Verdict of Twelve, Raymond Postgate

This book isn’t really about the crime itself, but about the jurors who sit to judge it in court. Each of them has their own experiences, some of them shadier than others, all of them changing the way they look at the woman in the dock. The mystery itself is wholly second to the examination of why each character decides to vote guilty or not guilty. It’s a clever story, albeit rather shallow — after a few characters on the jury, the author gives up really giving them backgrounds and personalities, because twelve is too many to really handle. It makes sense, but it also makes some parts of the deliberation of the jury rather perfunctory.

Overall, it’s clever enough and entertaining, if not massively difficult to figure out, or really all that good a psychological examination of juries.

Warning: one thing that may be distressing for some folks is that a pet rabbit is brutally killed (in a way designed to distress its owner). I honestly found that bit rather disturbing. Yeesh.

Rating: 3/5

The Big Sleep, Raymond Chandler

Whatever else you can say about Raymond Chandler, he was a hell of a writer. He didn’t use tired old imagery — I could probably easily find dozens of phrases and descriptions throughout his book which are specific, precisely calculated and completely fresh, without trying too hard in any way. That and the pace of his novels makes them just roll along at an incredible speed; I don’t always follow his mystery plots entirely, but I’m hooked on them.

Of course, his writing about women is just gross nowadays, objectifying and patronising and just plain unpleasant. There’s not too much that I recall of his racial politics either, but they come up in Farewell My Lovely, and are beyond gross. I don’t think calling him a man of his time excuses it, per se — it’s not that difficult to understand that other people are human, and bother to speak to them for five minutes. But I can’t help but enjoy his work anyway for his writing, for the way he sketches out Philip Marlowe and his reactions to the world around him so that all of it is very clear and in focus. I can almost visualise his scenes because he makes it so easy: you get an idea of what everyone is doing, without him taking a million words to do it.

Honestly, it’s wizardry. I can’t help enjoying it.

Rating: 4/5

Death of a Busybody, George Bellairs

This is exactly the sort of story you expect from the British Library Crime Classics reissues: a smallish village, a murder, Scotland Yard gets called in… it’s not astoundingly original or surprising, with an alibi that falls apart the second you realise that a certain fact doesn’t necessarily constitute an alibi at all — but it’s comfortable and it rolls along at a reasonable pace. Okay, there’s a madwoman (sigh) who commits violence, but even that’s pretty much par for the course and not something I consider a complete turn-off with classic crime fiction. There’s even a little funny vicar who does his best for his flock and is rather anxious and unhappy about testifying against a parishioner, etc, etc.

The writing isn’t the sort of level where you particularly take note, but it works… apart from maybe the phonetic accents. I could do without those. I wonder how comprehensible they even are to people who haven’t heard the actual accent.

So yeah, fun and worth the read if you’re interested in picking up something cosy-ish (I mean, sure, there’s crime, but nobody likes the victim, so that’s almost okay in these books). I’ll definitely happily read more of Bellairs’ work.

Rating: 3/5

Murder of a Lady, Anthony Wynne

This British Library Crime Classics reissue goes to one of the most iconically brooding, romantic and mysterious staple settings of all: the Scottish highlands, in the castle of a laird. It’s a murder mystery, so perhaps it’s no surprise that it’s filled with some rather unpleasant people — and I don’t love that it leans rather on the themes of madness and manias leading to violence to untangle the whole plot. It’s one of those where you can’t really regret the murder victim, and though the psychology of it all is well-observed, the family struggles weren’t all that appealing to me.

Still, it does the mystery well and evokes a good sense of atmosphere, and it was a pretty entertaining read even if I didn’t exactly root for the characters — and I finished it in just about no time. No real complaints! I don’t know if I’d try another by the same author, but all the same, it filled the time pleasantly enough. Not a stand-out for good or ill, really.

Rating: 3/5

Sergeant Cluff Stands Firm, Gil North

This book is just… kind of gross. If there’s a woman on the page, North is bound to describe her breasts. If she’s anything less than a perfect housewife from the 1800s, she’s a whore and the narrative — and main character — treat her as such. Even the murder victim is described in somewhat less than sympathetic ways: that kind of desperate-for-a-man stereotype for a stalwart police officer to pity when she inevitably comes to grief.

