Classic Mysteries

"The Mad Hatter Mystery"

It began really with what seemed to be practical jokes at best (or at worst, depending on your point of view). Somebody was stealing top hats and other headgear from a number of prominent people - snatching them off their owners' heads and escaping into a crowd. The hats would later turn up in unlikely but, perhaps, appropriate places: a barrister's wig, for example, was found on the head of a taxi driver's horse. And then, perhaps inevitably, there was a murder - and the victim had, on his head, one of the missing top hats. That's when Dr. Gideon Fell got involved in the search for an explanation and a solution. You'll find the story in The Mad Hatter Mystery, by John Dickson Carr. It's the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you are welcome to listen to the complete review by clicking here.

The press clearly was enjoying the story of the stolen hats and the apparent inability of the police to do anything about them. The police were not amused and, increasingly, highly frustrated. There were other, more serious crimes, to be solved - for example, the theft of a priceless manuscript, a previously unknown detective story by Edgar Allan Poe. Only Dr. Fell thought there might be some connection between the theft of the manuscript and the theft of the hats.

While John Dickson Carr is remembered primarily for his mastery of the “impossible crime” mystery, he was also a master of the eerie atmosphere. In a Carr novel, you might be reading a passage that strikes you as very funny – and suddenly find something very cold and chilling lurking at its heart. Originally published in 1933, The Mad Hatter Mystery was Carr’s second book to feature Dr. Gideon Fell as his protagonist. Dr. Fell was based on the real-life author G. K. Chesterton (whom Carr admired), and he would go on to become one of Carr’s primary sleuths. Although this book is not really about murder in a locked room, it has a brilliant and complex plot that is certain to grip the reader. And when it ends, the reader will see that he or she was given every necessary clue – but those clues are so well disguised that they slip right past that reader’s eyes. As with so many of Carr’s novels, his story creates an unforgettable atmosphere that aims – quite successfully, in my opinion – at throwing the reader off-balance, making seemingly inexplicable events suddenly believable. Long out of print, publisher Otto Penzler has brought out a new edition as part of his American Mystery Classics series. I recommend The Mad Hatter Mystery very highly.

"Beware of the Trains"

Sorry to be a bit late in posting this one today, but I've spent the past couple of days celebrating (1) my wife's birthday and (2) Mothers Day. So perhaps it's fitting that I offer a present to you as well - or sixteen presents, even better. They're the sixteen short stories contained in Beware of the Trains, by Edmund Crispin, one of my favorite authors, and fourteen of the sixteen stories feature Oxford University Professor Gervase Fen, often aiding his (not always very bright) friend, Inspector Humbleby. It's the book that is the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast.

Rather than duplicate effort, if you'd like more information about the sixteen stories in  Beware of the Trains, please listen to the complete podcast review, which will give you brief descriptions of each story. Things should be back to what passes for normal here later in the week. If you've never read Crispin, this is a fine way to meet him.

 

 

"Challenge the Impossible"

I mean, really. Short stories. Impossible crimes solved by Dr. Sam Hawthorne, an engaging small-town doctor. And all by the amazing Edward D. Hoch, surely one of the most prolific writers of short crime stories. Really, what's not to love?

How amazing was the late Edward D. Hoch? Consider just this one point: Ed Hoch had a story published in every issue of Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine beginning in May, 1973 and running in an unbroken chain for 35 years until after his death in 2008. He wrote just a few novels, but saw nearly a thousand of his short stories published. They weren't all Dr. Sam stories, not all "impossible crimes," because Ed Hoch had a number of different series, quite different from each other, but all terrific examples of crime fiction and many of its sub-genres. 

The publishers at Crippen & Landru have released five volumes, containing all the Dr. Sam stories. I've already written about the first four (and you'll find them on the backlist page, reached from the box on the right). Challenge the Impossible is the last collection. It's the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you can listen to the complete review by clicking here.

What kind of stories will you find here? Among others:

• A murder in a hospital room that apparently must have been committed by a ghost;
• A double murder in a locked and bolted house;
• A young man practically vanishes before townspeople's astonished eyes;
• Could a snowman have committed murder - and then simply melted away?
• A seance is interrupted by murder.

