The Whisper In The Gloom

A review of The Whisper in the Gloom by Nicholas Blake – 240420

The eleventh in Nicholas Blake’s Nigel Strangeways series, originally published in 1954 and going by the alternative title of Catch and Kill, is more of a thriller than a conventional murder mystery. And quite a thriller it is too.

One of the interesting features about looking at a book from another era through the lens of modern day life is how attitudes have changed. Children these days have a sheltered and, some would say, rather mollycoddled existence but in Blake’s novel, three young boys, Bert Hale, Foxy, and Copper, the former two the principal protagonists, lead a fairly feral existence and unwittingly get caught up in a plot to assassinate a Soviet minister who is visiting Britain to improve the prospects of world peace. They have quite and adventure, both Bert and Foxy being kidnapped and threatened within an inch of their life. This is no Famous Five walk in the park, there is real jeopardy and while Blake paints them convincingly and in a sympathetic light, he is not overly sentimental in his depiction.     

Blake understands their psychology, the thrill of the chase, the desire to bring the adventure that they have got entangled in to a successful conclusion, their mistrust of officialdom and, indeed, adults as a whole, and the opportunity to escape the humdrum nature of their existence with a spot of derring-do. Foxy is inspired by a sermon about self-sacrifice in the Second World War and willingly sacrifices himself to save his friend, Bert, with almost disastrous consequences. Their reward is fitting, a ride in and, for Bert, a budding scientist, the chance to pilot, a helicopter.

There are moments of high drama, Strangeways himself getting coshed over the head, a shoot- out involving police and army personnel and a mob of gangsters at an isolated Suffolk country house, Stourboys Hall, and a desperate search for a would-be assassin at the Royal Albert Hall at  concert in honour of the Soviet minister. It is a race against time to thwart an assassination plot sparked off when Dai Llewellyn, just before he is killed, hands Bert a scrap of paper which, bizarrely, seems to have the boy’s name and age on it. The import and content of the message is misinterpreted twice and the plot to destabilize world politics almost succeeds.

There is an image repeated through the book of anglers throwing bait into the water and then sitting back to watch happens. It is apposite as the initiative is entirely with the conspirators and they succeed in luring the authorities, including Nigel, into traps and blind alleys which almost destroy the credibility of the investigators. As well as our old friend, Superintendent Blount, the police efforts are led by Inspector Wright, who is a new character as is Nigel’s new clutch, Clare Massinger. Unaware of Nigel’s detective demi-career, the sculptress – shades of Roderick Alleyn’s Agatha Troy, perhaps – throws herself into helping, her own piece of self-sacrifice being to take the odious Gray out to allow Nigel to burgle his flat. Curiously, she drops out of view as the book hurtles to its conclusion.

There is no mystery over the whodunit, there are a couple of murders along the way, or, frankly, the motivation. The thrill of the book is in the chase and whether the plot will be thwarted in time. Perhaps because of the subject matter, there is a change of tone in the book. It is not one in which Blake, the pseudonym deployed by Cecil Day Lewis, overtly shows off his erudition. Its style suits the earthy, gritty subject matter – there is even a couple of effin’s, quite a contrast to Miss Silver’s occasional “Dear” – and it is pacy, gripping, sweeps the reader along to the extent that they find themselves emotionally invested in the outcome.

Thoroughly recommended.

Murder By Burial

A review of Murder by Burial by Stanley Casson – 240330

Stanley Casson was a prominent British archaeologist in his day and I remember dipping into some of his works when I was studying Ancient History at university. Murder by Burial, originally published in 1938, is in truth not much of a murder mystery as there is really only one credible suspect. A third or, to be charitable, a 2.2 it is easy to see why having got the urge to dabble in crime fiction out of his system, he went on to concentrate on his day job.

