Going for Gold – or maybe for the Bridport…

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Dorothy Parker, Team GB, University Challenge

It’s said that the average British athlete will have trained for six hours a day, for six days a week, for twelve months.

Could this dedication be applied to our writing? Obviously lesser mortals have to factor in jobs, families, trips to the supermarket, walking the dog and finding time to watch University Challenge. Writing also requires different disciplines, although the astute Dorothy Parker considered it to be simply ‘the art of applying the ass to the seat’.

Maybe there are lessons to be learned from the magnificent Team GB about persistence. What couldn’t I achieve if I determined to write even for one single hour a day, for six days a week for twelve months?

 

 

‘The Shape of Water’

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Andrea Camilleri, Inspector Montalbano, Lunch, Poirot, Sicily, Venice, whodunits

Our creative writing teacher would have not have allowed us to interrupt the narrative simply to describe the meal our hero was sitting down to enjoy. No, no, I hear, you’re breaking the flow, this isn’t relevant to the plot, you’ll lose your reader.

I’ve just read my first Inspector Montalbano story. I’d seen a few episodes on TV and thought I’d try one of the books. And, sure enough, just as on TV he goes to his favourite restaurant and discusses the menu with his host, here we also break for lunch. And it’s great. We are, after all, in Italy. Lunch is important. A few years ago on an anniversary trip to Venice my wife and I had foolishly allowed ourselves to be transported to the glass island of Murano; we were fearful of how we could possibly escape the inevitable hard sell at the end of the tour without too much damage to our bank balance, but to our relief we were spared because it was LUNCHTIME ON SUNDAY. All the hard sellers just disappeared, and we slipped away unnoticed.

So eat on, Salvo. The nearest I can think of a parallel in English whodunits would be Poirot stopping his ratiocination to lovingly prepare a meal for Captain Hastings or Inspector Japp.

The Shape of Water, by Andrea Camilleri (translated by Stephen Sartarelli) is, as I’ve said, my first Montalbano. A complex and occasionally comic Sicilian whodunit. It wasn’t possible for me to work out the solution – we get the clues at the same time as the good Salvo himself (and sometimes afterwards). It was a quick read – with generous spacing on the page, and lots of dialogue. As well as lunch we get glimpses of Sicily, and a picture of corruption in local government and of the bureaucratic confusion of the various Italian law enforcement agencies. There are some helpful notes at the end explaining especially Sicilian and Italian references.

Silvio Luparello, a well-regarded engineer and local bigwig, is found dead of a heart attack in his car in the Pasture, a squalid area known for prostitution. Our hero smells a rat: Luparello had just three days before become Provincial Secretary, leader of the Council, and after years of careful politicking to achieve that dizzy (and profitable) height would not have risked his reputation thus. Pressure to close the case from the great and the good (including the local Bishop) only encourage Montalbano to continue his investigation.

There’s a complex cast of characters, including rubbish collectors, Mafiosi, journalists, various beautiful women, and other leading politicians.  One scene I especially enjoyed takes place in an abandoned chemical factory, both for the description of the place and for the comic action that takes place there. As the blurb says, “Picking his way through a labyrinth of high-comedy corruption, delicious meals, vendetta firepower, and carefully planted false clues, Montalbano can be relied on, whatever the cost, to get to the heart of the matter.”

A good read. I’ll read others. First published in 1994. English translation published by Picador.

Buon appetito!

‘Rumpole and the Penge Bungalow Murders’

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John Mortimer, Penge, Rumpole, The law

LOL!   That was me on the train from Stoke-on-Trent to London Euston on Monday, reading Rumpole and the Penge Bungalow Murders by the late John Mortimer. I don’t know how annoyed or amused my fellow travellers were by my unsuppressed hilarity as I was too busy reading.

Devotees of Rumpole will know that throughout his career at the criminal bar he refers to his early success in the Penge Bungalow Murders case, which he won “alone and without a leader”. It’s a running joke. The details of this are not (as far as I’m aware), spelled out in the earlier books. Then, towards the end of his thirty-year long Rumpole-writing career, in 2004 John Mortimer decided actually to tell us this story.

What makes the novel so delicious is that we also discover the very first occasion that Rumpole gets involved with the Timson family, the irredeemably thieving family from South London, and their eternal feud with the Molloys. They are to feature throughout Rumpole’s career at the criminal bar. We also learn what we must always have wondered (well I have, anyway) – how on earth Rumpole got married to Hilda, She Who Must Be Obeyed. The details of their courtship (hardly the right word) are here laid out for our delectation. Poor Horace Rumpole …

We are in the 1950s. Rumpole is at the very beginning of his career as a criminal barrister (a ‘white wig’). He finds himself in the chambers in Equity Court in the Temple that we are going to get to know so well in his future stories. Two ex-RAF war heroes are found shot dead in the bungalows they inhabit in the same road in Penge, archetypal south London suburbia. All the evidence points to their having been shot by the son of one of them. Rumpole’s Head of Chambers (father of the future She Who Must Be Obeyed) gets the case, but his concern for what he sees as ‘the finest traditions of the bar’ seem likely to doom his client to the rope. How Rumpole’s role in the case increases, and its outcome, are the guts of the story.