And ten other stories. I'm sure you get the idea. Crimes that appear to have been impossible - but weren't, really, and Dr. Sam Hawthorne reveals the tricks. Sounds like fun, you say? Believe me, it is. You'll eat these up like a good chocolate dessert. Another author and an old friend of Ed Hoch, Josh Pachter, contributes an excellent introduction, adding still another reason why you need this book. Edward D. Hoch. Challenge the Impossible. Go ahead. Do it.

"Pass the Body" (or "Crime in Kensington")

Like so many other residential hotels in Kensington, the Garden Hotel was an uninspiring arrangement of stucco, tiled doorsteps, aspidistras, revolving doors, verandahs and hall porter.

"It looks neither odd nor comfortable," reflected  Venables, negotiating the steps, the hall porter, the doors and the aspidistra...

Well, Charles Venables is likely to be proven only half correct in his initial assessment of the Garden Hotel. He is correct in assuming that the hotel is unlikely to prove very comfortable. But it most certainly is odd, at the very least, as are many of the rather eccentric residents. And the occurrences of a disappearance from and a murder within a locked room in the hotel surely must be considered as odd. Also, as Charles has discovered, the price paid by its guests was distinctly too low. The details will be found in an English Golden Age mystery that appears to be available, at the moment, under two different titles: as a paperback book, it is called Pass the Body, which was its American title, while as an e-book it is known by the title, Crime in Kensington, by which it was originally published in the U.K. in 1933. It was the first mystery to be written by Christopher St. John Sprigg (who wrote as "Christopher Caudwell"). It is the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you may listen to the complete review by clicking here.

Charles Venables, now earning a (somewhat) precarious living as a gossip columnist for the Daily Mercury, finds himself on the scene for the very unfortunate goings-on at the Garden Hotel. His friend, Lady Viola Merritt, daughter of the Earl of Buxley, was already a resident of the Garden Hotel and had suggested that Charles move in to the hotel, because of the low price and the surprisingly high quality of the amenities. Even on the day of his arrival, Charles found the hotel a bit unusual, to say the least. As he reflected:

"This is really too awful...When one hears a bloke threaten to kill his wife and then immediately afterwards meets a sinister and mysterious Oriental, it is time to move somewhere else, for one has obviously walked into the plot of a thriller of the vulgarest and most exciting description."

And that night, Mrs. Budge, who owns the Garden Hotel along with her husband, disappears from her bedroom (and another older resident is attacked in that same room as well) – and yet nobody could have entered or left the room unobserved. It won’t be long before a particularly gruesome discovery brings Scotland Yard – in the person of Detective Inspector Bernard Bray – into the case. Inspector Bray will find an ally in Charles Venables – who has some useful skills in his own background that will be helpful to both of them in solving a shocking murder case – and, with it, uncovering the secrets of the Garden Hotel.

In his brief lifetime, Christopher St. John Sprigg wrote only seven mystery novels – before he went off to fight in the Spanish Civil War, where he died in battle. Pass the Body was the first of his crime books, and it reinforces my enjoyment of, and respect for, Sprigg’s plotting skill and extremely witty writing. It is available as a paperback under the title Pass the Body or as an e-book entitled Crime in Kensington. If you enjoy impossible crimes, interesting characters, and clever writing, you will enjoy this book.

From the Vault: "The Judas Window"

If you are a fan of the impossible crime or locked room story, as I am, then you are probably familiar with the name of John Dickson Carr (who also wrote as "Carter Dickson"). If you are a fan of the impossible crime or locked room story and you are not familiar with the name of John Dickson Carr, then it's time you read at least one of his best books. I'm sure there are good reasons why Carr - so far - has not been widely reprinted by publishers who have been bringing back so many fine Golden Age authors, but I do not know what those reasons are. I do hear, from time to time, rumblings about plans to make some of his books available - and I've found that one of his best is available currently as an e-book. So while we wait for the day when we can again find affordable paper editions of some of Carr's other fine books, here's my review from the Classic Mysteries vault of The Judas Window, originally published in 1938 as being by Carter Dickson and featuring the irascible Sir Henry Merrivale as its detective. As usual, the text of my review has been slightly tweaked:

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How’s this for a nightmare situation: you wake up, aware that you have been drugged, to find yourself alone in a room with a dead man. He appears to have been stabbed with an arrow that had been hanging on the wall. The window is securely shuttered and locked. The door is locked and bolted on the inside. There is no way in or out of the room – and there is nobody else in the room. And someone is knocking on the door. That’s the situation in The Judas Window, by Carter Dickson – the pen name of John Dickson Carr.

