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)”
Lord of the Sorcerers
A recent thread of conversation over at The Invisible Event had me thinking about what I desire from a Merrivale story as opposed to a Fell. Well, ok, it wasn’t that this post exactly inspired that line of though – it’s always kicking around somewhere in the back of my mind. For a John Dickson Carr fan like me, it’s a natural question. Having read somewhere in the vicinity of 40 JDC novels, my mind starts to dissect and categorize what I’ve read. With only five Bencolin novels, and the historicals being such a separate category, the Fell/Merrivale split is a natural point to fixate on.
My current thesis is this – the early Merrivale novels are decidedly heavy on the “how done it” dimension, laying out some of the most mind-spinning impossible set ups in the genre. The early Fell novels, on the other hand, tend to forego the impossibility in favor of mysteries that are of apparently plainer sorts. “Apparently” being the key word, as the plots often pull themselves inside-out by the end, leaving the reader wondering how they ended up so far astray.
Continue reading “The Curse of the Bronze Lamp – Carter Dickson (1945)”
If you’ve read my reviews up to now, you know that I haven’t shied away from the supposedly weaker Carr titles. The Problem of the Wire Cage – loved it. Death Watch – I wish every Carr book was that good. Below Suspicion – I have no clue why people dislike it. Seeing is Believing – ridiculous ending but otherwise a strong title. Panic in Box C – mmm, it meandered here and there with Carr’s love for trivia, but overall it was decent. And then of course, The Hungry Goblin – not a book to enthusiastically recommend, but an enjoyable Carr historical.
Naturally, my enjoyment of these supposedly weaker titles has me second guessing myself. Am I an unabashed JDC fanboy, so blinded by the enjoyment of a few good reads that I’m willing to choke down any mediocre swill the author felt fit to put to page? Of course not – at least that’s what I tell myself.
Well, I hate to say it, but I’ve finally met my match. As much as I wanted to love her, there isn’t much to appreciate about the Mocking Widow. The comedy is bad, the characters are Carr’s shallowest, the plot feels disjointed, the mystery is meh, and the whole read feels like a phoned in facade.
Continue reading “Night at the Mocking Widow – Carter Dickson (1950)”
It’s funny how some books don’t really draw your attention. With 70+ John Dickson Carr books to choose from, some stand out as obvious reads. Others have a reputation as being the bottom of the barrel. Then there is the great middle ground. Even there, some books just jump out at me more than others. Perhaps it is the title, the cover art, or just the brief background that I know about the story. Who knows what my brain is up to, but it’s up to something
The Gilded Man is a prime example of my brain saying “I’m not interested in reading that book”, and I couldn’t even tell you why. Some part of me probably came to that conclusion when I had an awkwardly high TBR pile on my desk and I had to make some priority decisions. And then that reputation just stuck, and the book sat there, way down on my reading list…until now (cue dramatic music).
Continue reading “The Gilded Man – Carter Dickson (1942)”
Roger Bewlay has made his fortune by marrying women who have a habit of disappearing without a trace. His use of aliases has allowed his first two crimes to pass by unnoticed, but a slight slip up with his third wife has drawn the attention of the police. Under the close observation of the law, Bewlay goes on holiday with a fourth lover. She vanishes from a guarded house, and the next day, Bewlay is gone, never to be seen again.
That was 11 years ago. The police were never able to track down the killer, nor did they ever figure out what happened to any of the bodies. Now, a script for a play shows up at a theatre company in London. The author is unknown, but the play tells the tale of the infamous wife-killer’s life, both before and after the murders. The script reveals too much – facts that would only be known by the police…or the killer.
Continue reading “My Late Wives”
If I could wrap up everything that I’m looking for in a Carr work perfectly, it would be The Plague Court Murders. No, it’s not his absolute masterpiece – that designation is better bestowed on works such as The Problem of the Green Capsule, He Who Whispers, or even a short story like The House in Goblin Wood. Yet, in many ways, The Plague Court Murders excels in dimensions that each of those titles doesn’t quite reach. To that effect, this title – the first Merrivale tale – is the purest representation of what I search for in the author.
Let’s start with the puzzle. After all, that’s why we read these things, right? Carr’s reputation centers around the impossible crime, and he delivers more often than not. His best puzzles don’t just perplex, they leave you fixated on the problem for every last page until the solution is finally revealed. The Plague Court Murders offers that two-fold with a single crime. A man is found violently stabbed to death in a stone hut that is completely locked down. The only door is tightly barred from the inside, the fireplace is impenetrable, and the small dwelling is so barren that there isn’t a place for a culprit to hide. As if the classic locked room set up wasn’t enough, Carr add in a footprint puzzle. You see, the hut is surrounded by an expanse of untouched mud. Not a single footprint is present and none other than Chief Inspector Masters (a staple of Merrivale mysteries) was watching the grounds and could hear the murder being committed.
Continue reading “The Plague Court Murders”
The definitive locked room mystery novel. For an author whose name is so entwined with the locked room genre, The Judas Window showcases Carr at the top of his game. Too often, the label “locked room” is applied loosely, covering a range of impossible crimes in which a murder occurs in an inaccessible location. Not so here – this is text book locked room. Steel shuttered windows. A door thoroughly bolted from the inside. No conceivable way in or out of the room. And, yet, as Henry Merrivale repeatedly states, every room has a Judas window.
Carr wastes no time, presenting us with the impossibility immediately. A man is found dead in a comprehensively locked room, stabbed through the heart with an arrow that had been mounted on a trophy display. There’s a twist though – the victim is not alone. Young Jim Answell is found passed out on the floor, a gun in his pocket and his fingerprints on the murder weapon. Upon coming to, he swears to his innocence, claiming that he had been drugged and that the victim was still alive when he slipped out of consciousness. Yet no trace can be found of the whiskey tumblers and decanter that he swears delivered the dose that put him under.
Continue reading “The Judas Window”