Friday's Forgotten Books: Episode of the Wandering Knife (1943) by Mary Roberts Rinehart

This is my entry in the Friday's Forgotten Mysteries meme usually hosted by Patti Abbott at her blog, PATTINASE. Doing the hosting duties this week is Todd Mason at his blog, SWEET FREEDOM while Patti takes a well-deserved break. She'll be back at her post next week.

EPISODE OF THE WANDERING KNIFE is a relatively short novel - just 128 pages in my current library edition. I zipped right through it, couldn't turn the pages fast enough. I've read several Rinehart books lately (I'm sort of on a reading binge with her) and this, surprisingly, has turned out to be one of her best. I'd never heard of it before so I came to it with a blank slate. Except that I knew I was going to get a 'murder with manners' tale probably taking place among the well to do. And sure enough I did. But what a tale!

EPISODE OF THE WANDERING KNIFE is full of suspense and a terrific 'what happens next' rhythm which I loved. Rinehart is so good at this kind of pacing. I wish more mystery writers today had this knack, by the way.

Since we only have 128 pages, things have to happen at a relatively fast clip and they do. First we have a big party (the mayor in attendance) thrown at the mansion of Mrs. Shephard, a society type with high society attitude. Within a couple of pages, the party is over and a murder has occurred in the house next door where her son lives. Larry Shephard staggers in with the news that his wife, Isabel (who had not attended the party) has been stabbed to death.

Mrs. Shephard runs right over to see what's what and the cops are called. The cops arrive quickly enough but the murder weapon, the knife in the title, has disappeared. The heroine of the piece, Judy Shephard is also in attendance, keeping an eye on her mom who is prone to volatile behavior. We're also introduced to Anthony King who first appears to be a member of the police but then evolves into some sort of mysterious agent eager to find the murderer while driving Judy nuts with his exasperating behavior. We know, right off the bat, that despite his odd behavior (and possibly because), Tony King is the romantic lead. Rinehart usually has one up her sleeve.

To protect her son Larry (the obvious suspect) from being arrested for the murder of his wife, Mrs. Shephard has spirited the knife from the crime scene under the noses of the cops. She goes next door and hides the knife in her toilet tank. As good a place as any I suppose. Then she collapses, prostrated on her bed - though she is not the collapsing type - assuming the cops won't cross her bedroom's threshold if she is lying in bed in shock. Ah, mother love.

There aren't many servants left in the house since the story takes place during WWII, when most able-bodied men and women were needed for fighting or war work of some sort. But Mrs. Shephard does have a couple of servants in residence as well as a secretary, the hard working Alma, driven to distraction by the comings and goings between the two houses, the intrusion of the police and the increasing hysteria of her employer. Judy Shephard herself has caught the hysteria bug once she learns that her mother has absconded with vital evidence from the crime scene. But when the knife first disappears then keeps reappearing, no one can blame her if she acts a bit on edge. Especially when Don Sutton, a man Judy has had a crush on for years begins acting suspiciously. What a mess.

Long story short: Within the next day or so, a cop who was on duty the night of the party and the murder, is found dead. Then a woman who'd shown up at the mansion wanting to speak to the Shephards is killed. Meanwhile, the knife keeps showing up, kind of like a corpse that won't go away. Three people are dead and nobody but the killer knows why. Then the story of a baby born inconveniently years ago is revealed.

This is one fine Rinehart novel. A terrific way to spend a few hours when you're in the mood for a murderous tale which will keep you guessing until the very end. It's interesting that in such a short period of time, Rinehart still manages to make the characters and scene so vivid and suspenseful. What happens next has rarely been more fun.

Reading Binges!

There are eating binges, drinking binges, shopping binges and of course, reading binges.

I got the idea for this post from a piece I read (not sure where) on some one's binge reading of Henry James as a school project. Binge reading. Have you ever done it? I'm assuming we all have at some point or other, especially those of us who read constantly.

But just in case by some remote possibility you've never tried it, here's how it works: Pick an author, any author. It could be someone you've just discovered or someone you've been meaning to read. Get your hands on as many books by this author as you can find. Then sit back and begin reading and don't stop until you get to the last book. Simple.

It's kind of pathologically intense, but hey, if you can't be pathological once in a while - what's the point?

As with anything that seems too easy, there are pit falls of course. I'll come to those in a moment.

I am currently 'sort-of' binge reading the books of Mary Roberts Rinehart. Not that easy to do since most of her books are out of print and hard to get. But my library had a few and I brought most of them home with me a few days ago.

I admit it's harder to binge now because I need to keep reading other stuff for the sake of my blog.

A few of the authors I've binged on in the past:

Ngaio Marsh. Last year, some time before I began blogging, I began a Ngaio Marsh binge. For about 6-8 weeks or so, I read nothing but Ngaio Marsh's books until I'd exhausted the available supply. This Golden Age Grande Dame wrote quite a few books, so it was an especially lengthy binge. I had a great time hanging out with Scotland Yard Detective Superintendent Roderick Allyn and catching up on a lot of terrific mysteries I'd probably read years ago but had totally forgotten.

I tried to read them in order of publication as best I could, because there are changes that occur in Allyn's life and I wanted to get the full emotional flavor.

I'm convinced that, for me, this was the best way to get reacquainted with an author I'd mostly forgotten about. And I admit, I was totally impressed with her talent and how good a writer she really was. I loved most of the stories and loved living in her characters' world for several weeks. In fact, it was hard at the end, to walk away.

Dick Francis. I didn't discover Dick Francis until a few years ago although I was familiar with his name and the fact he wrote mystery/thrillers. The first Francis I picked up and read was TO THE HILT which features an artist as the main character - an artist who paints golf courses as a metaphor for life. Well, once I saw this, I had to read it. I love an artist protagonist.

I also love horses and the milieu of horse farms, the race track, etc. Though in this book, the horse aspects are in the background as they are in many of Francis' books.

By the time I got to the end of the book, I knew I'd struck gold. In those days my budget allowed for book splurges, so I calmly went to Barnes and Noble and bought every Dick Francis paperback they had in stock and what they didn't have, I ordered. I remember the sales clerk looking oddly at me, but did I care? Nah.

