy and light humour and irony on display, too. ‘Let me take your cloak. I always think they make priests look like vampires’ (p113). The main characters in the TV series are all introduced by the end of these stories.

Editorial comment:

The first story begins: ‘Canon Sydney Chambers had never intended to become a detective. Indeed, it came about quite by chance, after a funeral, when a handsome woman of indeterminate age voiced her suspicion that a recent death of a Cambridge solicitor was not suicide, as had been widely reported, but murder.’

This paragraph effectively makes the first few pages superfluous as it tells us what is going to be revealed in those pages. The hook would still work if it merely began with: ‘Canon Sydney Chambers had never intended to become a detective. Indeed, it came about quite by chance.’

‘thought to myself’ (p8). Oh, dear: ‘to myself’ is not necessary.

‘... take a holiday in France, he wondered?’ The question mark should go after ‘France’.

Characters called Thompson, Templeton and Teversham – beginning with ‘T’! There are other letters in the alphabet...

J.B. Priestley’s 1966 novel Salt is Leaving was first published as a Pan paperback original and attained a second printing in the same year.

From the first page, I was drawn in by the story and the writing style. The last novel of his I read was Saturn Over Water in 1980, which I found impressive. I still have five more of his books to read.

It begins in a Midlands bookshop owned by Mr Edward Culworth, Maggie’s father. Recently returned from London and a failed three-year affair, Maggie is helping at the shop. At times ‘Maggie felt she was quite attractive, but there were other times, and now more and more of them, when she was almost sure she was just a thick, dull lump’ (p9).

This particular day, however, her father doesn’t appear at the shop – and before long she realises he has ‘gone missing’, something he has never done before. Maggie lives with her parents and brother Alan, a University lecturer in physics.

Dr Lionel Humphrey Salt, a widower, is also concerned about a missing person – one of his patients, Noreen Wilks. At the last consultation he prescribed medicine for her liver problem. If she didn’t take the life-sustaining drug, she would die. Salt is about to depart from the town after seven years and has already been relieved in his GP role; however, he wants to locate Noreen before he goes.

Salt makes enquiries at various places, such as the George Pub: ‘The counter was thick with high blood pressures and potential coronaries, either shouting at one another or at the waiter and the barmaid’ (p24).

A link is made between Noreen and Dr Salt. So Maggie approaches the good doctor. ‘He seemed the oddest mixture – one minute sleepy, simple and rather sweet – the next minute hard and ruthless’ (p46).

Salt takes her to meet a local nightclub owner, Buzzy Duffield, who has contacts and owes the doctor a favour or two... Buzzy is quite a character – ‘He was wide and fat and bald, with an enormous face on which his features merely seemed to be huddled together in the middle’ (p47). He also exhibits a verbal tick, uttering Bzzz from time to time, but not often enough to become tedious.

Another contact they encounter is Jill Frinton, ‘A classy handsome piece – and about as soft and tender as a sheet of high-duty alloy’ (p51).

A daughter of a local big-wig and benefactor is Erica Donnington: ‘no hat but a lot of hair that needed washing, and was an expensive slut with a long loose face and body’ (p102).

Before long, Salt is approached in a heavy-handed manner, suggesting he should depart from the town immediately. ‘Somebody wants me to clear out of Birkden... simply because I’m asking questions about Noreen Wilks’ (p53).

Salt is well travelled, having served in Burma, then lived and worked in the New Territories, Hong Kong, in North Borneo, Penang and Singapore before returning to England. He’s forthright, persistent, brave, and a student of human nature. ‘When they’re deliberately lying, most people can’t maintain a steady tempo. When the big lie comes, either they hurry a little or slow down. There’s a change in tone too... With the early lies, when they feel they’re getting away with it, there’s a faint faint note of triumph, the impudence begins to show’ (p72).   

The interplay between Salt and Maggie is one of the book’s strengths.

Priestley throws in the occasional social comment in an amusing manner, such as: ‘There was no longer a railway connection between Hemton and Birkden, the nearest large town, apparently in order to make the road between them even more congested with buses and cars’ (p13). The town names are fictitious.

As the puzzle unfolds for the odd pair, sex, drugs and corruption figure though not too graphically for the reader.

