Review: The Red Redmaynes (1922) by Eden Phillpotts

by Mary

Scotland Yard Detective Mark Brendon is on holiday and while on his way to fish in an abandoned quarry on Dartmoor meets a lady whose looks strike him more than somewhat. Then a man appears, chats about fishing, and tells him about a couple building a bungalow not far from the quarry. Four days later the husband of the couple is found murdered and the finger of suspicion is pointed at his uncle-in-law, a man fitting the description of Mr Fish Chatter. And what's more, the striking lady turns out to be the murdered man's widow.

Thus begins The Red Redmaynes, the title referring to a family so-called because they all have red hair -- or should I say red manes?

The novel opens at a stately, not to say sedate, pace, but by the closing chapters the characters whirl about in a lively mazurka.

Brendon's investigative method combines "the regulation methods of criminal research with the more modern deductive system", so here we have no leaps of faith or sudden intuitions but rather stolid police work followed on reasoned lines in a case puzzling for its leads that constantly lead nowhere. For example, the trail of the red-haired uncle-in-law's mad ride on a motorbike with a suspicious sack strapped to its back vanishes into mid air -- as does the body from the bungalow.

Has Redmayne escaped abroad? Brendon suspects he may have killed himself from horror at what he did. But then another of the widow's uncles is murdered and again the body cannot be found. Brendon meantime has fallen for the widow but has a rival for her hand in the form of an Italian servant who bids fair to sweep her off her feet -- and her husband not even officially declared dead yet!

The remaining chapters rattle along with criminal goings-on all over the place including abroad, and while readers may tumble to part of the solution perhaps a quarter way through, the twist at the end is striking and the place of concealment of a certain item caught me by surprise.

My verdict: Readers may find the early part slow going but may wish to keep reading as there are surprises ahead as the pace increases and Brendon dashes hither and yon, constantly thwarted despite some near-misses. The case is finally solved with assistance from a man who sees what Brendon does not, reminding readers not all investigators are all-seeing, even those who use the modern deductive system, which depends on established facts, which are difficult to pin down in this particular case.

Etext: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/14167/14167-h/14167-h.htm#2HCH0003

When Byzantines Flew

by Mary

When writing about our protagonist's adventures, our theory has always been when nothing is known from the historical record, if an event can be extrapolated from what is known and it does not violate the laws of the universe, then it is acceptable for use in our fiction.

Thus widely different sources contributed to the viability of the seemingly impossible flight of our 6th century protagonist, John the Lord Chamberlain, in Four for a Boy.

One involved an everyday autumn scene, the other two came from incidents centuries apart.

To begin with, there was the matter of watching leaves -- as surely we all do -- drifting to earth.

Then there was an illustration in Professor Barbara T. Gates' Victorian Suicide: Mad Crimes and Sad Histories, discovered in passing while researching for an as yet unsold Victorian mystery. The online text of Professor Gates' book is hosted by the Victorian Web, and in Chapter 7 she reproduces an illustration for G. W. M. Reynolds' Mysteries of the Courts of London. (1)

In this drawing, a woman has thrown herself from a window to avoid unwanted attentions. As Professor Gates notes, the woman's skirt resembles a parachute.

Similar is the tale of a 19th century suicide attempt by Sarah Ann Henley, who jumped from the Bristol suspension bridge in England. She fell over 200 feet, but was saved by the wind billowing out her crinoline, as described in a verse by one William E. Heasell reproduced on the Henly/Henley family website, which specifically mentions crinolines and a parachute descent (2)

But the most important source of inspiration was a flight that took place not far from where John took wing, albeit more than a thousand years later. According to one Turkish source, Hezarfen Ahmet Celebi, a 17th century resident of Constantinople, succeeded in gliding from the top of the Galata Tower across the Bosphorus using "eagle wings."

Sultan Murad IV, who observed the feat, richly rewarded the flyer. However, it is said the sultan, describing Celebi as "a scary man... capable of doing anything he wishes", decided "it is not right to keep such people," and so exiled him to Algeria, where he died.

We visualised Hezarfen Ahmet Celebi's wings -- and John's -- as constructed after the fashion of a modern hang-glider. Based on the sources mentioned, we felt our protagonist could fly far enough to escape his pursuers, and, although injured, that's exactly what he did.

Did readers believe us? We hope so.

(1) http://www.victorianweb.org/books/suicide/pl17.html
(2) http://www.henly.org.uk/henly/sarahhenley.html

Hogmanay: New Year in Scotland

Today we are happy to turn the blog over to Jane Finnis whose Roman mysteries are set in a different time and place than our own. Jane's mysteries tell of life and death in first-century Roman Britain, the turbulent province of Britannia, on the very edge of the Roman Empire. They all feature innkeeper Aurelia Marcella as a reluctant sleuth.

Eric, thank you for inviting me to post on your blog, and forgive me for beginning with a cliché: travel broadens the mind. I don’t know who originated this saying, nor who added the rider, “It broadens the beam also, from too much sitting around in planes and cars.”

Sticking to the mind…travelling, which I love, can produce two quite different reactions in me. Sometimes I think (but am far too polite to say,) “Gosh, these foreigners are odd, the way they do this-or-that.” But sometimes I realise, “Heavens, we English are odd, people do this-or-that much better here.”

I’ve just come back from a lovely holiday in sunny Gran Canaria, and we were there for New Year. And heavens, we English are decidedly odd about the way we are only just now learning to appreciate New Year properly. The Spanish have a ball on New Year’s Eve, mark midnight with wonderful fireworks, and make New Year’s Day a public holiday.

