(Decided to do this by quarter rather than for the whole year to make it a bit more manageable.)
Murder For Christmas
Francis Duncan
I don’t know whether I’m feeling indulgent because of the time of
year, or possibly even feeling defensive of the Golden Age genre after this
Christmas’ dreadful Christie TV adaptation, but I thought this was really good
fun, an entertaining slice of escapism even if not very original or brilliant.
A Christmas house party is interrupted by murder, and amateur sleuth Mordecai
Tremaine – quite an attractive character – resolves the crime. The solution is
rather good, if a little far-fetched in some particulars, and is decently
clued, but the denouement is the weakest part of the book.
Berlin Game
Len Deighton
Gripping spy yarn from a master of the art, the first of a number of
Bernie Samson novels (nine, I believe, three separate trilogies). It shares a
key plot point with Tinker, Tailor: a
high-up mole in British intelligence orchestrates a complicated distraction to
avoid exposure. However, that storyline is interweaved with other strands,
mainly the extraction of a long-serving SIS source – Brahms Four – from East Germany and Samson’s realisation
that the main British network in East Berlin is deeply involved in cross-border
criminality.
The mood and the setting and the characters really make the story.
This is definitely in the “realist” tradition developed by, among others, Le
Carre, although with a less slow-burning style, and a little more action, than
JLC. The intelligence world as portrayed here is bureaucratic, ambiguous,
sclerotic, riven by petty turmoils and rivalries. Samson is not a suave or
indestructible action man; he is middle-aged, prickly, irreverent, instinctive.
He is also a non-university man in a “Department” dominated by Oxbridge types
(a subconscious dig, perhaps, at Le Carre from the working-class Deighton).
England and the Aeroplane:
Militarism, Modernity And Machines
David Edgerton
Short, punchy, provocative book questioning some widely held and
cherished conventional wisdom about British history in the twentieth century,
with a special focus on aviation and the associated technological and
industrial policies. Edgerton has in his sights two main targets, separate but
intertwined: first, what he calls the “declinists”, those who see all of
British technological history since 1900 as a story of lost greatness, missed
opportunities, inevitable falling behind. Second, the believers in what he
regards as the myth of “Two Cultures”, the notion that twentieth century
British elites were dominated by short-sighted arts graduates, ignorant of and
uninterested in the hard sciences, reluctant to embrace technology and reliant
on lone boffins to muddle through at times of crisis. Edgerton marshals
considerable evidence against both of these views. He notes, for example, that
the British government was an early and enthusiastic adopter and promoter of
aviation, and that long before 1914 we had given serious thought to the
possibilities of military aircraft. By the outbreak of war we had more aircraft
in proportion to the size of our army than any other Power.
The establishment’s enthusiasm for aviation continued into the inter-war
years. Edgerton explains that the use of offensive air power – specifically
strategic bombing – was key to British war planning in the 20s and 30s. He
calls this “liberal militarism”, alluding to the early twentieth idealism that
saw air power as a means of enforcing global peace. As a further part of his
argument against the “Two Cultures” view, of Britain as a nation where isolated
and neglected engineers struggled against a distant and uninterested
establishment of country house aesthetes, he notes that Britain had a very
strong aircraft industry between the wars, which was high status, well-supported
by the government, well-regarded in the country at large, and which produced
many fine aircraft. British aircraft production appears to have outperformed
German production well into the Second World War (until 1944, when Speer’s reforms
improved German productivity, albeit much too late to change the outcome of the
war).
The last part of the book considers the post-war period. Here Edgerton
disputes the “declinist” view that after 1945 we entered a period of stasis and
national failure, noting that we remained a serious military-technological
power – at least third in the world behind the USA and the USSR, and possibly
even second only to the USA. It is true, he concedes, that many big military
aviation projects were cancelled, but his argument is, in effect, that ‘twas
ever thus; it is not necessarily a sign of decline. He stresses frequently that
Britain’s status and decisions must always be looked at in the context of what
other comparable major powers were doing. In fact he argues strongly that some
of the cancellations, and the partial deprioritisation of military
technological development in favour of civilian and consumer technology in the
later 1960s, were part of perfectly reasonable and defensible political
decisions by government. He has an interesting take on Wilson’s “white heat”
speech, suggesting that it was not so much a call for a more
technologically-minded society as a call for a more balanced approach to technology,
less focused on military applications.
