She Died a Lady: Carter Dickson (1943)

 

The date, 1943. The author, Carter Dickson. The story, a classically macabre and unique mystery from the master of the impossible crime.

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The singular Rita Wainwright has found herself tangled in an love affair with young american actor Barry Sullivan. Not being able to take the secrecy of hiding it from her husband, and knowing that they could never be together, the pair decide to make a suicide pact, and throw themselves from the top of the 70 foot cliff at the end of her garden, fitting called Lover’s Leap. The scene is thoroughly examined and only two sets of footprints are left in the damp earth that leads to the edge. But when their bodied wash up it turns out they did not die from falling 70 feet onto a bed of rocks, but were both shot in the chest at close range. The gun that they were shot with is found, and it is impossible that either of them fired it themselves.

Golden Age writer John Dickson Carr, and under his pseudonym Carter Dickson, wrote over 70 novels, almost all of which are impossible crimes or have impossible elements. She Died A Lady was his 17th novel under the Carter Dickson banner, featuring his Dickson series detective, the hilarious Sir Henry Merrivale.

Carr was on top form with his scene descriptions and use of prose here. Lines like: ‘The sky was lead-coloured; the water dark blue; the headlands, at bare patches in their green, like the colours of a child’s modelling-clay run together’, set atmospheres that linger long after the page they appear on. Equally, the characters were quickly and powerfully established, described as to be implanted in your head. All unique without feeling parodied or unnatural, with a sharp dose of humour thrown in.

The real strength of this book though, is the plotting. It’s an absolute roller coaster when it comes to directions and threads being weaved together. For example, about half the way in, just when you think you know what is happening a secret is revealed which is so absurd and shocking it knocks you sideways. After Carr let’s the shock settle in, he shows you how it seamlessly links to everything you have seen so far. To finish, he drops the killer and the solution in a high paced denouement, which leaves you needing a to take a day off.

The solution to the impossibility as with all Carr’s best works, is devilishly simple. Though, for me, there were a few too many theoretical mechanics involved, and it was related to specific things from the time period that you may not be totally familiar with. However there was one simple idea, clued so well in a throw away line (which was so obvious on reflection), that left me smacking my forehead for weeks.  I can see why this book is as well respected as it is.

I had heard about Carr’s poor handling of women characters on occasion, but was yet to experience it. Having recently read the amazing ‘Till Death Do Us Part’, and reflecting on other classics like ‘The Judas Window’, where his women are some of the strongest, plot moving and developed characters, it was difficult to find this less well handled. There are only so many times I can hear the narrator describe the body, face or lip shape of every woman. Although on reflection I am starting to wonder if it was the narrator’s view of these females that we are being thrust into, as his descriptions are consistent with his character as a kind of bumbling, slightly out of touch older male? I was almost coping with that, but then this line dropped as if from nowhere: ‘Though it is dangerous to make generalities, this was far from being the first time in my life when I have observed the absolute incapacity of any woman for telling the truth when truth becomes unsuitable. There is no intent to do wrong in this. To the female sex, it simply does not matter. Truth is relative; truth is fluid; truth is something to be measured according to emotional needs, like Adolf Hitler’s.’

Unless I have deeply misunderstood this line (I have read it over and over) this was simply too much for me, and left a sour taste, even accounting for the time of writing. It seemed to be totally incongruous, and written without enough irony, even if it was a character attribute or parody of the narrator himself. I’m not sure, and would like to hear some thoughts from readers on this. It is (although weirdly shocking) a small moment, and as the brilliant feminist, media critic Anita Sarkeesian always says, it is possible to still enjoy a cultural work while being critical of certain elements of it.

A final thought about this, there was also some interesting gender reflections when Rita Wainwright is maliciously called a ‘theatrical’ woman by certain characters and therefore not taken seriously, her name being dragged through the mud. This idea becomes subverted as the narrative goes on, and people are shown up for judging a book by its cover. Speaking of which the title is really brilliant, and when revealed in the book it’s a real shocker, relating to these ‘theatrical’ reflections and subversions.

My conclusion, grab and read this book. For the plotting, for the feeling of the mystery rippling throughout, the clues that niggle at the back of your head and the tensions coming left right and centre. But as for the difficulties, the reader is warned.

I am submitting this review as part of the Crimes of The Century series by Rich over at Past Offences, this month in celebration of classic detective fiction published in 1943 . 

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What are you reading? WWW Wednesday

What have I been reading this past few weeks, and what’s coming up next on the book pile? To show you lovely readers, I’m getting involved with the WWW Wednesday meme over at the brilliant Taking on a World of Words blog.