The cover (artist unattributed) is excellent: Priestley refers to the ‘maze that finally turned into a high road’ (p5); the cinema ticket and the hotel room key are relevant, as is the rag doll.

A light quick read.

Laurie R King’s first Mary Russell novel The Beekeeper’s Apprentice was published in 1994. Since then she has gone on to publish at least another 18 books in the series.

After the fashion of many Sherlock Holmes books, the author purports to have been in receipt of a number of manuscripts and other fascinating items. The writer of these manuscripts (M.R.H.) states that Holmes was real flesh-and-blood – ‘my Holmes is not the Holmes of Watson... my perspective, my brush technique, my use of colour and shade, are all entirely different from him. The subject is essentially the same; it is the eyes and the hands of the artist that change’ (page xvii).

In 1915 the young fifteen-year-old Mary Russell is reading a book on the Sussex Downs when she literally trips over Sherlock Holmes. [The book blurb gives the date as 1914, which is incorrect!]

‘... it was an engrossing book, and it was very rare to come across another person in that particular part of the world in that war year... In my seven weeks of peripatetic reading amongst the sheep (which tended to move out of my way) and the gorse bushes (to which I had painfully developed an instinctive awareness) I had never before stepped on a person’ (p5).

Holmes is studying bees and has quite a few hives to look after behind his cottage, his retreat, which is administered by Mrs Hudson.

The narrative is first-person by Mary, and it’s a joy to read. The voice and character of Mary and Holmes are captured perfectly.

This first interaction on the Downs soon conveys to each that their intellects mesh remarkably well. We meet the ‘real’ Mrs Hudson and Dr Watson and Sherlock’s brother Mycroft. Holmes takes Mary under his wing, training her in his techniques and methods of disguise, even arranging for her to undertake Oriental self-defence. The years pass as she studies at Oxford, spending her holidays at the Sussex cottage to learn from her mentor.

The tone varies from serious, to intellectual, to humorous: ‘My first task was to make a move towards reuniting Watson with his trousers’ (p205) – a sentence you’d never find in the Conan Doyle cannon!

Before long, Mary – who Holmes always refers to as ‘Russell’ – joins the Great Detective on his investigations. Considerable danger is afoot, it seems; and the main perpetrator is as cunning as the late adversary Moriarty. As time goes by, despite the age difference the pair become close.

This book has heart, humour, depth of description that sets the reader in the scene, and a main character who greatly appeals.

A splendid beginning to a series. Next: A Monstrous Regiment of Women (1995).

Note: This cover is pretty poor. The later A&B cover and its successors are much better.

LJ Ross’s debut novel Holy Island was published in 2015, and since then she has published another twenty-one DCI Ryan mysteries, as well as books in other (shorter) series. Prolific, averaging two books a year. Holy Island has garnered over 50,000 reviews on Amazon, most being favourable.

The DCI Ryan books centre round the north-east of England, an area rich in history, castles, landmarks and beautiful scenery. Living in the area and knowing it, the book added an added interest for me – and legions of north-easterners.

It’s December, close to Christmas, on Holy Island, and the weather is cold and bleak – and a young islander called Lucy Mathieson is found murdered, her naked corpse left like a sick sacrifice in the ancient Priory.

As it happens, DCI Maxwell Charles Finley-Ryan is on leave on the island following a traumatic case that brought him close to a breakdown. As the murder has suggestions of a pagan sacrifice, Dr Anna Taylor is brought in from Durham to assist Ryan.

The narrative is omniscient, so within a scene the reader jumps from one character’s thoughts to another. While this technique is frowned upon by many, it’s a legitimate way of conveying tension between characters and involving the reader. The main thing is that at no point does the ‘head-jumping’ cause confusion.

This was a page-turner and a quick read, with several apt metaphors, and enough varied characters to hold the interest. It does not fall into the cosy crime bracket. The interaction between Ryan and his team works very well. In classic style, the relationship between Ryan and Anna begins with antagonism from both sides, yet they gradually appreciate the strengths and knowledge of the other, and perhaps inevitably their situation turns romantic. There are a number of suspects to keep you guessing; and two more murders occur before the case is resolved.  The Epilogue provides quite a shock, signifying that the ripples from this case may taint Ryan’s life later on...

