Shake Hands Forever (again)

Ruth Rendell. Shake Hands Forever (1975)  A re-read. I posted two earlier reviews. This time, it was (almost) new again. But the denouement, although expected, was still a nicely paced surprise. 

An escape from a dysfunctional marriage eventually leads to a murder arranged in hopes of complete escape from the past. Robert Hathall’s mother finds Angela Hathall strangled in her bedroom. Wexford’s convinced that Hathall did it, but he couldn’t have, because he was at his work in London and then with his mother on the train during the time Angela died. Wexford fumbles an interview, which prompts Hathall to complain to Chief Constable Griswold, who orders Wexford off the case. Lacking the usual resources, Wexford turns to family. With the help of his nephew (now Supt. Howard Fortune), and a bit of timely luck, Wexford cracks the case.

A nice variation on the impossible murder. Rendell is good at plausible psychology; it’s psychological insight that leads Wexford to the solution. Love, greed, and the yearning for respectability provide the impetus for murder. A few longeurs slow down the narrative, but  perhaps Rendell wants us to feel Wexford’s frustration at the slow pace of investigation. Another very good W Rendell mystery. I liked it even better than the first two times I read it, hence the higher rating. Maybe the trade paperback format, with its larger print, had that positive effect. ***½

Death Times Three (Rex Stout, 1985)

 Rex Stout. Death Times Three (1985) A posthumous collection: two previously published stories, and one thoroughly reworked one. Typical Stout puzzles, barely plausible, ingeniously plotted to make the solving appear difficult, a familiar ambience, etc. The real charm of the Nero Wolfe tales is Archie’s style. Stout gives him a mix of laconic brevity and subtle riffing on cliche and stereotype. We believe the story because Archie sounds like someone we’d enjoy knowing, having  drink with, and listening to. The pleasure is in the reading. I don’t know whether I’m like most readers, but I recall very little of the story itself – not the puzzle, not the perpetrators, not the innocent and not-so-innocent bystanders whose natural reticence or amour-propre interferes with the investigation, nor their names. I enjoyed reading these three tales as much as I’ve enjoyed any of Stout’s confections, which means a lot. ***½

People are not what they seem: Wycliffe and the Four Jacks.

 W. J. Burley. Wycliffe and the Four Jacks (1985).  A Re-read. See https://kirkwood40.blogspot.com/2018/09/wycliffe-digs-into-past-wycliffe-and.html for earlier review.

     Wycliffe and Helen are on holiday in a small Cornish fishing village, now become a trap for “emmets” or tourists. David Cleeve has received four Jacks of Diamonds. He knows what they refer to, and he’s afraid. But he doesn’t tell Wycliffe enough to warrant police protection. Then a girl is murdered, and a couple of days later, Cleeve himself dies in a fire. The tale develops nicely as Wycliffe and DS Lucy Lane (newly assigned to his team) gather the facts that solve the crimes. They have their roots in ancient crimes and betrayals. Along the way, human weaknesses and vices complicate and distract the search.
     A competent entertainment. Burley knows how to pace the story, and gives us just enough ambience and character quirks to lull disbelief into comfortable acceptance. A must for Wycliffe fans, a good read for anyone who like police procedurals. ***

Mordecai Richler's Take on Humour

Mordecai Richler. The Best of Modern Humor (1983) Well, when it comes to humour, we disagree. Richler likes satire, and some of the selections are quite cruel. And many of the pieces here are neither satire nor humour, but merely slices of (usually sad) American life.
     The best pieces, or rather, the ones I liked best, are the earliest ones, such as Leacock’s Gertrude the Governess, or Simple Seventeen, or Maurice Baring’s King Lear’s Daughters. Maybe that shows that absurdity is the only universal humour. Or else that I like humour that takes some premise to absurd lengths. I studied logic in my younger days, and learned that reliance on logic is often unreasonable. Logic merely calculates the consequence of some premises, which often reveals some hidden silliness in the assumptions on which the self-diagnosed rational man bases his argument.
     Leacock’s “nonsense novel” satirises how love romances violate common sense and common knowledge. Little has changed in the hundred odd years since he wrote that Nonsense Novel. Baring takes the opposite tack: he makes Regan a suburban housewife of the type that knows what’s best for everyone, but especially herself. The piece shows that this type of woman (and man) is at least as old as humankind.
     But most of the pieces reveal one or another of the deadly sins and their effects. But like Woody Allen’s Kugelmass Episode, they tend to be more sad than funny. So Kugelmass can enter a fictional world, and make love to fictional women? He’s still a sad sack who can’t deal with the realities of his life, and whinges to his therapist about how the universe doesn’t provide the romance that he needs.
     Nevertheless, this anthology is a keeper, if only because it brings together many disparate pieces that would be difficult to find. ** to ****.  