Then, for the next few weeks, I read nothing but Dick Francis. I was a Dick Francis book fiend. to this day I don't regret a moment of it. I loved those books and still do. Loved them so much I have a bunch of them in hardcover on my living room bookshelves. Ready for the moment when I get the urge to read any of them again.

Robert Crais. You've read how much I love R.C.'s Elvis Cole and Joe Pike books. Well, it all began years ago when I was NOT a thriller reader at all. For whatever reason, I picked up Crais' book, VOODOO RIVER at the bookstore and then turned around and bought every Crais I could get my hands on. Sound familiar?

There are just enough Elvis and Joe books that you can easily get immersed in their world of violent crime and retribution in Los Angeles. But it's the do-or-die friendship between Elvis and Joe that I will never tire of reading about.

Stuart Kaminsky. I read all the Toby Peters books I could get my hands on and believe me they were not all easy to find. Kaminsky had been writing for years and had tremendous output, especially in this humorous series set in the Los Angeles of the 1940's featuring movie stars and celebrities of the era, i.e. Judy Garland, Errol Flynn, John Wayne, Mae West, Bela Lugosi, Joan Crawford, Charlie Chaplin, Salvadore Dali, Eleanor Roosevelt, etc, etc, etc.

Toby Peters, hard-luck private eye is one of my favorite of Kaminsky's characters. I love these stories.

Rex Stout. I binge-read all his Nero Wolfe books in one fell swoop every few years. Regular as clock work. I can't get enough of the irascible Wolfe and his steadfast minion, Archie Goodwin. When I read all the books at a time, I feel as if I've moved into the Manhattan brownstone with Wolfe and Archie and am privy to all their cases. These books never grow old for me. I will re-read them forever.

The pitfalls of binge reading: While binge-reading is mostly enjoyable - obviously, or I wouldn't do it - there are certain pitfalls.

1) You get to recognize the author's favorite phrases (and phrasing) and to note the constant use of certain words from book to book. It's the kind of thing that often slips by an author's radar. With a really talented writer though, this is mostly held to a minimum. But in binge reading you can't help but notice when it occurs. With most writers, it's probably unavoidable. Authors have favorite words and expressions. We all do. I don't think writers are any different from us in this regard. But for them it's an occupational hazard.

2) You will find mistakes as you read. Things you might not have noticed if you'd read the books in 'normal' time - say a book once every year or so. This only occasionally occurs in books that are not meant as series, since each story then features different characters and usually different settings. But in a long standing series, there are mistakes made and most of the time, you just have to overlook them, depending on how much you love the author's work. The sort of thing I'm talking about: character names, character idiosyncrasy, events in the character's life, dates of these events, that kind of thing. It is not very common, but it does happen and becomes especially noticeable if you're reading the books in a bunch.

3) You are apt to get too caught up in the world of a particular author's characters. Once you get to the end of the books, especially in a series, you will find it hard (at least, I do) to break free of that author's spell. I often find myself comparing the books I've just finished, to everything else I pick up to read - and not in a good way. It takes me a while to shake loose.

There's no accounting for binge reading, really. It's just something that happens every now and then and you go with it if you can.

So, are you guilty of binge-reading? Come on, 'fess up.

All illustrations by the one and only, the brilliant Quentin Blake, whom many of us know from his work with Roald Dahl's books (among others).

Happy Birthday, Harry Houdini! (1874 - 1926)

Harry Houdini. Probably the greatest magician who ever lived. An American born in Hungary who went on to become the byword for acts of magic and startling, death-defying escapes. An icon of the seemingly impossible stunt.

Wednesday: Quote for the Day.

Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.

The soul that knows it not, knows no release

From little things;

Knows not the livid loneliness of fear,

Nor mountain heights where bitter joy

can hear

The sound of wings.

Amelia Earhart Putnam

Computer Woes!

Okay, my computer is acting up and my email program is down. So if my blogging and response to emails is sketchy within the next few hours/days, that's the raison d'etre. (Did I spell that right?) Anyway, you know what I mean: I'll be around, just not without some hitches here and there. Hopefully I won't lose the use of the thing completely. Stay tuned.

ELIZABETH TAYLOR (1932 - 2011)

Such sad news on this snowy day. Yes, we have about 5 inches of snow on the ground today, the sky is gray and there's a fine mist. A sad looking and feeling day all around.

Elizabeth Taylor has died. Once the most exquisitely beautiful woman in the world and a very fine actress, she had been struggling with her health in these later years. I woke up this morning turned on the computer and there was the awful (though not totally unexpected) news. With her continued health problems, I'm actually surprised she made it to 79, but so happy she did. She lived a good long life, I suppose. But it should have been longer. She sure as hell made the most of the time she had though - didn't she? Good for her. What more can anyone ask but that we make the most of the time we're allotted.

I have my own Elizabeth Taylor story to tell because I had the excellent good fortune of having met her many years ago when she was probably at the apex of her extraordinary beauty. A brief meeting, but for me, an indelible one.

In the early sixties I worked for a major magazine in the Fashion Department as assistant to the fashion editor. Unknown to me, the editor was friends with two young men who worked as Taylor's and her then husband Richard Burton's secretaries. One day I came into work and my boss said we were going over to the Plaza Hotel to meet some people and do some work. This was not unusual as my job and hers was one of gadding about NYC, choosing clothes and models, setting up photo shoots and that sort of thing. It was a fun job.

Anyway, we went over to the Plaza, to the Oak Room. On the way my boss told me who we were meeting AND that there was the slight chance we'd also get to meet Elizabeth Taylor. I tried to be cool but I nearly fell out of the taxi with excitement.

Unfortunately I had on a pant suit and women in pants were not then allowed in for lunch at the Oak Room. (Yes, it was THOSE days.) But eventually with a bit of pressure from Miss Taylor's secretary who had met us downstairs for a bite, I was allowed to slip in unobtrusively and covered my offending legs with the draped table cloth.

