Imperfect Messengers of Murder Monday
Flowers for the Judge was ok. Not great, not terrible. There are a couple of good moments and a lot of meandering. It seems as if Allingham gets in about one good scene and one interesting character per book, and even their dark secrets are a little weak. But her writing is still improving noticeably. Flowers for the Judge probably has about as many good paragraphs as clunkers, and a few memorable ones. I'll probably check out an episode of the TV show before I pick up the next book.
Just began: Head of a Traveler by Nicholas Blake
I learned about this one via a review on vintage_crime, and since I am somewhat more pro-literary posturing than dfordoom I thought I'd give this poetry-loving sleuth a try. Nicholas Blake is the pen name of Cecil Day Lewis, a poet paying the bills. It's ok so far? It's actually not quite as pretentious as I might like, given my expectations.
The narration is a little weird -- it starts out in first person with lots of casual present tense and somewhat careless figurative language, then abruptly switches to a more subdued and impersonal third in the second chapter. Nigel Strangeways is a semi-amateur who has an informal arrangement with the police. So far he is the boring kind of gentleman detective. There's also a Mute Dwarf of Significance, who is connected with the family tragedy in some way, but who is jarringly gothic and out of place in this parlor-Bohemian setting. No one has bothered yet to do any work toward making him a character; he's just a wandering signifier who represents The Sins of the Past or Whatever.
There's also a mild undercurrent of wrist-grabbing -- you know how in every episode of Star Trek: TOS there is a female scientist or engineer or ship's captain, and at some point Kirk (or whoever's handy) will grab her by the wrist and shout, "But you're still a woman! What about your woman's heart!?!!?"? That kind of thing. No actual wrists have been grabbed yet, but you feel like it could happen at any moment.
Just began: Head of a Traveler by Nicholas Blake
I learned about this one via a review on vintage_crime, and since I am somewhat more pro-literary posturing than dfordoom I thought I'd give this poetry-loving sleuth a try. Nicholas Blake is the pen name of Cecil Day Lewis, a poet paying the bills. It's ok so far? It's actually not quite as pretentious as I might like, given my expectations.
The narration is a little weird -- it starts out in first person with lots of casual present tense and somewhat careless figurative language, then abruptly switches to a more subdued and impersonal third in the second chapter. Nigel Strangeways is a semi-amateur who has an informal arrangement with the police. So far he is the boring kind of gentleman detective. There's also a Mute Dwarf of Significance, who is connected with the family tragedy in some way, but who is jarringly gothic and out of place in this parlor-Bohemian setting. No one has bothered yet to do any work toward making him a character; he's just a wandering signifier who represents The Sins of the Past or Whatever.
There's also a mild undercurrent of wrist-grabbing -- you know how in every episode of Star Trek: TOS there is a female scientist or engineer or ship's captain, and at some point Kirk (or whoever's handy) will grab her by the wrist and shout, "But you're still a woman! What about your woman's heart!?!!?"? That kind of thing. No actual wrists have been grabbed yet, but you feel like it could happen at any moment.