For me the best bits of the novel are the court scenes, written with all the experience and skill you would expect from John Mortimer QC. The ways Rumpole cheeks the judges always amuse me. But also the scenes in chambers, with characters we have got to know over the years, also appeal. And it’s not just funny: the hangman looms over the story throughout, and Mortimer’s dissection of the absurdities of the legal system has its serious side.  The principle that someone is presumed innocent until proven guilty is also a key focus.

I do see the actor Leo McKern when I read Rumpole. And the Penguin edition I’ve been reading displays McKern on the front cover. As many of the Rumpole stories were written after the TV series had been such a success perhaps Mortimer too came to see McKern when he wrote Rumpole. I see from Wikipedia that he initally wanted Alastair Sim for the role (“but he was dead”).

Because I’ve been watching and reading Rumpole for so long I can’t really imagine how this novel would work for someone completely new to it. The cosy feel of the familiar characters, the running jokes, all add to my enjoyment – I do think that it is so fluently written, and with Mortimer’s skill and knowledge, that a newcomer would still enjoy it. If that’s you, do give it a try, and post your reaction!

My family gave me this book for Christmas. They got it in the local Oxfam shop. A very little money well spent.

Alan Rickman

Tags

Alan Rickman, Anthony Trollope, Jane Austen

Adieu Alan Rickman. As well as his more famous roles let us not forget his fabulously odious Obadiah Slope in the TV Barchester, and his noble Colonel Brandon in the film Sense and Sensibility. The curl of Slope’s lip on its own made me squirm – it could convey insincerity, smarminess, contempt …. Contrast it with the Colonel’s concern for the ill Marianne and his anxiety to be of use – “Give me an occupation, Miss Dashwood, or I shall run mad”, he pleads.

Thanks.

‘And Then There Were None’

Tags

Agatha Christie, And Then There Were None, BBC TV, whodunits

I was in the happy position over Christmas, watching the amazing And Then There Were None on BBC TV, to be able to compare stage and TV versions of this classic Christie story. A group of ten strangers (each with a deadly and guilty secret in their past) find themselves cut off on an island, invited by the mysterious and apparently absent Mr U N Owen; they are then serially murdered, in the same sequence as in the nursery rhyme Ten Little Soldier Boys.

A group of us saw the Agatha Christie Theatre Company do this at Tunbridge Wells’ Assembly Hall in October, as part of their ten-months-long nationwide tour. (How well they must have known their words by the end!)   The cast included some names familiar to those of us of, er, more mature years: Paul Nicholas (star of the 1980s sitcom Just Good Friends), Mark Wynter (‘60s pop star, with hits such as Venus in Blue Jeans), and Deborah Grant (John Nettles’ ex-wife way back in Bergerac), to name but three.

The stage version gave us atmosphere and a storm, and the sense of being trapped. Unlike a film it couldn’t show us close-ups of bodies on jagged rocks, or transport us in momentary flashback to the Western Front or the drowning of a boy. But it did have the excitement of live theatre. Our group had a happy outing; I couldn’t remember whodunit, and the ending surprised me just as it had when I’d seen a film version years before. (This may have been the 1974 one with Richard Attenborough, Oliver Reed, Elke Sommer et al – this story does seem to appeal to all-star casts).

One of the motifs of the story is that there is on display in the house a group of ten toy soldiers. After each death the remaining characters discover that one of these has disappeared. That is easily effected in a film, but how did it happen on stage? In the interval I asked a fellow member of the audience, and he told me he’d seen one of the actors (one who was killed shortly afterwards) surreptitiously put one in his pocket. Maybe whichever cast member was nearest the toys at the time had the job of secreting one.

In our family we’re still enthusing about the TV version, shown on Boxing Day and the two successive nights in one-hour chunks. Wow! The atmosphere, the tension, the menace – and the absence of the semi-humorous tone you often get in Christie films – more, more! One by one the cast are killed, and they know it and can see it coming, and they fear each other. No supersleuth is there to explain the complexities of what is happening and to unmask the villain.  They just get killed, all ten …

I can see that some folk will have found too long the ominous pauses, but not us. To see Toby Stephens, Charles Dance, Sam Neill, Miranda Richardson and the rest put on their turns was just right for the dark evenings after Christmas when the festive supplies of food and drink need to be finished off.   I can’t see it myself, but the female half of our viewership were also much taken with Aidan Turner’s torso. Once displayed, why it then had to reappear quite so often I don’t know.   Yes, you guessed it – this was the role Oliver Reed played in the 1974 film: I can’t remember whether he kept showing us his chest.

Knowing who did it didn’t spoil my pleasure – indeed, it was fascinating to see the story unfold with that knowledge. What was difficult was not letting anything slip that would give the game away to my fellow viewers. Reader, I managed it.

The Twittersphere raved about the production – and the aforesaid torso was the detail most mentioned in that raving.

My favourite tweet was “They’ve really upped the stakes in the latest series of Big Brother.”

I don’t know why the BBC changed the skeleton in the policeman’s cupboard. In the play (and, I think, the original book) he has been bribed and has committed perjury, resulting in an innocent man being hanged. On TV he has instead kicked a young gay man to death in a police cell. One can only speculate why this change was made. 

Sometime I must read the novel to see how the Queen of Crime herself imagined the story. And to find out how it was that Mr U N Owen came to know all these terrible secrets.

I’ve heard it muttered somewhere that next year we may get Witness for the Prosecution (which I also saw the Agatha Christie Theatre Company do this at the Assembly Hall a few years ago). Bring it on!