Every so often, it is pleasant to go back to the roots of the modern detective story. There is some disagreement over where, precisely, those roots may be found. Certainly Edgar Allan Poe's short stories, "The Murders in the Rue Morgue" and "The Purloined Letter" were among the very first mystery stories. And then there was The Moonstone, by Wilkie Collins, among the first mystery novels, first appearing in 1868. Whether it was "first" or "among the first" is almost irrelevant; I think The Moonstone has maintained its audience over the years, right up to today. After nearly one-and-a-half centuries, it remains in print, and it certainly contains the seeds of so many detective story tropes that I can only say: if you haven't read it, try it. Here's what I said about The Moonstone in my audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, nearly a decade ago. Updated somewhat, as usual:
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When you trace the detective story back to its roots, there are a few landmarks along the way which are of overwhelming importance. Edgar Allen Poe, for instance, and his 1841 story, “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” is generally considered the first real detective story. But if you are looking for the first detective novel, you must find it in English literature – a story with elements that became standard in mysteries to this day, not to mention a surprising number of thrillers. It’s about a fabulous diamond, originally stolen from the statue of the Indian moon god, given as a gift to a young woman – and then stolen again. It sounds like so many thrillers, but this was the original: The Moonstone, the novel written in 1868 by Wilkie Collins.
As I said, many of the elements of The Moonstone quickly became clichés – think of the number of early thrillers that featured rare gems supposedly stolen from idols and pursued by fanatical guardians seeking to recapture their lost jewels. But The Moonstone was and is a great deal more than that. It is a novel about detection, and it features a great many elements which became a standard part of mystery fiction.
There’s a good article in Wikipedia which points out some of the innovations Collins used in The Moonstone which have survived. These include:
- The principal setting, in an English country mansion;
- The concept of an “inside job”;
- The use of red herrings to distract the reader’s attention from the real criminal. That’s linked to the idea of having the villain be the least-suspected character;
- A skilled professional investigator, who is contrasted with the bumbling local police.
There are many more – and they can all be traced back to their appearance in The Moonstone.
The story, in brief, follows the initial theft of the gem known as the Moonstone in India, its reappearance in England, its use as a birthday gift for a young woman on her 18th birthday. A group of Indian jugglers – actually high-caste Brahmins – appears in the neighborhood, obviously trying to recover their stolen gem. During the night after the birthday celebration, the Moonstone disappears from the house, although it is shown that the three Indian men could have had nothing to do with it. The theft plunges the household into a fair amount of misery; there are recriminations, conversations at cross purposes, thwarted love affairs. One character commits suicide. The gem appears to have been given to a London money-lender as a pledge, to be redeemed in a year’s time.
The next year, the mystery of the stone’s disappearance is solved through some excellent detective work and a medical experiment involving opium. Eventually, the jewel is redeemed and given to the criminal who had stolen it – but that person is then murdered by the three Indian men, who disappear again with their Moonstone. By the end of the book, the jewel has been returned to the idol from which it was stolen.
That’s a very brief summary of a mystery that runs to better than 400 pages. Perhaps surprisingly, it remains an exciting and enjoyable read today. The story is told by a series of narrators, each taking a small portion of the story, filling in details, then passing it along to the next narrator. It was a fairly common literary form in the mid-1800s, and, in fact, has been used by other, later mystery writers as well – most notably, I think, by Michael Innes in Lament for a Maker.
The modern reader needs to be aware that the book was written during the rule of Queen Victoria, and what we now call "Victorian attitudes" are particularly noticeable here – especially in the book’s treatment of women, who appear to be generally regarded as weak and driven by irrational emotions. But if you look below the surface of some of the female characters, you’ll find that they are a great deal more intelligent and spirited than you might think from merely skimming the book.
The narrators are an interesting contrast too: the story is begun by one of the family’s oldest and most trusted servants, who hands the narration over to a poor female relation which is also a religious fanatic – and there is some marvelous humor here at the poor woman’s expense. She is followed by a lawyer, by another member of the household, by a doctor’s assistant, and so forth, each peeling away a layer of the story and adding new depth and context to this marvelous tale.
It had been a long time since I had read Wilkie Collins’ The Moonstone. Quite frankly, I didn’t think I would enjoy it very much. I was wrong. And I didn’t expect to find myself unable to put it down. Wrong again. If you have never read it, you should do so. There are, I believe, a number of editions – the one I read was from Dover Publications – but I know it is also available in electronic and even audio formats, and you should have no trouble finding it.
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You can listen to the original audio review on the podcast by clicking here.
Next: The Puzzle of the Blue Banderilla, by Stuart Palmer