Metropolitan Mysteries edited by Martin Edwards

I feel like every time I review a short story collection I need to explain upfront that I don’t gravitate towards short stories. I find it difficult to get into them, especially in a collection where there is one story after another, each one a new beginning with new characters, setting, and the rest of it. At best, they tend to feel a little like eating porridge for breakfast. It’s healthy, and it's good to try new things and all the rest of it, but I’d rather be eating toast and marmalade. All this is to say that when I like a short story collection, I’m a little surprised. But honestly, this newest collection of short stories from British Library Crime Classics was the next best thing to toast and marmalade!

Metropolitan Mysteries: A Casebook of London’s Detectives is a collection of eighteen stories set in London. I love London. I’m a bit of a homebody, but if someone said to me, “We’re going to London. Grab your passport and a change of clothes. We’re leaving in five minutes.” I would be ready in four. I love the architecture, the museums, the bookstores, the parks! I even love the weather. Give me lowering skies over constant sunshine any day. I simply love walking around the city and exploring. It should come as no surprise then, that I was all in for a collection of detective stories set in my favourite city.

The stories contained in Metropolitan Mysteries were originally published between 1908 to 1963. Some of the authors included in this collection I had read before, including Dorothy L. Sayers, Arthur Conan Doyle, and Anthony Berkeley. There are a host of others that I had heard of, but haven’t read, such as John Dickson Carr, J. Jefferson Farjeon, and Margery Allingham. While Malcolm Gair, Eric Bennett, and Patricia Moyes, I wasn’t familiar with at all.

The earliest title in the collection is Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans”. It starts with an image of London as most tourists might picture the city, enveloped in fog.

In the third week of November, in the year 1895, a dense yellow fog settled down upon London. From the Monday to the Thursday I doubt whether it was ever possible from our windows in Baker Street to see the loom of the opposite houses. The first day Holmes had spend in cross-indexing his huge book of references. The second and third had been patiently occupied upon a subject which he had recently made his hobby—the music of the Middle Ages. But when for the fourth time, after pushing back our chairs from breakfast we saw the greasy, heavy brown swirl still drifting past us and condensing in oily drops upon the window-panes, my comrade’s impatient and active nature could endure this drab existence no longer. (37)

And what detective, may I ask, is more quintessentially London than Sherlock Holmes? I have found some of Arthur Conan Doyle’s novels to be a bit tedious, as I find that his writing can be a bit clunky, but this short story was a real treat!

Eric Bennett’s “Death on Nelson’s Column” centres around the London landmark and makes a very good job of using a most unlikely dumping ground for a body, about 150 feet* above Trafalgar Square. The body is discovered by a steeplejack while making the perilous climb up the monument in preparation for cleaning.

For the first time in forty years the steeplejack lost his nerve. His scream was lost in the harsh cries of the pigeons. Only his terrified assistant saw his body roll half-balanced on the edge, his legs kick wildly in the air.

[…]

The dead man was lying full length on the platform staring with wide, empty eyes, across the roofs of London to where the Thames was sparkling in the morning sun. The colossal stone Nelson towered above and stared blindly with him. (189)

Aren’t you dying to know how the body got up there?!

Like the many different faces of London, no two stories in this collection are alike. Although, there are two that have a remarkably similar beginning, Henry Wade’s 1933 story, “The Real Thing” and the 1963 story “The Dead Man Climbed Upstairs” by Raymond Postgate. Both open with a ticket collector in the Underground spotting a body at the top of an escalator. But while “The Real Thing” progresses into a tense shoot ‘em up, “The Dead Man Climbed Upstairs” reaches a much quieter, and perhaps more satisfying conclusion.

The most touching story has to be Anthony Berkeley’s “Unsound Mind”. It opens with a Chief Inspector getting a call from a man who says he will momentarily be committing suicide with prussic acid. He gives his name, and says he has left a note, but “this is just to confirm it” (155). Then he rings off. It’s such an intriguing opening and the story has a lot more depth than I had expected. Although, I should have been prepared for something more than a simple detective story from Berkeley. After all, I did just read his book Before the Fact, which was wonderfully atmospheric and showed off his talent for writing complex and messy characters. 

Another goodie is J. Jefferson Farjeon’s “Sergeant Dobbin Works It Out”. Sergeant Dobbin is stationed at the police station in quiet Little Warbridge and keen for promotion.