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The Three Ws are:

What are you currently reading?

What did you recently finish reading?

What do you think you’ll read next?

Here we go!

What am I currently reading?

I am super excited to be half way through Nine and Death makes Ten by Carter Dickson. A classic golden age impossible crime mystery, that takes the award for my favourite title for a crime book.  Set against the backdrop of WWII aboard the ‘HM Edwardic’, the ship is forcibly on blackout in protection against attacks. This so far has created a literal and figurative darkness over the artificially lit cabins, making way for a ingenious impossibility related to a set of bloody fingerprints that match no one aboard the ship. 

I am also at the start of contemporary crime novel Tana French’s The Trespasser. Having read many glowing reviews I wanted to give this book a go and it’s brilliant so far. The black female lead, the caustic Antoinette Conway, is super refreshing and very well written.

What did I recently finish?

Just closed the last page of a The Japanese Golden Dozen. A very curious and enigmatic collection from the 1970’s by golden age crime writer and anthologist Ellery Queen. I found this treasure on my last London second hand bookshop walk. The book catalogues and translates some of the best detective fiction writers from all over Japan. There are some misses (and shockers!) but a lot of hits in this collection, my review of this will be up in my next post.

What do you think you will read next?

Well… this week I found possibly my best hall of golden age impossible crime novels from a single secondhand bookshop visit. Dropped in on the off chance and got myself 8 titles! These books are all penned by golden age writer John Dickson Carr, who produced over 80 novels in his time, almost all of which have impossible crimes or elements (also under the pseudonym Carter Dickson, see above). I am a big fan of Carr and a few of these are considered classics so I’m pushed for choice! On the contemporary crime front I have also ordered to my local library Sarah Hillary’s first novel Someone Else’s Skin. And keen to get on Sara Paretsky’s feminist crime series with her first book Indemnity Only.

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Spoilt for choice!

What’s on your to read pile, and what top books have you read lately? Anything you want to recommend me?

Twain, Hemmingway, Dickens: Crime Writers?

Sometimes I come across a book so curious I have to pick it up. Ellery Queen’s Book of Mystery Stories is just that book. Its very existence is so fascinating I had to write about it.

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Most followers of this blog will know who Ellery Queen is, but if not let me introduce you. Ellery Queen was the moniker of crime fiction writers, editors and anthologists Frederic Dannay and Manfred Bennington Lee. They wrote some 30 novels and short story collections featuring their main character, also named Ellery Queen, a writer and amateur detective who helps his police inspector father solve complex cases. They also had a huge impact on editing and anthologising crime.

This anthology originally published in 1952 under the title ‘The Literature of Crime’ seeks to show, in Queen’s words, that ‘few people realise – few critics, too – that nearly every world-famous author, throughout the entire history of literature has tried his hand at writing the detective or crime story’.

And the list of names in this book is extraordinary. Queen brings together short crime stories from none other than Mark Twain, Ernest Hemingway, Rudyard Kipling, Aldous Huxley, Pearl S. Buck, Walter de la Mare, Charles Dickens, John Steinbeck and Fannie Hurst to name but a few.

What made me pick it up, was the foreword by Queen, in which there are some fascinating facts. For example in discussing Mark Twain Queen says ‘Twain’s writings in the detective-crime field are almost wholly unappreciated’ explaining that Twain wrote over 6 detective stories through his career, and that he was ‘the first writer in history to see the plot possibilities of fingerprints… Yes, both in the short story and the novel… as a means of criminal identification.’ And in Huckleberry Finn, often ranked as one of the top 100 books of all time, Twain wrote in the lady detective Mrs Judith Loftus, who uses the gender norms of the time as to uncovering Finn’s disguise. 

And most fascinatingly: ‘did you know what was book Mark Twain was writing at the time of his death? A mystery novel, entitled Jim Wheeler, Detective.’ Truly wonderful stuff. The unfinished Jim Wheeler manuscript is housed in the New York Public library having never been published, but I guess it would be a frustrating read having no ending.
What I find interesting about this collection is that it shows the complexities of the crime form were not snubbed by some of the world’s most famous authors.

Is BBC’s Death In Paradise Trash or Treasure?

Formulaic and generic or culturally vital? In this post I consider race, sexuality and detective fiction in one of the BBC’s most popular series.

