Old friends with a new twist - 2 fun mysteries!

Mystery Club #7

Mastering the Art of French Murder & Murder at Mallowan Hall

I often have doubts when I run across pastiches, or books that lift well-known characters and put them to their own uses.  However, I have been pleasantly surprised by a couple of these books recently.  The funny thing is, as it turns out, they’re both written by the same author – Colleen Cambridge.

I received an advance copy of Mastering the Art of French Murder from Kensington Books, and was hoping it would be a fun read, although I knew it could go either way.  I was surprised and delighted to find myself swept up in the story before long.

Mastering the Art of French Murder is written from the perspective of Tabitha Knight.  She has recently moved to mid-century Paris, struggling to its feet in the wake of WWII.  Tabitha is adapting to life in the legendary city under the watchful eyes of her grandfather and his partner, Oncle Rafe.  Tutoring a few students in English helps to pay the bills, and her neighborhood is made more entertaining (and delicious) by the friendship of the young and gregarious Julia Child and the rest of her nearby household.

When a young woman is found murdered in the basement of Julia’s apartment house, and the murder weapon turns out to be one of Julia’s own sharp kitchen knives -- and the woman one of her late night party guests -- the story takes a deadly turn.  Bit by bit, clue by clue, Tabitha finds herself led on a mysterious mission as she tries to discover who among Julia’s charming party guests is actually the murderer. 

The clues lead to adventures, and the adventures lead to suspense, and charming but hair-raising mishaps, and as always seems to be the case in Paris, a chance at romance.  The pacing is perfect, and peppered with glimpses of everything that makes one yearn for Paris.

In pursuing the killer, Tabitha meets many people in her new city, from ex-patriates who run a nearby theater, to the deceptive spouses of her English students, to the mostly-reasonable Inspector Merveille – and day by day Tabitha learns more about Paris and all its shadowy corners – and the mysteries of how to manage to cook a chicken properly, with Julia’s help, of course.

Mastering the Art of French Murder is slated to be part of an ongoing series, titled An American in Paris.  The second and third books have already been released, and the fourth will be released in 2026. With these the scene of murder shifts to Le Cordon Bleu cooking school, where Julia has been struggling to master her cooking skills under the watchful eyes of the instructors, then a haute couture fashion atelier in the era of Christian Dior's "New Look."  The fourth book will tread into the world of spiritualistic mediums, as well as Grand-père and Oncle Rafe's history as members of one of the cells of the French Resistance underground.

A few months after finishing the first delectable book in this series, another title caught my eye -- Murder at Mallowan Hall.  I’m a long-time fan of Agatha Christie, and I’ve seen a lot of adaptations, many good, but plenty mediocre or worse.  This was a little more risky – my love for Christie’s works has deep roots in my childhood, when my mother recommended her novels to me.  I have a lot more invested in my love for her works than in Julia Child, who I came to appreciate only in the last decade or two (man, that woman can slap a fish around)!  So once again I wasn’t expecting much.

But Colleen Cambridge delivers!  Let’s be clear, here -- I’m not saying these are literary masterpieces, but they are smart and well-written, fun, with compelling characters and intriguing twists, and in addition to all that, I really think they have heart.  They're the perfect antidote if you find yourself feeling like you're in a deep dark hole of doom-laden fiction (or life).

Murder at Mallowan Hall introduces us to another understated but feisty female with a penchant for inquiring into mysteries.  This time we are in the extremely capable hands of Phyllida Bright, who runs the household at Mallowan Hall circa 1930.  This is the (fictitious) home of Agatha Christie, murder mystery maven supreme, and her husband, archaeologist Max Mallowan.  Here they live happily, ensconced in the buxom Devon hills, far enough away from the eyes of all the dratted London reporters – most days.

Phyllida is in charge of making sure everything in the house runs smoothly, from morning to night, from the small niceties to the big picture.  And this morning… things are not going as planned.  The prior evening, a sizable gaggle of guests arrived for a house party, and in their wake, a journalist who claimed an appointment with the great author for an interview.  Unable to be other than gracious, Ms. Christie welcomes all to the house, and arranges a last-minute room for the surprise guest.

However, the surprise in the end is his, because at some point after everyone is in bed asleep, this man dies spectacularly in Agatha’s house library.  He certainly wasn’t expecting that.  Phyllida, on top of her usual duties, now must contend with bloodstains on the carpeting (and some of the books – horrors!), and with a growing number of unanswerable questions about who this man really was, and what had brought him to Mallowan Hall.