A remarkably successful first novel.  I’m certainly inclined to read the next book in the series, Sycamore Gap.

Murder on Tyneside is the first in the Agnes Lockwood mystery series by Eileen Thornton; published in 2016. The fourth has recently been released.

Agnes Lockwood, 55, recently widowed from husband Jim almost a year ago, decided to visit the north east and the place of her birth. Her adult life had been hectic and well-travelled and this was the first opportunity she had to visit. While staying at a modern new hotel on the Tyne Quayside, she overheard a couple arguing about some missing jewellery. She thinks nothing of it – until the theft is reported.

A detective chief inspector arrives to head the investigation: Alan Johnson. It transpires that he recognises her from their shared childhood, when she’d gone under the surname Harrison. This instant rapport grows as the investigation ensues; there is another jewellery theft at the hotel. And then, on returning from an evening meal at a nearby restaurant, Agnes and Alan encounter a dead body in the gutter!

The enquiries have transformed into a murder investigation now. And as Agnes was a witness to the body’s discovery, she inveigles her way into the case, despite Alan’s misgivings. ‘But since meeting Agnes, his mind hadn’t been focused on the job. He was enjoying their friendship – perhaps he was enjoying it a little more than he should.’ (p71). Alan’s sergeant , Andrews, is against Agnes’s involvement, and yet he grudgingly admits that her contributions regarding theories about the case are valid, and indeed valued.

As with the majority of amateur sleuth stories, getting the amateur seriously involved in the investigation is quite unrealistic. Yet for decades it has been a common feature of books, TV and movies; so, suspend disbelief and enjoy the tale. Agnes has a habit of not letting Alan get a word in; she argues, ‘I know you aren’t supposed to discuss a crime, case, investigation or whatever it is you want to call it with a member of the public. But I’m not any old member of the public. I was there with you when the body was found!’ (p59).

The problem is that the more that Agnes interferes, the more danger she appears to be in…

Agnes is a fine creation: plucky, crafty, stubborn, inquisitive and meddling while being endearing. I suspect that Alan and Agnes will become an unofficial team for subsequent outings. An interesting cosy mystery with more than a few potential suspects.

Agnes Lockwood has already accrued a devoted readership in the hundreds. The other three books in the series so far are: Death on Tyneside, Vengeance on Tyneside, and A Mystery on Tyneside.

Editorial comment:

Writers are told not to use character names beginning with the same letter; it might confuse the reader. It rarely does, though it depends on the names chosen. Here, we have Agnes, Alan, Alice, Andrews, April, Anderson and Achmed.  One way round this is to build a character list; I always do this – but even I slip up some of the time. In The Magnificent Mendozas I had three characters with names beginning with ‘J’ – granted, they were all Mexican, but that’s no excuse…

I’ve read a good number of debut novels in my time, and Michael Connelly’s The Black Echo is one of the best. Here can be found assured writing, believable characters, vivid description, good pacing, and a likeable and tough protagonist. Harry is short for Hieronymus; apparently his mother ‘had a thing about fourteenth century painters’ (p97). 

LAPD Detective Harry Bosch is called out to the body of a vagrant suspected of succumbing to a drug overdose; stuffed in a concrete pipe near Mullholland Dam. But he reckons it doesn’t look like a suicide. And he recognises the corpse – a fellow soldier from Vietnam twenty years ago, Billy Meadows. Bosch immediately thinks something is very wrong here: ‘There are no coincidences’ (p25).

On checking out the dead man’s apartment, Bosch discovers that the place had been searched already, though an attempt had been made to hide the fact. The search had not discovered a pawn ticket, which Bosch decides to check out at the named shop.

But the shop has been broken into, jewellery and other items stolen…

His leads takes him to the Westland Bank break-in of the previous year. The felons had tunnelled in and raided the safety deposit boxes, the haul estimated at $2m. This robbery was investigated by the FBI but no arrests were made.

Bosch is told to work with the FBI on his latest murder case, and his partner is FBI agent Eleanor Wish.

The tunnelling caper brings back Bosch’s memories of being one of the tunnel rats rooting out Vietcong insurgents. Meadows had been in his team. Some memories never go away. He pulls out a scrapbook: ‘The pages were yellowed and had gone brown at the edges. They were brittle, much like the memories the photos evoked’ (p71).

