Published: Penguin 1962
For forty years or so, the serious (but now more or less forgotten) novelist and academic J.I.M. Stewart produced popular thrillers under the pseudonym of Michael Innes. Most of these are crime novels featuring upper class policeman John Appleby; this one is not one of them. It tells of the accidential discovery of a missive art smuggling operation taking advantage of the devastation of Europe during the Second World War. Richard Meredith, an academic, is thinking about poetry while selecting a purchase in a London tobacconist, and absently murmurs "London, a poem": words taken by the shopkeeper to be the smugglers' password; the shop itself covers the entrance to an underground warehouse storing an incredible collection of art. There, Meredith, instead of going to the police, pretends to be a gang member, kills a man, escapes with a kidnapped young woman, and follows the trail to a bizarre Scottish castle with associated guano mining operation.
From London Far is, like most of those Stewart published as Michael Innes, a whimsical novel - in this case too much so for its own good. The plot is full of absurdities, and is obviously intended to be a parody of those early twentieth century adventure stories where an ordinary person (who just happens to be resourceful enough to be a hero) discovers a plot through a contrived coincidence. Most of these books can be seen as imitators of John Buchan, whose Richard Hannay in The Thirty-Nine Steps is perhaps the best known example of such a hero. The satire starts from Meredith being a scholar of classical literature rather than fullback of the Scottish Rugby team or a South African diamond prospector visiting England. There is obviously a place for such a parody, but the novel goes on to be filled with many more absurdities which are irritating rather than humorous. In Scotland, for example, Meredith is able to play an almost identical trick on the group of smugglers there to the impersonation he carried out in London, something that seems most unlikely after the invention of the telephone. Too much of what is going on is obscured from the reader for too much of the novel, making much of the action seem unmotivated, and the allusive nature of Innes' style makes From London Far a big effort to read: not a good trait for a thriller.
There are detective stories with whimsical humour and academic detectives which work well. The Gervase Fen stories of Edmund Crispin, contemporary with Innes, are excellent, for example, and Innes' Appleby novels are generally better as long as he doesn't let himself get carried away. (Operation Pax is good, and the level of the whimsical in that novel is about that of the average episode of the Avengers, which should give some idea of just how fantastical From London Far actually gets.) I suspect that J.I.M. Stewart would be surprised that his pseudonymous works have lasted longer than the novels he publised under his own name (our local library stocks about a dozen of the one, and none of the other, suggesting that this is the case), and in this instance I would agree that From London Far is too out of date to be far from oblivion.
Showing posts with label John Appleby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John Appleby. Show all posts
Tuesday, 30 January 2007
Thursday, 23 August 2001
Michael Innes: Sheiks and Adders (1982)
Edition: Penguin, 1983 (Buy from Amazon)
Review number: 920
As with An Awkward Lie, it seems likely that the story of this lighthearted Appleby novel was suggested by the pun in the title. In the novel, Appleby attends a large fancy dress ball, intrigued by suggestions that the host has been acting strangely. Why is this eminent financier against his prospective son in law attending as an Arab sheikh, while at the same time encouraging some of his colleagues to do so?
The answer to this question is the main plotline of the novel, the adders being something of an afterthought (provided by a herpetologist collecting specimens in the local woods).
Sheiks and Adders is much more a humorous thriller than a detective story. It is enjoyable, in places very funny, and harmless fun.
Review number: 920
As with An Awkward Lie, it seems likely that the story of this lighthearted Appleby novel was suggested by the pun in the title. In the novel, Appleby attends a large fancy dress ball, intrigued by suggestions that the host has been acting strangely. Why is this eminent financier against his prospective son in law attending as an Arab sheikh, while at the same time encouraging some of his colleagues to do so?
The answer to this question is the main plotline of the novel, the adders being something of an afterthought (provided by a herpetologist collecting specimens in the local woods).
Sheiks and Adders is much more a humorous thriller than a detective story. It is enjoyable, in places very funny, and harmless fun.