John Dickson Carr was, and remains, the acknowledged master of the locked room mystery. As Carter Dickson, he wrote a series of impossible crime novels featuring his detective, Sir Henry Merrivale, H. M. as his friends call him. In The Judas Window, Sir Henry winds up in the role of defense lawyer in court, defending the young man I described a moment ago, who is, of course, accused of the murder.

Let’s recap: James Answell, the young man in question, has been called to the house of his fiancee’s father – a man he has never met. The two enter a room. The father begins – in Answell’s eyes, at least – to act strangely, and appears to be picking a fight. But then Answell passes out. When he wakes, perhaps 20 minutes later, he finds the scene as I described it a moment ago. His future father-in-law has been murdered inside a locked room, with no way in or out. Witnesses, who overheard the start of an argument between the two men, are able to testify that nobody has entered or left the room. The whiskey decanter which Answell says contained the drugged liquor is full (and there are no drugs in it) and the glasses are clean, and a doctor called to the scene says he can see no signs that Answell was drugged.

There is, in short, nothing to believe except that Answell has committed the murder, having quarreled with his fiancee’s father. He is arrested, charged with the murder, and his trial takes place in that great court of London known as the Old Bailey.

But Answell does have one thing going for him: Sir Henry Merrivale agrees to take the case for the defense. Because Sir Henry thinks he knows what really happened. The crime was committed, he says, through use of the Judas Window.

And what, you may ask, is the Judas Window? Obviously it’s going to be a while before Sir Henry reveals that to you. Is it some obscure secret? Hardly. It is, as H.M. says repeatedly, the key to the whole plot (not to mention the title of the book). Some obscure secret passage? No. As H.M. observes pretty early on in the book, you will find a Judas Window in just about every room you enter. The trouble, as he says, is that so few people even notice it.

Does it sound as if Carr is playing with the reader? He is. Most shamelessly. And quite thoroughly. The book is primarily a courtroom drama – something a bit unusual for Carr, but not at all out of place. And the locked room mystery, which is so clearly at the heart of this book, is well and fairly presented to the reader. H. M. even gives the reader a carefully worked-out timetable, with names and events neatly outlined and his own comments penciled carefully into the margin. And yet I’m willing to bet that most readers won’t tumble to the solution before H.M. is ready to deliver it – and that will follow quite a set of courtroom theatrics. As one of the characters says to him, at the very end of the book, “I am inclined to suspect that you are a disgrace to all the splendid traditions of the fairness of English law.”

There are critics who have called The Judas Window the best locked room mystery of all time. I’m not sure I agree with that; as I have said before, I still think Carr’s The Three Coffins (known in England as The Hollow Man), takes that honor. But The Three Coffins is much more complex in its locked rooms and impossible crimes, depending on a series of more-or-less unlikely events and the careful misleading of the reader. The solution to the locked room problem in “The Judas Window,” by contrast, is breathtakingly simple – in fact, as is often the case with such books, there’s a tendency to feel somewhat disappointed, to say, “is that all?” That’s unfair to the genius of the author, who has managed to practically rub our noses in the concept of the Judas Window – and yet conceal his meaning until the end of the novel – and, by doing so, he misdirects us admirably.

As always with Carr, the reader can’t help but be aware that he or she is in the hands of a master manipulator – but one who essentially plays fairly throughout. It is a book that belongs in every mystery lover’s library.

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You can listen to the original audio review by clicking here.

Next: If Death Ever Slept, by Rex Stout.

From the Vault: "Rim of the Pit"

I love a really well-done "impossible crime" mystery - the kind that John Dickson Carr in particular wrote over the course of his career. The kind of mystery that doesn't seem to have any possible solution that doesn't involve the supernatural. But in the best of them, the terrifying atmosphere and seemingly impossible mysteries will ultimately be resolved, and you'll find that the author has quite neatly pulled the rug out from under you and your expectations. While Carr was the acknowledged master of the locked room/impossible crime genre, there is one other book by one other author that deserves comparison with Carr at his best. The book is Rim of the Pit, a 1944 classic by Hake Talbot, and it's still available. Here's a text version of the audio review I did of Rim of the Pit on the Classic Mysteries podcast several years ago - somewhat edited for clarity:

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“I came up here to make a dead man change his mind.”