Shortly thereafter we went upstairs to a suite of rooms and I was shown a small office in which I was to help out with some fashion-related business for Miss Taylor. My boss left and went off to do magazine work but promised she'd be back soon. It was a little odd, but my job was to be flexible and so I was.

During that time I did phone work related to some fashions and accessories that Miss Taylor wanted - things she couldn't do on her own because if she went inside a store she'd be mobbed. If I'm remembering correctly this was shortly after CLEOPATRA had debuted in theaters. While I was in the office, the only people I dealt with were her two secretaries who could not have been nicer, though they were busy enough as well.

After a couple of hours I finished my 'work', my boss returned, and we were ushered by the secretaries down the hall and into a HUGE suite. As we walked in I saw a group of people and heard the magical voice of Richard Burton speaking. I almost dared not look. But I did. There was Elizabeth Taylor, standing (holding a drink I think) while a group of people sat around listening to Burton talking about something or other. She looked over at us from across the room, but made no motion or comment. She did check us out though and that made me smile.

My boss and I were speechless and stood there like two stricken turkeys awaiting their fate. Didn't know what to do. The secretaries were no help since they left us there alone. Oh yeah, we were supposed to walk further into that room and blend in. BLEND!! This was Liz Taylor and Richard Burton and their families - it looked like. And there we were, two dorks HANGING out at the Plaza with the rich and famous. My boss was feeling exactly as I was, I could tell. She was tall and much more glam than I. She was a fashion 'somebody' and, after all, she was friends with the secretaries. But it turned out she'd never met Taylor or Burton either.

So what did we do? We sneaked into the bathroom and stayed there. We were such boobs.

Anyway, we finally left the room and inched our way back into the main part of the suite. The secretaries came and told us everyone was leaving and that we would now get a chance to meet and greet. Gasp!

Well, long story short I hardly remember mumbling hello to Burton, unable really to meet his eyes. He was such an intimidating personality. That part of it is a blur now. I have a better memory of meeting Liz Taylor.

We had been escourted out into the Plaza's hallway where we were told to stand against the wall as the entourage passed by surrounded by bodyguards. One of the secretaries brought Miss Taylor over to meet us. (I kid you not!) She took my hand in hers (I'm 5'4", she was tiny.) and said how glad she was to have met me - ME!! She said she'd been looking forward to meeting me and how sorry we didn't have more time! She looked directly at me and I was flabbergasted knocked for a loop by her incredible beauty up close. But also flustered by her completely down to earth attitude - her 'niceness'. I was floored.

Later, when it was all over and I left the Plaza to go home to the Bronx. I walked on air. Silently, I gloried over everyone I saw in the streets of Manhattan that day. I HAD JUST MET ELIZABETH TAYLOR!!!! I wanted to shout it from the rooftops! Hey, I'm somebody! That's how she'd made me feel. In those few moments. She had that gift.

It was one of the most incredible moments of my life.

I am so saddened today, to read of this beautiful woman's passing. I hope she, as in the film I reviewed yesterday, is being judged fairly as she sails on that interim ship. I hope she's found her happy eternity. If these things exist at all.

A Favorite Film: BETWEEN TWO WORLDS (1944) starring John Garfield, Sidney Greenstreet and Eleanor Parker

Okay, the truth is that one of my least favorite actors also stars in this one: Paul Henreid. How did this happen? Well you may ask. The answer is: I don't know. Coincidence!

I love this film directed by Edward Blatt from a screenplay by Daniel Fuchs. Though I haven't seen it in ages and I am writing most of this from memory with the help of internet movie database and wikipedia for character names and such. This is the sort of movie they don't make anymore or if they did they'd schmaltz it up with computer gimmickry when, after all, it is a fairly simple story.

It is WWII. A ship is leaving war-torn London for the United States. Various Americans have booked passage. But on their way to the docks, their car is blown up by an aerial bomb. Also in London, eager to get away, are Paul Henreid and his wife Eleanor Parker. (She has witnessed the passengers' car blown up.) She comes home to discover that Henreid is about to commit suicide. He is an Austrian and cannot get an exit visa. She convinces him she cannot live without him and will die with him.

When all these various people next wake up, they are on board a fog enclosed, curiously empty ship. Naturally, they think that somehow they made their way on board and are happily (if a bit mystified) on their way to their original destination.

But Eleanor Parker (who is wonderful in the role), playing Ann Bergner to Paul Henreid's Henry Bergner, notices that the other people on board the mysterious ship are the same people who were in the car that was blown up. They could NOT have survived. She realizes that they are all dead.

There is a just one ship's 'officer' on board, his name is Scrubby (played by Edmund Gwenn) and he is more like a general factotum. He asks Ann and her husband not to let the others know the truth - to let them discover it themselves. It makes for an easier transition.

But Tom Prior (played by John Garfield), a cynical newspaperman, overhears them talking. Then one by one the others find out and each acts out his or her shock in keeping with their own personalities. This part of the film is very well done. As they all must face facts and the idea that an examiner is on board to determine their individual fates in the hereafter. The ship is just an interim measure - a kind of temporary purgatory, so to speak.

The examiner turns out to be none other than Sidney Greenstreet in one of his most intimidating roles. He is superb as the Reverend Tim Thompson, the final judge and jury.

Each passenger, according to who they were in life, how they behaved, what they did, what they aspired to, must face the Reverend. He holds their eternal fates in his implacable hands.

But it is in the devising of this heaven or hell that the story excels. Each of these characters' fates is not generalized, it is individualized to that person's personality and character. It is this part of the story that I love, that I found so touching and even, a bit frightening. This is the kind of hereafter that makes some sense to me. Well, at least it does to my romantic soul.

I am going to reveal some SPOILERS here, the fates of a few of the characters.

One of the couples on board are an elderly man and his status seeking wife. They are played by Isobel Elsom and Gilbert Emory and their fate never fails to move me. She is a shallow, vain woman who all her life has cared for nothing but wealth and possessions and has made her gentle husband's life a living hell with her infidelities and her social climbing. He is happy to find out that he has been given a choice. He can either stay with his wife or he can go on to his eternity meeting up with his old chums, friends he'd missed over the years. He will spend eternity puttering about with his old friends, maybe playing a game or two of golf. He chooses his friends to the chagrin of his wife who expected him to stay by her side as he'd done so meekly in life.

