Guy Boothby (1867–1905)
Author of A Bid for Fortune
About the Author
Series
Works by Guy Boothby
The Adventures of Dr Nikola, Criminal Mastermind (Five amazing novels in one volume!) (2009) 6 copies
Love Made Manifest 5 copies
Spectres in the Snow: A Third Collection of Classic Ghost Stories for Christmas (Black Heath Gothic, Sensation and Supernatural) (2016) 5 copies, 1 review
The Woman of Death 5 copies
The Complete Dr. Nikola, Man of Mystery: Volume 2 (The Lust of Hate, Dr Nikola's Experiment & Farewell, Nikola) (2009) 4 copies
The Fascination of the King 4 copies
A Millionaire's Love Story 3 copies
With Three Phantoms 2 copies
A Consummate Scoundrel 2 copies
A Queer Affair 2 copies
Remorseless Vengeance 2 copies
A Bride from the Sea 2 copies
My Indian Queen 2 copies
Connie Burt 2 copies
The Black Lady of Brin-tor 1 copy
Doktor Nikola (Samlingsvolym: Doktor Nikola, Doktor Nikolas hämnd, Doktor Nikolas experiment) 1 copy
My Last Case 1 copy
The Wedding Guest 1 copy
A Service to the State 1 copy
A Case of Philanthropy 1 copy
An Imperial Finale 1 copy
Contos de detectives. Os rivais de Sherlock Holmes — Author — 1 copy
Billy Binks, Hero 1 copy
A Sailor's Bride 1 copy
The League of Twelve 1 copy
The Countess Londa 1 copy
A Two-Fold Inheritance 1 copy
An Ocean Secret 1 copy
A Desperate Conspiracy 1 copy
For the Love of Her 1 copy
The Windsor Magazine 1 copy
A Brighton Tragedy 1 copy
The Death Child 1 copy
IN SPITE OF THE CZAR 1 copy
Sacramento Nick 1 copy
Associated Works
The Penguin Book of Gaslight Crime: Con Artists, Burglars, Rogues, and Scoundrels from the Time of Sherlock Holmes (2009) — Contributor — 198 copies, 6 reviews
The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes: A Collection of Victorian Detective Tales (2008) — Contributor — 140 copies, 1 review
Out of the Sand: Mummies, Pyramids, and Egyptology in Classic Science Fiction and Fantasy (2008) — Contributor — 5 copies
Tagged
Common Knowledge
- Canonical name
- Boothby, Guy
- Legal name
- Boothby, Guy Newell
- Birthdate
- 1867-10-13
- Date of death
- 1905-02-26
- Gender
- male
- Occupations
- novelist
- Short biography
- [from Wikipedia]
Guy Newell Boothby (13 October 1867 – 26 February 1905) was a prolific Australian novelist and writer, noted for sensational fiction in variety magazines around the end of the nineteenth century. He lived mainly in England. He is best known for such works as the Dr Nikola series, about an occultist criminal mastermind who is a Victorian forerunner to Fu Manchu, and Pharos, the Egyptian, a tale of Gothic Egypt, mummies' curses and supernatural revenge. Rudyard Kipling was his friend and mentor, and his books were remembered with affection by George Orwell. - Nationality
- Australia
- Birthplace
- Adelaide, South Australia, Australia
- Places of residence
- London, Middlesex, England, UK
- Place of death
- Boscombe, Bournemouth, Hampshire, England, UK
- Burial location
- Wimborne Road Cemetery Bournemouth, England
- Associated Place (for map)
- England, UK
Members
Reviews
Six connected stories in which Simon Carne infiltrates high society in late 1890s London and proceeds to rob it blind. He steals jewels, wedding presents, royal gold, rigs a horse race to win it, and thwarts an Irish bomb plot, while stealing the money meant to finance it. He even poses as a private detective to investigate the robberies he's conducted. All this with the help of his butler, Belton. They expose the folly of the British upper class like P.G. Woodhouse's Bertie Wooster and show more Jeeves might do, if they were criminals - and Bertie were smarter. show less
A romance/thriller/crime/adventure story. Our hero is a down to earth everyman australian who inexplicably switches to a Holmes level detective whenever the plot calls for it, and gets involved in the nefarious plans of Dr. Nikola through a sequence of badly plotted coincidences.
Our villain Dr. Nikola is a proto-bond villain complete with cat and suffering the usual personality defects. Absurdly convoluted plan, check! Inability to dispatch enemies, check!
Don't get me wrong there are things show more to like here. Theres some humour here and there, also the writing overall is pretty good in the technical sense. However while you as a reader can never tell what will happen next it doesn't feel like the author knew either.
The plot just wanders around aimlessly before the writer just seems to give up and retreat with the remains of his dignity.
An interesting historical piece for Bond or mesmerist villain fans. show less
Our villain Dr. Nikola is a proto-bond villain complete with cat and suffering the usual personality defects. Absurdly convoluted plan, check! Inability to dispatch enemies, check!
Don't get me wrong there are things show more to like here. Theres some humour here and there, also the writing overall is pretty good in the technical sense. However while you as a reader can never tell what will happen next it doesn't feel like the author knew either.