Wednesday, 27 June 2001
Michael Innes: The Daffodil Affair (1942)
Review number: 850
Michael Innes' novels are frequently silly, as they combine parody of the absurdities of crime and thriller novels with a sure grasp of how to write an excellent story in one of these genres. The Daffodil Affair may well be the silliest of the lot.
The crime Appleby is set to investigate is not the sort of thing that Scotland Yard would generally bother with, particularly during the War - the theft of a broken down cab horse named Daffodil in Harrogate - except that the Assistant Commissioner has a sister whose favourite cab horse is Daffodil. This crime is linked to several other bizarre disappearances, including the theft of a reputedly haunted hose in Bloomsbury (demolished bit by bit, it is at first assumed to be a victim of the Blitz). The search leads to a trip to South America, which in the story's wartime context is extremely unlikely, while Appleby tries to work out what links the missing items and people.
Rather unusually for Innes, there are problems with the construction of the plot of The Daffodil Affair. The climax comes with a bizarre fake birthday party in Appleby's honour, which takes place one night on the ship on the way to South America. Even though we do not then know the whole of what is going on, the rest of the novel feels like a bit of an afterthought.
The ludicrous nature of the crime is what makes The Daffodil Affair different from the run of crime fiction, and it brings in the humour important in so many of Innes' novels. It also makes it more memorable than some of his more accomplished stories.
Tuesday, 14 November 2000
Michael Innes: An Awkward Lie (1952)
Edition: Penguin, 1983
Review number: 682
An Awkward Lie is more of a thriller than a detective story. It is very short, and contains one memorable piece of deduction and one memorable joke. The central character is Bobby Appleby, Sir John's son who has both won a cap for the England rugby team and written an intellectual "anti-novel" - an unusual combination. He is playing a round of golf, or, rather, intending to do so, when on the bunker near the first hole, he sees a corpse. Upon investigation, he meets a pretty woman apparently taking a walk, and goes to call the police while she stays with the body, an elderly man with a missing finger whom Bobby almost immediately identifies as one of the teachers from his prep school from long ago. However, when he returns with the police (having waited at the callbox for them, per their instructions), the body has gone, the bunker has been raked back to a pristine condition, and the woman has disappeared. All that remains is Bobby's golfball and, as the policeman remarks, this leaves him in an awkward lie. (This is, of course, the joke.)
The deduction works out the reason why the body should be left somewhere where it would obviously be discovered, but then be taken away as soon as the discovery takes place. This piece of cleverness, which I suspect was the first aspect of the novel to occur to Innes, is all that is needed to work out what has been going on, before the abrupt ending kicks in.
Though really a thriller masquerading as a crime novel, An Awkward Lie is not paced very well; it suddenly picks up near the end. Interesting, but not one of Innes' best.
Review number: 682
An Awkward Lie is more of a thriller than a detective story. It is very short, and contains one memorable piece of deduction and one memorable joke. The central character is Bobby Appleby, Sir John's son who has both won a cap for the England rugby team and written an intellectual "anti-novel" - an unusual combination. He is playing a round of golf, or, rather, intending to do so, when on the bunker near the first hole, he sees a corpse. Upon investigation, he meets a pretty woman apparently taking a walk, and goes to call the police while she stays with the body, an elderly man with a missing finger whom Bobby almost immediately identifies as one of the teachers from his prep school from long ago. However, when he returns with the police (having waited at the callbox for them, per their instructions), the body has gone, the bunker has been raked back to a pristine condition, and the woman has disappeared. All that remains is Bobby's golfball and, as the policeman remarks, this leaves him in an awkward lie. (This is, of course, the joke.)
The deduction works out the reason why the body should be left somewhere where it would obviously be discovered, but then be taken away as soon as the discovery takes place. This piece of cleverness, which I suspect was the first aspect of the novel to occur to Innes, is all that is needed to work out what has been going on, before the abrupt ending kicks in.
Though really a thriller masquerading as a crime novel, An Awkward Lie is not paced very well; it suddenly picks up near the end. Interesting, but not one of Innes' best.
