Saturday, 27 February 2016

The Woman In Blue by Elly Griffiths

The Woman In Blue is Elly Griffiths' eighth mystery to feature archaeologist Ruth Galloway, local police detective Harry Nelson and their diverse, increasingly intertwined circles of colleagues and friends.

The Woman in Blue : The Dr Ruth Galloway Mysteries No.8, Hardback BookIt's no secret that I'm a huge fan of this series of books: as I've said before, they're tremendous fun as well as being remarkably immersive. Ruth is probably my favourite contemporary crime fiction protagonist, her odd relationship with Nelson continues to be fascinatingly complicated, and the supporting characters are all pleasingly three-dimensional. I also like the way Griffiths uses the setting of the books - the windswept marshlands of the Norfolk coast - not only to add atmosphere but also often to play an integral role in the plot.

The Woman In Blue didn't disappoint. There's actually less of the landscape than there is in the previous Ruth Galloway books, and Ruth's services as a forensic archaeologist, which are central to most of the previous books, aren't called for here. That means there's perhaps more of a police procedural feel about this book, but the murder investigation at its heart still involves plenty of delving into the past and Ruth is still closely involved in the action. It begins with the death of a beautiful young model near the Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham, famed for apparitions of the Virgin Mary and a place of pilgrimage for Catholics and Anglicans alike. When a second woman dies, it appears Norfolk might have a serial killer at large - and meanwhile, someone is sending threatening, misogynistic letters to women priests, including Ruth's old friend Hilary.

Although I did miss the importance of the natural landscape in this book, Elly Griffiths does an excellent job of evoking the unique oddness of centres of religious pilgrimage. While there are all the commercial trappings you'll be familiar with if you've ever visited such a place - plastic rosaries and Blessed Virgin fridge magnets are certainly easy to come by - there's also a strange, rather eerie atmosphere of long-established sanctity and mysticism to which atheist Ruth, druid Cathbad and lapsed Catholic Nelson all find themselves unsettlingly susceptible. Religious fervour, guilt in all its many forms and long-held resentments are recurring themes, both inside and and outside the murder investigation.

I felt the whodunnit plot in this book was actually a little more more plausible than its predecessors (not that I didn't enjoy their eccentricity), and everything builds gradually towards a gripping, fast-paced climax (Griffiths is excellent at these) during Walsingham's Easter passion play. I might have liked a little more in-depth exploration of the killer's motive, but this is a minor quibble.

Running in parallel to the main plot is, as always, the unanswered question of what will happen in the uneasy relationship between Ruth and Nelson. I've said before that the Ruth/Nelson set-up is one of only a very few long-running 'will-they-won't-they' situations in fiction that I don't find rather irritating, and this remains the case - although things will surely need to resolve themselves somehow, or at least change over time, if the series is to go on.

Despite the inherent darkness of the crimes at the heart of The Woman In Blue, and the soul-searching Ruth and Nelson both find themselves having to undertake in their personal lives, there is still plenty of the dry, perceptive humour that is one of the series' biggest strengths. Along with the perfectly realised cast of recurring characters, major and minor, it really helps these books to stand out from the crowd. 

Thursday, 25 February 2016

The Monogram Murders by Sophie Hannah

The Monogram Murders by Sophie Hannah is the first novel since Agatha Christie's death featuring Hercule Poirot. I've read a couple of Sophie Hannah's previous books, one of which was a crime novel and one of which was a ghost story, and I was interested to see what Hannah, whose books I think of as much more overtly in the psychological thriller style than Agatha Christie's work, would do with Poirot.

As Christie does in some of her books, Sophie Hannah uses a character close to Poirot as narrator. Inspector Catchpool of Scotland Yard is currently living in the same genteel lodging house as Poirot and enlists his help in solving what appears to be a triple murder at a West End hotel: three guests are found dead in their hotel rooms with a monogrammed cufflink hidden in each of their mouths. Poirot is already preoccupied with his own mystery, that of Jenny, a customer at his favourite coffee house, who has apparently disappeared after confiding that she fears she is soon to be murdered - and it's Poirot's belief that the two cases are connected.