Her fate is the one that moves me most in the film. She is condemned to spend eternity in a gorgeous home, filled with wonderful possessions and every convenience. But she will be there alone, never seeing another soul, unable to show off her lifestyle and wealth to anyone ever again It is a hideous fate for a woman of this sort. As she takes in the verdict, she turns to Greenstreet and says, "You swine." Then she walks off to meet her destiny. A woman doomed by her own inability to find her own humanity. I always think of her as being 'marooned' on a desert island without being able to look forward to death. She is played to perfection by Elsom. This is my favorite scene in the film.

The others all receive their individual fates in turn. Including one loathesome man played by the ever cringingly loathsome George Coulouris. He is a wealthy black market financier who we are led to understand is going straight to his own hell. He cannot buy his way out of this one - though he tries to bribe the Reverend.

John Garfield's character will spend his eternity unable to hide from who he is, all defenses down. He must face the weaknesses that turned him into a hardened cynic without honor, unable to find love or value in his own life. There is a twist at the end though and I won't reveal it. But it's a good one. I don't want to give every single thing away.

When it comes to the end. Henry Bergner (Paul Henreid) is made to understand that since he is a suicide he cannot leave the ship. Scrubby is revealed to have been a suicide and that is why he is meant to spend eternity on board, ushering in all the new souls as they arrive. Henry will be given a ship and he will never see his wife Ann again. She will be allowed to find her eternity without him since she is considered a victim and not an active suicide.

Scrubby moved by their plight begs the Reverend Thompson to change the rules this one time. But he seems unmoved.

All of a sudden, Henry hears the faint sound of breaking glass. He goes on deck to think things through and disappears. Ann is frantic searching for him on board. Then we see their apartment. A baseball has broken a glass window, air is allowed to enter and Henry and Ann are saved from death. They have been given a second chance.

This is such an unique film. I truly do urge you to see it if you ever get a chance.

Top Ten Tuesday: Top Ten Bookish Pet Peeves

Top Ten Tuesday is the very entertaining weekly meme hosted by the gals over at THE BROKE AND THE BOOKISH. Every week they pick the Top Ten subject matter, then we all join in. Take a look to see what other book bloggers are writing about today's subject: Top Ten Bookish Pet Peeves.

I wonder if I have as many as 10 Bookish Peeves in me. Yeah, probably. (HA!) Okay, in no particular order, here goes:

1) Ugly book covers. An ugly, badly designed book jacket makes me think the publisher didn't give a damn so why should I? There is NEVER an excuse for bad design. (Bad is probably just as expensive to create as good.) I am a BIG fan of letterpress and artist hand-lettering when it comes to covers. But now with everything being done on computer, the use of uninteresting type face for example, is paramount. There is a flat blandness and sameness to computer done covers that I dislike. (I also dislike the look and feel of certain magazines run off on computer.) Not all new covers have this, mind you, but enough so that I notice. Examples of great covers that have the 'richness' of great design and artwork: the Harry Potter covers.

2) The 'sameness' of women's books, including their utterly boring covers. Why is it so easy to 'tell' a woman's book sitting on a rack, from thirty paces? The same pastel covers and 'gentle' imagery. The first few times this worked and was interesting. The 1000th time, it leaves me indifferent. There is also a certain 'sameness' of content which is one of the reasons I rarely read the best selling 'women's' books. I know I am probably overlooking lots of good writing, but honestly, the subject matter in most of these books leaves me cold. I know I am probably in the minority but, there it is. By the way, I read both male and female writers in a kind of 50/50 ratio (more or less).

3) A hundred million viewpoints. Okay, I exaggerate. But you know what I mean. I am not an admirer of multiple viewpoints to tell a story. I will tolerate it from my very favorite writers but only because they are excellent in their craft and mostly know what they're doing. But I would still prefer to stick with one character OR with a third party overview. I am overly fond of first person story telling so I am prejudiced in its favor when I pick up a book and read the first page to see what's what. If you write good first-person, I will likely read you.

4) Happy hitman books. I am not a fan of professional killers telling their side of the story. I am not a fan of 'reformed'' hitmen telling their side of the story. I am not a fan of hired killers or serial killers becoming the 'heroes' of their own books. Even if they are handsome and dress nicely. I just can't get around the fact that characters who kill for money or because they have some strange compulsion to do so, cannot be entirely trusted to tell me anything that will enrich my life. I am just not that sophisticated.

5) Genre disrespect. As far as I am concerned, there are only two types of books: good and bad. I do not like it when I feel hemmed in or 'forced' to apologize for what I read. Okay, that hardly ever happens anymore, but yeah, occasionally it still does. I dislike most of the uses of classification. I don't mind qualifying a book as a 'mystery or western or science fiction, etc' - that's fine. (Especially if have an affection for a certain sort of books to begin with.) It's when the classification itself is used to denigrate, to make one book somehow 'less than' another simply by the fact that one tells a certain sort of story and the other doesn't. There is good writing and there is bad writing. One of those is the only thing that interests me.

6) Book endings where everything just sort of peters out. Jeez, I hate that. I also prefer a story with a beginning, a middle and an end, if at all possible. (And why this should be impossible I simply do not know.) I am a HUGE fan of linear story-telling.

7) Telling the story in the present tense. No, no, a thousand times NO! I think I've yet to finish a book written in this popular style of writing. This combined with stream of consciousness is enough to make me run screaming from the room. Well...almost.

8) Paperbacks that fall apart after one or two readings. Yeah, it still happens. The paper is usually crap thin (feels like newsprint) and the pages are falling out almost before you get to the end. I know, I know, with Kindle this will never happen. Puh-leeze!

