Back to the Buchan for me. I enjoy the Hannay novels greatly (dodgy Tory politics and off-colour remarks about jewish and black people aside). At his heart, Buchan is a master of plot and pacing. There is absoloutely no beating around the bush with this writer: He knows where he’s going and he never loses the reader on the way.
As with Hannay’s best stories, then, so with John Macnab. Unlike the Hannay books, the tone here is lighter by dint of a more light hearted plot. Set at the time of its writing in the 1920s, the book concerns three men (an emminent barrister, a Cabinet Minister and a City bigshot) all of whom are in their early 40s. They are rather jaded and suffering from enuui, a sense of everything being too easy in life and of nothing providing them with much of a challenge any more.
I suppose I too would be more than a little bored and on the lookout for some diversion, if I were able to do my job with my eyes closed and had no money worries whatsoever. Strictly speaking, these aren’t the most engaginng characters in the world. We have a barrister who doesn’t really care about his clients’ cases; a Cabinet Minister who feels like he’s on autopilot (at one point Buchan descrbies him giving an off-the-cuff speech which is all waffle, consisting of platitudes stiched together from previous speeches given elsewhere); and a City high flier who I can imagine being more interested in watching raindrops fall down a window pane than counting his dough). How the heart bleeds.
Nonetheless, Buchan’s storytelling skill manages to invest this upper class ragbag with enough inherent interest to keep the story going. What these three need is an escape. Together they cook up a plan based on a tale they hear, about a man who a few years previously felt rather the same way. His way out was to poach fish and deer from properties that bordered his Highland property.
Duly inspired, these three pillocks of the establishment decide they will spend the late Summer at a Scottish property belonging to a younger acquaintance. Collectively adopting the pseudonym of John Macnab, they write to the owners of three neighbouring estatyes, informing two of them that a stag will be taken on a set date, and telling the remaining one that a salmon will be taken. By giving advance notice of the date, ‘Macnab’ is giving the owners’ fair warning, thus turning the whole criminal enterprise a sporting air.
What follows is a (of course) superbly written and flowing tale that never ceases to engage. And of course this being a Buchan adventure tale, the success of the enterprise is always in doubt, the ‘will they, won’t they?’ nature of the task forming the core of the narrative.
Along the way there are a couple of comments about jews and a few asides onTory politics, but these are altogether less dodgy than the like in the Hannay books. There’s also the whole concept of huntin’, shootin’ and fishin’, things that some find distasteful but which here, of course, are discussed as if they’re as natural as making a killing in the City without one’s heart being in it, conducting court cases with one’s eyes closed, or feeling bored by one’s Cabinet level job. But then this is world Buchan knew and inhabited. Take it or leave it, we can’t change it.
All in all, then this is a classic Buchan. Read it with a sense of irony from our 21st century perspective, or just take it for what it is. Either way, if you try it you’ll more than likely enjoy it.
The Riddle of the Sands is something of a landmark in English fiction. Of its wider significance I will speak later. To start, however, here’s a brief summary of the book.
It concerns a young English Civil Servant, Carruthers, who out of the blue at the beginning of Autumn, one afternoon in the early years of the twentieth century, receives a telegram from an old acquaintance called Davies. Davies requests Carruthers’s company on his boat which is currently on the German coast of the Baltic Sea. Not having anything better to do, and despite his initial misgivings, Carruthers agrees to go and see Davies.
Initially Carruthers feels that his worst fears have come to pass. He hates Davies’s boat, feels like he’s wasting his time, and what’s more Davies seems to be acting rather strange and distant.
Tensions build until they finally come to a head, when Carruthers gets his friend to come clean about what’s on his mind and affecting his behaviour. It is then that Davies tells his tale and the story really starts.
Davies tells of a chance encounter when he was sailing his boat, the Dulcibella, along and around the German North Sea coast. There he met a German called Dollmann. One day when they were out sailing in bad weather, Dollmann said hat he would take Carruthers through a short cut among the coastal islands and islets, in order to take him to the nearest safe haven. Davies soon gets into trouble and loses sight of Dollmann’s boat, however, and he is convinced that Dollmann in fact was trying to get him killed through capsizing or being run aground.