That’s the first line of a pretty amazing book – an impossible crime story by an author I had never read before. It’s a story that veers right along the edge between the supernatural and the stage illusion, the kind of tension at the heart of some of the very best locked room mysteries. The book is Rim of the Pit, by Hake Talbot.

Hake Talbot was the pen name of a stage magician named Henning Nelms. He only wrote two mysteries, one of which, Rim of the Pit, is absolutely dazzling. Perhaps it was because of Talbot’s background as a magician that he is so well able to force his audience to suspend disbelief. The reader is going to be swamped with impossibilities – with situations which, it would seem, could only have been the result of supernatural forces. But  this is a mystery, not a ghost story.

The central character, and detective figure, is a man named Rogan Kincaid, who has been invited to a lonely lodge somewhere in the wilderness of northern New England, close to the Canadian border. The man who invited him there, Luke Latham, is the man who makes that initial statement which I found so startling: "I came up here to make a dead man change his mind." He means that literally. Latham and his business partner, Frank Ogden, own a logging company. For reasons too complex to explain here, they believe that the only way they will be able to stay in business is by holding a séance to get permission from a long-dead partner to expand their logging interests. Both men, obviously, are believers in spiritualism, and there will be eerie scenes of séances adding to the general atmosphere of brooding and terror.

Because what happens – or appears to happen – at that séance is that they are successful in bringing back their dead partner, only to discover that he has become an evil and utterly malevolent spirit. From that point on, we are treated to apparent cases of possession, the appearance of a flying monster known as a wendego, and a couple of bloody murders. Add in a blinding snowstorm that – naturally – isolates the small group of characters and you have the elements of a fine thriller.

But I assure you that this is not necessarily a ghost story. It is, instead, an ingenious plot in which there are impossibilities galore: there are trails of footprints that appear to start and end in the middle of fields of unbroken snow. There are ancient curses, escapes from locked rooms, that terrifying flying…thing.

But can there be a non-supernatural explanation? The atmosphere of terror, of ghosts and evil spirits, of things that appear to be totally impossible – that atmosphere is created and maintained in this book as well as I have ever seen it done. In atmosphere, it rivals the very best of John Dickson Carr. As a matter of fact, there are enough similarities at some points to make it appear that Talbot must have been paying some homage to Carr. In Carr’s The Three Coffins, for example, a central character is named Professor Grimaud. In Rim of the Pit, the long-dead partner is named Grimaud as well. Coincidence? Possibly. But just as Carr, in his best books, could create that atmosphere of being caught up in the supernatural…while providing the reader with fair clues about what really happened…so we see very much the same kind of thing in Talbot’s book. For there will be clues. Spiritualism, mediums and séances were very popular, both in England and in the United States, for a very long time, and the reader will be shown some of the ways in which those events could be manipulated. One of the characters in Rim of the Pit is a man who has been a stage magician, and – without giving away any real secrets – he is instrumental in helping the reader (and, of course, the other characters) figure out what is really going on, providing some insight into the ways in which stage magicians are able to trick their audiences. For behind all the supernatural trappings, there may be a human hand at work.

I’m trying to avoid giving too much away, for this wonderful book is filled with mystery and surprises, and the atmosphere of horror plays a significant part in misleading the reader and pointing away from the eventual solution.

One other note: according to Wikipedia, a poll of mystery experts taken in 1981 listed John Dickson Carr’s The Three Coffins – also known as The Hollow Man – as the best locked room mystery ever written. I have frequently said that I agree with that judgment. But the same poll of experts found Hake Talbot’s Rim of the Pit was number two on their list – and I think that could very well be true. Yes, it’s that good. Ramble House has reissued Rim of the Pit, complete with a back-cover map (taken from the old Dell Mapbook version of the book) that illustrates the scene of the crime and some of the impossible footprint trails and other puzzles. If you enjoy impossible crimes with fascinating characters and terrifying atmospherics, by all means you must read this book. Frankly, I couldn’t put it down.

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To listen to the original version of this review, you can click here.

Next: Three Witnesses, three Nero Wolfe novellas by Rex Stout.