‘The photos were of the smiling faces of young men who had dropped down into hell and had come back to smile into the camera. Out of the blue and into the black is what they called going into a tunnel. Each one was a black echo. Nothing but death is there. But, still, they went’ (p72).

His flashbacks are powerfully done; Bosch was only twenty and witnessed the mutilation of a comrade. And he was afraid, very afraid. ‘It was like going to hell. You’re down there and you could smell your own fear. It was like you were dead when you were down there’ (p192).

After being demobbed, not surprisingly Bosch suffered from a sleep disorder. ‘There was no going back to repair what had happened. You can’t patch a wounded soul with a Band-Aid’ (p77).

The relationship between Wish and Bosch becomes close and is handled well. Inevitably, Bosch is not a great lover of authority and has his issues with the police and FBI hierarchy, and even has blistering encounters with a couple of Internal Affairs goons.

There are plenty of tense moments, a second tunnel robbery seems probable, and it seems that not everyone is what they seem…

An excellent crime novel with a satisfying ending. The first of twenty-four Bosch books. I’d previously read the fifth Bosch book, Trunk Music in 1998, out of sequence but that was not a problem. I’ll be reading the next three in order: The Black Ice, The Concrete Blonde, and The Last Coyote.

Bosch was also a TV series (2014-2021) on Amazon and was well received.

Graham Greene’s 1978 novel The Human Factor is a gripping and believable story about spies without gunfire and hectic action, but plenty of suspense, tension, intrigue and perfect characterisation. 

Maurice Castle is an aging agent in MI6, working in the African section with a younger man, Davis. His new boss is Daintry who has been brought in to review various sections as a leak is suspected. Castle was previously deployed in apartheid South Africa where he fell in love with one of his black agents, Sarah. When his relationship was about to become an embarrassment he fled with her, aided by local Communist Carson. Now working in London, Castle is married to Sarah and has adopted her young boy fathered by another.

Gradually, as the investigation into the supposed leak ensues, suspicions fall upon young Davis… It would be unreasonable to reveal more.

The sleight-of-hand of the people involved, such as C himself, Sir John Hargreaves, and the firm’s creepy doctor Percival provide suspense and tension. The arrival of Cornelius Muller, a powerful man in South Africa’s BOSS, assigned to liaise with Castle on the secret operation Uncle Remus adds drama, since Muller had known Castle in South Africa. Loyalties are questioned; everything is not what it seems; and the morality of Castle’s seniors are decidedly dubious. All the characters are rounded, and seemingly flawed – that is, very human.

Intriguingly, Davis, a tippler, tends to mix his whiskies, notably White Horse and Johnnie Walker: ‘You know, this blend of mine tastes quite good. I shall call it a White Walker. There might be a fortune in the idea – you could advertise it with the picture of a beautiful ghost…’(p66) I wonder if George R. R. Martin stumbled on that moniker when creating his Game of Thrones (1996)?

Greene wanted to get away from the violence and action depicted in popular espionage fiction; in his experience the real thing was more down-to-earth, though doubtless treacherous, and slightly sleazy. After attending a funeral, Daintry has a drink or two with a few people he’d met at Sir John’s house party. Daintry is quizzed about his work: ‘one of those hush-hush boys. James Bond and all that.’ Another states ‘I never could read those books by Ian.’ Another reckons the books were ‘too sexy for me. Exaggerated’ (p165).

This is a book about sacrifice, disillusionment, and love. Greene’s eye for detail, the telling mannerisms, and the secret world’s manipulation of people are laid bare, uncomfortably so. This is as good as any John Le Carré novel.

Editorial note

We writers are advised not to use character names that begin with the same letter or seem or sound similar. I can’t see why Greene was fixated on similarities of names: Castle and Carson. Then there was another ‘c’ – Cynthia, the secretary Davis pines for. Not that it affected the story at all. So much for advice to writers, hm?

The Pale Blue Eye

This 2022 Netflix film is worth watching for the strong performances of Christian Bale, Toby Jones, Timothy Spall and especially Harry Melling as Poe himself. It’s based on the 2003 novel of the same name by Louis Bayard. (The 17-year gap between publication and film release must give hope to many an author!)