Edgerton marshals his facts well, and provides a truly encyclopaedic
Further Reading section. I should like to read a thoughtful critique of his
book to get the best view of the “other side”. He is, I fancy, a man of the
left, although he mostly hides this well – only giving the game away by a
considerable number of references to the New
Left Review in the bibliography, and his reference to a “brilliant polemic”
against the Falklands War that appears to be a rather crankish and dishonest
take on that conflict by someone on the Corbynite part of the left.
Small Island By Little Train: A
Narrow-Gauge Adevnture
Chris Arnot
Delightful little travelogue of one man’s quest to visit some of
Britain’s best narrow-gauge heritage railways. Nothing ground-breaking but a
lovely read from someone who is clearly good-natured and warm and curious about
eccentricity and place. Not as many big laughs as with Bryson – who is clearly
a strong influence – but plenty of gentle chuckles. I didn’t know about a lot
of these lines and several of them look absolutely fantastic.
Borodino And The War Of 1812
Christopher Duffy
Well-written and accessible overview of this (perhaps) most important
of battles, with some helpful if necessarily brief analysis of each side’s
dispositions, tactics and performance, plus some background to Napoleon’s
invasion of Russia and to the contemporary way of war. The last chapter
describes the grim French retreat to the Nienen in November and December 1812.
It seems pretty clear from this account that from the purely
operational perspective the French won the battle convincingly. Fighting
against a well-entrenched Russian army which was roughly equivalent in size to
Napoleon’s forces and which considerably outgunned the French in artillery,
hundreds of miles inside enemy territory, on ground which the Russians had
selected, the Grande Armée captured almost all their important objectives, notably
the Raevsky redoubt and the Bagration fleches, and forced the entire Russian
line well back from its original positions. The only significant missed objective
for the day was the failure to break the Russian far left flank, which was
nevertheless badly mauled. The Russians fought well overall, but were let down
by the weakness of certain units and indifferently led. Russian staff doctrine
was badly out of date and their high command was riven by bad feeling and petty
jealousies. The general in charge of the Russian artillery was killed early in
the battle and had given his subordinates little idea of his plans for the
deployment of the guns, meaning that their effectiveness was undermined.
However, as Duffy notes, the battle cannot really be considered a
straightforward victory for the French – and not simply in light of the
following three months. The Russians inflicted serious damage on the invaders,
who were far from their supply bases and could not easily replace men as the Russians
could. The French cavalry in particular sustained heavy losses. For reasons
which can only be guessed at Bonaparte did not commit sufficient reserves to
exploit the disarray in the Russian centre in the late afternoon, and so missed
a chance to turn defeat into rout. Nor, it seems, did he properly pursue the
opportunity of turning the entire Russian position by an attack in force on the
relatively weak and exposed Russian far left at Tsitsa. The French troops in
that sector became bogged down and were not reinforced in sufficient strength
to make a breakthrough. The Imperial Guard did not take any part at all in the
fighting. Boney also did not make any serious attempt to pursue the badly
mauled Russian army, which conducted an orderly retreat to the east and was
able to regroup, refit and re-organise in time to harry the French retreat from
Moscow in the early winter.
The human cost was enormous. It’s hard to be sure but Duffy’s estimate
is that as many as 90,000 men may have been killed or died of wounds. I have
seen Borodino described as the single bloodiest day in the history of warfare
until the outbreak of the First World War, and of course the overall death toll
of the disastrous French campaign of 1812 was in the hundreds of thousands. It
is striking as with most Napoleonic battles how many senior officers lost their
lives.
One thing Duffy doesn’t explore, and which I would like to see more
about, is what on earth Napoleon was trying to achieve in the latter half of
1812. I expect books like Zamoyski’s go into this in more detail.
Sharpe’s Revenge
Bernard Cornwell
You know where you are with the Sharpe books. It’s not great
literature – although it’s well-researched – and I’m not sure they’re as
enjoyable even as Hornblower and Ramage, let alone the Aubrey-Maturin books,
although to be fair I haven’t read any of the former for a long time. That
said, they’re decent no-nonsense yarns, and if they catch me in the right mood
I find them very entertaining. A good diversion from my current heavier
reading.