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The original cast

The exotic-come-bumbling British crime drama Death in Paradise is well underway with its 6th series. The detective show has had some of the highest ratings on British television with the opening episode of this new series being watched by 9.26 million viewers. However, Death In Paradise for a long time has received a huge list of bad press. Being called formulaic and cliche-ridden. Sam Wollaston in The Guardian called it ‘the TV equivalent of a boring holiday timeshare.’ However, even at an initial glance, Death in Paradise has many elements that have huge importance in our current cultural climate.

The main thing that is powerful about this show is its level of inclusion. Gender balance throughout the series is extremely high. In the last series there were upwards of 5 lesbian and gay characters most of them in relationships that weren’t considered shocking or unusual. And the highest credit is that it’s Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic (BAME) representation is on top form. Out of the 4 main cast 3 are black, and all of them are portrayed as non english.

But it’s not just this racial and sexual inclusion that is so important. What is most vital about the stories that these inclusive casts inhabit, is that they are deeply normal. This is huge because although things have moved forward in our presentation of diverse characters on screen, many stories that feature BAME characters are usually about ‘race’. Race-based stories are hugely important and when handled well can speak about many issues that need to be addressed on a daily basis, but if that is the only context in which say a black woman is seen on screen, it totally belittles the vast experiences of being black. It proclaims that everything that happens for BAME people is only ever about their race, and that every other story happens to white people.

Death in Paradise therefore seems to be carrying one of the mantles of representation at a national level, bringing us BAME actors playing roles that are not focused on their race as their only quality, and not there just to tick boxes of diversity.

But what about the writing itself? Is it all generic and formulaic, like a ‘boring holiday’? Well the answer in many ways is yes of course it’s formulaic, because it’s written in a particular form, that of the golden age style of detective fiction. It’s not just accidentally missing out being gritty or psychological, it’s simply not trying to do that at all. It is detective fiction pure and simple, focussed on plotting, clueing and enigma, and it does that very very well. Take for example a few episodes like the series masterpiece ‘Predicting Murder’ from series one, which has one of the most clever (and most horrific) hidden in plain sight clues that I have come across. Locked room mysteries like the series opener and one of my favourites of the last series ‘Flames of Love’ are brilliantly penned. And the series has also come out with some of the most original premises for it’s crimes, like a man being impossibly stabbed in the back while handcuffed to the detective himself in ‘Spot the Difference’ from series one.

However, Death in Paradise is not all without criticism. A lot of it’s early brilliance is now intermittent, and it’s a shame that as the series has gone on that there has been a dip in quality and the heart of it has slipped away. The main draw of the first two seasons was that DI Poole, maintaining a very British suit and tie against the sweltering heat, simply didn’t want to be there, which added an edge to each murder as it came. But since his departure that tension is all but lost. Also, Poole’s original sidekick DS Camille Bordey, was much more involved in deduction in the early episodes, but later on didn’t serve to move the plot forward. Her replacement, DS Florence Cassel, is gaining a little more traction, but sometimes only seems to have the role of the watching Watson. Some of the mysteries have also become less convincing or overly complicated, as could be seen in the first episode of this new series 6, where the denouement was so long, and much of the clues contrived, with the reveal dependant on a vast montage for it to make sense.   

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The new gang

To bring it back to inclusion, there is another criticism of the series which also deserves more time. If the program relies on its formula to be successful, is the representation of the type of ‘Caribbean’ culture pictured in the series simplistic and unhelpful? Michael Hogan for the Guardian (again!) wrote at the time of series two:  ‘Death In Paradise is also distinctly patronising. The locals invariably believe in myths, magic and ghosts. It takes a bumbling Brit brainbox to come in, cut through the superstition and crack their crimes.’

This is a very very important point, and I would appreciate some more discussion about this from readers of this blog, but I would like to break down this standpoint a little further. To my knowledge there was in the first two series only one episode that did refer to traditional myths and voodoo practices, ‘Predicting Murder’ (mentioned above), where a witch doctor and alternative therapist predicts her own murder. During the episode, in discussing spiritual world views, DI Poole says that he is more ‘church of England’. DS Camille Bordey’s mother Catherine in response asks him if he actually knows anything about voodoo, which although he has been slamming it the whole time, he doesn’t. She then goes on to explain how voodoo is related to ancient catholic practices in it’s lineage. This is a pretty major moment, particularly as DI Poole is trying to import his own cultural values against a culture that he doesn’t understand, only to be challenged by someone within that culture to rethink his point of view, which he subsequently does. The episode in the end becomes a meeting of cultures rather than a parody, and a satire of the ‘all knowing’ white British male.

