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Coastguard Potticary, who had in his time picked corpses unemotionally from the Red Sea surf, was strangely moved. It was wrong for someone so young and pretty should be lying there when all the world was waking up to a brilliant day. Beached in her bright-green swimsuit, the young film
star is a long way now from the silver screen. And Grant of the Yard is
not a little bemused as he saunters sceptically into the picture... |
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I haven't had much time for reading lately, apart from during my sessions astride my exercise bike. I was coming to the end of the terrible Jeffery Archer book when this dropped through my door, and it picked up my spirits considerably knowing that once I'd conquered the drivel I could immerse myself in some good, old-fashioned literature. It's a little difficult to describe reading this book, and how I felt about it, but I'll give it a bash and see where I go from there. I think the back of the book information was deeply misleading, as there was never any real question (apart from about 5 pages at the beginning of the book) whether Christine Clay was murdered or not. This was a murder mystery/whodunit, investigated by Inspector Grant of The Yard. The book is peopled with colourful characters, all of whom get their moment in the sun. Working class mill-workers, Lords, Ladies, tramps, thieves, psychics, actors and songwriters. A more diverse group of suspects you couldn't hope to meet. Tey writes them all beautifully, and really keeps you guessing to the end. For me the star of the book wasn't a character, or even the plot (which to me was a little weak), but instead the writing. Josephine Tey's skill with words, and her sentence construction is truly masterful. That doesn't mean she reaches for the Thesaurus every five minutes, or uses excessive punctuation to create paragraph-long sentences; that's not skill, that's indulgence. Instead she uses a descriptive simplicity that immediately draws you into her world; an elegant style that is a perfect reflection on the time it was written. As I mentioned earlier, the plot wasn't nearly as strong as either Brat Farah or The Franchise Affair. There were times when the author became too wrapped up in details; trying to give rational explanations for actions designed specifically to distract the reader from discovering the murderer's identity. Although it's always good to tie up loose ends some of her explaining away was clumsy. I really enjoyed reading Inspector Grant, who reminded my very much of my Grandfather who was a police sergeant way back when. There was a cool determination, and a cynical detachment that I respected and recognised, and which was once again written extremely well. Grant was one of the few characters we were allowed to spend time with, which I felt was a shame. It isn't often I wish books were longer, but in this case I think being able to get better acquainted with the characters would have been good. Although you got a good idea about them, the rough sketches were little more than caricatures, rather than real people. Maybe I'm just suffering from the aftermath of Jeffrey Archer's overindulgent characterisations, and this sparse but clever treatment isn't getting the credit it deserves as a result. It would be impossible, and remiss of me, not to comment on some of the archaic views expressed in this book. It was written in 1936, pre-second world war when Anti-Semitism was at it's most virulent, so much so that Hitler was supported by many society figures (until they found out what he'd been up to behind the scenes). Knowing the historical context doesn't make reading bigotry any easier though, and I can't decide whether Tey really believes some of the horrible stereotypes she references or if she's using them ironically. Sadly, I suspect the former, and it can't help but lower my estimation of the woman, and her work. I suppose the reason I feel that I have to deal with the issue here is that whole thing about evil carrying on while good men stand by...racism and other 'isms really get under my skin, and it would be wrong not to call attention to them. As I grow older and learn more about my family's history, and in particular the persecution of my Polish kin, I find the ignorance and intolerance so prevalent amongst humans more and more difficult to take. I also recognise that it's still very much with us, but these days is better hidden than when Tey was writing. I'm not sure which is worse; the honesty of thinking those attitudes are acceptable, or the hypocrisy of thinking it but not having the courage of those convictions. At least those hiding their hateful views must have some sense of how wrong they are. Anyway, back to the book. I have a vague recollection of reading this many years ago, and that it was still immensely enjoyable the second time around gives some clue to it's quality. It isn't perfect, but there are few books that are. I do think that it's a shame Josephine Tey isn't better known, where Agatha Christie is a world-wide by-word for crime-writing. Of the two Tey is far superior, and her stories have infinitely more depth, and without nearly so much contrivance. Apart from Grant the two
characters I enjoyed the most were Erica, the Chief's wayward and
meddlesome teenage daughter (who's grim determination and belief in
prime suspect Tisdall's innocence is a wonderful example of a really
strong female character), and Meg Hindler, a former neighbour of the
late Christine Clay who's down-to-earth assessment of her family was
great fun to read. She without question got the best line in the book:
I don't usually enjoy traditional detective driven crime novels, as I tend to find them a tad predictable and they often spend too much time exploring the procedures rather than the characters. This book was a nice reminder that even one of my least favourite genres can occasionally give me a really enjoyable and satisfying read. I'm really glad MoonDreamer decided to share her book collection, and can't wait to see what else comes my way.
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