Not that we English need look as far as Spain for New Year festivities. Our neighbours the Scots are world famous for their long and glorious tradition of going to town at Hogmanay and taking January 1st off to recover. Yet on our side of the border we’re only belatedly catching them up. We at least have a holiday on New Year’s Day now, a relatively recent development, and you can find good New Year’s Eve parties and midnight fireworks. But you can also still find people who – shock horror – go to bed at their normal time and sleep the night through.

I could no more sleep through New Year than fly in the air. I love the occasion, I’m excited by the whole idea of a new start, of turning over a new leaf (or should that be opening a new file in the word processor.) I haven’t a drop of Scots blood, and was born and raised in Yorkshire, but I was lucky in my childhood. I had two uncles with proper Scottish notions of Hogmanay. Uncle Whittaker loved a party and had lived and worked well north of Hadrian’s Wall, so he knew how things should be done. Uncle Harry loved a party and had the distinction of being the darkest-complexioned man for miles around. A great combination! Every New Year’s Eve they celebrated in style, and then in the wee small hours Uncle Harry went out “first footing”, visiting the houses of all his neighbours. We, the rest of the family, tagged along, even as quite young children.

As all Scots know, to bring good luck to a household, the “first foot” over its threshold in the New Year must belong to a dark man, bearing token gifts to ensure prosperity – a piece of coal and a piece of bread were what Harry brought. Once safely inside, the luck-bringer was naturally offered a “cup of kindness” for his trouble, before he went on to the next house, and the next. His capacity for “cups of kindness” was legendary.

The Ancient Romans had the right idea about Near Year; they made a big thing of it. My mysteries are set at the very end of the first century AD, in the area round York, and as my sleuth Aurelia is an innkeeper, she would certainly organise first-rate New Year parties for her friends and customers. There was a serious religious element to the occasion as well. The god Janus was one of the most important Roman deities, and he’s always pictured with two faces, one looking backwards and one forwards.

Isn’t that an excellent symbol for the start of a year? Welcome the future but don’t discard all of the past…and make sure the celebration is a good one!

SHADOWS IN THE NIGHT was published in hardback and ebook last November by Head of Zeus for UK and the Commonwealth, and the paperback will come out this coming April. It's the first in the Aurelia Marcella series, and has already been published by Poisoned Pen Press as GET OUT OR DIE in the USA.

Website: www.janefinnis.com Blog: http://janefinnisblog.wordpress.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/Jane_Finnis

The Aurelia Marcella Roman mysteries, published in the UK by Head of Zeus, and in the USA by Poisoned Pen Press

Review of One for Sorrow

by Mary

Tip of the hat to Gareth for his Falcata Times review of One For Sorrow in his Historical Crime Fiction Book Combat.

"Its quirky, it has some wonderful imagination but for me the real kicker here is a lead character that more than introduces us to this world of constant danger. Back this up with wonderful pace, some great twits which when backed with an author who loves to keep you guessing, all round makes this a book that was a solid title to read."

Read Falcata Times review of One for Sorrow

Review: The Opal Serpent (1905) by Fergus Hume

by Mary

After falling out with his boorish country gentleman father, Paul Beecot ups and goes to London to make his way as a writer. There he rents a Bloomsbury garret and while not setting the literary world ablaze manages to get along although only just this side of falling into debt. Then he finds himself caught up in evil events.

It all starts when one afternoon he happens to meet his old public schoolmate Grexon Hay in Oxford Street. Hay is turned out like the proverbial dog's dinner but condescends to share Paul's supper of plump sausages. During their conversation over the bangers, Paul talks about his beloved, Sylvia Norman, whose father Aaron runs a second-hand book shop with a bit of pawnbroking on the side, or rather in the cellar. Alas, Paul and Sylvia cannot marry until he can support a wife and they have said nothing to her father for fear he will forbid Paul to visit.

Apparently Aaron Norman has "the manner of a frightened rabbit" and seems to be always looking over his shoulder with his one good eye. Obviously something fishy is going on there, but what?

Even stranger, when he sees the titular opal, diamond, and gold brooch, Aaron faints. Shown the brooch during their dinner, Hay makes an offer for it, but Paul refuses because it is his mother's and he prefers to pawn it so he can hopefully redeem it in due course.

We now meet the memorable Deborah Junk, servant of the Norman household and devoted to Sylvia. By far the most colourful person in the novel, her unique style of conversation would not disgrace a working class character created by Dickens, and when she is on-stage she dominates the scene.

But there's plenty going on when she's engaged elsewhere. Why did Aaron Norman faint when he saw the serpent brooch? Who is the man who warns Beecot against Hay, describing the latter as "a man on the market", and what does the curious phrase mean? Why did an Indian visitor to Aaron Norman's book emporium leave a pile of sugar on the counter? Does a truly ghastly guttersnipe born to hang know more than he lets on?

My verdict: The Opal Serpent contains some surprisingly strong content, such as certain comments made by the murderer, which would be disturbing even in this day and age, while the method used to kill the victim in full view of others is so awful I was surprised to find it in a novel of this vintage. Plus the use to which the brooch is put is equally grim.

This novel trots along at a steady pace with as many twists and turns as a serpent as it slithers its way to a rip-roaring denouement, and I must say the plot certainly underlines the traditional belief opals are unlucky! Recommended.

Etext: The Opal Serpent