Important stuff, particularly for white Brits to hear, when it’s so easy for things to be polarised and for false ideas about religions, even about Christianity itself, to be developed. This is potent as we have seen that kind of view coming up a few times of late (see here), not to mention the misplaced anger surrounding Brexit and the British right wing media’s representation of refugees. Also, this episode certainly doesn’t suggest that everyone on the team believes in the voodoo prophecies in this story, but at the very least respects them as an element of their own culture.

So what do you think? Is Death in Paradise trash or treasure? For me, with all its flaws, it’s a treasure, because what better time than right now, in an ever polarized world, to have a hugely popular traditionally English form of storytelling, be so inclusive, while also being of good quality mystery (even if there are generic elements). And the acceptance of Death In Paradise by the masses is making these BAME actors household names, and that is something truly wonderful.

Postscript:

Writing this article was inspired in part by a beautiful article posted by my good friend Jason about race and the comic strip Charlie Brown.

Black, female blogger Aydrea Walden wrote a fantastic blog article titled ‘Top 5 Diversity Mistakes Writers Make’ for writers website Bang2Write, which expands brilliantly on other areas of diversity in writing. Her satirical blog The Oreo Experience is well worth a read.

It might seem like I am slamming the Guardian a bit here, but I actually like the Guardian a lot. However, it does seem than whenever a traditional detective story gets to a reviewer its always unfairly slammed as ‘low culture’.

 

 

Masterworks: Till Death Do Us Part, John Dickson Carr

 

If you have never heard of the name John Dickson Carr before, let me introduce you. Carr was generally regarded as one of the greatest writers in the ‘Golden Age’ of detective fiction, and is known as the master of the locked room mystery or impossible crime genre.

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John Dickson Carr, and under his pseudonym Carter Dickson, wrote over 70 novels, almost all of which are impossible crimes or have impossible elements. Agatha Christie famously said of Carr’s work: 

“Very few detective stories baffle me nowadays, but Mr. Carr’s always do.”

And one of the other queens of detective fiction Dorothy L Sayers wrote of Carr:

“Mr. Carr can lead us away from the small, artificial, brightly-lit stage of the ordinary detective plot into the menace of outer darkness. He can create atmosphere with an adjective, alarm with an allusion, or delight with a rollicking absurdity.”

And that is definitely true of his 1944 novel Till Death Do Us Part. In what I have written here I have purposefully described the plot very little, so as not to spoil your reading if you are yet to start this book. Anything I give away would slide something out of this Rubik’s cube of a novel that is so well pieced together you must have every element in all it’s delicious freshness.

I will say this much: the tale begins with the newly engaged couple, mild mannered Dick Markham and the sanguine Lesley Grant, both madly and hilariously in love, arriving late to a small village fete.  All seems charged with laughter and jollity, until a storm approaches and an encounter with an alarmingly accurate fortune teller leads to the revelation of terrible hidden histories. These rumours set the pace for a possible four locked room murders so thrilling as to have you on edge of your teeth from start to finish.

Till Death Do Us Part is pieced together so well that it left me baffled as to how Carr could have constructed it. The huge amount of ideas he places in each chapter never get overwhelming, and just when you think you know what’s happening he throws you in another direction, but each thread ties together without losing speed or agility. It reads like a high paced thriller, but with space enough for locations to tremble with an underlying horror and for clues to be laced everywhere. A lot of this pace rests in the perfectly formed size of cast. This allows for the suspicion that Carr has seeded in each member to grow to a maddening fever pitch as the plot twists further and further around. Similarly well formed is the small amount of locations, each being so well described while at the same time humming with clues and plot movements, each of which, by then end, you feel you know so well.

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John Dickson Carr himself.

I was equally amazed at how many ideas and extra solutions Carr knocks down and brings in as he goes. On page 212 of 224 (in my copy) Carr has one character reel off a possible set up, motive and solution to the murder in one line that could have made the plot for an entirely separate novel.

The solution to the main locked room scenario (which I am happy to say I guessed) is in a way the oldest trick in the book, but with a twist, that twist being one of my favourite types. It has been said elsewhere that one element is a little too technical, but in the end I found it satisfying. And just when you thought that element might not be needed it was explained and encased inside a lovely piece of misdirection – which called to the idea of G.K.Chesterton’s Father Brown story ‘Sign of the Broken Sword’  – and made it totally acceptable in the context, again showing off Carr’s flair and ability to ram a book with 100 ideas.

I can see why Till Death Do Us Part has been so widely praised, and I think it’s the first time I have felt on completion of a detective novel, that I could have picked it straight back up and started over again.