Family Matters
Anthony Rolls
I remember this being recommended in Edwards’ The Story Of Classic Crime In 100 Books. I think Rolls might have
been among the writers Edwards calls the Ironists, those who brought a
satirical or blackly comic edge to the genre. That element is definitely present
and correct here – this borders on farce in parts and has an undercurrent of
dark comedy, poking some gentle fun at the genre. The plot is clever, amusing
and, in my experience, unique – no mean feat among classic mysteries. It centres on the unhappy marriage of Robert and
Bertha Kewdingham. Robert is a fussy, peculiar man, who has lost his job as an
engineer in early middle age and not found another, with the result that he
turns in on himself and gives free rein to his obsessions – his vast collection
of tat, his leadership of a tiny local cod-fascist outfit called the Rule
Britannia League, and his belief that he is the reincarnation of a priest from
Atlantis. Bertha is frustrated and unhappy, bored and suffocated by life in a
small provincial city surrounded by her husband’s mostly unsympathetic
relatives. She starts an affair with her husband’s cousin, a charming London
writer, and decides to poison Robert. Simultaneously the local doctor,
dangerously obsessed with poisons and experimentation – it is strongly implied
that he has already killed more than once – decides to use Robert as a guinea
pig. For a long time the two poisons cancel each other out, until Robert
finally dies one evening and the police begin to investigate.
A very enjoyable
read, with a deftly handled mystery at its heart, alongside the comic and
psychological elements. Some great cameos among the minor characters, not least
the faux-naïve Mrs Chaddlewick.
The Death Of Grass
John Christopher
Gripping apocalyptic tale, with a hard undercurrent of misery and
bleakness. As society collapses following an outbreak of a virus that kills
almost all the staple crops of Europe, having already devastated the East, middle-class
engineer John Custance, accompanied by his family and a growing band of friends,
allies and hangers-on, fights his way north to an isolated valley owned by his
brother that is defensible and has sufficient stocks of food, especially
potatoes. This genre – middle-class Brits struggle to survive after the
disappearance of civilised life caused by some barely understood and often
unseen catastrophe – has apparently been derided as “cosy”, but there’s not
much evidence of cosiness here. It’s low-key certainly, with no epic scale, but
also pretty unflinching, a realistic portrayal of the lengths to which people
will go to survive and defend themselves, and what people will do in the
absence of authority and order. Even the “heroes” act cruelly and selfishly in
order to make it through to the haven of Blind Gill. The central characters are
well-drawn and the changes in their personalities wrought by the demands and
stresses of their situation are perceptively sketched. The terse style adds to the tension, but - and
this isn't true of many novels - I think it might have benefited from being a
bit longer (certainly the ending feels abrupt).
The Kraken Wakes
John Wyndham
Like The Death Of Grass, a
slow-burning account of middle-class Brits – Mike and Phyllis Watson – facing a
gradually unfolding and incomprehensible crisis that destroys their ordered
world. A real page-turner, effectively ratcheting up the tension until the very
end. It portrays rather starkly a flooded and abandoned London, and alludes to
mass starvation and the collapse of the government (Parliament removes itself
to, of all places, Harrogate). The fact that we never find out what the
“Kraken” is, or why it is acting as it is – the taking of the human prisoners
is never explained – works very well as a source of mystery and intrigue. The
book is, however, less bleak as a story than The Death Of Grass; it lingers less on the grim detail of social
collapse. There is nothing here, for example, to match the rape scene and its
aftermath from TDOG, or the subtle
transformation of Custance wrought by the demands of ruthless leadership, or
the cold-blooded killing of the soldiers by Custance and Pirrie. And the ending
is hopeful (TDOG’s ending is also
hopeful but more ambiguously and enigmatically so).
The Viaduct Murder
Ronald Knox
This is a fairly entertaining mystery, reasonably well-clued, written
with some wit and verve and exploring one of the tensions – or if you like,
weaknesses – in the classic detective story genre, i.e. how a complex theory
that “fits all the facts” and appears watertight can still be entirely wrong.
Twice in this book we are presented with a seemingly irrefutable account of
what is really going on, and twice Knox turns the tables on us. In this respect
it reminded me slightly of Anthony Berkeley’s The Poisoned Chocolates Case, although that book is more
self-consciously satirical.
Knox makes a philosophical observation on the basis
of these reverses, about the way in which people allow theories to dominate
their observations. It’s a fascinating thing to explore in a Golden Age
mystery, but the discursus in which he explores it feels a bit clunky. Parts of
it are used as a way for Knox to obtrude his own beliefs (about, for instance,
evolution) into the story.