Not much happened in Little Warbridge police station, and when it did Sergeant Dobbin always has to deal with a secret emotion. It had to be secret, because policemen were not supposed to express any, but the sergeant had plenty beneath his official uniform, and whenever the telephone rang at an unusual time—a rare occurrence—he always experienced a somewhat ingenuous hope that this might herald his Big Chance. After all, you never knew, did you? (251)

It must be Sergeant Dobbin’s lucky day, because he has bagged himself a murder, which he is set on solving before he has to hand the case over to his superior. But is he up to the task? Farjeon brings this one to an amusing conclusion. A sense of humour must run in the Farjeon family, as his sister, Eleanor Farjeon, is the author of Miss Granby’s Secret, which, while being a work of genius, in my opinion, is also very witty.

The only story that I felt a bit annoyed with was “The Miser of Maida Vale” by Baroness Orczy. This story from 1925 uses a framing device whereby a character we only know as “the Old Man in the Corner” tells a case to a woman journalist in an ABC teashop. I couldn’t see why the journalist or the Old Man needed to be in the story at all, but I may have simply missed the point. I enjoyed the story, but whenever I was reminded that the narrative was being told secondhand, I felt distanced from the story and, frankly, the story lost some of its agency.

Overall, I found the stories to be outstanding. I tried to pick out a favourite story from the collection and failed, which, I think, is a sign that Martin Edwards has done a fabulous job of selecting the titles in this collection. Through reading this book I’ve discovered a number of new-to-me authors to add to my must read list, and I’ve had the pleasure of doing a bit of armchair travelling to my favourite city to boot. I left this one wishing all short story collections were this good!

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of Metropolitan Mysteries for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

*Nelson’s Column was surveyed in 2006 and measured 169 feet 3 inches (51.59 m) tall from the bottom of the pedestal to the top of Nelson’s hat. The statue of Nelson himself is 18 feet 1 inch (5.52 m) according to Wikipedia. But I couldn’t find the height of the pedestal the statue stands on. Hence the approximation that a body left at the top of the column would be about 150 feet (45.72 m) above street level.

Before the Fact by Frances Iles

I have a confession to make. I love Alfred Hitchcock films. Love them! It all started when I was introduced to Rebecca, by my mum when I was about 10 years old, or so. After that I was hooked! I watched all of the films I could get my hands on and, along the way, the films inspired my reading. My love of Daphne du Maurier’s writing grew out of watching Hitchcock’s film adaptations of Rebecca and “The Birds”. 

It should come as no surprise then that I was extremely keen to read Francis Iles' Before the Fact, the book that inspired the Hitchcock film Suspicion. It’s one of my favourites. Black and white, and staring Joan Fontaine and Cary Grant. It’s subtle. It’s moody. And never did a glass of milk look more menacing! (Did you know the spooky glow of the milk in that scene was achieved by putting a lightbulb in the glass?)

Expectations were high when I started reading Before the Fact and I am pleased to report that this book did not disappoint! It grabbed me from the first lines.

“Some women give birth to murderers, some go to bed with them, and some marry them. Lina Aysgarth had lived with her husband for nearly eight years before she realized that she was married to a murderer.” (17)

Twenty-eight-year-old, Lina McLaidlaw meets, Johnnie Aysgarth, a man one year her junior. He is flattering, charismatic, and just plain fun. Lina doesn’t know what to make of him. Does he like her or are his attentions nothing more than a flirtation? Regardless, Lina has fallen for him and despite her father’s warnings that Johnnie is a ne’er-do-well, the two soon marry.

What follows is the suspenseful story of an overly trusting woman navigating her marriage to a charismatic and less than trustworthy man. He gambles. He cheats. He lies. He is a layabout. He breaks his promises. He repeatedly waves red flags with both hands, but still Lina stubbornly chooses to see the best in him. It takes eight years before she sees her husband for who he really is, and the journey is tense!

Johnnie leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, rubbed its silk-covered ankle, and laughed as if this was all the greatest joke in the world. ‘Not a cent!' he repeated. I thought you'd better know,' he added.

‘Well, I should hope so,’ Lina said tartly. And after a pause, as calmly as she could, 'What do you intend to do about it?' Already she saw them begging their bread, from house to house.