 

The Sherlock Holmes of China: Robert van Gulik’s Chinese Gold Murders

The hard hitting detective Judge Dee has been called the Sherlock homes of China. But interestingly, the T’ang Dynasty mystery stories of Judge Dee were penned by a Dutchman.

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On my last second hand book walk through London (see here for the guide) I was very fortunate to come across a copy of The Chinese Gold Murders by Robert van Gulik. A locked room mystery set in 7th century China, following the exploits of Judge Dee and his first cases as the new magistrate of the fictional Chinese city of Peng-Lai. After the second world war broke out the author, Robert van Gulik, lived in China as a representative of the Dutch government. Here he became an expert on Chinese translation, art, literature and culture. While in Japan before the war he came across the book ‘Dee Goong An’ (The Cases of Judge Dee) in a second hand book shop. The book, written in the 18th century by an unknown author, was an early piece of Chinese detective fiction based on De Renjie, a real life country magistrate who lived roughly between 630-700 AD. van Gulik was so taken with the anonymous book that he decided to translate it into English, and after it’s publication he went on to pen his own series of Judge Dee mysteries. The Chinese Gold Murders being his fourth Judge Dee novel written in 1952.

To begin, I have never read a crime novel with so many crimes! Judge Dee comes up against an impossible poisoning, the victim’s ghost now seeming to be haunting the corridors of the tribunal, a woman who vanishes from a muddy pathway, a man beaten to death and thrown into a river, two victims stabbed to death in their beds one of which consequently disappears after being buried, a prowling weretiger mauling victims in the woods, smuggling of arms and a headless monk. And that’s all on his first two days on the job!

However, van Gulik neatly weaves this all into three distinct cases each solved in order through the book. This rule of three, van Gulik writes in his postscript, follows that of the traditional Chinese detective novel where the sleuth would solve three or more cases in succession.

There are so many threads and clues going I was worried that van Gulik wouldn’t manage to keep the plot afloat, but he ties things together throughout. There are some lovely riddle and enigma like clues which reveal themselves convincingly at the books close. A particularly nice scene is where Judge Dee is dragged along to a Chinese melodramatic street performance of a number of traditional mystery plays. The last two stories of the play, showing the cases of another ancient master detective ‘Judge Yu’, show how a murderer is revealed by the clue of a secret message being hidden in an almond shell. However, it’s not the secret message that is the real clue, but the almond itself, as the real murderer liked almond milk. This is obviously preposterous, and is hammed up to great effect in the farcical street play, but the idea of ‘not the thing inside the but the thing itself’ then links to a very real clue happening in one of Judge Dee’s complicated cases. This and other inside-out ways of looking at things are very satisfying elements throughout.

As a historian of Chinese culture, van Gulik is faithful to the historical setting, and the book reads as much like a historical diary as well as a crime novel. Set during the development between opposing Confucian and Buddhist worldviews this tension becomes a backdrop to many of the cases. Also taken as running subplots are the high level of patriarchy evident in the culture of the time, alongside the ethics of sex and gender. The buying and selling of wives and prostitutes is all shown, and sexist remarks abound, which Judge Dee smashes down or subverts. van Gulik also illustrated the novel himself, with 10 line drawings completed to mimic the traditional Chinese print style.

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Two of van Gulik’s illustrations from the Chinese Gold Murders

As well as the difficult sexist characters, I did find the book was too slow paced in places. The book begins at high speed but there is some drudgery and dryness in the middle when getting through the more technical aspects of historical exposition and case details, particularly after the impossible poisoning was resolved about half way through. Though the pace picks up again towards the end and the final reveal scene in a huge temple meeting is worth getting to.

To focus on the impossible situation itself for a moment, as this blog is designed to, the poisoning had a convincing and well plotted set up. The original magistrate of Peng-Lai is poisoned in his library locked from the inside. Poison is found in his teacup but all of his tea making equipment is kept in a locked cupboard which only he has access to, and no one was seen entering or leaving the building at the time. I felt that the mechanics of the solution were a little unconvincing, and I’m not sure if it would actually work. Two semi-alternative solutions were produced through the book, one which included the slamming of a door, which I actually would have preferred as the solution. But this ends up being a recurring motif which becomes more and more important and creepy and it makes sense that it therefore only pointed to the final solution. Interestingly, van Gulik writes in his postscript that the idea for the impossible poisoning, of which he modified, was based on a much older story from the original anonymous ‘Dee Goong An’ stories, the motif for which is very reminiscent of a Sherlock novel, even though the Sherlock story was written 100 years later.

