Rex Stout. Black Orchids (1941/42)

     Rex Stout. Black Orchids (1941/42) Two novellas with the motif of black orchids common to both. In the first a sleaze-ball is murdered at a flower show via a rig that pulls the trigger on a concealed gun. In the second, a hostess famed for her inventively staged parties is killed via iodine that isn’t, but a solution of argyrol laced with tetanus. Wolfe figures things out as usual. Archie is in top form as narrator, and the whole thing is a pleasant romp. The date tells us it’s early Wolfe, before Stout got a swelled head from his fame and financial success, and tried to imbue his novels with seriousness and meaning. *** (2004)

Beth Harvor. Women & Children (1973)

     Beth Harvor. Women & Children (1973) An oddly dated collection of stories. They are earnest tales, lacking any sense of the absurdity of life, which is strange, since the situations Harvor describes are examples of the absurdity of life. Not a keeper. * (2004)

Marcia Muller. There’s Something in a Sunday (1989)

     Marcia Muller. There’s Something in a Sunday (1989) Sharon McCone is one of the first chick PIs among an ever expanding group. She’s a first person narrator, so we get her thoughts and reactions first hand, and occasionally they don’t ring true: she has to tell us stuff that we should be able to infer from her actions. And she should tell us more of her thinking about the case itself. It’s a complex one, starting with a murder that the cops want to pin on a homeless man. But Sharon knows there’s more to it than that, and eventually unravels it. A second man dies, and it’s this death that presumably gives Sharon the insight she needs. But since we don’t share in her thinking, we are left to guess and gasp with surprise when the murderer (the second victim’s wife) is revealed. *-½ (2004)

Ross Macdonald. The Way Some People Die (1951)

     Ross Macdonald. The Way Some People Die (1951) This seems to be the first, or one of the first, Lew Archer novels. The author’s name is shown as John Ross Macdonald. Archer is hired to find a missing girl, and runs into mobsters, drug-runners, prostitutes, and other lowlife. The crooks double-cross each other muchly, and Archer almost gets done in the crossfire. The solution is OK (the missing girl is the murderer), but Macdonald hasn’t yet learned to place legitimate clues among the red herrings. Not up to his later work in quality of writing or plotting, but the character of Lew Archer is firmly established in this story, and his mix of virtue and vice gets more complicated (and interesting) later on. ** (2004)

E. Schikaneder. Die Zauberfloete. (Ed. W Zentner 1962)

     E. Schikaneder. Die Zauberfloete. (Ed. W Zentner 1962) The complete libretto in German, with a couple of scenes from Goethe’s projected Part 2. The story of this opera is sillier than usual, partly because it appears to have been radically restructured in the writing, so that the plot points adumbrated in the first few scenes are contradicted or simply dropped later on. This I did not know before reading the introduction. The story is relatively simple: Tamino finds himself in a strange place dominated by the Queen of Night, whose daughter Pamina is held by Sostrato. He has to undergo a series of trials, which appear to consist mostly of not talking, in order to become an initiate. Later, Pamina also becomes an initiate, they marry and live happily ever after. Along the way, Tamino picks up Papageno, a commedia-style clown, who provides comic relief (and the only realistic character).
      The script is presented in typical continental format, with scenes changing with the entrances and exits of characters, not with changes in location. I found this format peculiar and irritating even before I encountered the English one, because some “scenes” are only one or two speeches long. I suppose it has its roots in rehearsal styles and schedules or some such; or else it’s another one of those unreasonable rationalities the French are so fond of and have foisted on their imitators.
     The verse is for the most part numbingly banal and sometimes silly, with sadly rare signs of wit. The higher philosophy expressed by Sostrato and his priests consists of New Age guff.
      If it weren’t for Mozart’s music, this opera would long ago have been forgotten. Salieri-like, I wonder how such silly stuff could have been joined to such sublime music. As it is, probably far more people have heard the music than have heard the opera.

I heard it when I was around 11 in Graz, and all I remember was Papageno, who was costumed like a giant green parrot, very impressive. He also had the funny songs, but it’s the music I recall, not the words. Opera lovers claim that the music is what matters in opera, but my taste is for good strong stories that depend on and are enhanced and nuanced by the music. A Wagnerian idea, I know, and I do not like Wagner at all! Auden claims that the sound of the verse must be adapted to the music, hence what we look for in poetry we should not expect to find in a libretto. I can accept that, but the verse should tell a clearly plotted story, and preferably one with some sense. * (2004)

Reginald Hill. Exit Lines (1984)

     Reginald Hill. Exit Lines (1984) Saw this on TV first, with some plot simplifications. A police procedural with a difference: the cops are a mixed lot, just like real people. But the writing is merely workmanlike, Pascoe’s private life has no organic relation to the rest of the tale (one could argue it’s there to expand the theme of old age), and a good deal of the “realism” seems forced and gratuitous. A pleasant entertainment, but not an engaging one; I feel no urge to find more Dalziel & Pascoe stories, but I won’t turn them down if they turn up. Three old men die on the same night, one in a road accident that involves Dalziel, one killed in the course of a robbery, and one seems to be an accident until Pascoe’s nosing around reveals it’s really a murder, but not one whose solution gives much joy. ** (2004)

Helen Reilly. Compartment K (1955)

     Helen Reilly. Compartment K (1955) I bought this book to add to my collection of stories with a railway setting or motif. I’ve tried reading it three times now, and I’ve given up every time. A man is murdered, the heroine’s old flame (now a married man) is mixed up in it somehow, and shelters in her compartment from the prying eyes of the detectives. The police procedure is sloppy in the extreme; not even the fact that this is a romance rather than a crime novel excuses it. Of course the heroine’s reputation is thoroughly compromised, her fiancé dumps her, and the old lover’s wife dumps him. That’s about as far as I’ve gotten, and it’s been heavy slogging, so I’ve given up. I may finish the book some time, but not now. (2004)