"Murder Fantastical"

The Manciple family, gathered at their family home, Cregwell Grange in the English village of Cregwell, is one of those delightful (if rather surreal) collections of colorful eccentrics who may be found in some traditional, plot-and-puzzle driven English mysteries. There is Major George Manciple, the titular head of the family. There is his brother Edwin, the retired Anglican bishop from the African nation of Bugolaland who loves English-style cryptic crosswords, full of puns and odd wordplay clues. There is another brother, Sir Claude, director of the nearby atomic research station. There is Aunt Dora Manciple, 93 years young and not slowing down at all, thank you, even if her hearing aid only whistles. And several more relatives, each with their own oddities and weaknesses. They are a charming family, even if they have next to no money and the house, Cregwell Grange, appears to be on the verge of collapsing around their ears. But could one of them possibly be guilty of murder? That's what Chief Inspector Henry Tibbett of Scotland Yard must determine in Murder Fantastical, a 1967 mystery by Patricia Moyes, featuring Inspector Tibbett, along with one of the finest supporting casts of eccentric characters any reader could wish. It's the subject of today's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you can listen to the complete review by clicking here.

The problem certainly began when Raymond Mason bought - and moved into - the lodge, on the Manciples' home property of Cregwell Grange. Mason was a bookmaker - that's a bookie, to you American visitors - and he was, not to mince words, a snob, interested in muscling his way into the upper layers of Cregwell society. He wanted to buy Cregwell Grange; the Manciples refused his offers, both reasonable and unreasonable, and Mason was setting up some truly nasty entanglements to force the issue. And then Mason was shot in the back - in the driveway of the Grange. The Chief Constable - another good friend of the Manciples - called in Scotland Yard to avoid the awkwardness of having to investigate close friends for murder. And so Henry Tibbett and his wife, Emmy, arrived in Cregwell. That's when Henry first encounters Major George Manciple sitting in a tree, waving a revolver, saying "bang bang" and trying to recreate the murder scene. As another character, the Chief Constable, observes, "conversation with George Manciple had this distressing effect of dispersing logic, as sunshine disperses fog." It leads to a memorable moment:

As Henry climbed into his car again he was aware of the carefully aimed pistol and the faint cry of ‘Bang, bang!’ from among the branches. He drove the few yards up to the front door in a state of pleasant anticipation. He felt reasonably certain that he was going to enjoy himself.

I’ve been trying – without much success – to figure out how to tell you more about the plot, more about the shooting, more about the Manciples, more about the surprising twists and the witty writing, all without spoilers. I have finally given up. Look, my friends, here’s the situation: you have a shooting. You have a likable and intelligent detective. You have a wildly eccentric family for whom misunderstanding the world around them seems to be a part of everyday life. You have some developments that are so funny that you will find yourself laughing very loudly indeed – and some other elements that will chill you.  Saying much beyond that, I’m afraid, would spoil your reading pleasure. Trust me on this one. Murder Fantastical is well plotted and both very funny and touching. Just read it. Thank you.

 

From the Vault: "The Case of the Constant Suicides"

You would think, with all the attention now being paid to classic-but-forgotten mystery writers from the Golden Age in both the U.K. and U.S., that some enterprising publisher would by now have acquired the rights to re-publish all or at least most of the works of John Dickson Carr (who also wrote as "Carter Dickson"). Unfortunately, it hasn't happened yet, at least not that I can tell. If Carr's name is new to you, he was - and remains, I think - the ultimate master of the locked room/"impossible" crime mystery. For that reason, I thought it might be a good time to raid the vault for the text of my audio review of Carr's brilliant The Case of the Constant Suicides, which ran on the Classic Mysteries podcast about eight years ago. The book is out of print (again), but there do seem to be a few dozen copies out there in the wild, in case you'd like to see why I make such a fuss over Carr's books. As always, there has been some editing, mostly to update information about the book's availability:

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When Angus Campbell fell to his death from his room at the top of a high tower, he left several unanswered questions behind. First among them, certainly, was the question of whether Angus had committed suicide – or had been murdered. If suicide, why would he kill himself and so invalidate his fairly new life insurance policies, thus leaving his family as paupers? But if it was murder, how could it have been committed inside a locked and bolted room? Fortunately for the Campbells, Dr. Gideon Fell, that master at solving impossible crimes, was on hand – and he found himself confronted with more than one impossibility in The Case of the Constant Suicides.