The plot itself is fairly slight, and does not fulfil
its early promise as a railway problem. There is some unconvincing and
convoluted monkey business with a secret passage – generally a bad sign in
detective fiction – and the four amateur sleuths suffer from that rather
laboured sub-Wodehousian facetiousness that tends to afflict the lighter style
of Golden Age mystery. Knox also struggles with one of the central narrative
problems for the creator of an amateur sleuth, i.e. how do you account for the
absence or ineptitude of the police, and / or their tolerance for interference,
concealment of clues and information, alteration of crime scenes etc? He
addresses this in part by having the police actually solve the crime while the
amateur quartet of Reeves, Gordon, Carmichael and Marryatt fail to do so, but
the boys in blue still seem oddly indulgent of the removal of evidence from a
crime scene. And besides, the revelation that the real detecting has been going
on elsewhere while we follow four gentleman amateurs blundering about does
rather make one wish that the book had followed Inspector so-and-so of the
Anyshire Constabulary instead.
The eventual solution to the crime is satisfactory
enough, though with one or two improbabilities and a mildly irritating lack of
premeditation. I suppose one might argue that making the murder the work of a
moment’s madness, unplanned and therefore not enormously convoluted, is part of
Knox’s point about the difficulties of complex theories. The aftermath of the
murder, with the killer hiding out in a secret passage helped by a conveniently
sympathetic servant who is not named and does not feature in the story in any
serious way, does strain credulity quite considerably.
Armageddon: The Battle For
Germany 1944-45
Max Hastings
Sprawling epic account of the last year of the Second World War. We
start with the Western Allies on a high in the late summer of 1944, expecting
to be in Berlin by Christmas. Most of France was in Allied hands, Paris had
been liberated and the Germans had sustained serious losses in the Normandy
encirclement. Momentum was swiftly lost, however; British caution meant that an
opportunity to clear the Scheldt estuary quickly and at minimal cost was
squandered, meaning that the port of Antwerp could not be used to ease the logistic
difficulties faced by the Allies (it was finally opened up, at great human
cost, in November). The subsequent failure of Market Garden in mid- and
late-September dealt a serious blow to morale and the resultant need to
rebuild, resupply and reorganise large parts of the Allied army meant that
there was little prospect of further large-scale offensive action that year. The
Allies settled in for several months of niggly, attritional fighting. The
Germans, though increasingly short of everything – and running especially low
on well-trained and experienced soldiers – remained dogged, brave and ingenious
in both attack and defence, while the Allies’ citizen armies tended to be
cautious and lacking in initiative.
Meanwhile, in the
East the Soviets finally invaded the Reich in the autumn of 1944. Man for man,
the Germans were probably still more than a match for the Red Army but they
were vastly outnumbered and outgunned by this stage. By the new year the
Russians had forced the Germans back to a line roughly approximating to the
modern German-Polish border, and were clearing the last pockets of resistance
from the Baltic coast, with an almost unbelievable savagery.
In the West
December saw the Battle of the Bulge, Hitler’s insane and doomed last attempt at
victory. In the end the Germans were badly beaten, but once again the Allies
were slow to exploit their victory and did not pursue the retreating German
formations. They had many more weeks of hard, costly fighting before the total
German collapse in the West began in March, and Allied troops finally poured
across the Rhine. Around the same time, on the Oder, a huge Russian attack
finally broke the Wehrmacht and the Soviets reached Berlin in force during
April.
The real impact
of this book lies in the personal stories. There are hundreds of individual
testimonies, not just from soldiers at the various fronts but from Allied
bomber crews – there is a longish discursus on strategic bombing, its progress,
successes and inadequacies – and, harrowingly, from civilians and other
non-combatants caught up in the hellish chaos of the war. The horrors
experienced by these people were truly, unimaginably awful. The destruction of
German cities, the systematic rape of German women by Red Army soldiers, the
absolute misery of the millions of Germans fleeing East Prussia amid the
freezing winter of 1944-45, grief and injury and abandonment on a vast scale.
The stories of orphaned children, dead children, children left homeless are
almost too much to bear. Reading the book hardened my instinct that we should
have stayed out of the first war: whatever a Europe dominated by Wilhelmine
Germany would have looked like, it would have had to be grim indeed to match
the miseries of Europe in the years 1914-45.
