This is the best Marsh that I've read so far, although it's still not without problems. In this one, Inspector Alleyn is on holiday (so thankfully rid of the annoying Nigel Bathgate) in Marsh's native New Zealand. There are a lot of nice touches that stem from Marsh's love of her country: the dialogue is peppered with "good-oh" and "dinkum", there's a sly comment or two about how New Zealanders hate being mistaken for Aussies, and there's quite a bit about Maori culture, which I appreciated. Thankfully Marsh doesn't do much of her phonetic accent writing here beyond the odd "New Zillund".The setting for this one is a touring theatre group whom Alleyn conveniently befriends before the murder. There are probably a few too many characters, but the denouement is better than the previous Marsh novels, although not entirely satisfying. I think the problem is that Alleyn always seems to just stumble across the solution. I miss Poirot's habit of getting all the suspects together, sitting them down and stroking his ego for twenty pages, although I suppose it makes sense that a policeman doesn't do the same thing - I rather doubt it fits with Scotland Yard policy.Sadly there is a gaping problem with the means of the murder: basically, a husband is celebrating his wife's birthday by hooking up a jeroboam of champagne to an elaborate pulley system, then dropping it onto the table to surprise her. God, just buy the girl some earrings! Anyhow, the murderer steps in and cuts a pulley causing the jeroboam to drop onto the victim's head, crushing it entirely. The scene is a lot more gruesome than anything in Agatha Christie, and it's very well-described...but how could the murderer have predicted that the victim would be standing in precisely the right spot? The set-up is a tad too convoluted to me - something I've noted in other Marsh novels, too. She seems to be very taken with the idea of having unique crime scenes - a little too taken, perhaps. But the novels are improving, so I'll stick with them.
1937, #5 Roderick Alleyn, CID, on holiday in New Zealand; cosy police procedural, theatrical, classic. Good book, poor narration.A nice little man dies a horrible death as he attempts a surprise gift for his beloved wife, lead actress in his touring company of Artistes. Death in the theater, as only Dame Ngaio can do it, plus some lovely comments on life in NZ. Her obvious affection for NZ, and her simultaneous enjoyment of artistic types and annoyance with them, all shine through, in this tightly woven, well-plotted tale with its very basic motive for murder. A nicely enjoyable classic cosy in the main, but the personalities of the actors are overwhelming, and become annoying after a bit. Ditto the local policemen, who seem decent at first but degenerate into buffoonery after a while. Excusable in a book of this age, but Saxon’s narration unfortunately exacerbates it all, with totally egregious supposedly NZ accents that slip and slide all over the place, partly cockney, somewhat Aussie at times, sometimes Dorset, occasional Irish.. etc, etc. And you can’t tell who’s speaking (except for Alleyn) as he doesn’t seem to remember which accent he used previously for which character, after a while. He does Alleyn and the other posh folks with decent upper crusty British accents and they're all right, and his voicing of the descriptive passages is fine, but the bad accents drove me quite mad. May 2007
What do You think about Vintage Murder (1999)?
This is the first book of the series to take place in the author's home country of New Zealand, though it gives the reader less feel for the country than the later books. Instead we get a detailed look into the world of the theater, where Marsh was also at home. A fun touch for those reading the series in order is the return of Susan Max from Enter a Murderer, the #2 book.No one could ever accuse Marsh of not playing fair with the reader when it comes to her mysteries. All the details you need to solve the case are there. Unfortunately this can mean a book gets slow and repetitious, but a clever author can get around this by creating distinctive characters and interesting sub plots. Marsh does all of that here, and this is a fine example of a Golden Age mystery.The only thing to detract from this story is that the fascinating Agatha Troy has not yet come into Alleyn's life. She shows up in the next book. :)
—Teri-k
written over 70 years ago. no, the vintage does not refer to this but a jeraboum of champagne used as a murder weapon (what a waste of bubbles!) chief inspector alleyn is on extended leave in n.z. and whilst on a train meets a travelling theatre group and they invite him to the theatre for a showing. here, a surprise birthday party for the owner's wife ends in his own death when a stage prop mal functions to be honest i found this too old school for me - probably been spoilt by the present day thriller/crime writers bev
—Bev Taylor
I'm not sure whether this is excitement at the discovery of a mystery that has all the elements I enjoy in a Golden Age whodunnit, or gratitude to Marsh for writing about New Zealand in a way, that if self-conscious, is understandably so, and reminds me of an era I never knew, but is engrained in me as much as any part of New Zealand is -- which sounds affected and makes no sense, but there you are. There's just something about reading Ngaio Marsh talk about New Zealand that makes me nostalgic for home. The mystery is beautifully paced and filled out, the characters are charming and her one Maori character is quietly problematic -- really brings the attitudes of the time into uncomfortable focus, making the book fascinating for what it says about how NZers view themselves as much as the mystery itself. In fact, the mystery probably comes in second to Marsh's manoeuvring of her English detective with Colonial predjudice through the land she grew up in.
—Starfish
