The luvviness of Paris......

I'm just back at work after 2 weeks' rest and recreation. One of the major treats that I allowed myself while on holiday was the purchase of this year's Crime Writers' Association anthology "Original Sins" edited by the excellent Martin Edwards.

The contents list reminds me of a Christmas selection box of sweets and my initial impulse was to gorge myself on the stories. Remembering Peter Lovesey's sage advice in the introduction to his own anthology of short stories ("Do Not Exceed the Stated Dose") I managed to restrain myself, all the better to savour each mysterious morsel.


I was delighted to find that the very first story in the book ("Doctor Theatre") featured the re-appearance of one of my favourite, amateur detectives. Applause please for the actor/ sleuth Charles Paris and his peerless creator Simon Brett. Short and very sweet the story references TV reality shows and "serious" actors / "luvvies" who appear in films about boy wizards while maintaining a West End presence. The only element of dissatisfaction is that "Doctor Theatre" leaves one wanting more. This, of course, is the secret of any great performance: as Walt Disney (reputedly) said, "Always leave them wanting more."


My first encounter with Charles Paris was in the novel "So Much Blood" which was issued by the much missed "Keyhole Crime" imprint back in the early 80s. I was so impressed by the character of the journeyman actor / detective that I sought out most of the books in the series within a very few weeks. As I remember I also went to the extent of switching my tipple from "The Famous Grouse" to "Bell's" scotch in honour of my new hero. Although I only drink blended scotch very occasionally I stuck with this choice for about ten years or so until Diageo, the brand's owner, closed its Scottish bottling plant.


Simon Brett writes with tremendous wit and style and his books are always fun, often with a satirical undertone. I was late in coming to the "Fethering Mysteries", perhaps due to their Home Counties setting and my working class Scottish preconceptions, but I'm slowly working my way through them. Soon I must get around to reading the "Mrs Pargeter" series. In the meantime I can still get my "fix" of Charles Paris, as portrayed by Bill Nighy, on BBC Radio 7.( I would also recommend Simon Brett's panel show "Foul Play" which turns up perennially on the same channel).

The restless afterlife of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

As of this writing he's been dead for some 80 years, 4 months and an odd number of days; yet in many ways Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (ACD) seems more alive than ever. There are a huge number of Sherlock Holmes "homages" out there, a volume of prose which exceeds the original canon by at least a factor of 10. Some of this stuff is good (Nicholas Meyer's contributions as well as those of Laurie R. King come to mind) and some not so good. Since I've veered towards the mathematical this morning then I should really try to pin a number to this ratio. As always, with just about everything, Sturgeon's Law is a rather good rule of thumb. Sadly, that gives us a figure of 90% not so good.

I don't feel that ACD would have been too perturbed by this. It's well known that he felt Holmes cast a shadow over all of his other work. What might have upset him more profoundly is his own all-too-frequent resurrection as a character in fictional works. I'm sure that most authors who venture to use Doyle in their fiction do so with great respect and affection. Julian Barnes fleshes out the story of Doyle's involvement as a "detective" in the real life case of George Edalji in his gripping novel "Arthur & George" quite masterfully. It's when other authors have tried to fictionalise ACD as some kind of action hero that I begin to get a little uncomfortable.

On television ACD was included as a character in an episode of the (usually enjoyable) Canadian series "Murdoch Mysteries". For some reason I found it irritating that the actor playing the role tried to speak with an upper crust English accent. My annoyance may be due to the fact that actual footage of ACD talking is available on "You Tube". The most basic research would reveal his strong (even after many years of living in England) Scots accent. Even more vexing was the short-lived series "Murder Rooms" which portrayed ACD as the "Watson" to Dr. Joseph Bell (Doyle's teacher and the acknowledged basis for Holmes). This was an irregular series of dramas which had many good points but played fast and loose with many of the facts of ACD's life and times.

The American writer Mark Frost has written two novels featuring Doyle as an all-action sleuth but which I found hard to enjoy simply because they stretch reality too far. William Hjortsberg's "Nevermore", involving both ACD and Harry Houdini with a serial killer who uses the works of Poe as inspiration for his murders, is also a step too far towards the weird for my tastes.

I suppose that the use of actual, living people in fiction will always be difficult for some members of a readership / audience to accept. When Anne and I went to our first "Crimefest" earlier this year (we've already booked for the next) I attended a panel where the authors, in winding up, had to very briefly talk about one thing that really annoyed them in crime fiction. The formidable M.C. Beaton, with a Scots accent as unmistakeable as ACD's, said that the use of real people in mystery stories was a pet hate. She also asked if Gyles Brandreth, the guest of honour for that weekend, happened to be in the room; presumably she wanted to make her feelings on his "Oscar Wilde Mysteries" known. Sadly, there was no sign of Mr Brandreth and so the chance of an entertaining clash of views was missed.

What is making me particularly uncomfortable at the moment is a book which claims that ACD is communicating from beyond the grave. It's called "A Study in Survival" and I admit to being fascinated by a review published in the "Fortean Times" a few months ago. I've considered buying it but, working as I do in a job where I'm often faced with other people's grief and bereavement, I'm not sure I could read it with an open mind.

