George Bellairs (1902–1985)

Although most people automatically have PD James as their go to British Crime Mystery author of note, George Bellairs deserve some of that love as he is a sorely underappreciated writer from a bygone era of greatness in literature. He was quite prolific and could write detailed, realistic stories that pulled you into the time and settings of his crimes.

This book was perfectly Bellairs and showed off his shattering talent with a well-written and expertly plotted mysterious narrative. There show more are his classic touches of humor, his charming and eloquent word choices, and of course his intricately complex and well-developed characters.

Along with his perfectly written personalities, Bellairs knew how to write settings that provided such vivid imagery you felt you were walking alongside his characters as you saw the world around them through their eyes.

His plot provided plenty of red herrings alongside the real clues so it won’t be overly difficult to spot the Big Bad of the story which still offered up plenty of twists on the silver platter of crime lit. The beauty of Bellairs is you can rely on him to provide a view, a portal in time if you will, of how mystery and crime used to be written when humanity didn’t need graphic blood and gore to be entertained. show less

What a delight to read Bellairs! The plot is not especially original - murder isn´t - in fact it is in itself drab, dull and raw. It is not how the case is solved that makes reading the book an experience far above the reading of most crime stories. Not even the unmasking of the hypocrisy, sanctimony and greed behind the crime. It is how he does it. His grasp the language is pure joy, as is the precise and funny characterizations of the culprit, the villagers and local police alike, they show more come alive in a few well chosen words, as individuals, and locals. The way he handles the human folly that gives the busybody her power, the unmasking of what we think we need to hide from all others - that they usually know anyway - how ridiculous people taking themselves too seriously are, and what humourless life that makes way for - all without lifting a moral finger. The finger he raises is far more powerful, it´s comical. And thus tragical as well, because murder is simply not worth it. A combination of George Simenon and P.G.Wodehouse, this is black comedy at its very best. show less

Miss Ethel Tither is the kind of unpleasant, prurient busybody that everyone wishes dead—and now she is, left floating in the cesspool at the back of the village vicarage.

Death of a Busybody is a perfectly competent, undemanding Golden Age murder mystery. George Bellairs plays fair by his readers—you're given all the relevant clues, even before Inspector Littlejohn gets them sometimes—so whodunnit and why is actually fairly easy to figure out. Bellairs writes with enough humour and show more eye for the absurd (the vicar rejoices in the name of Ethelred Claplady, for instance) to make this a quick read, but the overt classism and implied sexism throughout were a bit wearying. The main detective character, Littlejohn, is also a bit of a nonentity. I wouldn't absolutely swear off Bellairs in the future, but I'm not overly minded to seek out more of his work either. show less

I thoroughly enjoyed Death of a Busybody by George Bellairs. While it was my first Bellairs book, it was the third in a series spanning four decades featuring Scotland Yard detective Thomas Littlejohn. Now, thanks to Netgalley and Poison Pen Press, I have the chance to savor No. 2 and No. 6 in the series, reissued together in one volume.

In The Dead Shall Be Raised, Littleton is in Hatterworth, a small Pennine town in northern England for the Christmas holiday, reunited with his beloved wife show more Letty, who had fled the London blitz. While there, a decades-old body is disinterred, which reopens an old cold case dating to 1917 and the Great War. Littlejohn and the local copper, Superintendent Haworth, make a great team in running the villain to ground. Bellairs (née Harold Blundell) lays out the novel with plenty of twists and surprises. I never saw the end coming.

The Murder of a Quack was even better! Indeed, my favorite of the three Bellairs novels I’ve read so far. In 1943, when The Murder of a Quack was first released, anyone could set up a shingle and practice “medicine” as long as they didn’t prescribe or operate. So the village of Stalden has Nathaniel Wall, a septuagenarian who’s the third generation of his family set up as a “bonesetter.” Local folks were as apt to flock to him as a qualified doctor! The beloved Mr. Wall’s fame in curing not just broken bones, but twisted limbs, broken noses and lots more was so great that football heroes, bishops and even celebrities found their way to his door — and the accounts made their way into the press. So when he turns up dead, who would have killed such a kindly healer?

About halfway through, I’d guessed who the villain was, but the motive was much different than I’d thought and watching Littlejohn working with the local policemen was a treat. Here’s to hoping that there will be more reissues soon.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I received this book free from NetGalley, Poison Pen Press, and British Library Publishing in return for an honest review. show less