9) Dialect. Don't like it. Far as I'm concerned, it's not necessary. (Unless it is done extremely well. There is always the exception to this and any other sort of writing rule - talent and genius can get away with just about anything.) Although I do like sometimes when a writer is having a bit of fun with it, THEN it's okay. As in Alan Bradley's new Flavia de Luce book. One of the characters being 'grilled' is a three year old kid slurping on a stick of candy so when he says his name is Timofy (for Timothy) I have no choice but to laugh out loud.

10) Animal cruelty. I simply will not read a book which has this sort of thing as a feature of the plot. If by some chance I run across this in a story and the situation is not immediately fixed and the miscreant drawn and quartered, I stop reading.

Since I seem to have a peevish nature to begin with, I probably could have come up with 10 more (in fact, I can think of several right off the bat...), but these will do for the moment. So, what are YOUR favorite book peeves?

Monday Review: THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE (1908) by Mary Roberts Rinehart

Well, I'm glad to find myself back online. I had computer problems today but, all's well that ends well. My internet provider walked me through some hair-raising mumbo-jumbo and here I am. Now all I need is a martini and all would be perfect. Ha!

I brought home a bunch of Mary Roberts Rinehart books last Tuesday (a secret trip I didn't tell you about - or did I?). Didn't say much because I wasn't sure if I was going to be reviewing one or two of them or not. But I was so taken with THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE, that I thought I'd write about it today for my Monday Book Review AND also as an entry in the Vintage Mystery Reading Challenge. Link here to read more about the Challenge being hosted by Bev at MY READING BLOCK.

THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE is Rinehart's first book and all I can say is, wow! - what a terrific debut. It set the stage for the writing of the rest of her stories featuring similar circumstances with similar characters for the rest of her life. But in this case, instead of familiarity breeding contempt, it bred affection. Talent can make the most mundane things appear new and fresh every time. Formulaic, but never dull or uninteresting and always mysterious and bristling with suspense.

(I also read another of her books, THE WALL (1938), which I enjoyed very much, but won't be reviewing. Though I did post a few words about it yesterday. All I can say is, you won't go wrong picking this one up as well.)

In THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE, we meet the first of Rinehart's women of a certain class who will become, in time, a staple of her stories over her long writing life.

This is the story of how a middle-aged spinster lost her mind, deserted her domestic gods in the city, took a furnished house for the summer out of town, and found herself involved in one of those mysterious crimes that keep our newspapers and detective agencies happy and prosperous.

Rachel Innes, a woman of a certain age and a city-dweller, has decided, at the urging of her two grown wards, Halsey and Gertrude (her brother's children), to rent a house in the country. The house, called Sunnyside, is a huge white elephant much bigger than they need, but set in nice surroundings near a lake. Just for a change of pace, Rachel decides to go ahead. The house in question belongs to Paul Armstrong, a bank president currently traveling in California for his health with his wife and doctor.

Soon, Rachel and her companion/servant, Liddy (prone to drama and hysteria), are on their way to Sunnyside. Rachel - looking forward to it. Liddy - reluctant and rightly predicting disaster.

Almost from the very first there are strange stirrings and sounds and things that go bump in the night. From a very eerie beginning - Rinehart is adept at setting the stage - a corpse soon turns up. Rinehart wastes no time.

Earlier, Gertrude and Halsey had brought a friend, Jack Bailey, over to visit. It is apparent that Gertrude is very fond of Jack and this is by way of a family introduction to her Aunt Rachel.

Very late that same night there is a disturbance in the house and a body is found at the bottom of the circular staircase. Further it is the body of a man no one in the family appears to know.

When Halsey Innes, goes missing that very night it becomes obvious that his sister Gertrude is covering for him and, of course, the police are suspicious. There has never been a murder in the small town and the cops are stepping all over themselves to make sure they get it right. But since the summer people are the staple of the town's economy, they have to move cautiously.

Rachel too knows that Gertrude is hiding something, but cannot get the girl to talk. In the meantime, the strange noises and stirrings continue in the house at night.

Within the next couple of days, the town's bank closes and most of the townspeople as well as Gertrude and Halsey are in danger of losing their savings and investments. Halsey is back home but refusing to say what he was up to the night of his disappearance.

When the dead body found in the house is finally identified as Alan Armstrong, son of the traveling president of the bank, it is obvious the murder and the bank failure are tied in together. Suspicion falls on Jack Bailey, Gertrude's friend, since he is the head cashier at the bank. The cops think he was conniving with Paul Armstrong, the missing bank president.

Jack Bailey is arrested but makes bail and disappears.

News comes from California that bank president Paul Armstrong has died of natural causes. His doctor soon shows up back in town. The widow too is back, urging Rachel to leave Sunnyside so she can move back in and recover from the double shocks.(Though it is known she hates the house.) But Rachel suspects that the house is at the bottom of the mystery and refuses to leave - her lease is up at the end of the summer and she is bound and determined to stay until the murderer is caught.

With everyone suspecting everyone else, and the house refusing to give up its secrets, you can hardly blame Rachel for wanting to stick it out and find out who the murderer is and what the unfathomable motive may be. There are red herrings and twists and turns galore and I, for one, could not stop turning the pages to see what happened next.

One of the main things I love about this book is the way that the house, Sunnyside, is made to seem like another character. Author Rinehart uses her astute powers of description to make the house's presence keenly felt. Despite it's name, the house appears dark and eerie and full of secrets. Especially since the electricity is turned off from the generator in town precisely at midnight and from then on till morning, it's candles or nothing.

Another thing I liked are the couple of b/w illustrations that accompany the story. One is used for the cover (of my edition) and it is quite atmospherically wonderful.

One of the things I disliked about the book is the way that minorities, especially African Americans (which make up part of the servant class in this story) are depicted. But as I read I remembered the times these books were written in and that these were the prevailing attitudes. Still, some of the comments are hard to read. Fortunately, they are few and far between.

The edition I have from the library (a first edition) is 362 pages long, so it's rather a lengthy, involved story. But despite its complexities the main action remains centered on the house and its summer occupants.