Bonding, Un-Bonding then Bonding again.

Over the last couple of years I've really enjoyed watching the "Spec Savers Crime and Thrillers Awards"on ITV3. It's definitely a guilty pleasure though some of the awards are baffling. (Foyle as the "people's detective" anyone ? ).TV shows aren't my main interest. The books are. "Bad Catholics" by James Green was a delight I discovered through the 2009 shortlist as was "Blacklands" by Belinda Bauer (winner of this year's gold dagger).

Through the awards show I also started to take note of the "Ian Fleming Steel Dagger Award". I was especially interested to discover that Jeffery Deaver had won this award back in 2004 for his novel "Garden of Beasts"( an historical thriller set against the backdrop of the 1936 Berlin Olympics). His acceptance speech apparently played a major part in Deaver being asked to pen the new James Bond novel. It's scheduled for release in Spring 2011 and I'll undoubtedly buy it.

I enjoy Deaver's novels and I was won back to the Bond books by "Devil May Care" the 36th. "official" novel as penned by Sebastian Faulks.

Around the age of 16 or 17 I was a mega fan of Fleming's original Bond novels. I read them all within a span of 5 or 6 months, including Kingsley Amis' pseudonymous "Colonel Sun" . Of course, the Bond films were huge at the time and influenced my reading of the books. I enjoyed both but the contrasts between the two media made me realise that not all books make good films. "You only live twice" is among the best of the novels and also one of my favourite films in the series (with a screenplay by Roald Dahl). The two have nothing in common other than the title. The novel wouldn't have made a good film although the content is among the finest writing produced by Fleming. He seemed to have made a major effort to absorb Japanese culture and the title, if memory serves, comes from haiku which Bond writes in preparing to confront Blofeld for the final time.

By the time the novels were being written by John Gardner and Roger Moore was starring in the films much of my fervour for all things Bond had evaporated. Re-reading some of the novels also made me aware of annoyances which I'd missed first time round. There are fairly frequent anti-semitic and racist references peppered through the books, most notably hints at Goldfinger's Jewish roots and Blofeld's mixed ethnicity.

I was particularly annoyed by a dialogue between Bond and "Tiger" Tanaka of the Japanese secret Service in "You only live twice". During their conversation Bond explains the inability of some of the American GIs to appreciate Japanese culture in general and saki in particular because their ancestry equipped them better for ploughing muddy fields in Ireland or Poland. My Uncle Tommy, God rest him, was evacuated from Dunkirk with the rest of the British Expeditionary Force in 1940 and was captured and imprisoned by the Japanese army while later serving in Burma. I don't think that rice wine appreciation or the history of the No play were ever included among the entertainments offered to British or American prisoners in the Far East.

And yet......well, years pass and you make allowances for people as you get older. It's possible to see them as a product of their times to a great extent. Even if, as many have written, Fleming was a snob I must admit that I was touched when I read about him apologising to the (NHS) ambulance men as they prepared to take him to hospital in the throes of his final, fatal heart attack ("Sorry to be such a bother..."). Clearly a gentleman of the old school. John Pearson's biography of Fleming also softened my opinion of him to a large extent.

Head and shoulders above the rest of the Bond novels for me is "Live and Let Die", despite its casual racism (Harlem and Jamaica form much of its backdrop). This opinion may have something to do with the fact that it was the Bond novel which I had most trouble buying. Most were readily available at second hand markets like "the Barras" but "LALD" eluded me until the film came out in 1973. (The copy residing in my attic has the original movie poster on its cover).

My theory about the novel is that it's great because it's a SECOND novel. There is a myth that second novels or albums are more difficult for authors or musicians to produce. The success of "Casino Royale" was apparently something of a surprise to Fleming. In turn this seems to have have had much the same effect on him that the Villiers supercharger had on the performance of Bond's beloved Bentley.

"LALD" seethes with creativity as if Fleming is throwing everything he can into an intoxicating cocktail of pirate treasure, Fu Manchu -inspired villainy, Caribbean colour and post-war American pulp fiction. Even though the Bond novels are notoriously lacking in humour Fleming even allows himself a (dark) joke. Felix Leiter is dumped in a motel room after being nibbled on by a shark when captured by "Mr. Big" ,the book's main villain. Pinned to Leiter's chest is a note : "He disagreed with something that ate him". The book also has a thrilling keel-hauling sequence which was eventually used (much less effectively) in one of the Timothy Dalton movies ("Licence to Kill"). Now, if you'll excuse me, I've written myself into the mood to go and look out my copy of "Diamonds are Forever" to see if it's improved over the years......

Irish Noir

Even if Ireland wasn't always in my thoughts at this time of year, the TV and radio news would have brought it to my attention anyway. The "Celtic Tiger" seems to have chipped its teeth on the rock of bank debts gone bad. Some people have been predicting this catastrophe for a long time. While the economy struggles Irish crime fiction goes from strength to strength; that seems to be a characteristic of recessions / depressions.