Phyllida gives Miss Marple a run for her money as she manages to install herself into every turn of the investigation, and her sharp eyes and little gray cells must jump her through hoop after hoop as the mystery moves outward in growing circles from the library where the body was found.  Luckily for us, she is up for the task, and with her sense of humor and rather tart wit, she navigates us through the twists and turns of the house, seeking the man with the squeaking shoes (among other clues), and doing her best to avoid the watchful eyes of Inspector Cork.

This series, now known as the Phyllida Bright Mysteries, is about to launch its fifth book, so if you try the first one and like it, you'll be set for a while.

I’m looking forward to reading more from Colleen Cambridge, and if you’re looking for some fun, smart reads set in the early- to mid-20th Century world, you might like to give one of these a try yourself. 

Cornell Woolrich dresses everyone in black

Mystery Club #6

For this post, I will be peering into the dark corners of Cornell Woolrich’s writing, both his first published novel The Bride Wore Black (1940) and other work.  Woolrich is a noir master, gritty and dark, with a spin to his tales that seems truly unique and which will get under your skin.  

There is so much I want to talk about in this book that can’t be discussed without spoilers, so this writeup will be shorter and less complete than it could be.  If you'd like to read along, you can order a copy of the book on my shop's website, or get it from a terrific bookseller or library near you!

https://greenhandbookshop.com/products/the-bride-wore-black-by-cornell-woolrich

I peeled through The Bride Wore Black in about a day, a rare occurrence in my reading life.  Then I had to read it again to take notes, because it was a full throttle ride when I was in it first time ‘round!  The edition I read was the current in-print edition from American Mystery Classics, which has a good introduction by Eddie Muller. He relates a quote from Woolrich, tossed off as a description of his writing goals: “All I was trying to do was cheat death.”  And so he has. 

Muller aptly describes Woolrich’s works, which “taken individually are nerve-jangling diversions; as a life’s work they added up to a towering wall of existential malevolence not even Sartre or Camus would dare scale.”  He also recommends consuming Woolrich’s work “in a feverish rush,” as “that’s how you feel the undertow…”  It’s certainly how I read The Bride Wore Black, and “The Night Reveals,” a short story written under his most popular pseudonym, William Irish.  The torrent of his words sweeps you before its tide, disbelieving yet unable to resist.

First of all, you must brace yourself for our detective’s name: Lew Wanger.  Perhaps the prototype for today’s ever-present Jack Reacher and Harry Hole?  Anyways, he’s a steady worker, and becomes an expert on this book’s killings, for all the good it does him.  As off-the-cuff as our protagonist’s name is, he has a serious job ahead of him. 

Second of all, you need to aware that these murders are done by killers who are determined, smart, and dedicated.  As fast a read as the book is, the cases are spaced out over a couple of years.  Are they even connected?  Lew Wanger thinks so.

At our very first death scene, a blanching member of the public who sees too much is dismissed by an officer on-duty who says, “Well, what’d y’expect, violets?”  Buckle up, everyone.  The gloves are off already.

But that doesn't mean this is a page-turner with no literary flesh on its bones.  Sunlight creeps between narrowly paced buildings, “at an angle that was enough to break its back.”  We attend a mysterious, unnamed play.  A word or phrase that someone hates, but which is never clarified, hangs in the background.  The reader is given puzzles of their own that will never be unraveled.

Children observe adult foibles in their unique way.  We are left knowing there are unseen clues, nothing more.  And grateful that the child was spared.

The casualties left behind in the wake of this often-creative and always-brutal wave of destruction are many and random.  Wanger observes the real-world effects on the victims left behind, the wives, girlfriends, and children: “The murder hadn’t been in the closet out there; it was in here on her face.”  Some noir is cold and hammers like newstype, but while his delivery of events may seem staccato, Woolrich gives us a glimpse below the action that echoes the shift towards victim awareness we see today in better true crime podcasts, like Maine's Murder She Told (https://www.murdershetold.com/).  

Our killers deal with brutal men in a wonderfully adept manner, dismissing them in myriad ways, all summed up in one line: “You have nothing that I want.”  These men, discarded and lucky enough to survive, have no idea how to deal with their fate.

Women fare similarly.  “Then what is she?” one acquaintance cries in frustration.  Best you do not know. 