Before too long, there is more death, the appearance of a mysterious child, a kidnapping, a night time excursion to the graveyard and another defense of the house in which Rachel is called upon to fire a revolver several times.

What I did over the summer has never been more entertaining or more mysterious. 

Downton Abbey

In a frenzy of I don't know what, I watched all seven episodes of DOWNTON ABBEY. Okay, I admit it: I was enthralled. I loved it. I wish there had been seven more episodes. I haven't been so taken with a series since the old days of Masterpiece Theater. This is great television. More, please.

Though, going forward, I see darkness down the line at Downton: WWI has arrived.

I am always unsettled by shows, films and books set around this time because of the historical fact of that dreadful war to end all wars. Unless the story is set in some sort of alternate universe, the war must intrude. And we're in for all sorts of ghastly doings.

So we know, if the series continues, some of the cast members are probably done for. I am mad about Brandon Coyle as Bates the valet. Hopefully he's too old to serve AND he has that bad knee. I am also crazy about Hugh Bonneville as Lord Grantham. He is extraordinary. An aristocrat with honor and scruples AND a touch of humanity. Just a lovely, lovely portrayal. (He also portrayed Mr. Bennett in LOST IN AUSTEN, another favorite of mine.)

I loved Jim Carter as Carson, the butler and Elizabeth McGovern as Lady Grantham. And, well, what can you say about Maggie Smith at this stage of the game? She is simply superb as the Dowager Countess of Grantham. "...what is a weekend?"

Their way of life is coming to an end quicker than perhaps any of them had thought. (If they thought about it at all.)

I do hope there will be more episodes going forward. Does anyone know if any are planned? They would be crazy not to.

As you can tell, I am besotted with this show. Why didn't I watch it sooner? PBS, what would we do without you?

First Day of Spring?

You wouldn't know it by the snow on the ground. What a way to welcome in the new season: snow on the ground and the skies grim and gray. It's the kind of damp cold that makes your bones ache. Makes you want to crawl back under the covers. I simply could not believe my eyes when I woke up today. Oh well, the sun will come up tomorrow, bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow there'll be spring.

And just in case you need cheering up.

Sunday Salon: More LIBRARY LOOT!

What, am I nuts? I must be. Went to the library AGAIN on Friday and added more must-read titles to my Library Loot pile. This pile, of course, is separate from the must-read titles that I already own. But new books come out every month and every now and then I must pay attention or I risk getting too far behind with my favorite authors! (That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.)

So now I'm doing some shuffling around because I am, first and foremost, a 'mood' reader. No matter what the rest of the world is up to or celebrating or recommending - I read only according to my mood. It's always been this way. It will continue to be this way. I am currently not in a non-fiction mood, so those books will have to wait their turn.

I am loving my vintage books but I am also trying to squeeze in newer titles, especially since at some point the books I borrowed from the library will, after all, have to be returned.

So, while the laundry gets done, I'm trying to organize what's what, reading-wise. I finished another Mary Roberts Rinehart last night which I am not going to review. It was damn good, though. Title? THE WALL. (1938) Why no review? I can't review everything I read. It's as simple as that. I am, however, going to review another of her titles which I finished a day earlier. Stay tuned for that one.

THE WALL takes place at the usual M.R.R. summer house and I love the matter-of-fact way she describes the arrival of the summer people and their entourages, while the search is on for a woman who's disappeared: Day after day trucks laden with trunks rumbled along the highway, station wagons passed loaded with servants, and there was the usual procession of cars with liveried chauffeurs.

Murder with manners. Murder in a rarified atmosphere, that's for sure. I do like all these summery mysteries set among the 'moneyed' set, either pre or apres-war. I am re-reading Mary Roberts Rinehart and having a fun time doing it.

A couple of the books I brought home on my last Library Loot adventure have already been returned - mostly because I couldn't finish them. (I do make an attempt to read what has been recommended, but, well, sometimes either the writing and I can't get along or I've fallen out of a mood.) But I still have the main bunch of books I brought home. I've just added more:

A RED HERRING WITHOUT MUSTARD by Alan Bradley. Well, I had no choice, I was on a waiting queue for this one and who knows when I'd have the chance again. The list is long.

Flavia de Luce is very popular. This is a great series and you have to strike while the iron is hot.

ONE OF OUR THURSDAYS IS MISSING by Jasper Fforde. Another one on which my queue turn came up. Another great series. Thursday Next, literary detective's adventures continue. Wait until you see the wonderful map J.F. has devised.

BODY LINE by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles. Well, this is the absolute latest in an English police procedural series that I love. It features the introspective Inspector Bill Slider and his crew. (I have a sneaking suspicion I missed the last one, so I'm probably going to be reading out of order here till I can make up the difference.)

TO LOVE AND BE WISE by Josephine Tey. After Les at CLASSIC MYSTERIES told me I must read this, well, I had no choice - did I? The truth is I'd never heard of this one. AND it's an Allan Grant mystery! Gasp! And since the library conveniently had a copy...

MISS PYM DISPOSES by Josephine Tey. Okay, another Tey. Can't remember having read this, though I think I probably did. Carol from her blog CAROL K. CARR, recommended this.

When all this will get read, your guess is as good as mine. But, eventually it will all sort itself out.

I don't like reading under pressure and occasionally I've been known to stop completely if I'm feeling too overwhelmed. A reading-break. But I don't feel one coming up anytime soon. HA!

Saturday Salon: A FAVORITE PAINTING

ON THE THAMES by James Jacques Joseph Tissot (1836 - 1902).

I am a big fan of J.J.J. Tissot's extraordinary work. He was a French painter who spent most of his life in Victorian England. I've blogged about his paintings before and probably will again, going forward. I am very fond of his dressed-to-the-teeth Victorian ladies.

This painting, for me, is all about the fanciful outfit this young woman is wearing. That and the two men and their non-expressions. I love the mellow use of color as well.

