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Odd sort of book, this. Even for an early twentieth century piece, it's old-fashioned. Pre-war adventure and/or detective fiction is a favourite genre of mine (if you can call it a genre - I've never quite worked out what qualifies as one), and I'm used to most of the quirks. All cars have running boards, all the men wear hats, and all dinners are grand affairs that are followed by brandy and cigars. And women all wear gloves, and are usually ruled out of every murder inquiry on the grounds that they're women. Or on the grounds that the detectives are stupid. Probably the same thing.
It's a different world, but quite a charming one, in its own, strange sort of way. This one's not so much a different world as a different universe, though. It was first published in 1933, so it's not all that old. Not even as old as some of the earlier Margery Allinghams. It seems like something from a century earlier, though. Because it's set in the almost impossible sequestered world of an Oxford college, perhaps? Everybody's in their sixties, impeccably dressed for dinner (whether it's dinner time or not); and they all seem to have their personalities set to ultra-formal mode on a permanent basis. There's an incredible amount of oak panelling, grandiose furniture, servants and cigars. There was no oak panelling at my university, though there was plenty of MDF. No grandiose furniture, either. Just lots of plastic chairs, with little metal proto-tables nailed to one side. The wrong side, if you happen to be left-handed, with is a bit unfair to 10% of the population. And yes, you're right, that is somewhat irrelevant. What was the other one? Oh yeah. Servants. Definitely none of them. Mind you, the college in this book seems quite remarkably bereft of students, so it's not entirely fit for comparison, I suppose. There's three or four of them about, mentioned in passing, but none of the lecturers seem inclined to do any work, so I suppose the students can't be expected to either. So that's one thing that's still the same today, anyway.
The murder mystery itself is quite a good one. Standard trick of presenting the victim as somebody that everybody hates, and with a string of likely suspects. Everybody with the means and the opportunity, if not the motive; and then the final revelation being one of tragedy rather than malice. It seems like the title of the book gives it away, but the tragedy of the title doesn't refer to the murder at all, or what's behind it. The tragedy is that the pretty little college has been forever tainted by events. Far more tragic than the deaths of two men, and the consequent ruin made of the lives of two women. It's nice to think that all the priorities are properly in order...
It's a good book, really. Very well-written - so much so that it's a pleasure to read - and of course, as any fule kno, all cars should have running boards. I'm less moved by the cigars and brandy, though. Still, possibly these things were necessary in 1933. They didn't have computers then, or rock'n'roll. And the professors in impossibly sequestered Oxford colleges with grandiose furniture and cigars, probably didn't listen to jazz, either. So maybe butlers and footmen are a booby prize. At any rate, it is a well-written book, and the atmosphere of the place is very well constructed. You feel the stifling air of an ancient college full of tradition - and oak panelling - and the characters are all very well drawn. I just wish that I could get with the mindset of the author (JC Masterman). Which is the greater tragedy? The irrevocable altering of the day to day life of a college, or the deaths of two men? See, I'm fairly sure it's the second one. I'm not an expert on ethics or anything, but I am still pretty certain it's option two. Even with all the brandy and cigars, and oak panelling and butlers and hats and stuff, a college just doesn't seem very important. Especially since I quite liked both the dead men, even though I clearly wasn't supposed to. Mind you, I was also supposed to feel sorry for one of the weirdly absent students, and he was painted as a complete git, so clearly my world view differs greatly to Masterman's. A good books, then, but very different. From a whole other world; and not an entirely comfortable one.
Running boards are still good, though. I'm definitely on side with the running boards. Maybe I could have some fixed to my bike? Or not. Yes, I am talking rubbish. But it's way gone four in the morning, so it's allowed.
Night.
It's a different world, but quite a charming one, in its own, strange sort of way. This one's not so much a different world as a different universe, though. It was first published in 1933, so it's not all that old. Not even as old as some of the earlier Margery Allinghams. It seems like something from a century earlier, though. Because it's set in the almost impossible sequestered world of an Oxford college, perhaps? Everybody's in their sixties, impeccably dressed for dinner (whether it's dinner time or not); and they all seem to have their personalities set to ultra-formal mode on a permanent basis. There's an incredible amount of oak panelling, grandiose furniture, servants and cigars. There was no oak panelling at my university, though there was plenty of MDF. No grandiose furniture, either. Just lots of plastic chairs, with little metal proto-tables nailed to one side. The wrong side, if you happen to be left-handed, with is a bit unfair to 10% of the population. And yes, you're right, that is somewhat irrelevant. What was the other one? Oh yeah. Servants. Definitely none of them. Mind you, the college in this book seems quite remarkably bereft of students, so it's not entirely fit for comparison, I suppose. There's three or four of them about, mentioned in passing, but none of the lecturers seem inclined to do any work, so I suppose the students can't be expected to either. So that's one thing that's still the same today, anyway.
The murder mystery itself is quite a good one. Standard trick of presenting the victim as somebody that everybody hates, and with a string of likely suspects. Everybody with the means and the opportunity, if not the motive; and then the final revelation being one of tragedy rather than malice. It seems like the title of the book gives it away, but the tragedy of the title doesn't refer to the murder at all, or what's behind it. The tragedy is that the pretty little college has been forever tainted by events. Far more tragic than the deaths of two men, and the consequent ruin made of the lives of two women. It's nice to think that all the priorities are properly in order...
It's a good book, really. Very well-written - so much so that it's a pleasure to read - and of course, as any fule kno, all cars should have running boards. I'm less moved by the cigars and brandy, though. Still, possibly these things were necessary in 1933. They didn't have computers then, or rock'n'roll. And the professors in impossibly sequestered Oxford colleges with grandiose furniture and cigars, probably didn't listen to jazz, either. So maybe butlers and footmen are a booby prize. At any rate, it is a well-written book, and the atmosphere of the place is very well constructed. You feel the stifling air of an ancient college full of tradition - and oak panelling - and the characters are all very well drawn. I just wish that I could get with the mindset of the author (JC Masterman). Which is the greater tragedy? The irrevocable altering of the day to day life of a college, or the deaths of two men? See, I'm fairly sure it's the second one. I'm not an expert on ethics or anything, but I am still pretty certain it's option two. Even with all the brandy and cigars, and oak panelling and butlers and hats and stuff, a college just doesn't seem very important. Especially since I quite liked both the dead men, even though I clearly wasn't supposed to. Mind you, I was also supposed to feel sorry for one of the weirdly absent students, and he was painted as a complete git, so clearly my world view differs greatly to Masterman's. A good books, then, but very different. From a whole other world; and not an entirely comfortable one.
Running boards are still good, though. I'm definitely on side with the running boards. Maybe I could have some fixed to my bike? Or not. Yes, I am talking rubbish. But it's way gone four in the morning, so it's allowed.
Night.
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