fun perspective on Anglican clergy - historical view of marijuana - wild ( )

A mystery from 1940, the classic British gold age type with a map of the murder scene and the amateur detective draws up a timetable of everybody's movements and explains the crime to the police. The detective is a quirky Oxford don and this is the first in a series of at least ten.

It's wartime and characters say things like "Mustn't forget to fix the blackout curtains" and mention shortages. Most of the characters are strange or unpleasant or both but the plot is nicely twisted and the writing is top notch. I felt chuffed at recognizing quotations and certainly missed a lot more, and love his habit of saying "Oh my ears and whiskers!" I immediately ordered more Gervase Fen mysteries from Powell's. ( )

Gervase Fen and his friend, Geoffrey Vintner, are in the town of Tolnbridge where shenanigans are afoot and church organists are dropping left and right. In fact, Vintner nearly becomes a fatality on the way to join Fen. An amusing mystery, with many literary allusions, the mystery itself is pretty good, although solvable, I missed some of the clues which told me why I was correct. Probably because I was skimming the parts which annoyed me. The characters didn't seem consistent, and their moods and temperaments were difficult to justify. Also, similar weird names left me befuddled because the ones which bore them had no special characteristics to set them apart. In spite of all that, it was an enjoyable read, but I won't be seeking out more Crispin novels to read. ( )

There have been some rather untoward goings-on in the organ loft of a West Country cathedral, and church-music composer Geoffrey Vintner finds himself playing Watson to the tetchy Professor Gervase Fen's Holmes as they try to disentangle an increasingly complex plot. There's a great deal of silliness, most of it fun but quite irrelevant to the crime, as well as bucketloads of allusions to both serious and light literature. However, it's a bit disconcerting to find that Crispin can't quite make up his mind whether he's writing a lurid thriller or the kind of English detective story that relies on the reader keeping track of the movements of a whole chapter of clergy to the nearest minute and understanding the significance of a 32' organ stop: there's nothing really wrong with mixing the two subgenres, you just don't quite expect it... ( )

Although I seem to recall having enjoyed the earlier work by Crispin, this novel forcefully reminds me why the Golden Age penchant for eccentric private detectives and incredible plots went out of style. Not quite a murder with a rare dagger at the precise time the soprano hits high C, but close in execution and explanation. (Yes, I mangled the Chandler reference.) ( )