The Cavalier’s Cup doesn’t have the best reputation as far as John Dickson Carr books go. Oft-derided, it tends to be lumped in with the other common undesirables – The Hungry Goblin, Behind the Crimson Blind, Deadly Hall, Papa La-Bas, and a handful of other titles. Is it a fair reputation though?
I’ve become somewhat skeptical of the stigma attached to supposedly lower-tier Carr books. I flat out loved The Problem of the Wire Cage. Seeing is Believing was a killer read up until an ending that I’ll admit was comical at best. Below Suspicion? How could anyone not enjoy it? Dark of the Moon? Yeah, it was a rambling slog, but the end spun me around so bad that I’m half tempted to recommend it.
Across forty-some Carr books that I’ve read up to now, I’ve only really read one book that didn’t work for me at all – Night at the Mocking Widow. As such, I’m fairly open to trying a book with a bad reputation. In fact, I look forward to it. Even if the story doesn’t fire on all cylinders, maybe there’s a gem tucked in there to be appreciated.
Continue reading “The Cavalier’s Cup – Carter Dickson (1953)”
I’ve been collecting Edmund Crispin books for several months now without actually reading them. It all started with Swan Song, frequently cited as his best work, but I’ve for some reason held off on reading it. Then I started collecting more of his books – The Moving Toyshop, Love Lies Bleeding, The Case of the Gilded Fly, Glimpses of the Moon, Buried for Pleasure. It’s probably a questionable pursuit, collecting an author without actually having read them.
With a wide range of titles presented to me, I shook my instinct to go with Swan Song and instead went against my nature by selecting THE BOOK – The Moving Toyshop. I refer to it that way because this is the famous one – Crispin’s version of The Hollow Man or Murder on the Orient Express. The Moving Toyshop seems to be the “of course you’ve read this one” title when it comes to Crispin, and so I figured I might as well use it as my springboard.
Continue reading “The Moving Toyshop – Edmund Crispin (1946)”
The ultimate locked room mystery set up – where to start? Is it The Judas Window, with a room so perfectly sealed you couldn’t push a pin into it, much less the arrow lodged in the victim’s heart? Perhaps it’s Clayton Rawson’s From Another World, in which a corpse is found alongside the knife that killed him in a room with all doors and windows sealed from the inside with tape? Or is it The Plague Court Murders, with a man stabbed repeatedly in the back despite being locked in a secure stone hut surrounded by a field of untouched mud?
There’s almost a one-upmanship in some cases, with the author tasked with laying out a crime so thoroughly impossible that the reader is left with no avenue for an answer. In the best cases, that answer comes in the form of a simplicity that you never thought to consider. In the weaker ones, we get a solution so overly complex that it merely rings as a hollow justification for the puzzle.
Continue reading “The Invisible Circle – Paul Halter (1996)”
For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face
I first became aware of this title via Ed Hoch’s 1981 compilation of top impossible crime novels. Sharing a spot alongside works like The Judas Window, Rim of the Pit, and Death From a Top Hat seems to speak volumes for a book. Of course, that can be quite a reputation to live up to as well.
Through a Glass, Darkly is my first experience with Helen McCloy, although she’s on my radar for other much lauded titles such as A Cue for Murder and Mr Splitfoot. This is the eight book with her series character Dr Basil Willing – a psychiatrist, not a detective. Many reviewers consider it to be her masterpiece, although I’ve read a number of other reviews that consider several of her other works to be superior.
Continue reading “Through a Glass, Darkly – Helen McCloy (1950)”
On paper, Paul Halter seems to be custom tailored for me. Locked rooms – check. Vanishing footprints – check. Multiple impossible crimes in a single book – triple check. Regarded as a modern day John Dickson Carr, Halter follows in the master’s footsteps not just in the impossible crimes that he employs by the fistful, but in the dense atmosphere that permeated Carr’s earlier work. Rooms that kill, crimes of the past haunting the present, disappearing alleys – these are the hooks on top of the puzzle that have drawn me into Carr’s work. To have this all echoed by Halter in new and imaginative ways is almost too good to be true.
Of course, there are detractors. Halter’s books are said to be thin on character, sparse on the prose, and mere cardboard dressing for his puzzles and tricks. This is complicated by the fact that he writes only in French. His titles available in English are translations, and it seems inevitable that nuances of the author’s voice would be lost in the process.
Continue reading “Paul Halter – The Demon of Dartmoor (1993)”
How unfair is it for me to have to write about a book featuring a dash in the title? Or, I suppose, how awkward is it for you to have to read it? I’ve already done my time with the comma in Fire, Burn, and now I take another turn with Nine — and Death Makes Ten. I could of course refer to it by it’s alternative titles – Murder in the Submarine Zone and Murder in the Atlantic – but, hey, that would be confusing because of the edition that I own, so here we go.
I’ve been holding off on reading this one for quite some time. In fact, a post about my Carr To Be Read pile from seven months ago features this in the fourth position, and about eight books have since passed it by. I’ve held off for a reason. With only 25 Carr titles left to go, this is one of the last great ones. At least that’s what popular opinion would leave me to believe. Nine — and Death Makes Ten crops up on enough Top 10 Carr lists that I’ve been holding out hope that this will be a true classic.
Continue reading “Nine — and Death Makes Ten – Carter Dickson (1940)”
The Bride of Newgate is the first of John Dickson Carr’s historical mysteries. Well, in a certain sense. It was preceded by Devil Kinsmere (published under the alias of Roger Fairbairn) in 1934 (and later republished in 1964 as Most Secret) and the non-fiction The Murder of Sir Edmund Godfrey in 1936. The Bride of Newgate was the beginning of what I see as Carr’s core historical run, lasting from its publishing in 1950 through to The Demoniacs in 1962.
Most of these stories follow somewhat of a formula. A hero is accused of a crime that they didn’t commit and must race against time and conspiring forces to solve the mystery – a puzzle that is somewhat light by Carr’s typical standards. Along the way he’ll win the heart and protect the honor of his one true love. There will be daring feats and duels, often involving humiliating a brash member of the upper crust. Oh, and time travel – there may be some of that.
Continue reading “The Bride of Newgate – John Dickson Carr (1950)”