A key theme of
the book is Hastings’ argument that, while the Anglo-American armies were not
especially impressive on the battlefield, with some exceptions, and their
leaders were generally cautious and uninspired, this was an inevitable
corollary of the fact that they were the armies of civilised democracies, made
up of ordinary men raised in, and conscripted from, peaceful, liberal
societies. The Nazis and Soviets, though highly successful in military terms,
were reckless with human life and their soldiers often achieved the goals they
did with a fanaticism and brutality that could never have been tolerated in the
Western Allied armies. For my own part I see something genuinely demonic in the
frenzied killing and rapine that marked the Eastern Front on both sides (and of
course in the activities of the NKVD and the SS/Gestapo behind the lines).
The Troubles: Ireland’s Ordeal
1966-95 And The Search For Peace
Tim Pat Coogan
Well-informed and detailed account of the conflict in Ulster from the mid-1960s
to the mid-1990s (when the book was written), with a brief history of
Anglo-Irish relations and of the Northern Irish state itself. Coogan, who for a
long time edited a Dublin-based nationalist newspaper, is obviously extremely
well-connected in Ireland. He seems to have been on familiar terms with most of
the key politicians in the Republic, as well as in the north. On the evidence
of this book, he also had extensive contacts within the Republican paramilitary
world, as well as some within the Ulster and London security establishments.
I was familiar
with the broad outlines of the story of Ulster told here, of a sectarian and
corrupt statelet neglected and indulged by London, and then descending into
political violence after the mishandling of the burgeoning civil rights
movement of the late 1960s. But there is so much more to it than that. I had no
idea of quite how brutal, comprehensive and systematic the oppression of
northern Catholics had been, or how utterly short-sighted and bigoted the Protestant
supremacists were. Similarly, I was not at all familiar with the complexities,
contradictions and tensions in play regarding relations between northern nationalists
and politicians in the Republic. I was only vaguely aware of the various
initiatives to end the growing violence that were going on in the early
Seventies, and of the security forces’ shameful and baffling reluctance to
really take the battle to the Loyalist terrorists in the way that they took on
the IRA. It was very interesting to get a fuller picture of how the American
angle fed into the peace process in the early Nineties.
The sections on
collusion and the “dirty war” were both enlightening and disturbing, although
the elision of proven or near-proven incidents of collusion with much more
unclear and ambiguous incidents does slightly blunt the force of Coogan’s
critique. Also new to me were the revelations about how both the British and
Irish governments exerted serious pressure on media organisations to report the
“party line” on events in the Six Counties.
The only real weakness of the book – and I speak as
someone sympathetic to the Irish nationalist cause – is that Coogan is rather
indulgent of the Provisional IRA, in a way that somewhat undercuts the
credibility of his fiery moral indignation at the cruel deeds of the UDA, the
RUC, and the British Army. He writes approvingly of the PIRA’s rigour in
recruitment, their mental and physical toughness, and their political
commitment – as though we are meant to admire such things. He was clearly
sympathetic to the hunger strikers and their demands, and only very occasionally
dwells on the grisly, appalling details of IRA “operations” (he often does this
for actions by the security forces or Loyalist murder gangs). He describes its senior
leaders as men of “calibre and integrity”, with the frankly appalling caveat
“the use of force notwithstanding”. The occasional mockery of British
indignation at IRA terrorism – there is a snide joke about the horses killed in
the Hyde Park bombing, as if the death of the horses was what aroused moral
outrage, rather than the attempt to kill innocent people walking through London
on a summer’s day – leaves a nasty taste in the mouth.
I cannot recall any mention of, for example, Jean
McConville; she certainly does not appear in the index. He is highly critical,
at some length, of the so-called “shoot to kill” policy employed by the
security forces; he also finds room for a long attack on the British media. Rather
less room is found for any discussion of the Disappeared (this was barely
mentioned; it is certainly missing from the index). More than once he refers to
RUC “death squads”. This appellation is never applied to the lawless murderers
of the Provos. Instead we have the antiseptic euphemism “active service units”.
That the PIRA accounted for well over half of all the fatal casualties of the
Troubles, and that it routinely tortured people to death using the most
sickening methods, is passed over in near-silence. Coogan’s account, it seems
to me, subtly (and perhaps unconsciously) tries to minimise the agency of the
PIRA. It seems they were forever responding to British-Loyalist provocations,
and seldom initiating violence themselves.
