You know, with Michael Innes, I'm like a kid with a new toy. Once I discovered how good a writer he is, there was no stopping me sailing through his litany of books like a scythe through a wheatfield. And I have a feeling I haven't even scratched the surface. Is that a mixing of strange metaphors or what?
APPLEBY'S END is my latest Innes delight. Though, I must tell you, it is a difficult book to get into - there's all kinds of literary asides and tom-foolery that goes on in the first few chapters. Most of it incomprehensible to me. But I suppose if you have that sort of background, it will all be clear to you. Innes assumes that his audience is at least, as smart as he is. Well, obviously in my case, he was wrong. But eventually, I did get into the swim of things and LOVED this often obscure yet very entertaining tale of the meeting of Appleby, his future wife and her oddly eccentric family - and this is when eccentricity meant something, let me tell you.
APPLEBY'S END is my latest Innes delight. Though, I must tell you, it is a difficult book to get into - there's all kinds of literary asides and tom-foolery that goes on in the first few chapters. Most of it incomprehensible to me. But I suppose if you have that sort of background, it will all be clear to you. Innes assumes that his audience is at least, as smart as he is. Well, obviously in my case, he was wrong. But eventually, I did get into the swim of things and LOVED this often obscure yet very entertaining tale of the meeting of Appleby, his future wife and her oddly eccentric family - and this is when eccentricity meant something, let me tell you. This is a book that might have been titled Appleby in Wonderland and been totally appropriate. The bizarre doings in an English winter countryside of Innes's invention, remind me of Stella Gibbons' COLD COMFORT FARM in tone. I can't believe Innes is not making parody here and having a hell of a lot of fun with the genre.
From the moment Scotland Yard's John Appleby, traveling by train on a mysterious summons to a case in the hinterlands, meets future family member Everard Raven, nothing will ever be the same again for the brilliant, intuitive inspector of police.
Raven, a deceptively quick-witted, barrister and single-handed writer of encyclopedias is returning home by train to his ancestral home, DREAM. He strikes up an acquaintance with Appleby taking a fancy to the coincidence of Appleby and their destination sharing the same name. Appleby's End - get it? (The fact that the name actually does have NOTHING to do with Appleby himself is kind of lost in the shuffle. I kept waiting for some sort of family connection to the Appleby name, but none was forthcoming.)
The train plows on through the winter snow and Raven eventually manages to talk Appleby into staying at DREAM and continue his trip to Snarl-yes, that is Appleby's eventual destination - in the morning.
"...But perhaps you can tell me if there's an inn at Linger?"
"An inn? Dear me, no. Of course there is a waiting-room. But I think I am right in saying that is is used at present for Brettingham's Scurl's Gloucester Old Spots."
"Brettingham Scurl?" said Appleby dully.
"The porter at Linger."
"Gloucester Old Spots?" (Funny thing is, I actually know what Gloucester Old Spots are.)
"Gloucester Old Spots. Quite a clean variety of pig, I have been told. Nevertheless - "
"What about King's Yatter - or Drool? Is there a pub, or somebody who might let a room?"
"Let me see." Mr. Raven frowned thoughtfully. "There is old Mrs. Ulstrup at Drool. She used to let a room. But I doubt if she does now. Not since she went out of her mind, poor old soul. Though of course, you might try." Mr. Raven peered out into the darkness. "Here is King's Yatter already. Do you know the 'George' at King's Yatter?"
"The 'George'?" asked Appleby hopefully.
"Fine little hotel. Incomparable Stilton and very good draught beer."
"Then I think - " said Appleby, and grabbed at his suitcase.
"My dear sir, I am sorry to say it was burnt down last year. By Hannah Hoobin's boy."
"Oh," said Appleby.
"I was on the Bench at the time. It seems tha Hannah Hoobin's boy gets a great deal of erotic satisfaction from that sort of thing. I am glad to say that I was instrumental in persuading my fellow-magistrates to take an enlightened view of the case."
"Oh," said Appleby again. His disinterest in the recondite pleasures of Hannah Hoobin's boy was extreme. "I suppose it's snowing still?"
"Heavily..."
So, really, having little choice, Appleby accepts a forthcoming offer from Everard Raven:
"I really think, Mr. - um - Appleby, that your best plan will be to spend the night with me. I should be extremely happy if you would do so. My place is three stops beyond Linger: Sleeps Hill, Boxer's Bottom, and then my own station, at which a conveyance will be waiting. And in the morning I think we can promise to get you across to Snarl."
In the meantime, Appleby notes that the carriage has quietly filled with several other travellers - two men and a young woman. None of them speaking or acknowledging the other.
Later that night, after descending from the train, (it turns out that the fellow travellers are all members of Everard Raven's family), they are shoved into a huge conveyance pulled by a horse named Spot, driven by a drunkard named Heyhoe. An inevitable accident ensues, the travellers are dispersed and Appleby and the young woman (Judith Raven) are cast disastrously adrift on a cold river (atop what's left of the infernal conveyance minus the horse) left to fend for themselves and find their way back to Dream.
Much later that night (or early morning) Appleby and Judith come across the head of a dead man buried in the snow.
And this is only the first night.
The rest of the tale is one heaping unbelievable incident after another in which the colorful and sinister fables of a dead family member, old Ranulf Raven, Victorian novelist (from whom no girl was safe in the neighborhood, apparently), seem to be coming true.
Unless you have a bit of patience, a well-developed appreciation for English whimsy, a warped idea of fun in the snow (or anywhere else), a liking for John Appleby and good writing, you will probably not enjoy this book.
The ending is a total hoot, if I may be allowed to say that about a so terribly British concoction.
My favorite notion, outside of the hilarious names invented by Innes for the various villages and characters, not to mention the old woman who thinks she's a cow, is the totally out-dated idea that, by 1945, a woman could still be compromised into marriage.
Not the first I'd read in the series if you're not familiar with Appleby. I'm glad I read it when I did.
This is another entry, for me, in the Vintage Mystery Reading Challenge hosted by Bev at My Reader's Block blog.