It’s 1830 and (alcoholic – aren’t they all?) retired detective Augustus Landor (Bale) is asked by the military to investigate the hanging of Cadet Leroy Fry at the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York. Landor is a widower who lives alone since his daughter Mathilde left him a few years earlier.

After Fry was hanged, his heart was removed from his body. In the morgue, examining the corpse, Landor finds a small fragment of a note clutched tightly in Fry's hand. Also, marks on Fry's neck and fingers suggest that he did not hang himself, but was murdered.

With the permission of Superintendent Thayer (Spall), Landor enlists the help of Edgar Allan Poe (Melling), another cadet at the academy who has expressed an interest in the case. Poe and Landor deduce from the writing on the note fragment that it was summoning Fry to a secret meeting. Then another cadet, Ballinger, goes missing and is later found hanged; he is also mutilated and organs removed. A third cadet, Stoddard, who was a colleague of the two victims, then disappears, and it is presumed by Landor that this man had reason to believe he was next in line to be killed....

Landor and Poe begin to suspect the family of Dr Daniel Marquis (Toby Jones), who was first brought into the investigation to perform the autopsy on Fry. Particular suspicion is placed on his son Artemus (Harry Lawtey) and his daughter Lea (Lucy Boynton)…

Melling tends to steal every scene he’s in, no mean accomplishment against Bale. His look, voice and mannerism are mesmerising. Certainly, the film prompts the viewer to seek out Bayard’s book.

Poe’s influence on other writers is considerable, notably Conan Doyle, Verne and Lovecraft. I too am not immune. I wrote a noir western as a homage to Poe, Coffin for Cash (2016), which contains several allusions to his life and work. These can be viewed in this blog:

October 2017 Dark Echoes

http://nik-writealot.blogspot.com/2017/10/dark-echoes.html

February 2016 – Book review of The Tell-Tale Heart

http://nik-writealot.blogspot.com/2016/02/book-review-tell-tale-heart.html

July 2020 – Disinterring Coffin for Cash - 1

http://nik-writealot.blogspot.com/2020/07/disinterring-coffin-for-cash-1.html

July 2020 - Disinterring Coffin for Cash - 2

http://nik-writealot.blogspot.com/2020/07/disinterring-coffin-for-cash-2.html

Charles Todd’s debut book A Test of Wills (1996) is an unusual well-written mystery novel.

It’s 1919 and Inspector Ian Rutledge returns from the Front to take up his job in Scotland Yard. His fiancée Jean walked away from him while he convalesced in a clinic. However, the trench warfare has left an indelible mark on his mind, though there are no outward signs of shell-shock. ‘he’d discovered din the trenches of France that hell itself was not half so frightening as the darkest corners of the human mind’ (p167).

[The cover is excellent - those hands holding the sufferer's head resembling the flames of conflict.]

Rutledge hopes that getting back into the work groove will finally heal him. Hamish is not so sure. Hamish is a Scot, killed in the war, and now Rutledge’s pestering conscience. ‘He’d seen his return mainly as the answer to his desperate need to stay busy, to shut out Hamish, to shut out Jean, to shut out, indeed, the shambles of his life’ (p64).  ‘Nightmares strip the soul’ he is told. Rutledge found no answers for that’ (p124).

It begins with the murder of Colonel Harris by person or persons unknown in a Warwickshire village. The main suspect is Captain Wilton, VC. But there are other likely candidates, too: Lettice Wood is the ward of the late Colonel and the fiancée of Wilton; Mrs Davenant, previously in love with Wilton; Catherine Tarrant, a famous painter cursed by scandal; Reverend Carfield, who lusts after Miss Wood; Royston, who looks after Mallows, the Colonel’s home; Mavers, an unpleasant individual who has always plagued the Colonel; and Hickam, a village drunk who suffers from shell-shock and nightmares.

Rutledge felt he had to understand the murdered man, no easy task; at one time, before the war, he’d found it much easier. ‘How do you put your finger on the pulse of a dead man and bring him to life?’ (p63).

About halfway through Rutledge experiences a flashback to the trenches and in a mere three pages Todd conveys the terror and futility of trench warfare – very telling scenes that explain a great deal, including the voice of Hamish.