I don’t like to
indulge in whataboutery, but equally moral clarity is important. If you truly
object to cruelty, to bigotry, to violence, to children having their fathers
and mothers snatched away by the bullet or the bomb, you must object in all
cases. The real green heroes of the Troubles, it seems to me, are not the men
of violence, the bombers and the torturers and the thugs in balaclavas, but the
constitutional nationalists like John Hume, Seamus Mallon, and Gerry Fitt. Of
course we should admire those who turn their backs on violence and seek peace;
but it is much better never to have dipped your hands in the blood of the
innocent at all, and so few of those who make a big deal of “leaving violence
behind” actually repudiate violence in principle and express genuine
contrition.
The Tao Of Pooh
Benjamin Hoff
Intermittently amusing and enlightening, but also annoyingly trite in
parts. Takes a very original and interesting idea – that Winnie-The-Pooh
embodies many of the Taoist virtues – and stretches it to breaking point, and
beyond. I am fairly sympathetic to what I understand to be the essential Taoist
vision, i.e. the cultivation of simplicity and stillness and practical wisdom,
alignment with the rhythms of the natural world, and a suspicion of
over-complexity. But the lack of specific moral content, the absence of genuine
ethical axioms, means that it is ultimately incomplete. In addition, the
hostility shown by Hoff to intelligence, science and technology, is excessive
and glib. I was struck by the credulity with which he accepts the somewhat
unlikely claim that there was a Chinese man still alive in the twentieth
century who had been born in 1677 – and not only that this man was alive, but
that at the age of over 200 he retained his faculties and had the appearance of
a man in his fifties.
Kings And Comedians: A Brief
History Of British-Polish Relations
Ben Sixsmith
Short and well-written introduction to Anglo-Polish history from
medieval times right up to the present day. BS is obviously fond of his adopted
home, and the Polish history is written with affection and sympathy. He has a
good eye for the telling or poignant vignette, and manages to convey the
sadness and tragedy of the national struggles for independence and freedom,
especially in the last century, without making the country’s past seem like
merely a series of miseries and setbacks. The level of detail is just right for
the scale of the book, not so much that it burdens the narrative but not so
little that it feels lightweight and under-researched. Would be good if a
publisher asked Ben to write an expanded version of this.
Eiger Dreams
Jon Krakauer
Splendid little collection of JK’s journalism, some of it from a way
back now, before he really hit the big time with Into The Wild and Into Thin
Air. I could read about climbing exploits and wilderness adventures more or
less indefinitely. There a few standouts: the sobering but gripping piece about
the deadly “bad summer” on K2 in 1986; the one about John Gill, the master of
bouldering; the one about the various attempts to claim that Everest was not,
after all, the highest point on earth; and the very last article, which tells
of Krakauer’s rather foolhardy adventure to the wilds of Alaska in 1977, when
he solo-climbed the Devil’s Thumb.
One thing I was
reminded of reading this is just how complex and varied climbing is, and how
dangerous at the top level. There’s very little margin of error on some of the
big routes. It’s a source of real fascination to me how climbers do it. I love
the mountains but the sheer skill, courage, and endurance required for serious
mountain climbing is something else.
Death In Captivity
Michael Gilbert
Very entertaining and original whodunit, for my money one of the best BLCC reissues so far. A locked-room mystery, or very nearly one, set in the unusual confines of a POW camp in Italy. As far as I know this is a unique idea, and it's well-executed. Gilbert - who was himself a POW in Italy - keeps the tension up throughout, and incorporates elements of the escape story and the psychological thriller. He also resolves the locked-room component of the story plausibly and satisfyingly, which is no mean feat (cf. the frustrating resolutions to such conundrums found in Calamity In Kent or Death Of A Lady).
Murder In Piccadilly
Charles Kingston
Decent variation on the well-worn sub-genre of the inverted whodunit, in which we know the murderer from early on and see his perspective as well as that of the detective, and - generally - watch the unravelling of his plan. A fairly normal set-up for that sort of book: a weak and amoral young layabout infatuated with a demanding woman plots to get rid of a miserly rich uncle so that he can inherit enormous wealth. It has well-drawn characters, a good sinister atmosphere, and is written with some style and wit. Unfortunately the ending is unsatisfactory, leaving too much unexplained, despite a darkly funny twist; many classic mystery writers struggled with endings, and it seems to have been especially tricky for those who tried their hands at the inverted whodunit.
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