What also warmed me to this book were the unresolved paranormal elements that van Gulik chose to leave us with. He doesn’t give us any doubts that the crimes were explainable, but that Judge Dee may in the end have had some ghostly help along the way. That refreshing element gave it the little edge that it needed to round off. Looking forward to finding more of this series and trying them out.

Contemporary Macabre: Jonathan Creek, Daemons’ Roost

After another hiatus, and 20 years since the first episode of Jonathan Creek aired on our screens we were treated to possibly the final Creek story ever, Daemon’s Roost. 

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The plot and main impossibility centre around a horrific mansion house (Daemon’s Roost) which, according to legend, was once owned by Sir Jacob Surtees. A seemingly satanic powered individual, complete with hidden chamber, Surtees has the ability to apparently levitate his victims across the room (no strings attached) sending them from a cage and through the air into a fiery furnace.

150 years later the mansion, now decaying was bought by corny slasher horror film director Nathan Clore, specifically for all it’s macabre history. But this decision turned to tragedy as two of his step daughters and their mother die under strange circumstances. Alison, the only daughter left, now grown up, is summoned to Daemon’s Roost to learn the truth about what happened to the rest of her family. But before she arrives Clore has a debilitating stroke rendering him paralysed and unable to communicate.

We are told that Creek had assisted Alison’s husband Stephen Belkin 6 years previously with what has come to be known as ‘The Striped Unicorn Affair’. A nifty locked room murder where by Stephen’s first wife, who had been receiving death threats, is finally told she will die in her bedroom that night. Stephen indeed wakes to find her lying dead, her bedside glass of water having been poisoned besides the fact that Stephen’s glass and the brand new bottle of water contain no poison, and the doors and windows are all securely locked from the inside. Alison, knowing Creek had solved the case calls him in to work out the truth behind her mother and sisters tragic deaths.

But after Creek’s arrival at Daemon’s Roost events take a more tragic and sinister turn, as the legend of Sir Jacob Surtees satanic killings is reenacted. Alison having been knocked out finds herself in the rumoured underground dungeon and is forced to watch Stephen levitated across the room and into the fire.

I felt the whole episode was something of a return to form for Renwick. The solution to the satanic levitation murder was satisfying and fiendishly simple, and the neat solution to the ‘Striped Unicorn Affair’, it’s subsequent subversion, and then it’s link to the motive and solution for the death at Daemon’s Roost lifts those plotting elements from good to brilliant. It’s this kind of thing that shows that Renwick has still got the flair to weave a complex mystery that has always made Creek so popular.

What I like about this episode, and with much of the Creek series as a whole is Renwick’s mixing of time periods in his impossible situations. Much of the problems over the Creek series blend both contemporary settings alongside the historic macabre. Objects like the thrice stolen 90’s answer phone tape in The Problem at Gallows Gate (1998), the clunky PC monitors of episodes like The House of Monkeys (1997) and the sharp glass shelf and modern book titles of the ‘Striped Unicorn Affair’ embed the mysteries in the moment, making them ‘of the time’. These writing tools serve to charge and activate the mundane and the everyday with mystery and horror. This is one of the great powers of the locked room mystery genre. Where simple locked rooms become sinister dark cages, glasses of water become fierce and sharp and something so simple as why a book would be too far forward on a shelf is imbued with twisted and cryptic meaning.

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The Problem at Gallow’s Gate – Pure 90’s

These deeply domestic environments coupled with decaying haunted settings has been a Renwick tool of old. As with the moody Satan’s Chimney (2001), The Grinning Man (2009) and the series classic The Black Canary (1998). This coupling has the effect of butting up the contemporary alongside ghostly British histories in a way I have always admired.

But there were some holes and difficulties in Daemons Roost, mostly in terms of plotting and motivation. The no-consequence death of the returning ‘House of Monkeys’ killer was hard to swallow and was a very ‘convenient’ plot device. The more ‘phoney’ wordplay throughout the episode was a stretch, and there seemed to be a lot of padded out extra twists and turns that, although tied together by Renwick, could have been left behind. However with 32 episodes under his belt, it’s amazing that Renwick can pull ideas and solutions out of the bag.

In conclusion I felt this was a satisfying return to form for Renwick and Creek, with a few bumps along the way. And if this turns out to be the final episode, and Creek’s last bow, then it is a fitting ending to the whole 20 years of impossible mysteries. It makes me wonder if anything might ever take it’s place?