I don’t understand Martin Edwards’ praise for this book in the introduction. The writing style is probably a matter of taste, but it felt clumsy to me, and way too reliant on staccato narration: “This happened. Then that happened. The man was afraid. The woman laughed.” That kind of style. It creates a certain kind of tension at times, but doing it that way for the whole book is just actually kind of boring.

Skip Gil North’s writing, even if you’re collecting the British Library Crime Classics. Ugh.

Rating: 1/5

The Z Murders, J. Jefferson Farjeon

J. Jefferson Farjeon has a way with setting the atmosphere of a book that I can’t help but love. The first page of each of his books got me right away — and not in the same way, either. There’s something in the way he can describe a scene, and his mysteries quickly take over, clever and strange. The only thing I’d say I don’t fall in love with is the romance: you can see it coming a mile off, and it’s the obvious two people, and you know it’s going to end with marriage.

That aside, The Z Murders works really well at the suspense throughout. Sometimes the main character is just so stupid it makes me want to bash him over the head (sure, let’s not tell the police everything when there’s an indiscriminate killer on the loose!), but it kind of works, and the plot would be a bit stuck without it. This is, I believe, one of the earliest serial killer novels — although it’s not quite the stereotypical mentally ill killer who does it on a whim. The antagonist does have a reason and an end in mind… although that reason does still seem unhinged.

Overall, Farjeon’s books are a pleasure, and I’m sorry I’ve only got Mystery in White left to read of the British Library reissues. The Ben the Tramp books don’t seem quite my thing.

Rating: 4/5

Death of an Airman, Christopher St John Sprigg

I didn’t like this as much as most of the other British Library Crime Classics, and I can’t put my finger on why, really. It wasn’t worse than them in any palpable well, and probably better than one or two, and I rather liked the Bishop as a character. Perhaps it was a certain feeling of inevitability — having read Kerry Greenwood’s (obviously more recent) Cocaine Blues and Dorothy L. Sayers contemporary Murder Must Advertise, certain things seemed immediately obvious.

Mind you, when I say I liked the Bishop… after the opening of the story, he wasn’t much of a character; none of them were, really. Maybe that was my problem: it felt more like a puzzle than anything at times, and the two Inspectors were pretty indistinguishable (actually, were they both Inspectors? the details are slipping away already).

It’s an interesting read as part of an overall revisit of the Golden Age, and it’s not bad, but this is not one of the more surprising and absorbing of the series of reissues. I’m not in a hurry to read anything else by Christopher St John Sprigg, even if they republish one of his other works.

Rating: 2/5

The Murder of my Aunt, Richard Hull

The narrator of most of this book is, by design, pretty repugnant — and honestly, I find the other characters so too, even when we get a little glimpse of the other side of the story. The satisfaction here is in seeing their plans come to grief, and waiting for everyone to get their comeuppance. There’s something satisfying in Hull’s skill about putting together these characters, but at the same time it feels like it would’ve worked better as a short story. Enough time to get the gist, without enough to start getting truly frustrated by the general horribleness (and stupidity, too).

It’s an entertaining enough read, but I was glad when it was over, too!

Rating: 3/5

Thirteen Guests, J. Jefferson Farjeon

Like Seven Dead, this actually includes a love story as well, although of a rather different stripe (and maybe a bit less of the focus, since neither party is seriously suspected of the murders). It’s less prominent than the love story in Seven Dead, and thankfully less creepy as well, with some rather good scenes between the two of them negotiating their relationship. At the same time, there’s a convoluted mystery going on with several deaths, complex interrelationships and, well, the usual stock in trade of Golden Age crime fiction, really. It’s a country house mystery, too, just to hit all those traditional notes.

I found it solidly entertaining, and though it’s a bit less weird/creepy than Seven Dead, I think it was probably stronger for it. There’s something about Farjeon’s writing that I find rather more-ish, and I’d gladly pick up a bunch more of his novels. Sadly, I only seem to have The Z Murders left… though I should check for something by other publishers or maybe as an ebook.

Rating: 4/5