My selection from the vault this week is the mystery which marked the first appearance of Oxford University English Professor Gervase Fen. He's the creation of Edmund Crispin, the pen name for Robert Bruce Montgomery. If Fen is involved in a case, you may be reasonably sure that the plot will be clever and concise, with features that may turn it into an "impossible" crime situation. You may also be sure of witty and quite funny scenes, often juxtaposed with unexpected touches of grim, almost noir-ish detail. The book is The Case of the Gilded Fly, first published in 1944, and while it's not Crispin's best work (in my opinion, anyway), it's still awfully good. Here's the script of the audio review I did for this book on the Classic Mysteries podcast several years ago, suitably edited:
- 0 -
It appeared pretty obvious to the police that the victim had committed suicide. The nature of the gunshot wound, evidently fired at pointblank range; the fact that there was no way a killer could possibly have gotten in or out of the room without being seen – these pretty well seemed to indicate suicide. But Gervase Fen, professor of English at Oxford University, certainly was not convinced. He declared that it was murder – and, what’s more, insisted that he could name the murderer. While this did not particularly endear him to the police, it certainly makes an interesting debut for one of my favorite detectives, Gervase Fen, in The Case of the Gilded Fly, by Edmund Crispin.
Writing as Edmund Crispin, Robert Bruce Montgomery wrote just nine novels and two short story collections – a very small output, most of it written between 1944 and 1953. Yet I find Crispin’s books to be memorable – more so than the more numerous contributions of other authors. Crispin’s sense of humor, his plots and – above all – the character of his detective, Oxford University Professor Gervase Fen, make Crispin’s books a treat.
The Case of the Gilded Fly, first published in 1944, is the book which introduced Fen – and Crispin – to the world. Crispin does quite a bit of showing off here; there’s a bit of an atmosphere of “I’m clever and I don’t care who knows it,” but I don’t think it’s intrusive.
The book begins with a prologue which looks at eleven individuals traveling to Oxford by train. We are introduced to each of these characters, all traveling, as Crispin notes, at different times and for different purposes and we probe a bit to learn who they are. Crispin, after introducing them to us, gets them all to Oxford and allows them to disperse to their various destinations. And, in the concluding sentence of this prologue, Crispin tells us – "within the week that followed, three of these eleven died by violence."
That is typical of Crispin. His writing disarms the reader, providing humor – sometimes gentle, sometimes not so; he creates excellent characters and sets his scenes. And then, when the reader may not be expecting it, he drops in a one-liner like that which makes us sit up and pay attention.
Having set the scene, Crispin gets the plot moving; most of the people we have met are involved in the production of a new play by the Oxford Repertory Theatre. We are given a variety of characters – the playwright; his long-time mistress, who is a well-known London actress; another actress, who is a particularly nasty individual detested by just about everyone; and one of the repertory theatre’s producers. There are other characters as well – not least among them Professor Fen, who has managed to get himself something of a reputation for solving complex mysteries. When we meet Fen on that train ride to Oxford, we are told:
"He wondered if he would be allowed to investigate another murder, supposing one occurred. Later he recalled this wish without satisfaction, since it was to be granted in that heavily ironic fashion which the gods appear to consider amusing."
As you would expect, that murder is not long in happening. The victim apparently has been shot at point-blank range, with the gun conveniently lying next to the body. But it appears that nobody else could have been in the room at the time – there are independent witnesses to this – so it must have been suicide. Only Fen demonstrates quite clearly that it could NOT have been suicide…a fact which tends to displease the local police.
I don’t want to say much more about the plot, except to note that there will be more deaths (as we were promised in the prologue), and that it will be up to Fen to figure out what really happened.
All of this is leavened by Crispin’s writing style and humor – although there are some nicely bizarre touches. Fen has a tendency to refer to other fictional detectives as if they were real people. He also tends to quote freely, making references to literature, opera, even art, and he seems to take it for granted that his readers will be able to follow along. I confess freely that I can’t always do so; it’s a potential irritant, although a familiar one, if you have read Michael Innes or some of Dorothy L. Sayers. Overall, though, it’s mostly a great deal of fun. Crispin is showing off his writing style, and he does so very effectively.
In a foreword written for the edition of The Case of the Gilded Fly which sits on my bookshelves, crime fiction historian Douglas G. Greene writes of what he calls:
[Crispin’s] “'depth of frivolity' that sometimes produced scenes of gentle wit in his novels and sometimes broad farce, but always with a sharpness of observation of human foibles. His stories are filled with touches of fantastic imagination, eccentric but believable characters, and well-constructed detective plots with all the clues laid fairly before the reader.
I agree with Greene. If you haven’t met Gervase Fen – or Edmund Crispin – try The Case of the Gilded Fly. [Ed. note: the edition discussed above does not appear to be available, but the book IS still available both in paper and in e-book versions, according to Amazon. As always, please check first with your own preferred bookseller for help in finding it.
- 0 -
You may listen to the complete audio review by clicking here.
Next: Average Jones, by Samuel Hopkins Adams.]
Comments