Monstrous Regiment of Murder Monday
This Monday will be less a roundup than a rant. I have a cold that just keeps getting worse, and I don't know what the hell is going on with The Fashion in Shrouds. The sexist asides haven't just been dialed up, they've invaded, like a plague of locusts. Here's a typical decorative detail, from a conversation between Val and Campion:
"Val leant back in the winged chair, unaware that she was irritating her brother, who, for some reason, did not like to see a woman sitting in it."
The whole book is full of moments like this. Is it supposed to be a satire? I can never tell with Allingham.
A minute later, he makes a point of coldly telling her that her manner of putting him onto some potential trouble was "hysterical" because she showed up in person instead of calling him on the phone. Campion, I was just beginning to like you a little! Don't be like this! Who has this level of hyper-awareness of gender about their own siblings, anyway? Is that common in some families? It reads very odd to me.
Also, this book contains THE WORST PROPOSAL. Maybe not the worst? I don't know, it's pretty bad. It beats out Mr. Collins in Pride and Prejudice because it's actively reactionary, where Mr. Collins is only socially inept. This is Alan Dell, Hotshot Engineer, making Val an offer she probably should refuse:
"Will you marry me and give up to me your independence, the enthusiasm which you give your career, your time and your thought?. . . in return, mind you (I consider it an obligation) I should assume full responsibility for you. I would pay your bills to any amount which my income might afford. I would make all decisions which were not directly in your province, although on the other hand I would like to feel that I might discuss everything with you if I wanted to; but only because I wanted to, mind you; not as your right. And until I died you would be the only woman. You would be my care, my mate as in plumber, my possession if you like. If you wanted your own way in everything you'd have to cheat it out of me, not demand it. Our immediate trouble is serious, but not so serious as this. It means the other half of my life to me, but the whole of yours to you. Will you do it?"
This rando has spent the entire book moping around the resident femme fatale like a sad little dishrag dog-puppet, and has had barely had a line in the whole show. Meanwhile, Val has been fretting about him and her own "femininity" for the same time frame, with not much sympathy from her brother (who is too busy worrying about WOMEN sitting in his MAN CHAIR? and whose "masculine mind" is referred to about 100 times, despite having given no very strong impression of "masculinity" in any of the previous books beyond things like "presumably wearing trousers" and "having a valet, sort of.") Satire?
Oh, and earlier in the book, Albert Campion tells Val (his sister!) that what she needs is "a good rape" to settle her hysterical little over-analytical head. She responds with scorn, to be fair, but then the plot moves in and the issue is never raised again.
Albert, no. Has everyone in this book been taking terrible relationship advice from Inspector Alleyn's mom? I think I'm just going to assume that's what happened. In a few days, everyone will realize that Lady Alleyn is a bad influence, shake off those Hollywood grab-and-kiss pretensions, and get on with their lives. If the next book is better, I'll know that they are no longer under her spell.
Oh, and Campion and Amanda get fake engaged as part of the case, then everyone thinks they're Real Engaged and is like, "ok, whatever, you kids do what you feel I guess," so Amanda has to break off the engagement officially as if it were real? Then Campion throws Amanda in the river for some reason?? and later they're like, "I guess technically we COULD get married FOR REAL if you wanted to!" Whatever, Allingham.
I don't know, maybe Margery Allingham is making fun of my fondness for Gratuitous Detective Romance and it's all actually a brilliantly acid satire of. . . something. I can't tell. I have a cold. :(
Luckily, there is Final Curtain -- but I'm too far behind to talk about Final Curtain right now, so I'll save it for next Monday, along with The Mystery of the Yellow Room and (maybe) Traitor's Purse.
ETA: I apologize for the grumpiness of this post. I will feel better once I can take some Ny-Quil, but I can't take Ny-Quil until I finish my Yuletide signups. Next week will be a better week, I promise.
"Val leant back in the winged chair, unaware that she was irritating her brother, who, for some reason, did not like to see a woman sitting in it."
The whole book is full of moments like this. Is it supposed to be a satire? I can never tell with Allingham.
A minute later, he makes a point of coldly telling her that her manner of putting him onto some potential trouble was "hysterical" because she showed up in person instead of calling him on the phone. Campion, I was just beginning to like you a little! Don't be like this! Who has this level of hyper-awareness of gender about their own siblings, anyway? Is that common in some families? It reads very odd to me.
Also, this book contains THE WORST PROPOSAL. Maybe not the worst? I don't know, it's pretty bad. It beats out Mr. Collins in Pride and Prejudice because it's actively reactionary, where Mr. Collins is only socially inept. This is Alan Dell, Hotshot Engineer, making Val an offer she probably should refuse:
"Will you marry me and give up to me your independence, the enthusiasm which you give your career, your time and your thought?. . . in return, mind you (I consider it an obligation) I should assume full responsibility for you. I would pay your bills to any amount which my income might afford. I would make all decisions which were not directly in your province, although on the other hand I would like to feel that I might discuss everything with you if I wanted to; but only because I wanted to, mind you; not as your right. And until I died you would be the only woman. You would be my care, my mate as in plumber, my possession if you like. If you wanted your own way in everything you'd have to cheat it out of me, not demand it. Our immediate trouble is serious, but not so serious as this. It means the other half of my life to me, but the whole of yours to you. Will you do it?"
This rando has spent the entire book moping around the resident femme fatale like a sad little dishrag dog-puppet, and has had barely had a line in the whole show. Meanwhile, Val has been fretting about him and her own "femininity" for the same time frame, with not much sympathy from her brother (who is too busy worrying about WOMEN sitting in his MAN CHAIR? and whose "masculine mind" is referred to about 100 times, despite having given no very strong impression of "masculinity" in any of the previous books beyond things like "presumably wearing trousers" and "having a valet, sort of.") Satire?
Oh, and earlier in the book, Albert Campion tells Val (his sister!) that what she needs is "a good rape" to settle her hysterical little over-analytical head. She responds with scorn, to be fair, but then the plot moves in and the issue is never raised again.
Albert, no. Has everyone in this book been taking terrible relationship advice from Inspector Alleyn's mom? I think I'm just going to assume that's what happened. In a few days, everyone will realize that Lady Alleyn is a bad influence, shake off those Hollywood grab-and-kiss pretensions, and get on with their lives. If the next book is better, I'll know that they are no longer under her spell.
Oh, and Campion and Amanda get fake engaged as part of the case, then everyone thinks they're Real Engaged and is like, "ok, whatever, you kids do what you feel I guess," so Amanda has to break off the engagement officially as if it were real? Then Campion throws Amanda in the river for some reason?? and later they're like, "I guess technically we COULD get married FOR REAL if you wanted to!" Whatever, Allingham.
I don't know, maybe Margery Allingham is making fun of my fondness for Gratuitous Detective Romance and it's all actually a brilliantly acid satire of. . . something. I can't tell. I have a cold. :(
Luckily, there is Final Curtain -- but I'm too far behind to talk about Final Curtain right now, so I'll save it for next Monday, along with The Mystery of the Yellow Room and (maybe) Traitor's Purse.
ETA: I apologize for the grumpiness of this post. I will feel better once I can take some Ny-Quil, but I can't take Ny-Quil until I finish my Yuletide signups. Next week will be a better week, I promise.