There are many instances of fine writing and description. When viewing Catherine Tarrant’s paintings, for example: ‘If you wanted to capture the waste of war, what better expression was there than this, the very antithesis of the dashing recruitment posters?  A girl in a rose-splashed gown whirling in  ecstasy under the spreading limbs of an aged oak. The lost world of 1914, the innocence and brightness and abandonment to joy that was gone forever’ (p119).

A bird began to sing in the trees beyond an open window of the Inquest room. ‘The sound was sweet, liquid, but oddly out of place as a background to a quiet discussion of death’ (p172).

The doctor’s housekeeper observes about Hickam: ‘… that man suffered. Whatever he did in the war, good or evil, he’s paid for it every hour since’ (p139).

The book’s title doubtless stems from this passage: ‘She looked up at him, eyes defensive but resolute. It was a strange test of wills, and he wasn’t sure exactly where it was leading…’ (p226).

The denouement is well done, shifting the book into psychological mystery territory.

At present there are twenty-two Inspector Rutledge books available, which is no mean feat for any author!

Editorial comment

My bête noir is this: ‘he thought to himself’ – (p89). He thought would suffice. ‘Himself’ is tautology.

Charles Todd is American and on the whole has successfully captured the English nuances. The text contains US English spelling. Many, many years ago a family friend used to work for Penguin books in London and her task was to Anglicise American spelling in books written by their US authors. I suspect this is no longer considered necessary or even viable. For interest, here are a few Americanisms I detected:

‘You’d better come, they’re about to lynch that stupid devil Mavers!’ – In England we’d say ‘hang’ not ‘lynch’.

 ‘He just lays there…’ (p138) – In England we’d say ‘he just lies there…’

‘… questions had gotten him nowhere. (p189) – In England we’d say ‘questions got him nowhere…’

American English uses ‘toward’ while UK English uses ‘towards’.

And, inevitably, Rutledge walks along a sidewalk instead of a path or pavement. (‘Pavement’ in US English is the road). Separated by a common language, indeed.

Richard Osman’s third Thursday Murder Club mystery lives up to the promise of the previous two books. Although each novel can be read as a self-contained mystery, much is lost if you haven’t read the earlier books.

Yet again we we’re back with the gang from Coopers Chase – Ex-MI6 agent Elizabeth Best, Joyce, Ron, Ibrahim, and Bogdan. Aided and abetted as usual by detectives Chris and Donna. The cold case they’re interested in is the murder of investigative TV journalist Bethany Waites who was pushed off a cliff in her car; her body was never found.

To help with their enquiries, they enlist TV personality Mike Waghorn who worked with Bethany at the time and was probably in love with her. ‘Mike finds it hard to cry, because he started having Botox treatments before they’d really got the hang of them, and his tear ducts are blocked.’ (p77)

However Elizabeth has other concerns. It appears someone is threatening to kill her friend Joyce unless Elizabeth kills Victor Illyich, previously known as the Viking. He used to be her foe behind the Iron Curtain but eventually they seemed to accommodate a kind of détente, possibly along physical lines. Victor was a successful KGB interrogator, surprisingly averse to violence. ‘Victor does have a persuasive tone… He makes everything feel like was your idea in the first place.’ (p271)

This time around we do get a hint of Elizabeth’s background – she had a violent father. This is a particularly poignant scene, especially as she reflects on her good fortune to be married and loved by her husband Stephen, who is gradually succumbing to dementia. ‘And she will cry the lifetime of tears she has denied herself.’ (p240) Beautifully evoked. In other scenes Stephen's situation is handled sensitively and understated depth.

An additional complication is Connie Johnson, presently in prison (as a result of book two’s investigations). She knows a fellow inmate who was accused of Bethany’s murder. Another associate of Bethany’s is Fiona Clemence (did she do away with Bethany to get her job and then went on to great success?):’That auburn hair, so famous from the shampoo adverts, the full smile, so famous from the toothpaste adverts, and the cheekbones honed by genetics and Harley Street.’ (p261)

As before, the interaction between the characters provides the amusement and the story’s impetus. Despite introducing new characters, Osman manages to imbue each with their own voice.

If there is a criticism, perhaps it is that nobody seems unduly nasty, even the alleged murderers! Cosy is as cosy does, I guess.