'Oh, I don't know. I expect something will turn up. It always does.' (47)

This scene comes just after the couple have returned from a lavish honeymoon. Lina discovers that not only does Johnnie not have a cent to his name, he borrowed a thousand pounds to fund their honeymoon and let a house with eight bedrooms, fully furnished and decorated, without paying for any of it. When she asks him why he took a house far bigger than they need, his nonchalant response is, “I like plenty of rooms” (47). That in a nutshell sums up Johnnie’s approach to life. He doesn’t allow himself to worry too much about where the next pound will come from because there is always a way of getting your hands on some. But he certainly isn’t about to work it. Heaven forbid!

This book has light points, as well. An old school friend of Johnnie’s, Mr. Thwaite, comes to visit and proves to be something straight out of a P.G. Wodehouse novel, as Lina points out to the reader. It’s all “old bean” this and “what?” that and “what ho!” galore. Of course, even Beaky Thwaite becomes a point of contention between the couple. Lina grows to hate him. Likely, because she suspects Johnnie is going to steal from the man, and she can’t hate Johnnie no matter how hard she might try. Not that she is trying.

Suspicion is a tenuous thing, so impalpable that the exact moment of its birth is not easy to determine. But looking back over the series of little pictures which composed the memory of her married life, Lina found later that certain of them - a small incident here, its significance quite unnoticed at the time, an unimportant action there, perhaps just a chance word of her husband's - had become illuminated by her fear so that they stood out like a row of street lamps along a dark, straight road: a road which looks so easy in the daytime, but so sinister by night. (17)

Lina goes on to tell the reader that from the perspective she has now, even her first meeting with Johnnie seemed “a red triangle of danger whose warning she had deliberately ignored” (17). 

This is, in part, why I think Before the Fact would make for a very enjoyable reread. Once you reach the ending you can’t help but wonder if Johnnie has managed to pull the wool over your eyes, along with his wife’s. 

So how did Before the Fact stack up against the film adaptation? From the beginning I was so impressed with how true a representation we get of Johnnie through the film script and in the casting. Cary Grant was Iles’ Johnnie, as much as he was Hitchcock’s. Johnnie blurs the lines between naivety and knowingness, deceiving while being innocent as a child, and all the while he is charming and playful. The character must also be loveable in order to break down Lina’s barriers, so that she always ends up doubting herself before she doubts Johnnie. Cary Grant pulls all of this off with style, as one would expect. 

The same is true for Lina. Joan Fontaine is a great fit. Lina is a very similar character to Mrs. De Winter from Rebecca. It’s no wonder Joan Fontaine was cast in both roles. Lina falls for Johnnie from the start, and as a woman who has been led to believe she is plain, she is perhaps even more susceptible to Johnnie’s charms than most. While she suspects Johnnie of gambling and repeatedly says she will leave him if he doesn’t quit. Johnnie knows just as well as the reader that the threats are empty.

Whether you have watched the Hitchcock film or not, I think you will be pleasantly surprised by this book. It’s quite the ride! By the end, I just about wanted Iles to put me out of my misery and wrap it up already. The tension reaches such a fever pitch! I know I will be returning to this one again, before too long. I would love to read more books by Francis Iles, Anthony Berkeley, or any of Anthony Berkeley Cox’s other pen names.

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of Before the Fact for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

Lady Living Alone by Norah Lofts

Norah Lofts’s Lady Living Alone is such an unexpected novel! Originally published in 1945, this is the latest book British Library Publishing has released in their Women Writers series. It features a gorgeous autumnal cover designed by Sinem Erkas, who is responsible for all of the cover art in this fabulous series. I do believe these books just keep getting more beautiful with each new cover that comes out.

First of all, I highly recommend going into this one completely blind. That means resisting the urge to read the back cover copy and skipping this review. But while I still have your attention, I do very much recommend this book if you like less cosy literary fiction that keeps you in anticipation. It was so good, I read it in a single day!

(Only keep reading beyond this point if you have decided you are happy with a few spoilers. Not to worry. There will not be many.) 

I should clarify why I suggest going into this one blind. Some of you may already know this about me, but I typically refrain from reading book blurbs because I like to approach new books with minimal expectation. I accidentally read the start of the blurb for this book in a caption on Instagram and I wish I hadn’t read this line, “what begins as a domestic novel quickly evolves into a dramatic thriller”. In the case of this book, I think the reading experience would be improved upon if one approached it without that knowledge. 