John Dickson Carr was the acknowledged master of the locked room or impossible crime story. Almost all of his books feature crimes – usually murder – that apparently never could have happened – but somehow did. And Carr was scrupulously fair with his readers, giving them every clue they needed to solve his impossible crimes before his detective – if the readers were clever enough to pick up those clues and follow them. It was a game to both Carr and to his readers – the grandest game, he often called it, and it is one of the reasons why he remains one of my favorite authors.

Carr has been out of print for far too long, and I am delighted that the Rue Morgue Press has been reissuing some of his best books. [Note that the RMP is no longer in business, so the books are, once again, out of print. -Ed.] The newest addition to their list is The Case of the Constant Suicides, which has to be one of Carr’s finest books. It was first published in 1941, and it is set in a Britain which has begun blacking its lights out at night, in preparation for what would become the devastating Nazi blitz.

The Case of the Constant Suicides revolves around two young people – rival history professors, in fact – somewhat distant relatives and members of the Campbell family, who are summoned to the family’s castle in the Scottish highlands. The family’s patriarch, old Angus Campbell, has died in a fall from his locked bedroom, located in a virtually inaccessible high tower attached to the castle. If he was murdered, or if it was an accident (which seems highly unlikely), then his heirs will receive the payouts on some insurance policies which he took out shortly before his death.

But if it was murder – as the family believes, for suicide would be most unlike Angus, particularly as he would have known that suicide would mean no money for his heirs – if it was murder, how was it done? Angus was sleeping in his bedroom, which was locked and bolted, at the top of the tower, accessible only by an inner stairway – there was no other way to reach the room. But what happened to Angus’s diary, which disappeared from the bedroom after his death? And what of the empty animal carrier, found latched under his bed, empty? Did it contain some nightmarish creature that killed him by forcing him to leap out of that tower window? What of the later appearance of an apparent ghost in the tower – or another person’s fall from the tower room, under the same circumstances?

And just when we think we may know the answer to that question, there is another death – another man, found hanging inside a locked and bolted cottage.

The man who makes sense out of all these peculiar happenings is Carr’s wonderful character, Dr. Gideon Fell. Physically and mentally, Fell is based on the author G. K. Chesterton, the creator of Father Brown. Dr. Fell is an expert at solving impossible crimes, and he finds himself challenged by the events in this book – although he will eventually reach a solution and even bring about what he will consider a fair and just end to a difficult case.

What all this fails to tell you is that The Case of the Constant Suicides is also a wonderfully, laugh-out-loud funny book. Set in Scotland, the characters find themselves drinking a family whiskey known as the Doom of the Campbells – called that for excellent reason. There are drinking scenes perhaps best described as heroic. Here’s young Alan Campbell – one of our history professors – taking his first taste of the whiskey:

He lifted the glass, drained it, and almost literally reeled.

It did not take the top of his head off, but for a second he thought it was going to. The stuff was strong enough to make a battleship alter its course. The veins of his temples felt bursting; his eyesight dimmed; and he decided that he must be strangling to death.

The description goes on at some length. Be forewarned that, just as the drink itself was amazingly powerful, so too will be the hangover when Alan wakes up the next morning.

There are other brilliantly funny passages – particularly the rivalry and eventual romance between Alan and his second cousin twice removed, the other history professor, Kathryn Campbell. But there is also a marvelously frightening atmospheric quality to the nightmarish events in the book. Carr was always masterful at suggesting unseen and supernatural terrors – that would all, of course, be quite rationally explained at the end of the book.

Enough. It is funny. It is mysterious. It is fair to the reader. It is a delight. The Case of the Constant Suicides is one of John Dickson Carr’s best. It should not be missed.

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To hear the complete recording of the original review, click here.

Next: Death in the Stocks, by Georgette Heyer.

The Twelve Reading Days of Christmas

For the Classic Mysteries blog and podcast this week, may I present all my readers here with a gift: a list of twelve mysteries that may help instill a bit of the Christmas spirit into the stoutest Grinch. I would hope that you'd take your list down to your favorite mystery bookstore, whose staff, I'm sure, would be happy to help you fill your shopping basket with these books. Believe me, those bookstores really can use your support. Another reason for me to celebrate: this is podcast # 600 - give or take a couple of the early ones. We're at about 11 1/2 years of doing the podcast; the blog came a year or so later.