While this book inspired Tarantino’s Kill Bill, it could just as easily have been Final Destination.  You’ll never know until it hits you, though.

On Shorter Works:

I read some of Woolrich’s short stories (always a good idea for introducing yourself to a new author), including “The Night Reveals.” This tale is part of a short story collection, written under the pseudonym William Irish, titled After-Dinner Story (1944).  I was bowled over after reading it. 

I will say just a little about “The Night Reveals” here, but it is serious proof of Woolrich’s creative skill in storytelling, and of the way he can draw you into the most innocuous life and remind you that we are all pieces of the puzzle. 

The narrator, a hard-working and earnest fire insurance adjustor, takes us through this awful tragedy step by step, doubting his own eyes at every turn.  As Woolrich says himself: “There was no melodrama in the way he said it…” 

And that is how this story sneaks up on us, step by step, inch by inch, and forces us to bear its final, fatal blow with our eyes wide open.

Sprinkled through the story are heartbreaking moments of clarity.  The narrator sees around him the perfect coziness of his own home, but in the world outside sees New York City in its late-WWII realness: “…decrepit, unprotected tenements, all crammed from basement to roof with helpless sleepers…”  He sees the decay, but he also sees the vulnerable human lives stacked within it, as vacant buildings intersperse each packed block like zombies among the living homes.  He is all too aware that some people must make their abodes in the deserted buildings, because life is hard.

Suffice it to say he lives in a world of contrasts.  Teeming life vs. empty windows, black shadows and mold vs. the harsh light of destruction vs. the clean, civilized light of safe well-maintained buildings, like his own family's cozy apartment.

In his world, fire is an ungovernable devil, capable of any monstrosity even in its wild natural state – but in the hands of someone directing it?  Just as crazy, but more satanic in its dance. 

This story is in no way simple.  It would sound basic if I summed it up, but the variety of human conditions embedded in it are rich fodder for the reader's observation and comprehension -- for viewing with compassion, knowing eventually you will be forced to glance back at it for fast clear decision-making.  Woolrich makes nothing clearer than the fact that we are surrounded by gray areas, but that there will be critical moments when we must instead see everything in black and white.  We are all flammable.  There are flashpoints.

And also, as a very random sidenote, I now have to go look up the word “beanery,” because I feel like I’m missing out on a mid-century phenomena I’ve never heard of.  

Thank you Cornell Woolrich, and good night!

Cape Fear stalks our end-of-summer reading list

Mystery Club #5 

Back in 1991, I went to see Cape Fear in the theater.  De Niro’s terrifying performance still lingers in my mind, all these years later.  But it wasn’t until last year that I finally read the book that the film and its 1962 predecessor were based on.     

All you need is a cocktail umbrella!

John D. MacDonald, best known and loved for his Travis McGee novels, wrote Cape Fear in 1957.  It was originally published as The Executioners. 

The basic premise is a familiar one.  A lawyer, Sam Bowden, is stalked by Max Cady, a man he helped to put away in prison years before.  At that time Sam had been young, but now he has a family – a wife, three kids, two of them growing up too fast, and a sweet family dog.

You could practically write it yourself, couldn’t you?

Here’s where MacDonald’s genius comes in.  In little glimpses, we get to know the family.  Likewise, the ongoing deeds and general behavior of the villain.  Yes, the family is appealing and wholesome but human.  Yes, the villain proves himself to be the worst of the worst, over and over again -- far beyond retribution.

But the story goes beyond that.  The nuances of justice, of right and wrong, of how far one can allow oneself to go in the name of defending one’s bit of peace and happiness without destroying everything you’ve built and are proud of – and how much fear and oppression a human soul can take before it breaks.  Not to mention how our survival instinct expands to protect those we care about.

This all sounds very pompous as I write it, but the way MacDonald handles it, and turns it over in these pages for us to examine, is anything but heavy-handed.  It is, instead, very human.

Throughout it all, Cady puts the reader on edge as much as he does Sam Bowden’s family.  And Cady amuses himself by tormenting others.  For the most part he sticks to attacking citizens who won’t go to the police.  

One woman, perhaps a little too “friendly,” winds up with “a face like a blue basketball” after Cady’s ministrations with a smashed chair.  And even to her Cady mentions his adopted nemesis, Sam Bowden – “The Lieutenant” – twice.  “And both times it gave me the cold creepers, right up and down my back," she tells Sam. “One time he said you were an old Army buddy and to show you how much he liked you he was going to kill you six times.”