Piecing things together for Carruthers’s benefit, Davies theorises that Dollmann wanted him out of the way because, as an Englishman, it would be dangerous for him to gain so much knowledge about how to safely navigate the German North Sea coast. Furhtermore, Davies’s belief that Dollmann wished him fatal harm at sea fuels the Englishman’s sense that something suspicious may be going on along the North Sea coast. When pressed on this, Davies admits to Carruthers that he fears there may be some kind of build up of forces or long term planning for a possible attack on the English coast. He even suggests (and remember that this book was published some eleven years before World War 1) that an all-out confrontation between the two nations may be a distinct possibility one day.
Gradually Carrathers starts to see things from Davies’s point of view, and the rest of the book becomes the account of how the two attempt to unravel the ‘riddle of the sands’, a title which can be taken on at least three levels: Who is Dollmann and what is he up to? What is the true nature of this unique and difficult-to navigate coastline? And is there any substance to Davies’s fears of a German naval build up in the area?
As a tale, Childers’s story is engaging and plausible, while as a piece of descriptive writing it brings to life this fascinating part of the world. Subtitled “A Record of Secret Service”, the book also has claim to being one of the very first of the modern spy stories. Apparently it was a favourite of John Buchan, and a close reading if Chapter One of the The Riddle of the Sands illustrates the clear general resemblance between Carruthers and Buchan’s famous hero Richard Hannay as that character describes himself in Chapter One of the great story The Thirty Nine Steps. Both are rather jaded and cynical young men-about-town going somewhat stale in London, and who reveal better aspects of their respective natures once pressed into vital- if wholly unexpected and unlooked for- work that turns out to be of national importance.
Childers’s book in my view still stands up in purely narrative and literary terms. Yet its significance goes far further. From its first publication, this was a book that changed minds and had significance: one could say even genuine political influence. In its description of the potential German threat to a British coast that was relatively weakly defended (at a time when Britannia still ruled the World’s waves, but to the relative neglect of its own shoreline) Childers’s book turned heads among the powers that be. It partly helped inspire the construction of new naval bases along the east coast as well as the bolstering of the North Sea Fleet, all of which played an important part in naval engagements during World War One.
Yet arguably even more intriguing than the riddle posed by this evocative novel, is that which stands front and centre in Childers’s own life. Clearly this was a man who loved his country and its Empire so much that he wanted to warn people about what he perceived to be a threat on its own doorstep. And yet he ended his life embroiled in Irish Nationalist politics and executed in that country by the Free State in the early 20s.
Just riddle me that.
From the 1930s right through to the 1970s, Dennis Wheatley was one of the best-selling authors in the United Kingdom and in the english speaking world. While his books remain in print (I understand for example that they’ve just been relaunched in e-book ‘editions’) his profile is nowhere near as high as it was in his heyday.
This is a shame, for like other writers who wrote well, were prolific and much loved in their day (John Buchan is another who springs to mind) Wheatley is in danger of not enjoying the audience that his talents deserve.
I can’t claim to have read much of his very large output, but I’ll try to summarise it thus: he wrote mainly thrillers, and these sometimes had an historical setting. He also made use of recurring characters. Unlike some authors who are famous for one main character (e.g. James Bond, Harry Potter and so on) Wheatley had numerous popular protagonists in his stable. Among these are the adventurer Gregory Sallust, Roger Brook, and the magnificent character of the Duke de Richleau.
One of Wheatley’s continuing claims to fame are his occult novels, which are all excellent, page0turning thrillers which combine the usual thrills and spills of the genre with a heavy dose of the macabre, the darker side of the Occult and satanism.
The book which set the tone for this aspect of the author’s output is the truly magnificent The Devil Rides Out. Featuring a cast of characters headed up by the Duke de Richleau, a French aristocrat exiled in England, is is a true battle of god against evil. It sees the Duke and his close circle of friends literally battling to save the soul of their friend Simon Aron, a man who it turns out has extraordinary psychic powers which are of use to a highly sinister magus (who, it is widely believed, is probably a thinly veiled portrait of Aleister Crowley, a man personally known to Wheatley, and who advised the author on various- shall we say- technical details). This is kind of rollicking thriller that is so well written that it makes its three hundred odd pages fly by as if there were only thirty. It’s all magnificently over the top, with a plot as tight as anything you’ll encounter anywhere.