The plot just wanders around aimlessly before the writer just seems to give up and retreat with the remains of his dignity.
An interesting historical piece for Bond or mesmerist villain fans. show less
"I never knew such a fellow as you are for ferreting out these low, foreign eating-houses," said Godfrey Henderson to his friend, Victor Fensden, as they turned from Oxford Street into one of the narrow thoroughfares in the neighbourhood of Soho. "Why you should take such trouble, and at the same time do your digestion such irreparable injury, I can not imagine. There are any number of places where you can get a chop or steak, free of garlic, in a decent quarter of the Town, to say nothing show more of being waited upon by a man who does look as if he had been brave enough to face the dangers of washing once or twice within five years."
His companion only laughed.
"Go on, my friend, go on," he said, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke. "You pretend to be a cosmopolitan of cosmopolitans,[Pg 2] but you will remain insular to the day of your death. To you, a man who does not happen to be an Englishman must of necessity be dirty, and be possessed of a willingness to sever your jugular within the first few minutes of your acquaintance. With regard to the accusation you bring against me, I am willing to declare, in self-defence, that I like burrowing about among the small restaurants in this quarter, for the simple reason that I meet men who are useful to me in my work, besides affording me food for reflection."
The taller man grunted scornfully.
"Conspirators to a man," he answered. "Nihilists, Anarchists, members of the Mafia, the Camorristi, and the Carbonari. Some day you will enter into an argument with one of them and a knife thrust between your ribs will be the result."
"It may be so," returned Victor Fensden, with a shrug of his narrow shoulders. "Better that, however, than a life of stolid British priggishness. How you manage to paint as you do when you have so little of the romantic in your temperament, is a thing I can not for the life of me understand. That a man who rows, plays football and cricket, and who will walk ten miles to see a wrestling match[Pg 3] or a prize fight, should be gifted with such a sense of colour and touch, is as great a mystery to me as the habits of the ichthyosaurus."
And indeed, what Fensden said was certainly true. Godfrey Henderson, one of the most promising of our younger painters, was as unlike the popular notion of an artist as could well be found. He had rowed stroke in his 'Varsity boat, had won for himself a fair amount of fame as a good all-round athlete, and at the same time had painted at least three of the most beautiful pictures—pictures with a subtle touch of poetry in them—that the public had seen for many years. His height was fully six feet one and a half, his shoulders were broad and muscular; he boasted a pleasant and open countenance, such a one in fact as makes one feel instinctively that its owner is to be trusted. Taken altogether, a casual observer would have declared him to be a young country Squire, and few would have guessed that the greater portion of his life was spent standing before an easel, palette and brush in hand. show less
His companion only laughed.
"Go on, my friend, go on," he said, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke. "You pretend to be a cosmopolitan of cosmopolitans,[Pg 2] but you will remain insular to the day of your death. To you, a man who does not happen to be an Englishman must of necessity be dirty, and be possessed of a willingness to sever your jugular within the first few minutes of your acquaintance. With regard to the accusation you bring against me, I am willing to declare, in self-defence, that I like burrowing about among the small restaurants in this quarter, for the simple reason that I meet men who are useful to me in my work, besides affording me food for reflection."
The taller man grunted scornfully.
"Conspirators to a man," he answered. "Nihilists, Anarchists, members of the Mafia, the Camorristi, and the Carbonari. Some day you will enter into an argument with one of them and a knife thrust between your ribs will be the result."
"It may be so," returned Victor Fensden, with a shrug of his narrow shoulders. "Better that, however, than a life of stolid British priggishness. How you manage to paint as you do when you have so little of the romantic in your temperament, is a thing I can not for the life of me understand. That a man who rows, plays football and cricket, and who will walk ten miles to see a wrestling match[Pg 3] or a prize fight, should be gifted with such a sense of colour and touch, is as great a mystery to me as the habits of the ichthyosaurus."
And indeed, what Fensden said was certainly true. Godfrey Henderson, one of the most promising of our younger painters, was as unlike the popular notion of an artist as could well be found. He had rowed stroke in his 'Varsity boat, had won for himself a fair amount of fame as a good all-round athlete, and at the same time had painted at least three of the most beautiful pictures—pictures with a subtle touch of poetry in them—that the public had seen for many years. His height was fully six feet one and a half, his shoulders were broad and muscular; he boasted a pleasant and open countenance, such a one in fact as makes one feel instinctively that its owner is to be trusted. Taken altogether, a casual observer would have declared him to be a young country Squire, and few would have guessed that the greater portion of his life was spent standing before an easel, palette and brush in hand. show less
Wanders a bit at the beginning, but once it gets to the point the story unwraps in a fast and furious manner. Even the evil ner-do-wells are complete gentlemen it seems. Thoroughly enjoyable. I'll have to read more.
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Statistics
- Works
- 85
- Also by
- 25
- Members
- 610
- Popularity
- #41,202
- Rating
- 3.6
- Reviews
- 27
- ISBNs
- 215
- Languages
- 5
- Favorited
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