K. K. Beck. Death in a Deckchair (1984)

K. K. Beck. Death in a Deckchair (1984) A nice bit of fluff, in which narrator Iris Cooper helps unmask a killer on a luxury liner. A Balkan prince, political skullduggery, romance, and miscellaneous touches of period (1927) make for an undemanding and pleasant read. Plot is a bit muddled, but the clues are all there. Characters two dimensional, but clearly drawn, sketches. Beck tried her hand at other novels, and wrote at least one other Iris Cooper confection, but I’ve seen none of them. *½ (2007)

Earnest F. Carter. Electric Control of Clockwork Railways (1951)

     Earnest F. Carter. Electric Control of Clockwork Railways (1951) After reading this, I wonder why anyone would want to go to the trouble of electrical control of clockwork trains. Carter is a born tinkerer, and his solutions undoubtedly work, but oh what complicated devices he ends up with! A brake that works by electromagnetic attraction to the steel wheel of the (O scale) trains. A ramp with a sliding shoe that engages a pin on the loco and brings it to a slow stop. A magnetic governor to control the speed of the locomotive by creating electromagnetic drag on a spinning iron core. All very ingenious. All to make clockwork trains behave as much like electrically driven ones as possible. And, after all is said and done, no cheaper than electric trains, unless one prices one’s labour at zero or less. A negative labour price means a positive return on one's time, which may be Carter's aim, since he obviously spent many happy hours devising and building his gadgets.

IOW, the book is lovely example of what happens when someone hangs onto an obsolete technology long past its viability. The last chapter describes making a zinc-potassiumbichromate battery, a fearsome thing that requires mixing a sulfuric acid solution. A curio, and a very English book. *** (2007)

Lawrence Block. The Burglar Who Painted Like Mondrian (1983)

      Lawrence Block. The Burglar Who Painted Like Mondrian (1983) Bernie Rhodenbarr, an antique dealer, moonlights as a thief of fine art and artefacts. I tried reading this book twice, and got about 20 pages both times. Block has tried to create the witty thief, the crook with whom we empathise, and twenty-odd years ago this ploy worked. But now it seems dated, and Bernie just isn’t an interesting enough character. He’s just a container for adolescent fantasies. (2007)

Elizabeth Peters. The Last Camel Died at Noon (1991)

     Elizabeth Peters. The Last Camel Died at Noon (1991) I gave up about half way through this interminable Victorian pastiche of sex, sand, and stars. Amelia Peabody and her husband go on a dig, and various kinds of skulduggery ensue. The arch references to their sex life grate after a while; Amelia seems to keeping score. Their parenting is far too modern. And so on. Altogether too clever by half, but not clever enough: Peters wants to write in the Victorian manner, but too many modernisms creep in and spoil the effect. It’s damn hard to maintain a century-old style. * (2007)

Ian Rankin. Beggars Banquet (2002)

     Ian Rankin. Beggars Banquet (2002) Rankin’s short stories are clever but not engaging. He knows how to tell the story, how to present a character through speech (both internal and external), and can set a mood or sketch a locale in a few phrases. But these stories all have the same pattern: they are designed to surprise and shock, and most of them depend on the twist in the plot for their effect. They were written for magazines and themed anthologies (the modern version of the pulps). The title should have an apostrophe, too. ** (2007)

Alison Gordon. The Dead Pull Hitter (1989)

     Alison Gordon. The Dead Pull Hitter (1989) Gordon was the first woman sportswriter allowed into the locker rooms. She loves baseball. Setting a murder story in Toronto, with the “Titans” as the team to watch, must have seemed like a good idea at the time, and she certainly knows how to plot the puzzle, and describe ball games. But her characterisation is thin. Despite nicely done sketches of the players, I had a hard time keeping track of who was who. Gordon hasn’t the knack of differentiating characters’ speech. Not a keeper. *½ (2007)

Ngaio Marsh. Final Curtain (1947)

 

    Ngaio Marsh. Final Curtain (1947) Troy is asked to paint the portrait of a Grand Old Man of the theatre, a vain family tyrant. She accepts the commission to help pass the time waiting for Rory to return from his stint in the antipodes. The old man dies, and an anonymous letter hints at murder. Alleyn, just returned, must do the honours, with Troy as one of his chief witnesses. It was murder, the motive was money, for the Old Man has altered his will in favour of his mistress and soon-to-be wife, a bimbo several decades younger than himself. His daughter-in-law killed him not realising he had done so, and trying to preserve some of the inheritance for her son, a ghastly number. The characters are a nice collection of nasties, normals, and sturdy retainers. This was Marsh’s first post-war book, and she apparently decided to treat the Alleyns’ relationship more seriously. Their marriage demonstrates Marsh’s ideals, and in some ways rebukes Sayers’ impossibly perfect picture of the Wimsey’s marriage. Nicely done, as always. Marsh’s world is one I like to enter. **½ (2007)