Ultimately whether you think the black magic elements are rubbish, there can’t be any denying of the tightness and excitement of the plot, and ultimately what we are left with is a throughly entertaining read. Another of Wheatley’s occult novels, The Haunting of Toby Jugg, was filmed as The Haunted Airman in the last decade. The Devil Rides out was filmed by Hammer studios in the 1960s. While that film still stands up today (and gets the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up too), it’s such a strong story that it would surely be box office gold in the right hands. So long as the producers did the decent thing and stayed true to Wheatley’s original plot. The term ‘master storyteller’ is perhaps too much the stuff of publishing cliche, but in Wheatley’s case it’s perfectly true.
There’s no question in my mind that he stands with Conan Doyle, the aforementioned Buchan, Agatha Christie and Ian Fleming, to name but a few, in the great tradition of British mystery/ thriller writers.
For one reason or another, on a Thursday night a couple of weeks ago I picked up my old dog-eared Penguin triple volume of Chandler. I think I’ve read each novel at least once (some twice) but the last time must have been some years ago, since I could not for the life of me remember much about the plots in any of them. Just as well then, because it felt like I was reading them again for the first time. By the following Thursday I’d read all three books.
The Big Sleep is a great crime novel and a great book full stop. It is quite complicated, so I won’t try to summarise all the plot here, but what I do think is that if it isn’t Chandler’s best book, then in many respects it’s his calling card as a writer. While the plot can be tricky to discuss and get your head around, what comes across crystal clear is the evocation of the seedier side of pre-war Los Angeles, the general atmosphere of the place, and of course Phillip Marlowe himself.
Probably my favourite novel out of the three collected together here is Chandler’s second to be published, Farewell My Lovely. Take the seedy LA of The Big Sleep, add a cast of misfits, drugs, alcohol, a murder hunt, a missing person case and what have you got? A book that satisfies on the plot level, and which also sees gallant old Marlowe working in tandem with the law to being to solve a case. Brilliant stuff.
Is The Long Goodbye Chandler’s best book? He seemed to think so and is on record in a letter to a friend as saying so.
Either way, I think that this book, the penultimate Marlowe novel published in Chandler’s lifetime, shows off the immortal character of Phillip Marlowe at his wise-cracking, sharp, cynical but essentially gallant best.
Here’s the plot: One night Marlowe quite by chance makes the acquaintance of Terry Lennox, the politest drunk he’s ever met. One thing leads to another and the two strike up a friendship which mostly revolves around drinking cocktails in the early evening.
Then things are turned completely on their head when Lennox arrives very early one morning at Marlowe’s Laurel Canyon home. Lennox needs to get out of Los Angeles and fast. Marlowe knows Lennox is in trouble (part of him knew from the off that Lennox WAS trouble) but in that typically hard-but-fair Marlowe way, he agrees to help his new friend by driving him to the airport, where he can catch a plane for Mexico. The only proviso is that Marlowe doesn’t want to know what Lennox has done.
This is only the beginning of a plot that becomes more and more complex once Marlowe is engaged by the wife and publishers of an alcoholic writer, Roger Wade, to make sure that the scribe stays off the bottle and on track to finish his latest blockbuster novel.
I’ve described Marlowe as gallant a couple of times now, but that is a key adjective when trying to fathom this cynical, wise-cracking, tough but essentially decent man. Why he’d want to put himself through hell for £25 dollars a day plus expense (and sometimes for free) is beyond me. ”
“Well if I don’t do it, no-one else will, pal,” would probably be his reply.
I am now well into the companion volume to this, which collects three of the other most highly regarded Marlowe books in one. I will blog about this when I’ve read it.
For the moment though, if you have never read any Chandler then I can heartily recommend him. Though he remains not just a standard writer of crime novels but also a touchstone one, his books are not always kept in stock in new book shops in the UK at least. Good independent retailers can always get them, however, and there’s always loads of them available second hand. Ebooks also seem to be readily available too.
Well perhaps interviewed is not the right word. Rather it’s a chat between two respected thriller writers, who have an obvious liking and mutual respect for each other.
I’ve been inspired to post this gem after having read at breakneck speed three of Chander’s classics in the past few days (reviews to follow).
Below is part one of the interview (which starts a few minutes in at 5:47, after the inevitable lengthy BBC-isms at the beginning).
Among other gems to be heard in the Fleming- Chandler encounter are Fleming asking his pal “Ray” how long it takes to write a book. “It takes me two months” says Fleming. “Two months? I couldn’t write a book in two months,” replies Chandler. “Ah but you write better books than I do,” says his English friend.
Lovely stuff. I’ve posted part 1 of 4, so subsequent parts hopefully should show up in your browser or can easily be tracked down on Youtube directly.