Do you suppose this young woman is about to get into that little boat? Or has she just come up out of it? The sailor on the right is helping - her hand is on his wrist, possibly for balance. But do you think she can actually sit in that get-up? Oh, don't get me wrong, I love her dress! All that wonderfully detailed ruching. But I'm just wondering if it's the appropriate thing for a turn on the Thames in a little boat. The fabric looks like chiffon and the woven ribbon - velvet? And those gloves- my dear. Underneath it all, of course, would be a corset. It's a wonder to me she can even move. But the whole effect is one of enormous charm and a certain helpless femininity. The Victorian ideal?

The two men seem hardly to notice all her frippery. They are probably used to this sort of thing. (Women will have their fashions. I can see the two men rolling their eyes.) Well, of course, I love their little bulls' eye pillbox hats.

Another Good Mystery Movie: GREEN FOR DANGER Starring Alastair Sim and Trevor Howard

I watched this recently, hadn't seen it in years. By the way, Netflix has suddenly added tons of older, lesser known 'classics' to their Instant Play lists. I hadn't been paying attention and lo and behold, to my delight, there were tons of 'em listed the other night. I am having a great time checking out these titles and finding old films from ancient memory. I even found a film which, to my chagrin, I'd seen in the theater with my mom. (It was a B-movie on a double bill - that much I remember.) It was the first 'grown-up' film I'd ever seen with her. Read: there were heated love scenes. To my surprise I don't remember being all that hideously embarrassed that my mom was sitting next to me. What was the first 'grown-up' film you ever watched with your mom or pop? Do you remember? Were you terribly humiliated?

Well, the truth is, I tried to watch the film yesterday. OMG! Was it awful! I had to stop about a third of the way in. It was cringingly unwatchable. I won't say what the film was or who starred in it. That kind of info is better left unrevealed. HA!

Back to GREEN FOR DANGER starring Alastair Sim. I thought about posting my review for St. Patrick's Day - but resisted the impulse.

The film is a moody, atmospheric mystery based on a book by Christianna Brand. It is set mostly in an English countryside hospital during the early part of WWII when the Germans were routinely sending rockets over the Channel nearly every day. The director, Sidney Gilliat, does a great job of supplying the requisite moody, melodramatic tone and shadowy camerawork appropriate to the story.

Leo Genn is properly smarmy as one of the hospital's surgeons. He's supposed to be a ladies' man though in my view no woman in her right mind would give this guy a look. His 'routine' is so blatantly obvious, it actually made me cringe. But I seem to be in a cringing mood lately.

Trevor Howard (a sexier guy in my book, though certainly, not a typical movie star-looking actor), plays the anesthesiologist under whose care the first murder victim dies. In truth, a thankless role in which Howard mostly gets to stand around wringing his bands and glowering or pining for one of the nurses - his supposed fiancee.

The rest of the cast is made of indivisible women (whose character names I can't remember) played by actresses who just don't stand out much in memory, except for one pudgy young woman who seemed to be the only one who saw Leo Genn's character for what he was. When you're pudgy in a film it ALWAYS equals unattractive, brains make up the difference.

Here's the thing that annoyed me: In many films of this era (and later in the 1950's), women were depicted as either stupid or hysterical. GREEN FOR DANGER is no different even if the women are playing operating room nurses. According to the screenplay by Sidney Gilliat and Claude Gurney, when it comes to matters of the heart, women are liable to hysteria and absurd indecision. Still, the murder mystery in this film is such a good one, I watched it fascinated and do recommend it. (I wonder if the book by Christianna Brand has this tone of hysteria running through it as well. I'll have to read it at some point.)

Admittedly, there is also the kind of hysteria (a bit more understandable) that springs from the terrors of the war and the threat of constant bombardment. After a rocket attack, the mother of one of the nurses was buried under rubble for days and died when she was finally dug up.

Here's the story told in flashback in the form of a resignation letter written by Scotland Yard's Inspector Cockrill: Joseph Higgins, an innocuous postman is hurt in a rocket attack one night - not a life threatening injury. But while on the operating table, before the surgeon (Leo Genn's character) even makes the first cut, Higgins dies - to the horror and surprise of the operating team.

The death was completely unexpected, but these things happen. The post mortem doesn't show anything suspicious. Scotland Yard doesn't get involved until the second death. When the body of a nurse is found in the hospital lab a couple of nights later, stabbed with a surgical blade, there's no question but that it is murder.

A policeman from Scotland Yard is sent to sort things out. Alastair Sim plays the eccentric Inspector Cockrill who will attempt to catch a murderer in his own inimitable fashion.

The murdered nurse and the postman seem to have no connection except this: the previous night at a weekly dance - the sort of thing given for and by the hospital staff to keep up morale during the seemingly endless days of rocket attacks - one of the nurses had declared before one and all that she knew the postman was murdered and how it was done. NOT the sort of thing you'd ordinarily want a killer to know, but you see, the nurse was the recently discarded mistress of Leo Genn's character, Mr. Eden. (In England, the doctors don't seem to be addressed as Doctor.) The nurse was, all together now: HYSTERICAL! Yes, hysterical with jealousy (Mr. Eden has his practised eye on another of the nurses), suspicion and unhappiness - a deadly combination when it comes to women. (Well, we ALL knew that.)

Anyway, while in the thrall of this mad hysteria she announced she'd hidden the evidence only SHE knew where AND also announced her intention to reveal the TRUTH on the morrow. IT doesn't take a genie to figure out what happens next. And when it happens it's really creepy. The nurse leaves the dance and runs out into the blustery night (the hospital appears to be farther from the 'dance hall' then at first appears), jumping in and out of shadows (while 'urgent' music plays) heading, one assumes, back to the 'hiding place.' Though why she should want to get her hands on the 'evidence' at that point in time is not explained NOR does it make any sense her running around in the dark. So, another thing we must put down to: HYSTERIA.

Once back inside the dark and creepy hospital rooms, she lurks about and while she attempts to get at the hidden 'evidence' - no surprise - she is stabbed by the killer. The murder is handled very well as far as the atmospherics. Hence my use of the word 'creepy.'