Monday, 14 August 2000
Michael Innes: Death at the President's Lodging (1936)
Review number: 573
It is hardly surprising that this novel (about the murder of an Oxbridge college president) was retitled Seven Suspects for its American edition; its original title would clearly give a completely different impression from its actual content.
Innes uses the way that colleges like St Anthony's were shut off from the world at night time to isolate his small group of suspects - like a "submarine" as one of the characters puts it. These boundaries are usually fairly permeable; most people who have lived in a college will probably know of at least one way to get in after the gates close. St Anthony's is made more secure, so that the list of suspects is essentially the same as the list of key holders. The idea that someone may have got into the college or through another internal division is repeatedly introduced, teasingly, only to be rejected each time.
The mystery in Death at the President's Lodging must be one of the most convoluted in the whole genre of detective fiction, with several plots and deceptions carried out both by innocent and guilty parties. Innes is scrupulously fair, but I would challenge anyone to put together all the details of the solution correctly before Inspector Appleby reveals them in the last pages of the novel.
If you like this style of detection, something closely related to Agatha Christie, then you'll like this novel; if not, then you'll probably find it rather tiresome.
Monday, 8 May 2000
Michael Innes: The Long Farewell (1958)
Edition: Gollancz, 1975
Review number: 494
When flamboyant Lewis Packford is found dead after a pistol shot is heard, it is assumed that he has committed suicide - after all, he has just been exposed as a bigamist. But unanswered questions remain, and Sir John Appleby starts to investigate. ("The long farewell" is a phrase from Cardinal Wolsey's retirement speech in Shakespeare's Henry VIII, rather than an oblique Raymond Chandler reference, and it is its appearance on a note makes Packford's death seem to be suicide.)
As a detective story, there seem to be distinct holes in the plot, notably that Appleby ignores what seems to me the most obvious lead, the anonymous notes sent simultaneously to Packford's wives to get them to turn up at his house (which has the rather pleasing name of Urchins) at the appropriate moment.
Nevertheless, The Long Farewell is enjoyable, with an interesting background in the more eccentric fringes of Shakespeare scholarship.
Review number: 494
When flamboyant Lewis Packford is found dead after a pistol shot is heard, it is assumed that he has committed suicide - after all, he has just been exposed as a bigamist. But unanswered questions remain, and Sir John Appleby starts to investigate. ("The long farewell" is a phrase from Cardinal Wolsey's retirement speech in Shakespeare's Henry VIII, rather than an oblique Raymond Chandler reference, and it is its appearance on a note makes Packford's death seem to be suicide.)
As a detective story, there seem to be distinct holes in the plot, notably that Appleby ignores what seems to me the most obvious lead, the anonymous notes sent simultaneously to Packford's wives to get them to turn up at his house (which has the rather pleasing name of Urchins) at the appropriate moment.
Nevertheless, The Long Farewell is enjoyable, with an interesting background in the more eccentric fringes of Shakespeare scholarship.
Thursday, 9 March 2000
Michael Innes: Carson's Conspiracy (1984)
Edition: Gollancz, 1984
Review number: 447
Carl Carson has made a fortune in dodgy dealing, and has bought himself a country house and gentility. The main disappointment in his life is the growing eccentricity of his life, who is reaching the point where her strangeness is becoming obvious even to relatively mild acquaintances. She is obsessed with the career of her son Robin, working in the States after graduating from Harvard - yet the Carsons have no children.
Things are not rosy on the business front, either; it looks as though Carson's ventures will soon fail or be exposed. He cannot get together the money to flee the country, which seems to be the only way out, without drawing unwelcome attention from the others involved in his schemes even if not the police. He is suddenly inspired with a plan which takes advantage of his wife's strangeness: he arranges a visit from his imaginary son, only to stage a kidnapping to enable him to have an excuse to gather his resources in cash.
The one thing that he hasn't reckoned with is, of course, the interest of his neighbour, retired policeman Sir John Appleby. There are still surprises in store right up to the end of this cleverly plotted story. It is not, perhaps, one of Innes' best, and is farfetched in places, but still well worth reading.