The dangers associated with unguarded excavations is a theme that I have come across before, in Ngaio Marsh’s later Hand in Glove (1962) and archeology as a medium for a hoax in Chesterton’s earlier Curse of the Golden Cross (1926). That said, the method of dispatching the victim, an archaeological site salted with supposedly rare artefacts from the pre-Roman British era to whet the victim’s appetite such that he digs and stands in the exact spot necessary for the excavation to collapse and kill the archaeologist. It is a crime, once set up, that can be committed in absentia as the geological and gravitational forces will work on their own, providing the saboteur with the perfect alibi.

The victim is Canon Burbery, who is convinced that there are the remains of a British settlement associated with Cynobeline on the outskirts of Kynchester, and obtains permission to carry out an exploratory archaeological dig. At the same time Colonel Cackett is rallying the townsfolk to honour the Roman emperor, Claudius, as the bringer of civilisation to a barbaric Britain and is establishing a proto-Fascist group of locals who parade up and down the town. Cackett gets mixed up with some altogether more sinister individuals, particularly Captain Antrobus, and is strongarmed into storing guns, ammunition and hand grenades in a well.

There is a long-running sense of animus between Burbery and Cackett, the canon despising the latter’s academic pretensions, even going to the lengths of blackballing his application to join a distinguished academic society, while the Colonel seeks to gain his revenge by siting a statue of Claudius close to the archaeological site.

In tone, the book falls into two distinct parts. The first can be viewed as a witty, acerbic satire of English society, especially in a rural town where petty rivalries and jealousies are magnified out of proportion. There are some genuinely funny parts but there is also a darker side. Rather like Nicholas Blake in The Smiler with the Knife, published a year later, Casson recognizes that the threat to all that we hold dear lies not from the left but from the right with their faux patriotism and their glorification of strong leaders. There is no coincidence that the statue of Claudius when unveiled is making the Fascist salute. We may find their activities vaguely amusing, somewhat distasteful but we allow their canker to fester at our peril, a lesson as relevant today as it was in the lead up to the Second World War.

Once the canon is killed, the tone of the book shifts as it becomes a slightly more conventional whodunit. While the official line is that it was an unfortunate accident, the arrival of the Bowman brothers, Andrew an archaeologist and John an architect, prove, even to Inspector Meatyard’s satisfaction, that it was the result of an ingenious and deliberate booby trap, primed only by someone with engineering knowledge. The discovery of the firearms cooks the Colonel’s goose but he, conveniently, eludes justice and the truth is contained to those who need to know.

Meatyard is a fascinating and sympathetic policeman who is prone to moments of almost philosophic reflection who recognizes that successful detection is the result of teamwork between professionals and amateurs rather than down to the genius of one individual. There is also a fascinating discussion as to whether a murder such as this, committed in absentia, is really a murder and whether a jury would see it as such.

The old adage is that there is a novel inside everyone and and Casson dug his out to poke fun at the expense of dilettante, amateur architects and sound warnings about the rise of the Fascists. The rider is that that is where it is best kept, but rather like an archaeological dig there is some interest amongst the dross. It is a curiosity from a man who devoted his life to studying curiosities.

The Dreadful Hollow

A review of The Dreadful Hollow by Nicholas Blake – 240311

Drawing its title from the opening line of Tennyson’s Maud: A Monodrama, the tenth book in Nicholas Blake’s Nigel Strangeways series, originally published in 1953, starts off as a relatively simple case of poison-pen letters, but takes a grimmer and more disturbing turn midway through the book. One of the characters, Stanford Blick, refers to the poem and this gives Strangeways an inkling of what he has become involved in.

For the first time Nicholas Blake’s series sleuth seems to be a detective for hire as he is commissioned by the industrialist, Sir Archibald Blick, to see who is behind a series of anonymous missives that have upset the calm of the Dorset village of Prior’s Umborne, leading to one suicide and one attempted suicide. There are relatively few suspects and using his insight Strangeways quickly identifies the author.

