Book Review: Nursing Home Murder

The Nursing Home Murder by Ngaio Marsh
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

So a nursing home in this era of British history is not a place where old folks live out their days, so this mystery did not feature a wheelchair chase through a hall-way or a weapon concealed in a walker.

Instead, a nursing home is a private hospital. And the conceit of this mystery is that an important politician dies after surgery, having been poisoned.

Marsh is still trying to do more than a cozy, here, with Bolsheviks who want the proletariat dead being a distracting side plot. But, again, Marsh's strength lies in characterization. At one point, Alleyn speaks with Nigel, who kind of functions as his Watson.
"I have reached that stage in the proceedings when, like heroines in French dramas, I must have my confidante. You are she. You may occasionally roll up your eyes and explain 'Helas, quelle horreur!' or, if you prefer it, 'Merciful Heaven, can I believe my ears?' Otherwise, beyond making sympathetic noises, don't interrupt."

In another moment, Marsh confesses her "laziness." "It would be tedious to attempt a phonetic reproduction of Mr. Sage's utterances. Enough to say that they were genteel to a fantastic degree. 'Aye thot Aye heeard somewon teeking may neem in veen,' may give some idea of his rendering of the above sentence. Let it go at that."

And at the end, Angela, Nigel's betrothed, hopes for a happy ending. Alleyn replies, "'I'm afraid you've got the movie-mind. You want a final close-up. 'John, I want you to know that---that---' Ecstatic glare at short distance into each other's faces. Sir John utters an amorous grow; 'You damned little fool,' and snatches her to his bosom. Slow fade-out.'
'That's the stuff,' said Angela. 'I like a happy ending.'
'We don't often see it in the Force,' said Alleyn.
'Have some port?'
'Thank you.'

The end. Kind of film worth, huh?


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Book Review: Enter a Murderer

Enter a Murderer by Ngaio Marsh
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I have embarked on a quest to read the Alleyn mysteries in order. Most of them I've already read, but I picked them up randomly, so there was no through-line.

Marsh hasn't quite yet hit her stride in this book. The main characters--Alleyn, Fox, Nigel--are still trying to figure out who they are; or, rather, Marsh is still trying to figure out who they are. But there are references to the first Alleyn mystery, which indicate Marsh is trying to create the through-line I so hope I will find when I read them through in order.

The characters in this one are all stage actors and this is where Marsh excels in my opinion; creating the caricatures of type that she, being involved with stage productions, seems to know well. Take this description of the actors at the inquest;

"Barclay Crammer gave a good all-round performance of a heart-broken gentleman of the old school. Janet Emerald achieved the feat known to leading ladies as 'running the gamut of the emotions.' Asked to account for the striking discrepancies between her statement and those of Miss Max and the stage manager, she wept unfeignedly and said her heart was broken. The coroner stared at her coldly, and told her she was an unsatisfactory witness. Miss Deamer was youthfully sincere, and used a voice with an effective little broken gasp. Her evidence was supremely irrelevant. The stage manager and Miss Max were sensible and direct."

Perhaps the most charming part of this book is the forward;
"When I showed this manuscript to my friend, Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn, of the Criminal Investigation Department, he said:
'It's a perfectly good account of the Unicorn case, but isn't it usual in detective stories to conceal the identity of the criminal?'
I looked at him coldly.
'Hopelessly vieux jeu, my dear Alleyn. Nowadays the identity of the criminal is always revealed in the early chapters.' 'In that case,' he said, 'I congratulate you.'
I was not altogether delighted."

Suffice it to say, even though I had read it before, and somewhere in my head knew the identity of the murderer, I didn't figure it out until the late pages. I am apparently no Alleyn.





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