This novel is from golden days of the puzzle mystery and everything about it stinks of the stereotypes of the day. I do find it odd that the blurb on this book is trying to convince me that we should be comparing Christie to Marsh -- while this book is just as good as anything Christie came up with later in her writing career, it can hardly touch Christie at the height of her powers.Anyhow, this is another one of those 2.5 star books that only gets the bump to up to three because of its cleverness. You see, this has some of those rather stupid plot elements that early British writers liked so much -- secret foreign societies, the closed cast of characters in a countryside house, personal love triangle issues, "nigger" minstrels, an overly elaborate and theatrical murder, and so on. It has all the obnoxious class snobbery and racism to boot. I think of this as a theatrical play mapped onto a novel and it's also an odd mix of some other writers -- Sayers' Wimsey and Christie's Poirot mixed into the same guy in her Alleyn detective. Further, she couldn't really integrate the three parts of this very well -- one is the love story between Nigel and Angela; the second is the Russian element; the third is the ridiculously acrobatic murder that sounds implausible in the extreme. It's an odd mishmash of these three different plots.What saves it is the clever self-reference. I think the author simply had a good intuition about what worked and ran with it. Why not put a few people in a situation within the book where they are pretending to commit a murder? It's a book about a murder after all. Further, why not make it theatrical to an extreme, even having a theatrical reproduction of the murder with the actual murderer, to show how bookish the whole thing is? In this sense, I thought the way the murder was done was fine since it supported the artificial quality of it.But, you know, I want more than just a clever, highly articial artifact from this genre. This is the exact same issue I have with people like Lady Gaga; she openly admits she's a purposely artificial image made for quick consumer tastes and plays this up for all it's worth with her styles and her catchy singles. It's clever and self-aware about how superficial it all is, but only so that you want to consume it in a slightly ironic way. I hope Marsh is able to at least be a little more clever or do something truly ingenious with the genre or I'm unlikely to stick with her for very long. I'm trying to give her the benefit of the doubt because she's a Kiwi and I thought I'd try to read a Kiwi mystery writer while I'm here.
everything about this book is clumsy, and the ending is so silly it verges on farce. it might make for a great dinner party conversation and after-dinner reenactment, though. if you could reign in the guffaws. (yes, that's right! GUFFAWS.)last night instead of concentrating on reading i ended up thinking about what it might be like to encounter the detectives of the golden age of mystery in the 21st century (all steven moffat's fault). so instead of doing a proper review i am going to give you my late night musings: hercule poirot - would make for a perfect accidental travelling partner. for someone who is so full of himself, he is quite good at drawing people into conversation! and the trip would end before his quirkiness became merely irritating. bonus if you find yourself embroiled in a locked-room mystery. miss marple - i'd take her to new york, find a good outdoor cafe or park, and people-watch with her. she would be DEVASTATING! oh if only. inspector grant: probably quite delightful in real life. i would bring him to a fancy dinner party and watch as he charmed the pants out of everyone (charming still is the fact that he wouldn't do this consciously). post-daughter-of-time grant would most likely lend a rather darker tone to the party but this is not a bad thing. lord peter wimsey - emergency entertainer at the birthday party of one's niece or nephew after the hired clown fails to show up. has just the right combination of avuncular cheeriness and breezy charm, and in a pinch he could pass around his monocle for the kids to play with. harriet vane: would invite her to be the guest speaker at a college graduate ceremony or somesuch. her speech would be breathtakingly elegant, full of literary allusions but also tempered by empathy and grace. also, unapologetically feminist! harriet vane = the best. inspector hemingway - ??????? sorry, inspector, no one cares about you. (georgette heyer's detective stories would be so much better if they weren't actually detective stories.)roderick alleyn reminds me a bit of inspector grant mixed with viscount st. george (wimsey's nephew) but not as memorable as either. it's early days yet, though - may give him one more shot before putting him aside for someone more familiar and fun.
A country houseparty with many clever and witty guests convenes at Frantock. Nigel, a young reporter and cousin to the urbane, rich, and not-quite-likable Charles Rankin, attends for the first time. Over cocktails, their host explains the game of Murder they are about to have over a weekend of drinks, food, and laughter. Unfortunately, as the game begins, Charles Rankin is murdered.Chief Inspector-Detective Roderick Alleyn arrives to investigate. Obviously upper class, he questions the group and the individuals. He sees that the young Nigel is innocent and enlists the young man in exposing the killer. A classic country house murder mystery that stand the test of time and reveals the coming stature of the author's writing. Enjoyable, witty, and clever. Evocative of the time and era and I guess now it would be considered an "historical" mystery.
—Gail
I read this book as a part of a reprinting series of vintage mysteries published by Felony and Mayhem. There are some troubling racist and sexist points, but, for the 1930s, when it was published, it was fairly liberal. The story is the key, and it is a great story! Nigel (nowadays, a hero would never be named Nigel) is a journalist who is going to a country house party of a renowned host with his mysterious older cousin Charles, who appears to be having an affair (or have recently ended an affair) with at least two of the females in residence. Add a Russian doctor speaking in a broken accent, a mysterious Slavic sword supposedly used in unspeakable rituals of a secret society, and the stage is set for a murder. Nigel assists the intrepid, quick talking, quicker thinking Inspector Alleyn and becomes more and more attracted to the fast driving but good hearted Angela, daughter of the house. Odd characters and mysterious allusions abound; this was a lot of fun to read, despited the dating.
—April
I really enjoyed Ngaio Marsh's detective stories. (I feel lazy so I'm going to review them all en masse). They are somewhat ludicrous, heavily theatrical, very very easy to read and display a blatant snobbishness that I can totally understand as a fellow antipodean. Thankfully, the cultural cringe doesn't exist like this any more! What really gets me, is the sensitivity that Marsh has for most of her subjects, she really loves actors and the theatre, she really loves New Zealand and has a passion for detail and accuracy that provides modern readers with a fascinating glimpse into the technicality of police procedures not seen in the works of her contemporaries. In particular, she had me squealing with horror whilst reading the Nursing Home Murder, as someone who has spent a portion of her career manufacturing sterile medications, the painstakingly detailed descriptions of hypodermic hyoscine preparation, whilst probably cutting edge technique at the time, now appears revoltingly dirty!! Roderick Alleyn is hilarious, the way he fraternises with and befriends suspects, it makes me wonder if anyone in the 30's thought he was really unprofessional as well, or if I am judging him harshly with modern eyes. Anyway, as a long-time Agatha Christie fan, Ngaio Marsh certainly gives her a good run for her money and deserves the (shared) title "Queen of Crime", and I would much rather hang out with Roderick Alleyn any day over Poirot or Miss Marple, he hangs out with cool people ;)
—Jillian