I can't fault the way Sophie Hannah handles Poirot. It's very clear that she knows the character inside-out, and his methods, behaviour, speech patterns and values are absolutely consistent with Agatha Christie's novels. The period detail of The Monogram Murders is also absolutely spot-on, and most of the supporting characters could certainly have stepped straight from the pages of an Agatha Christie original too. The tangible clues to the mystery - a detail in a painting, a shaving cut, ambiguously-expressed remarks - are also very much what you'd look for in a Poirot mystery, and as in many of Christie's books, there are warnings about jumping to conclusions and seeing what isn't there as well as what is. 

It's the complexity of the mystery, however, that's really The Monogram Murders' downfall. It lacks the tautly concise feel of Agatha Christie's books. It lacks also the neat, deceptively simple logic I expect of a Hercule Poirot novel. When Christie's mysteries are solved, the default reaction from readers is "Oh, of course ... I can't believe I didn't think of that." They're designed to make you want to kick yourself. There's none of that here, however; there's too much padding and too many contrived twists which mean the conclusion of the mystery (traditionally delivered by Poirot, of course, while all the suspects are gathered in a room together) is dragged out for far too long.





Tuesday, 23 February 2016

Anno Dracula by Kim Newman

Many years ago (so many, in fact, that I believe I may have referenced it in the dissertation on the character of Dracula that I wrote for my degree) I read a short story by Kim Newman in a vampire-themed anthology which proposed that Count Dracula, instead of being destroyed by Van Helsing, could have married the widowed Queen Victoria and become the second Prince Consort, spreading a plague of vampirism through the nation.

This story was then developed into a series of full-length novels, the first of which, Anno Dracula, my brother bought me for Christmas. Anno Dracula expands on the above premise, taking as its setting a version of Victorian London in which vampirism is rife (and even fashionable) and the Prince Consort has brought back impalement as a form of punishment. Amid this steampunk-gothic dystopia, secret agent Charles Beauregard is assigned by the mysterious Diogenes Club to solve the mystery of Jack the Ripper, who brutally dismembers vampire prostitutes with a silver knife. He's aided by Geneviève Dieudonné, a vampire 'elder' from mediaeval France who pre-dates even Dracula himself. 

Anno Dracula is full of period atmosphere, whether we're meeting the characters in a dark Whitechapel alley, a disreputable pub or a fashionable society drawing room. Newman also appears to have put a huge amount of thought into every conceivable consequence of vampire rule which combined with the well-researched Victoriana makes for impressive world-building. Beauregard and Dieudonné make an engaging pair, and Newman also makes a excellent job of developing a number of characters created by other writers, including Bram Stoker's John Seward and Arthur Holmwood and John Polidori's Byronic vampire Lord Ruthven (now Prime Minister).

The plot proceeds at a fairly steady pace and builds to an adventurous climax, although in some ways the plot itself is somewhat secondary to other elements of the book. Kim Newman is not only a prolific writer of fiction but also a renowned academic expert in all things horror, science-fiction and fantasy - and it shows. If you happen to have an interest in vampire myths, Victorian literature or horror cinema, the sheer number of mentions of familiar characters and events will make you dizzy; barely a page goes by without one and the character notes at the back of the book run to sixteen pages.

There is a degree to which this can distract from the story itself. Although I found it great fun because I share these interests and my frame of reference for this kind of thing is huge (my brother enjoyed this aspect too and gave me the book for this reason) I would imagine that someone less obsessed would miss out on a lot of the in-jokes and nods towards other sources, which are often included seemingly for their own sake. In other words, you don't have to be a hardcore Dracula aficionado and vintage horror fan to read this book ... but it helps.