Dull train ride: Compartment K (Reilly)

Helen Reilly. Compartment K (1955) Three murders, one in New York, one on a Canadian train, and one at a lodge in the Rockies, are tied together by one man’s desperate need for money to satisfy his greedy wife. A complicated plot, characters that are approximately 1.5 D, a style laden with ascriptive adjectives, told through the focus on a young woman who almost loses the man she truly loves. What kept me reading was the puzzle, which I partly solved not because of the clues but because of the vague impressions of the character who done it. The denouement relies heavily on facts which were at best hinted at but not fully disclosed until explained by the redoubtable Inspector McKee, who spent most his time at the other end of a phone line.
     I had tried to read this book several times in the past. I decided I’d better read it all the way through this time. I have mixed feelings. On the one hand, I can claim some kind of success in getting through it. On the other hand, one can hardly claim credit for enduring self-chosen tedium.
     I bought the book second-hand because the first third or so is set on a train. One doesn’t get much of a sense of a train ride, though, mostly because Reilly doesn’t (or can’t) describe anything other than the passengers' clothes, which she details with a fashion-reporter’s eye. The cover misleads: the Canadian train was hauled by diesels, not steam; North American trains don’t have buffers; and the blurb is too complimentary. That it’s from a New Yorker book note is an even greater puzzle than the one McKee solves. Not recommended, except perhaps as a curiosity. *

The Dark Tower (C. S, Lewis)

 C. S. Lewis. The Dark Tower. Edited by Walter Hooper. (1977) A posthumous collection of miscellaneous works, some rescued from the bonfire Lewis's brother made of unpublished drafts and other papers. They demonstrate Lewis’s inventiveness, and his ability to make abstractions concrete. I did not read the (incomplete) title story past the first two or three pages, but the shorter pieces held my interest.
      It’s a pity that Lewis was unable to finish his riff on Menelaus and Helen of Troy. He posits that Helen has aged, as have Menelaus and the other Greek heroes. Trouble is, the Greek soldiers would never accept a plain(ly) middle-aged woman as a prize worth their ten years hard fighting, not to mention the deaths of their comrades. So what’s Menelaus to do? He hopes that Egyptian sorcerers can provide him with a beautiful counterfeit, but just as they call on the new Helen to appear, the manuscript breaks off. Bummer.
      Mixed recommendation of ** to ****.

Education Substitute: And Now All This (Sellar & Yeatman)

 Sellar & Yeatman. And Now All This. (1932) A follow-up to 1066 And All That. This copy is from the 3rd edition, also of 1932, so the work enjoyed a certain popularity. Whether that derived from the success of the previous volume, or from genuine enjoyment and admiration is difficult to say. The premise is that Education consists of What We All Know. Hence a book that retails this information will make expensive schooling obsolete. I found the humour generally tedious, depending on puns (obvious), misspellings and garbled recall (usually strained), and deadpan absurdities (some quite witty). I guess you had to be there. See the sample page.
     This copy has been very thoroughly read: The spine is

broken, most gatherings are loose, and a couple of torn pages have been mended with sticky tape. The decorations are pleasant enough. The casual racism of text and pictures is jarring nowadays, but does serve to remind us that some of what any given generation takes for granted will certainly offend their descendants. Recommended as a soporific, and as a curiosity demonstrating that fashionable humour ages quickly. *