Two British Library Crime Classics

Sometimes days, or weeks, simply call out for a good mystery. Thankfully, when days, or weeks, are like that the British Library can always provide a lovely selection of republished mystery novels from the Golden Age of crime. Last week, I read two of their books in a row and enjoyed them both greatly.

Murder by the Book: Mysteries for Bibliophiles is a collection of short stories edited by Martin Edwards. All the stories have a literary connection whether that be a library, publishing house, bookseller, or an author as a character. The blurb on the back says:

There is no better hiding place for clues–or for red herrings– than inside the pages of a book. But in this world of resentful ghost writers, indiscreet playwrights and unscrupulous book collectors, literary prowess is often a prologue to disaster.

The anthology contains stories by Christianna Brand, A. A. Milne, Edmund Crispin, and Ngaio Marsh along with a whole list of other authors with whom I was not as familiar. As is true of any collection of short stories, I liked some better than others. However, they were all enjoyable and most were quite short which made it easy to pick up and put down during a busy week.

I also read Murder After Christmas by Rupert Latimer. It was madcap and nonsensical and I loved every minute of it. Rich Uncle Willie goes to stay with the Redpaths over the holidays. Unfortunately, he is found dead in the snow on Boxing Day. Was it the mince pies? The Christmas chocolate? Who among the long list of wives and relatives killed him? And who inherits? I’ll give you just a taste of the writing.

“We used to make jokes about murdering my stepfather, you see, and now we’re feeling–well, a little foolish.”

“Quite so,” murmured Culley.

“It had become quite a habit,” said Frank, cheering up. “Why, on the first day he arrived I pointed out to my wife how easy he would be to murder; didn’t I, Rhoda?”

Rhoda corroborated, “He was so obstinate, you see, Mr. Culley–“

Frank confessed: “I believe I actually said that if we told him he couldn’t jump out of the attic window at his age he would!”

“So if he has, Rhoda felt sure the Superintendent would understand, “it makes everything seem rather gruesome, doesn’t it?”

“And ironical too,” chimed Frank.

“Ironical, sir?”

“Yes,” said Rhoda, edging a little nearer in her eagerness. “Because we didn’t want to murder him any more…”

“Not any more, madam?”

“Oh, no!” Rhoda sternly disclaimed; then climbing down a little in the interests of absolute truth: “Well, we haven’t for the last seven years…”

“Since his marriage, you see,” explained Frank, “we haven’t had any motive–“

“No motive at all, Mr. Culley: all his money goes to his wife. Of course,” she admitted, “as my husband said, he has been rather a difficult guest–“

“Thundering nuisance…”

“Naturally we’ve felt like murdering him frequently…”

How can you possibly resist a book like this? I mean, if you want a mystery full of diagrams and careful discussions of timetables then this is not the book for you. But, if you want a fun-filled mystery that happens to involve the death of an old man dressed as Santa Claus then buy yourself a copy now.

My thanks to the British Library for kindly sending me review copies of both these books.