Cady, like many twisted minds we encounter in daily life, doesn’t make sense by the normal standards of society.

It takes some finagling to arrange for Cady to be put away, even temporarily.  Perhaps a small sidestep outside the law.  But even that doesn’t last.  And this time when Cady gets out of custody, he’s not pulling any punches.  He’s not wasting any time.

The clock is ticking.  Summer is high.  And there’s nowhere for the Bowdens to run, after all, but home.

This is a fast, partly delightful and partly very intense summer read.  Perfect for tucking in your pocket to take with you to the beach, or a solo picnic!

My favorite vintage version!

 

Green Men and Occasional Pseudonyms

Mystery Club #4

I enjoy the spooky and melodramatic cover art that graces vintage paperback gothic mysteries, but I rarely pick them up to read myself -- probably because they tend to be heavy on the 💕romance💕 and helpless female protagonists. 

However, a couple of years ago I found a 1987 US printing of The Castle of the Demon by Patrick Ruell (one of UK mystery author Reginald Hill’s pseudonyms), and couldn’t resist.

I had fun with its mashup of tropes – a little bit of vintage gothic, a little bit of mystery, a generous dollop of local folklore, a dash of potential romances (plural!), all set against a seaside cliff breeze, and by the end … well you might read it yourself, so I don’t want to spoil anything.  Things get a little crazy towards the end!

What really grabbed me about the book initially besides its title (!!) and the diabolical cover (!!!!) was the writeup on the back:   

“For Emily Follet, alone in the remote village of Skinburness, fear could take many forms.  It could be the college, formerly the castle of a renowned sorcerer, where no one seems to know what goes on.  It could be the mysterious black rider on his black horse.  Or the two recent unexplained drownings.  Or the green men.  Above all, the green men.”  And off I went to follow the train of green things, as I always do.  

Please note that Skinburness is a real place, and its name is honest-to-gosh thought to mean "the headland of the Demon haunted castle."  I’m glad it inspired Hill to pen this tale!  

Our narrator, Emily Follet, is a woman finding her own way for the first time perhaps ever.  She is determined to be independent.  She makes new friends during her vacation break, playing dominoes with the old village dudes at the local tavern, spending time alone with her lanky lolloping dog Cal on the beach, and at night she reads from a book on local folklore that she’s found on the bookshelves in her cottage.  

But strange things start happening at an accelerating pace, and it becomes difficult to know who to trust and who to avoid, who to keep at arm’s length and who to have dinner with, if only for politeness’s sake.  New disappearances occur, the windswept dunes hide secret excavations… and maybe a corpse or two?  And in the depths of the night, alone in her cottage, she hears strange voices on the phone line, and sees something unbelievable peering through the window into her bedroom at 3:00 in the morning. 

Of course, she can’t tell the polite Constable Parfrey the whole story about the face at the window.  He would think she was barmy.  “He seemed doubtful enough about its existence, as it was.  He probably suspected some kind of hysterical nightmare.  He would have hardly been reassured if she had told him the face was green.”  Events continue to ramp up, with mysterious nurses, midnight assaults, strange “archaeologists”, and then it goes completely off the rails in a fun little darkride.  

So if you like a diversion on the spooky side, with a decently-written female narrator, a gothic seaside setting, just the barest dusting of romance, and a dog named Cal instead of Scooby-Doo, you’ve got yourself a book recommendation here!  I hope someone brings it back into print soon. 

 

TONIGHT! Event: JAWS documentary at SPACE Gallery!

 

WHAT: Film screening of The Farmer & the Shark

WHEN:  TONIGHT!!!

Weds Sept 10 @7:00pm (doors open 6:30)

90 min runtime, followed by Q&A

WHERE:  SPACE Gallery, 538 Congress St, Portland ME

TICKETS:  

https://space538.org/event/the-farmer-and-the-shark/

It's the 50th anniversary of Jaws this year!!!  

 

Join us TONIGHT at SPACE for the Maine premiere of "The Farmer & the Shark" - a documentary about the making of Jaws through the lens of Craig Kingsbury, the Martha's Vineyard farmer and fisherman who inspired the film character of the one and only QUINT!!! 

 

Director John Campopiano joins us for a Q&A after the film, as we celebrate the tail end of summer in a very New England way.