His enquiries, though, do allow him to meet and get acquainted with some of the people around whom the rest of the book will centre. There are Blick’s two sons, the eldest, Stanford, who is eccentric with a touch of the mad scientist about him, and  Charles the hard working but unimaginative son who is a disappointment to his father and runs the factory in the village. Twenty years earlier Charles had been engaged to Celandine Chantmerle, a woman with piercing blue eyes, who suffered from post-traumatic stress after finding her father at the bottom of the eponymous hollow and was paralysed thereafter. Her sister, Rosebay, has fiery red hair and while devoted to her sister is having a fling with Charles. And then there is the best character in the book, the religiously obsessed Daniel Durdle who stalks around the village and seems to hold an unnatural sway over many of its inhabitants.

At Celandine’s birthday lunch, one of the presents she is given is a pair of binoculars which have been modified so that when the focussing screw is turned, two needles appear which were intended to pierce her eyes. Disaster is averted thanks to the timely intervention of her sister, but what intrigues Strangeways is why the screw was so stiff. Sir Archibald then visits Prior’s Umborne and the dreadful hollow claims its next victim. There are many nocturnal comings and goings on the night in question and Strangeways, ably assisted by Inspector Blount of the Yard, has his work cut out establishing a timetable of events and testing alibis.

One thing he establishes is that Blick was responsible for Chantmerle’s financial ruin and, by extension, his suicide. Moreover, Durdle has a closer connection to the Chantmerles than the sisters realise. To clarify matters, Strangeways sets a trap into which the culprit falls and he is able to see the wood from the trees.          

The final chapter is superbly constructed as Blake, the pseudonym of Cecil Day Lewis, interweaves Nigel’s explanation of whodunit and why with the dramatic events that are unfolding in the village. Durdle, in his role of rabble rouser, gathers a lynching party to seek revenge on the author of the anonymous letters, but his plans go awry as he becomes the next victim to fall prey to the murderer. Despite Strangeways and Blount’s best efforts to apprehend the culprit, the dreadful hollow claims another victim. It makes for a thrilling finale.

As I have come to expect with Blake’s books, it is beautifully written, erudite and yet a page turner. There are some finely drawn characters and the book has more than its fair share of unpleasant individuals, Celandine having more than a touch of Miss Haversham about her. The mystery itself takes some time to get going and there are times when the plot seems to go round and round in circles. Fortunately, Strangeways’ knowledge of Tennyson’s Maud is better than mine and he manages to straighten matters out in the end.

Head Of A Traveller

A review of Head of a Traveller by Nicholas Blake – 240207

At the end of The Head of a Traveller, the ninth in Nicholas Blake’s Nigel Strangeways series, originally published in 1949, the sleuth is on the horn of a dilemma. He has in his possession a written confession from someone he admires greatly but has now committed suicide that if handed to the police would tarnish their reputation. Suspecting there are significant flaws in the confession sufficient to make it unsound but convincing enough to pass muster with the police desperate to wrap up a tricky and gruesome crime, releasing the confession would spare others who are culpable and thus respect the writer’s last wishes.

The book ends with Strangeways uncertain as to what to do and leaves the reader to ponder what they would do in the circumstances. Some might argue that this is a bit of a cop out, but it is a very realistic dilemma for someone who has the greatest respect for a person with whom he has broken bread. In the circumstances, I would probably let things be.

The book begins with Strangeways paying a visit to Plash Meadows, the home of the poet, Robert Seaton, who lives there with his wife, Janet, son, Lionel, who is still unsettled following his war experiences, and lodgers, Rennell Torrance and his wild child daughter, Mara, and Finny Black, a servant. Robert came into possession of the estate when his elder brother, Oswald, was assumed to have committed and married Janet, a member of the Lacey family who for centuries had owned Plash Meadows and had been engaged to Oswald.

Some months later a headless torso is found in the river nearby and Superintendent Blount, with whom Nigel has worked before, suggests he lends a hand in the investigations. Strangeways agrees and stays with the Seatons, the better to observe the dynamics of the family. There are two mysteries to solve; identify who the headless corpse is and then to understand who committed the murder and why.

The former is solved relatively easily if somewhat gruesomely when a head is found in a string bag up a tree. The second conundrum is more complex but has a surprisingly simple answer and with such a relatively small field of suspects the reader has a shrewd suspicion of what went on, even if the mix is complicated by the suspicion that some might be working in tandem. Curiously, Blount disappears out of sight before the denouement.     

