The Lake District Murder, John Bude

For all the praise of the series’ editor in the introduction, I don’t think Bude is that great a writer. His work is certainly enjoyable, but I found some aspects of this mystery painfully obvious, and he steers clear of having a particular character be front-and-center, totally indispensable in that Great Detective sense. His main character is a working man, and his prose is rather workmanlike to go with it. That’s not necessarily a criticism, and if you want to experience the Golden Age of Crime Fiction there’s no doubt it’s worth a read… but if you were to pick just one of the British Library Crime Classics, or just one Golden Age novel, I wouldn’t recommend one of Bude’s to be it.

This particular novel follows Inspector Meredith as he investigates the apparent suicide of a garage owner. There’s a few telltale hints, though, that the suicide might be staged: for example, the man’s hands are totally clean (when they should have been dirtied in setting up the suicide), and he’d lain the table for dinner, even putting the kettle on. As Meredith investigates, some kind of smuggling case becomes apparent in the background — something the dead man was involved in, and wanted to get out of.

The police spend most of the book stumped and trying various convoluted ways to figure out what’s going on, without figuring out a principle that occurred to me right away. I won’t explain what it is, of course — maybe you want the pleasure of working it out for yourself — but I really found myself rolling my eyes. Also, once the why was apparent in the form of this smuggling ring, the who and even the how were fairly obvious.

There are no sparkling characters who can’t be resisted, and to be honest I didn’t think there were any brilliant set-pieces describing the landscape, or delving into the human psyche. It’s just a mystery, moderately well investigated by a bland policeman, and moderately well-written. Not bad to while away some time with, but I couldn’t possibly describe it as unmissable.

Rating: 3/5

Murder at the Brightwell, Ashley Weaver

When I picked this up, I was looking for something cosy, a bit Kerry Greenwood-ish, a bit Mary Stewart-ish. Mostly crime, maybe some romance, probably a main female character being terribly capable. Most of my wishes were granted: the heroine might not be quite as striking as Greenwood’s Phryne, and Weaver’s writing certainly isn’t as evocative as Mary Stewart’s (particularly not of location), but it’s a nice nibble.

The story opens with Amory being surprised by two visits: one, from her somewhat-estranged husband Milo, last known to be gallivanting about the Continent and linked with plenty of other women, and the second from the man she jilted to marry Milo — a man to whom she’d been engaged. Thus the romantic stage is set: who will she choose? Who really cares about her: her husband Milo, or her ex-fiancé Gil? That tussle is the constant backdrop to the mystery, featuring the unexpected murder of Gil’s sister’s fiancé… whom Gil never did get along with.

It’s a pretty obvious setup, but that’s kind of why I found it a relaxing read. Amory isn’t super-prepared for everything or as in control as a character like Phryne, but she does wear some nice clothes, and isn’t obviously a terrible person (if a bit daft for ever trusting Milo, maybe). Milo isn’t as charming as you’re meant to find him (I’m not distracted from the fact that he hasn’t explained at all why he was away from Amory so long or why he’s suddenly interested again), but I wasn’t expecting astounding characters and complex arcs. Putting aside my critical eye and just relaxing with the story, I had a pretty good time, and I’ve picked up the other books (completely perfect to coddle me through the cold I’m suffering, ugh) from the library. If you’re into cosies, this is worth a look; if you’re not, this won’t convince you.

Rating: 3/5