After Inspector Cockrill shows up, this small band of operating room doctors and nurses, of course resent the direct implication that one of them is a killer, but life goes on. Actually, it's a wonder what with all the crazy stuff going on that anything constructive gets done in this hospital. Much is made of the maddening Inspector's gleefully unctuous manner (Alastair Sim, as usual, is perfection) and his unorthodox methods of observation and interrogation.

There is a frantic attempted murder, a reenactment of the original crime before the killer is caught (after a stunning bit of misdirection ) in the nick of time, but not before the Inspector makes an important mistake.

I have to say, despite my dislike of how the women are treated in this screenplay, I still enjoyed the movie. (Maybe that makes me a hypocrite - oh well.) Despite the faulty characterizations, it is a finely crafted mystery. There are several red herrings sprinkled throughout and the killer's identity is a surprise. I had remembered it being someone else, so double surprise for me. I also liked the use of gloomy atmospherics which added to the suspense and tension. All in all, not a bad little mystery film. (Incidentally, I'm not in the employ of Netflix, nor do I get paid to say nice things about them. I just like giving credit where credit is due.)

Friday's Forgotten Books: BOOKED TO DIE (1992) by John Dunning

Friday's Forgotten Books is a weekly meme usually hosted by Patti Abbott at her Pattinase blog. But Patti is off today, so George Kelly has stepped in to do hosting honors at his blog.

My entry for today is BOOKED TO DIE, the first book in the wonderful Cliff Janeway series, written by John Dunning. Author Dunning was a bookstore owner and book dealer, also a radio historian and radio show host. He and his family live in Denver.

The Janeway series also takes place in and around Denver. In this first book, Cliff Janeway is still a cop who also happens (to the disparagement of most) to collect books - rare books. He is a part-time dealer.

My apartment looked like an adjunct to the Denver Public Library. There were wall-to-wall books in every room. Carol had never asked the Big Dumb Question that people ask when they come into a place like this: Jeez, d'ya read all these? She browsed, fascinated. The books have a loose logic to their shelving: mysteries in the bedroom; novels out here; art books, notably by the Wyeths, on the far wall. There's no discrimination - they are all first editions - and when people try to go highbrow on me, I love reminding them that my as-new copy of Raymond Chandler's LADY IN THE LAKE is worth a cool $1,000 today, more than a bale of books by most of the critically acclaimed and already forgotten so-called masters of the art and beauty school. There's nothing wrong with writing detective stories if you do it well enough.

I've been collecting books for a long time. Once I killed two men in the same day, and this room had an almost immediate healing effect.

Janeway and his department are currently working on solving a string of murders - the victims all appear to be drifters, street people. This time around, the victim happens to be someone Cliff knows. Bobby was a book scout, a kind of traveler in the shadows of the book business. The sort of guy who occasionally stumbled over a good deal - an overlooked and possibly 'rare' book - which he picked up for a few dollars (usually at Goodwill and places of that sort), then sold to dealers for a few dollars more. Not a great way to make a living, but better than pan-handling. Bobby was a good guy. Cliff wants to know why someone would harm a nobody like Bobby.

The police actually have a suspect - well, Janeway does - but are having trouble finding the necessary proof. In the meantime the dead keep turning up. Janeway is sure the killer is Jackie Newton, a rich wheeler and dealer in Denver real estate circles; a strange guy with an ugly history. It is this compulsion to prove Jackie Newton guilty that will be Janeway's undoing.

He suspects that this case will upend his career and his life in unforeseen ways, but he goes full speed ahead anyway.

In the meantime, while reading about these murders and the twists and turns of an evolving, complex case, you will, as a cool sideline, learn about book collecting. You will meet all sorts of eccentrics (some more sinister than others) - the norm in the book collecting trade. People collect for all sorts of reasons and you just never know when and where you're going to find an Aladdin's Cave of treasure.

Here, Janeway describes a cache of books he's come across as part of his current murder case - you can feel the love and awe and avarice the character feels:

Everything Julian Lambert had said about her books was true, except that even then you weren't prepared for them. You just don't see that many sensational books in one place. It was all literature, published since the mid-1800s, and it was all letter-perfect. You need a bookman's eye to appreciate what a perfect copy of a fifty-year-old book looks like. It does not look like a new book - it looks so wonderfully like an old book that's never been touched. Never been touched by human hands - that's the feeling her books gave you. There were things in that room that I knew I hadn't seen in that condition in half a century. She had a shelf of Jack Londons in crisp dust jackets from before 1910. She a had a little poetry piece that had ushered Ernest Hemingway into the book world. She had Mark Twain's copy of KIM, signed by Kipling when he and and Clemens had met, in 1907. There were so many signed books, variants, unique pieces, books with unusual associations, books from author's personal libraries, letters, and manuscripts that mere first editions seemed unexciting and trite.

She had factory-fresh copies of LOOK HOMEWARD, ANGEL, and Steinbeck's first, awful, but extremely scarce novel, CUP OF GOLD. After a while this becomes meaningless, it degenerates into a simple list of the great, the rare, the wonderful. When I came upon Hawthorne's copy of MOBY DICK, inscribed by Melville in great friendship and lavishly annotated by Hawthorne's hand, I heard a deep long sigh fill the room. I realized a moment later that it had been my own voice.

Author Dunning knows all the 'ins-and-outs' of book collecting and dealing and gladly shares his knowledge with you through the enigmatic, hard-edged voice of his hero. Cliff Janeway is an odd duck. A weird combo of the rough and tough and the cerebral. He is a pragmatic guy used to being on the look out for the lost 'classic,' the undiscovered rarity. He notices things. This talent serves him well as a cop and a collector.

There aren't many books in the Cliff Janeway series and I do recommend reading what there is from the very beginning. Link here to find the full list of Cliff Janeway books and other titles by John Dunning.

A sidenote: Almost from the first moment of publication, the first/first of BOOKED TO DIE increased enormously in value - especially a signed copy. Ironically, John Dunning's book joined the titles mentioned in the story as a valued collector's item. The price has fluctuated wildly over the years, but the book is still worth good money far as I know. My own copy is a hardcover but worthless, since it is a book club edition. Find out why these editions are considered so by reading BOOKED TO DIE.