Friday
means Friday’s Forgotten Books with Patti Abbott. Patti has declared today to
be in honor of Robert Barnard. The list will
be here later today. In the meantime, check out Patrick Ohl’s review of Death on the High C’s below…
There are
some books that you pick up at a bookstore on a hunch, because you just know there has to be something good in
between those covers! Maybe you’ve never heard of the author or read their
work, but you can’t resist either way. Sometimes, the hunches do not pay off— I
learned this the hard way with The Affair
at Royalties by George Baxt, purchased solely on the strength of a
brilliant cover that had absolutely no relevance to the story itself. However,
when these hunches do pay off, the
experience is extraordinary.
Such was the
case for me with Death on the High C’s
by Robert Barnard. I had heard of Barnard of course, and read his insightful
appreciation of Agatha Christie, A Talent
to Deceive, which I liked very much. So when his name appeared on a book
with such a gloriously punning title, I simply could not resist the urge to
purchase it on the spot. I do not regret this purchase in the least.
Gaylene
Ffrench fancies herself to be a great big opera star and refuses to hear
anything to the contrary. But really, her opinion is bloated— she overacts all
her parts, is nasty to her fellow cast members, and she sleeps around
indiscriminately with every available male. For once, however, she really does give a sizzling performance—in
fact, it’s downright electrifying. The problem is she doesn’t give it onstage,
but backstage… after touching the doorknob of her dressing room and stepping on
a metal doormat. The result? A jolt of electricity rushes through the
despicable young lady, and she prematurely shuffles off this mortal coil. What
makes this case particularly interesting is that several attempts have already
been made on Gaylene’s life, and it looks like the assassin has succeeded at
last.
There’s no
lack of suspects whatsoever. Everyone in the company agrees that Gaylene was a
most despicable person— not only was she arrogant and self-centered, she was
also a racist bigot. She particularly was scandalized when Calvin, a black (but
very English) member of the company gets engaged to Bridget, one of the girls
(who happens to be white and Gaylene’s unofficial rival). However, Gaylene’s
reaction may have stemmed just as much from the fact that her none-too-subtle
sexual advances on Calvin were firmly rejected. But to be honest, just about
anyone would have gladly done her in and the rest would just as gladly buy the
killer a drink as a thank-you gesture.
Enter
Superintendent Nichols, who as far as I can tell has not been reused by
Barnard. It’s a shame. He’s an intelligent man and a competent investigator,
and he has a genuinely happy, normal
marriage. It is so normal, in fact, that he barely feels the need to comment on
it! I don’t know if I’m the weird
one, but I always find it so nice when somebody has a normal, content marriage.
It’s so much more interesting than unending bouts of screaming, sarcasm, and
cruelty. There’s a lot more to Nichols than meets the eye, but to reveal more
would be to spoil a genuinely delightful plot twist.
Barnard
delights in presenting his characters and then introducing a minor twist to
them. When we first meet Calvin, he is presented as a completely ordinary
fellow, and it is only after the second chapter that Barnard remembers to
mention that he just so happens to be black. It’s the character’s greatest
strength— he isn’t black for the sake of being black, he’s just an ordinary person
who happens to be black. (Far too often, characters written expressly as black
characters end up as embarrassments, which makes Barnard’s approach so
refreshing.) While the colour of Calvin’s skin has affected him in ways he
might not want to own up to, he doesn’t let himself get bogged down by
traumatic memories.
Above all,
though, Barnard constructs a complex and fairly-clued plot in the Golden Age
tradition. He manages to plant some major clues that walked right under my nose
without being noticed. For a few clues, you’d have to know your opera to spot
the hint when it’s given, but you can still piece everything together while
being blissfully ignorant of all things opera.
You actually
want to know what happens to the characters. Unfortunately, only the central
group of characters is really strong. A fistful of characters remain
half-developed sketches because others, far more interesting, get more “screen
time”. When so-and-so suddenly reminds you of the existence of this-and-that’s
brother, it sometimes felt like a genuine shock as I struggled to remember just
when the devil that character was introduced (before eventually finding him
mentioned in the recesses of Chapter Six).
However, to
make up for this weakness is Barnard’s storytelling style, which is full of
genuine, delightful wit. This is the kind of author Gilber Adair thinks he is.
Barnard has genuine respect for the traditional form of mysteries, but he takes
delight in poking fun at some of their conventions. Here, that convention is
the person so unpleasant that nobody minds their being murdered— in fact, the
murder is treated as something of a lark… until a second murder takes place.
Even then, nobody seems to mind Gaylene’s being gone, but people do take
offense to having the second victim removed from their midst. Basically,
Barnard completely trumps Adair’s approach, but a more detailed analysis would
only result in a lot of well-deserved bile thrown in Adair’s direction.
Instead, to calm myself down, I will content myself with mentally reciting a
limerick about an old man from Khartoum.
Overall, Death on the High C’s is a witty triumph
of plotting and ingenuity, with solid characters and clueing that make the
proceedings very interesting indeed. I highly recommend the book.
Note: This review was originally written long
before Robert Barnard’s tragic death earlier this year. Looking back at the
review, I remember my delight when I first read the book and I can only wonder
at why I haven’t gotten to more of Barnard’s books yet.
Patrick Ohl is a 20-year old Canadian crime fiction aficionado who enjoys hobbies such as taxidermy and runs a dilapidated motel in the middle of nowhere alongside his crazed mother. He enjoys relaxing in his subterranean evil lair while watching his favourite hockey team, the Toronto Maple Leafs, and will occasionally make chicken chow mein to die for. His life is accompanied by a soundtrack composed by John Williams, and James Earl Jones provides occasional voice-overs.
1 comment:
I haven't been keeping track, but I do believe the word "wit" shows up in just about every FFB Barnard post. It really was the key to his style.
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