That said, and in an effort to keep the size of this post to a level where it really is readable, let me urge you to listen to today's podcast (#600!!), which contains brief descriptions of each of the twelve books, along with other useful information about the Twelve Reading Days of Christmas. Then, as you wish, please look at the links below. For each book, I have provided a link to my original podcast review. For all but one of them, I have also provided a link to each book's original post on this blog. The exception is Ngaio Marsh's Tied Up in Tinsel, which was reviewed on the podcast before the blog began, meaning I have nowhere to link.

This is being posted about two weeks ahead of the holiday, so I'm hoping many of you will take advantage of the opportunities to add to your collections and to enjoy what I suppose is a more murderous way to greet the season. May we all have something to celebrate during this season.

The twelve books:

1. Agatha Christie, Murder for Christmas   click for podcast     click for blog post

 

2. Rex Stout, "Christmas Party." In And Four to Go.     click for podcast     click for blog post

 

3. Georgette Heyer, Envious Casca     click for podcast     click for blog post

 

4. Nicholas Blake, Thou Shell of Death     click for podcast     click for blog post

 

5. T. Jefferson Farjeon, Mystery in White     click for podcast     click for blog post

 

6. Arthur Conan Doyle, A Study in Scarlet     click for podcast     click for blog post

 

7. Ngaio Marsh, Tied Up in Tinsel     click for podcast     Blog post unavailable. Sorry!

 

8. Charlotte Macleod, Rest You Merry     click for podcast     click for blog post

 

9. Mavis Doriel Hay, The Santa Klaus Murder     click for podcast     click for blog post

 

10. Francis Duncan, Murder for Christmas     click for podcast     click for blog post

 

11. Martin Edwards (ed.), Crimson Snow     click for podcast     click for blog post

 

12. John Mortimer, A Rumpole Christmas     click for podcast     click for blog post

I do hope you'll get the chance to read and enjoy at least a few of these. I'm off to celebrate with the world's friendliest mouse at Disney World. See you next week!

"The Division Bell Mystery"

A murder in Britain's House of Commons! Well, a fictional one anyway, and the parliament, politics and characters involved are all from the first third of the twentieth century. But given the intense battles over politics in the United States this year - some of which, clearly, continue to be fought - it seems very appropriate, at the end of that American political year, to relax a bit with a classic Golden Age mystery about an English murder that seemed to have the potential to bring down the English government. The story may be found in The Division Bell Mystery, a 1932 mystery by Ellen Wilkinson, one of the first women ever to be elected to Parliament. It is the subject of this week's audio review on the Classic Mysteries podcast, and you are invited to listen to the complete review by clicking here.

The Division Bell Mystery is a political mystery from the Golden Age, being re-published as one of the British Library Crime Classics series. Poisoned Pen Press is publishing the book this week in the United States, and the publisher provided me with a copy for review.

The central character of the book, a young member of parliament named Robert West, serves as what is called the Parliamentary Private Secretary to the Secretary of State for Home Affairs. It is in that capacity that he is present in the House of Commons one evening, when the members await the sounding of the division bell calling them to scheduled parliamentary votes. But as the bell rings, it is almost drowned out by the sound of a shot. Robert is closest to the door of the small private Parliamentary dining room, Room J, where that shot was fired. When he rushes to the locked door, he finds the body of a very rich – and very important - American financier, a dinner guest of the Home Secretary, shot to death. The victim was alone in the locked room. Was it a suicide? The Scotland Yard police officer in charge is not convinced. And so Robert West, the humble P-P-S, as those low-level and overworked functionaries are called, will find himself – with police blessing – acting as an amateur detective, dealing with a politically charged murder that could cause a financial crisis in London and even bring down the government. Robert was quite used to the arcane practices of the House of Commons – and he would soon find himself dealing – very diplomatically, to be sure! – with some extremely important people, all of whom had secrets to hide.

All of this, of course, makes for a good, lively mystery. To me, the book is also made vastly more interesting because its author, Ellen Wilkinson, drew on her experience as an elected member of parliament and put a great deal of insider knowledge into the book both about the scenes inside Parliament and about some of the politics involved. As usual, mystery historian Martin Edwards provides an introduction, focusing his attention this time on politics in Golden Age detective fiction. There is also a preface, written for this new edition by Rachel Reeves, another elected Member of Parliament. I recommend the book to you very highly indeed.