Review number: 447
Carl Carson has made a fortune in dodgy dealing, and has bought himself a country house and gentility. The main disappointment in his life is the growing eccentricity of his life, who is reaching the point where her strangeness is becoming obvious even to relatively mild acquaintances. She is obsessed with the career of her son Robin, working in the States after graduating from Harvard - yet the Carsons have no children.
Things are not rosy on the business front, either; it looks as though Carson's ventures will soon fail or be exposed. He cannot get together the money to flee the country, which seems to be the only way out, without drawing unwelcome attention from the others involved in his schemes even if not the police. He is suddenly inspired with a plan which takes advantage of his wife's strangeness: he arranges a visit from his imaginary son, only to stage a kidnapping to enable him to have an excuse to gather his resources in cash.
The one thing that he hasn't reckoned with is, of course, the interest of his neighbour, retired policeman Sir John Appleby. There are still surprises in store right up to the end of this cleverly plotted story. It is not, perhaps, one of Innes' best, and is farfetched in places, but still well worth reading.
Friday, 31 July 1998
Michael Innes: There Came Both Mist and Snow (1940)
Edition: Gollancz, 1972
Review number: 94
There Came Both Mist and Snow is another early Appleby novel, one which reads almost more like a spoof of the crime genre.
The story is narrated by Arthur Ferryman, a literary author who goes to stay with his cousin, Basil Roper, at his mansion Belrive Priory. This was originally in the countryside, but is now surrounded by a manufacturing town; the ruins of the medieval priory are now lit up at night by a huge neon sign advertising Cudbird's Brewery.
As often happens in detective stories, Ferryman arrives at the houseparty to discover that vast numbers of mutually antipathic relatives are to be at the Priory that weekend. The non-family guests are rivals attempting to buy out the Priory - which Roper is selling to finance a polar expedition - including Horace Cudbird, owner of the brewery - and Appleby. It is a little bit strange that he is invited, given his non-interest in the question of whether or not Belrive Priory should be sold.
Investigations into the shooting of Roper that occurs are hampered by the fact that it's not clear whether the shots were meant for him or whether he was mistaken for someone else. In the end, every single person possible is accused in turn, and all are mystified except Appleby. Ferryman expresses great delight at the bemusement of his cousin, a detective writer named Lucy Chigwidden. She enables Innes to make his satirical points about the crime genre very easily; this is though, a relatively subtle satire and would be easy to read missing what he is doing.
Review number: 94
There Came Both Mist and Snow is another early Appleby novel, one which reads almost more like a spoof of the crime genre.
The story is narrated by Arthur Ferryman, a literary author who goes to stay with his cousin, Basil Roper, at his mansion Belrive Priory. This was originally in the countryside, but is now surrounded by a manufacturing town; the ruins of the medieval priory are now lit up at night by a huge neon sign advertising Cudbird's Brewery.
As often happens in detective stories, Ferryman arrives at the houseparty to discover that vast numbers of mutually antipathic relatives are to be at the Priory that weekend. The non-family guests are rivals attempting to buy out the Priory - which Roper is selling to finance a polar expedition - including Horace Cudbird, owner of the brewery - and Appleby. It is a little bit strange that he is invited, given his non-interest in the question of whether or not Belrive Priory should be sold.
Investigations into the shooting of Roper that occurs are hampered by the fact that it's not clear whether the shots were meant for him or whether he was mistaken for someone else. In the end, every single person possible is accused in turn, and all are mystified except Appleby. Ferryman expresses great delight at the bemusement of his cousin, a detective writer named Lucy Chigwidden. She enables Innes to make his satirical points about the crime genre very easily; this is though, a relatively subtle satire and would be easy to read missing what he is doing.
Monday, 1 June 1998
Michael Innes: Hamlet, Revenge! (1931)
Edition: Gollancz
Review number: 58
This is a much earlier Appleby novel than the two Michael Innes books I had read previously, and much more in the detective fiction mould than the thriller mould of Operation Pax. In fact, the background to Hamlet, Revenge! is about as archetypal as you can get: an amateur dramatic performance of Hamlet during a country house house-party at which the actor playing a character who is killed (in this case Polonius) is actually murdered.