Among the foremost of Hibernian crime writers is Ken Bruen, an author who is justly appreciated by the American audience and a true master of "Noir" fiction. A new film based on Bruen's novel "London Boulevard" is about to open in the UK starring "A-listers" Colin Farrell, Keira Knightley and Ray Winstone. I usually worry about what the process of film adaptation does to beloved books. Anyone who has read the original novels can only gawp in amazement at the utter incompetence of "8 Million Ways to Die", "Burglar" and "What's the worst that could happen?" (a film that sets out to answer the titular question straight away by putting Martin ("Big Momma's House") Lawrence in a starring role).

Fingers crossed I do have high hopes for "London Boulevard". As mentioned the cast is top notch and, here's where my heart lifts, the screenplay is by William Monahan who penned "The Departed". It's always wise never to underestimate the damage that Hollywood can do to any novel but I have a good feeling about this one. I also hope that Ken Bruen shifts a ton of books on the back of this movie. He deserves to be better known in the UK. In 2011 he'll even get a second bite at the cherry when the movie version of "Blitz", starring Jason Statham, gets released. More power to him!

Bruen's series of novels featuring Jack Taylor are extraordinary. They're the kind of books that I try to savour but inevitably end up reading in one or two sittings. They've even had an effect on my diet, which is no bad thing.

In each of the early novels"The Guards" and "The killing of the tinkers" Taylor is revealed as a man of enormous appetites; whiskey, Guinness, coke, speed, you name it. He's also partial to Celtic comfort food in the form of fish and chips. In both books the author describes the texture, the perfume and the perfect warmth of an idealised "Chippy" with loving care to the extent that I could feel my mouth watering (Proust can keep his madeleines). Unfortunately in both books as Taylor heads home clutching his supper he gets beaten up . Very badly. I can't say that these disturbing scenes have had a profound Pavlovian effect on my Irish Catholic habit of fish suppers on a Friday but now I do tend to have a good look round when I leave the shop.

November: mist and melancholia.

Remembrance Sunday is over for another year but memories still linger. In the Catholic tradition this has always been the month of the Holy Souls, certainly part of the season of mists but with more melancholy than mellow fruitfulness.

Late Autumn always brings with it a kind of pleasant sadness that seems to resonate particularly with Celts. The poet Paul Verlaine captures this mood perfectly in his "Chanson d'automne". ("The long sobs of Autumn's violins wound my heart with a monotonous languor.") Despite the commercialisation and Americanisation of Hallowe'en the final day of October and the first few days of November cast a shadow that lasts through to Winter.

At this time of year my thoughts often turn to Derry/ londonderry. For a long time I've looked on dear old Stroke City as my other home town. My family spent a lot of summers there in the '60s and '70s and I visited now and then until my Da died nine years ago (he had moved back to the city of his boyhood after my Mammy passed away). As coincidence would have it this was on the 26th of October.

Grief has a quality to it that makes you feel as if you've retreated from the world. Events pass you by and if you notice anything outside your immediate circle of loss it's as if you're seeing it though an inverted telescope. I was vaguely aware of a lot of strange revelry going on in the city. It puzzled me as I struggled with sudden bereavement. People in ghost costumes danced at the periphery of my vision with no hallucinogens or alcohol involved, at least on my part. Pieces fell into place and the puzzle resolved itself over the years: Derry had become the centre for Europe's biggest Hallowe'en festival.

The night of the 1st of November (All Saints Day) used to be a focus of some attention in Derry and throughout Ireland. This is the eve of All Souls Day and I can remember my Aunt Vera telling us about the old tradition of leaving bread and water out for the Holy Souls. She remembered one All Souls Eve in particular when, as a little girl, she'd been naughty, though she was unspecific about the details. My Granny threatened to make her stay downstairs with the food and the drink....and the visiting Holy Souls. (The Carlins have always been masters of child psychology). Nothing materialised from the threat of course but it made an impression on Aunt Vera. Me too as I write this more than 40 years later.

Derry has given me a big chunk of memories. Most of them are happy and some a little melancholy. I'm currently adding to them through the crime fiction of Brian McGilloway. As well as being an excellent writer he's the head of the English department at St. Columb's college in Derry. The Inspector Devlin novels capture the sense of the northwest of Ireland and the border between the North and South perfectly. Appropriately enough McGilloway's debut novel was "Borderlands" and involves the investigation of a crime which straddles the border between the UK and Eire.

(Before "The Troubles" began in earnest one of the childhood amusements that boggled my mind was to take a walk out from the Creggan estate ,part of Londonderry and firmly in the UK, to the border with the Irish Republic. My cousins and I dawdled to the border in about 20 minutes so that we could stand with one foot in each country or just spend our time jumping back and forth. By the mid 70s this unmanned border crossing between Donegal and County Derry was blocked off by a trench and barbed wire).

The Devlin novels are also exceptional in that the author has gone out of his way to avoid many of the cliches that so often adhere like limpets to fictional policemen. Benedict Devlin is no maverick, hard-drinking loner. His family life is an important part of each book. For more background there's an excellent interview at the "It's A Crime" website.