However, I can understand why the publisher chose to provide that information in the blurb. Not everyone likes a thriller, and providing the reader with that information ahead of time gives them enough outside knowledge to not feel bamboozled when the cosy domestic novel this book begins as gets turned on its head. By its genre alone, this one stands out among the other books in the Women Writers series that I have read. I’ve only read 15 of the 26 titles released thus far, so there may be other thriller-y books in this series, but if there are I have yet to come across them. I’m inclined to believe that Lady Living Alone would be equally at home in the British Library Crime Classics series. Although, of course that would really give the genre away!

Penelope Shadow lives with her half-sister, Elsie, until Elsie remarries, and Penelope settles in a remote house in the country. It might be a bit big for a single lady living alone in 1932, but with the success of her romance novels there is no need to let that stop her from moving into a lovely Georgian home with formal gardens, a view of water meadows, and backing onto a park.

“It’ll be awfully lonely," said Elsie in as diffident a way as her forthright voice could speak. She was remembering that over a period of twelve years Penelope's little foible of not liking to be alone in a house after dark, had caused her hostess a vast amount of inconvenience.

Miss Shadow's heart had missed a beat or two as she too, and for the first time, remembered her abnormal nervousness. (18)

In my opinion it is here that we get the first major clue that this story is going to be anything but cosy. Penelope’s fear of being alone in a house after dark is both described as being a “little foible” and an “abnormal nervousness”, as though we are being told it’s an unimportant detail no need to worry yourself with it—but it’s also not a normal thing.

It’s because of this fear that in the first week of January 1935 we find 35-year-old Penelope “driving through the premature dusk of a snow-storm, to all intents and purposes, homeless” (19). It is this running away from an uncertain fear, that puts her on the path to a much more certain one.

Afterwards, through vastly varying moods, her fancy would play with the idea that Fate had been with her on that afternoon, guiding her actions, moulding her very thoughts. And, oddly enough, though everything within sight was by this time thickly coated with snow which was falling so fast that Miss Shadow had twice had to clear the accumulation of it from her windscreen where the wiper was clogging, the momentous notice-board, with its back to the wind, was clear and perfectly legible. From a great way off Miss Shadow read its exhortation. "Turn Left," it said, "for the Plantation Guest House. Historic Surroundings with Modern Comforts. Golf. Riding. Fishing, H. and C. in all rooms. Terms Moderate."

Made for me, said Miss Shadow aloud. She had contracted the habit of talking to herself when alone. (28-29)

It’s here, in this country house turned dismal guest house, that Penelope meets Terence Munce, a young man who works as a waiter/housekeeper/cook at the establishment. He is the one dependable staff member in the dire place, and Penelope immediately takes a liking to him. The next day she heads for home, but before she goes she overhears Terry in the act of quitting and after offering him a lift, she impulsively offers him a job as her housekeeper.

There is a great scene that occurs after Terry has established himself as someone who is both kind and a valuable asset to Penelope. Terry has gone out for the evening and Penelope has just risen from her desk after finishing the novel she has been working on. It’s nine o’clock and the shadows are lengthening, but the trees are still bathed in golden light as she goes out into the garden. She settles herself down and caught in thought she loses track of time. 

The shadows deepened. The last bird calls began to die away. A little breeze sprang up, ruffling and cooling the earth without chilling or disarranging it. Penelope looked at her watch. It was just on ten o’clock. Nearly dark. She must go into the house. She half rose from the seat and then sat back again. She had left it too late. The house had changed from a possession, a happy place where one lived and ate and slept and had become a menacing, dark hulk, the abode of darkness and mystery, an alien territory not to be approached without the help of a friendly human presence, or a bright and friendly light. (81)

As I was reading, this book reminded me of a particular Hitchcock film. I’d love to share which one with you, but I worry that to do so would spoil some of the tension for those who haven’t yet read the book. 

There are so many things I loved about Lady Living Alone. The build up of tension throughout is incredibly well done. I read this book in a single day because I could not help but! It’s completely unpredictable. You think there is going to be a certain outcome and Norah Lofts continues to subvert the reader’s expectations. And Penelope Shadow! Beyond giving her a brilliant name, Lofts has created a complex character that manages to be both likeable and frustrating often at the same time. Penelope is a success in her profession, and but for her one weakness—this fear of being alone in a house at night—she has an inner strength that is eventually allows her to come out of the shadows. (Couldn’t help myself.)

There are a lot of things I could say about this novel, but the most important one is that I think you should read it. Oh, and then go ahead and read Simon Thomas’s afterword. He writes such good ones!

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of Lady Living Alone for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.