A great deal of the decline in mystery fiction can be attributed to books like these. From the misfiring pun in the title through to the mawkish and pointless exchange of Christmas presents in the first chapter, and on to the long-winded speeches that slow down the so-called investigation, nothing in this book suggests the author had an ear for dialogue, an eye for character, or any sense of plot. Mostly the writing is merely dull, but occasionally it strays into the absurdly inappropriate:
..and now [Dr. Page] had an appointment in a London hospital under the eye of a distinguished surgeon. He was thought by many people to have a great career in front of him.
Two years later he died, a victim of a post-mortem infection.
"Mrs. Page was cut up?" suggested Gently...
The story is simple: Inspector Gently travels north to spend Christmas with a Chief Constable he knows called Sir Daynes. On the way he meets an American soldier on leave who is visiting Lord Somerhayes, Sir Daynes's neighbour. The soldier is killed on Christmas Eve and Gently is drawn into the investigation, mainly through the laughable incompetence of the local police, including his friend Daynes and an Inspector confusingly called Dyson.
Most of the main characters are cardboard cliches -- stage Americans, a stage Welshman, a stage artist and a stage Englishman who goes 'harrumph!' and smooths his moustache from time to time. There are no clues -- I mean that quite literally -- and what passes for an investigation consists of the locals jumping to conclusions, while the various suspects queue up to confess to Gently, the intuitive superman. Chief among these is the effete Somerhayes, who regards Gently with a doe-like stare and inviegles him alone into the Library -- not for The Vice That Dare Not Speak Its Name, alas, but in order to bore him (and us) with a long incoherent rave about the duties of the aristocracy. The other characters have shorter, but no less dull, set-pieces of their own. The author seems to have had political opinions, but what they were I neither know nor care. And the arbitrary selection of a murderer in the last chapter provides neither interest nor surprise.
This is the kind of book that gives mysteries a bad name. In fact, this is the kind of book that gives BOOKS a bad name. Avoid at all costs.
Jon.| < Prev | Next > |
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