As befits a poet, Nicholas Blake was the nom de plume of Cecil Day Lewis, a theme running through the book is the power of poetry. Robert Seaton had lost his poetic muse ever since he inherited Plash Meadows and the death of Oswald, for obviously his is the headless torso, has a cathartic, liberating effect which inspires him to produce, in Strangeways’ opinion, his finest work. To create poetry requires an alignment between one’s creativity and ease of mind. The other ever present leitmotif is the atmospheric house and its ability to evoke different moods and passions.

For the modern reader one of the controversial aspects of the book is the treatment of Finny Black who was a dwarf and was probably mute, although this was not conclusively established. The attitude of the other characters towards him and the language used to describe him might well upset those of a sensitive disposition, but, sadly, is reflective of the attitudes prevailing at the time.

At its heart, it is a story of rape and revenge, what happens when a family conspires against a black sheep, which is beautifully written, witty at times, erudite at others – the title, wonderfully chosen as Oswald had spent his time travelling comes from the opening of an A E Housman poem – and enthralling. It might not be his best but the open question at the end was a stroke of genius.

Minute For Murder

A review of Minute for Murder by Nicholas Blake – 240108

The problem with putting an author on a pedestal, as I have done with Nicholas Blake, the pen name of Cecil Day-Lewis, is that when you come across a book that falls slightly below their expected standard, you feel more disappointed than you would have done if you had read a fair to middling book from an author you have no particular feelings for. This was my overwhelming sense when I had finished Minute for Murder, originally published in 1947 and the eighth in Blake’s Nigel Strangeways series.

It is set in the last few months of the Second World War, the German war having ended but the theatre in the Far East is still awaiting its devastating denouement. Strangeways is working as head of the Editorial Unit of the Visual Propaganda Unit of the Ministry of Morale, a position that allows Day-Lewis to draw directly on his experiences as a publications editor at the Ministry of Information. His descriptions of office life, the foibles of and tensions between members of the staff ring true and one of the strengths of the book is his understanding of character and their psychological make up.

In my experience office parties are best avoided but an impromptu one held at the ministry to celebrate the return of a conquering hero, Major Charles Kennington who had pulled off an audacious capture of a leading Nazi, ends in tragedy. Nita Prince, secretary to the Director, Jimmy Lake, dies in front of her colleagues, having been poisoned, seemingly by a cyanide capsule which the Major had brought to show his former colleagues.

Soon afterwards, Jimmy is found stabbed, an attack which he survives, but utters some words which have profound significance in understanding who was behind Nita’s death. However, what has led to the assault on Jimmy is the uncovering of a plot involving blackmail and the passing on of secret files. In the context of the war, this is the more serious crime but in the book it is little more than a subplot that focuses attention on three other characters and then is suddenly dropped, only to be resuscitated towards the end as a sort of distraction motive. It is all very curious and as well as elongating the novel makes the story seem a bit disjointed.

The key to the mystery is a love quadrangle involving Nita Prince who is having an affair with Jimmy and was once engaged to Kennington who just happens to be Alice Lake’s twin brother. There are only two credible suspects and the culprit is fairly obvious but the way the murder was committed involving an eye for theatre and no little legerdemain is ingenious, requiring just the eponymous minute for murder, although I wonder whether it really could have been pulled off.

The plot is not as complex as some of those in Blake’s other books but there is much to admire, not least the author’s confident, erudite but engaging style. There is a wonderful episode of mental duelling in the penultimate chapter which leads to the culprit finally cracking, a tour de force which is worth reading the book just to enjoy. Nigel Strangeways is a calm student of human psychology and puts his suspects into situations where he can obtain vital evidence from their reactions, physical or physiognomic.

Sadly, we learn that Nigel’s wife, Georgia, who featured prominently in The Smiler with the Knife (1939) had been killed earlier in the war. She will be missed.

This is a good, solid murder mystery but by Blake’s standards, not one of his best.