A few days ago I listened to Ngaio Marsh’s “a man lay dead”, to compare a classic whodunnit from the golden age with the latest, what I’d swear to be AI assisted modern novels, of varied quality. I then had the misfortune to pick up some something I regret having done so. That latter sent me diving back into the golden age, picking up Ngaio Marsh’s second novel, “enter a murderer”, to clear my palette.
The plot’s a theatre murder, with actors doing their acting, both on and off stage. I won’t go into it, wikipedia is your friend. I’ll just say this is classic golden age stuff: solid, well thought–through, consistent, with human beings rather than playroom dollies. There was a little hammary, but the setting almost demands it. It worked.
The reading: well, I have one criticism. The two main characters in the book are Roderyk Allen, of The Yard, and his sidekick, Nigel Bathgate. The reader, James Saxon, gives them voices too similar to my ear, so sometimes, when they’re in conversation, I loose track of who is whom. Beyond that, though, it all worked. I don’t know if the accents Saxon gives the various characters, and in particular their class–based interpretations, are correct, but they’re consistent with what I’ve heard in other media over the years.
Marsh’s language is delicious. In today’s terms, it’s thoroughly dated, but the toff language so reminds me of my mother, despite the fact that she was not a toff, that it gives me the warm and fuzzies.
I liked the characterisation, which really bought Saxon’s accents, Marsh’s language, alive for me. Marsh does people well. There was something slightly off, but I think that’s nothing more than the century since the book was written: it is of its period.
Chandler’s key characters are alcoholics, Marsh’s are baccy junkies, the modern are caffeine or tannin addicts. Accept this, accept that facial features shape character, accept all the dated anacronisms, accept the book for when it was written, and enjoy.
I like these books, I will listen to more.