Everything is on a rather large scale; the amateur dramatic performance includes as Hamlet the greatest professional actor of the day, Melville Clay; the country house is at Scamnum Court, modelled on Blenheim Palace and seat of the Duke of Horton; Polonius is not killed by a sword stroke from Hamlet but is killed by a gunshot at the moment when his stage death would happen; and the fact that Polonius is played by Lord Auldearn, a major political figure currently co-ordinating some top secret defence work means that an espionage thread can be worked into the plot. The murderer has also been rather cheeky, by sending warning messages in apparently easily traced ways, and by taking apparently reckless risks.
I enjoyed John Appleby's unravelling of the plot greatly, and will be reading more to fill in his career from this early novel to the late ones like Silence Observed.
Review number: 58
This is a much earlier Appleby novel than the two Michael Innes books I had read previously, and much more in the detective fiction mould than the thriller mould of Operation Pax. In fact, the background to Hamlet, Revenge! is about as archetypal as you can get: an amateur dramatic performance of Hamlet during a country house house-party at which the actor playing a character who is killed (in this case Polonius) is actually murdered.
Everything is on a rather large scale; the amateur dramatic performance includes as Hamlet the greatest professional actor of the day, Melville Clay; the country house is at Scamnum Court, modelled on Blenheim Palace and seat of the Duke of Horton; Polonius is not killed by a sword stroke from Hamlet but is killed by a gunshot at the moment when his stage death would happen; and the fact that Polonius is played by Lord Auldearn, a major political figure currently co-ordinating some top secret defence work means that an espionage thread can be worked into the plot. The murderer has also been rather cheeky, by sending warning messages in apparently easily traced ways, and by taking apparently reckless risks.
I enjoyed John Appleby's unravelling of the plot greatly, and will be reading more to fill in his career from this early novel to the late ones like Silence Observed.
Monday, 16 March 1998
Michael Innes: Silence Observed (1961)
Edition: Gollancz, 1961
Review number: 11
The only other Michael Innes novel I have read to date is Operation Pax, which reminded me strongly of some of J.B.Priestley's thrillers, though I felt that Innes' pace was rather less well-crafted than Priestley's, particularly in the first half of the book. This novel, however, even though it shares the same detective, Sir John Appleby, reminds me rather more of one of Margery Allingham's Campion novels. Again, this resemblance is most marked in the early chapters, where Appleby acts in a most Campionesque (if there is such a word) manner.
Two people approach Appleby in his club one evening, with curious tales of the art world - one is a collector of forgeries, whose latest acquisition is a forgery of the work of a famous forger; the other is a respected dealer who has just been offered a previously unknown Rembrandt. This second man has a young assistant, who over the next two days is twice discovered with newly shot corpses, revolver in hand.
The book is certainly more along thriller lines than puzzle lines. There are not enough people seriously involved to make it difficult to work out the identity of the villain. By today's standards, the book is very gentle as a thriller, which makes it a pleasant, relaxing read.
Review number: 11
The only other Michael Innes novel I have read to date is Operation Pax, which reminded me strongly of some of J.B.Priestley's thrillers, though I felt that Innes' pace was rather less well-crafted than Priestley's, particularly in the first half of the book. This novel, however, even though it shares the same detective, Sir John Appleby, reminds me rather more of one of Margery Allingham's Campion novels. Again, this resemblance is most marked in the early chapters, where Appleby acts in a most Campionesque (if there is such a word) manner.
Two people approach Appleby in his club one evening, with curious tales of the art world - one is a collector of forgeries, whose latest acquisition is a forgery of the work of a famous forger; the other is a respected dealer who has just been offered a previously unknown Rembrandt. This second man has a young assistant, who over the next two days is twice discovered with newly shot corpses, revolver in hand.
The book is certainly more along thriller lines than puzzle lines. There are not enough people seriously involved to make it difficult to work out the identity of the villain. By today's standards, the book is very gentle as a thriller, which makes it a pleasant, relaxing read.
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