Minor irritations.

The editor should have vetoed some things. Whenever anyone is introduced, we have: ‘I’m Connie Johnson,’ says Connie. When ‘she says’ would suffice or in fact nothing at all.

When there are only two people in the scene, Osman persists in telling us who says what: most of the time it is not necessary. He has given the characters distinctive voices. For example on p166 we have ‘says Connie’ five times when there is only her and Ibrahim in the scene. ‘She says’ would suffice and is more invisible; most of the time it’s obvious she is talking anyway. This occurs a great deal – it’s not as if he was being paid by the word, is it?

Stephen Mertz’s debut novel (1979) has been reissued by Wolfpack Publishing. It’s a hardboiled private detective novel in a similar stable to Ross McDonald. Rock Dugan is an ex-stuntman and now a gumshoe.

An incident draws Rock to the door of Susan Court, the daughter of a millionaire who is dying. She has a wastrel brother Tommy who owes a lot of money to the local powerful hood Murray Zucco. There’s the question of the old man’s will. Mr Carlander Court is reinstating Susan in his will and shutting out Tommy. Susan wants Rock to protect her father until the will is changed next day. She is fearful that Tommy will murder his father to get the inheritance and pay off Zucco.

There follows a death – a kind of locked-room mystery right out of John Dickson Carr, only with a difference. I won’t spill the beans – though the blurb tends to, just a little. 

It’s clear that Mertz was learning his craft – for example, there are too many lengthy speeches by characters. But the flavor, the pace and the characters all add to an enjoyable mystery laced with wit.

The next Mertz book I shall read is Say It Was Murder. Looking forward to it.

Let’s get the obvious out of the way first. ‘Crawdad’ is slang for crayfish; they don’t sing as such but make a sound termed a ‘pulse train’ similar perhaps to Morse Code (my Google search tells me). But what’s the meaning of the book title? ‘Go as far as you can – way out yonder… far in the bush where critters are wild, still behaving like critters.’ (p111)

Part mystery, part coming-of-age, the book begins with a prologue in 1969 when a body is found in the marsh of the North Carolina coast: ‘the marsh and sea separated the village from the rest of the world, the only connection being the single-lane highway that limped into town on cracked cement and potholes’ (p16). ‘Mostly, the village seemed tired of arguing with the elements, and simply sagged.’ (p17). Then we jump back in time to 1952 for chapter one: ‘The morning burned so August-hot, the marsh’s moist breath hung the oaks and pines with fog.’ (p5) That first line tells you we’ve got something original here. Lyrical, eloquent and steeped in feeling.Yes, there are aspects that require the reader to suspend disbelief; but this is fiction, after all, and if you’re immersed in the story, you benefit.

The young girl Kya has been abandoned by her mother (domestic abuse; don’t tell the ‘trigger-warning dons!) and lives in a marsh shack with her unreliable father and older brother, Jodie. She does not go to school but learns about nature at first-hand. Oh, she tried school for a day, but nobody took kindly to the ‘marsh girl’: ‘Kya sat down fast in her seat at the back of the room, trying to disappear like a bark beetle blending into the furrowed trunk of an oak.’ (p29)

After Jodie left, Kya went out in the boat with her Pa when the man was lucid. Her Pa introduced her to Jumpin’, an old black man who ran the marine gas station on the wharf. We’re not told she is shy; instead, we get: ‘Kya searched her bare toes but found no words.’ (p64) 

By 1960 she’d grown some, budding into a beguiling beauty. ‘Loneliness had become a natural appendage to Kya, like an arm. Now it grew roots inside her and pressed against her chest.’ (p100)

Her loneliness is assuaged by two boys who become men, but her interactions with most people are minimal. After her father goes away, she has learned to live alone and cope with a little help from Jumpin’ and his good wife.

Looming over her fascinating life story are the flashes forward to 1969 and the mysterious death that might be a murder. And the locals suspect that Kya is responsible for the death. 

It would be unfair to reveal more, save to say that the pages demand to be turned.

The many descriptive passages evoke the place and the person of Kya. The reader can almost feel being there. Besides being a murder mystery, it’s also a love story. Uplifting, poignant, and ultimately surprising. This book deserves its fame.