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Bookish Serendipity

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Those of you who follow me on social media may have picked up that I’ve been on my travels recently. I usually do a summer round trip to visit the Aged Parent and then the Offspring, all of whom are located fairly close together in the East Midlands. As I don’t drive, I have to make several train journeys, which are usually enjoyable; as I like to settle down with a book and a coffee and let the train take the strain, as the old slogan used to say.

However, the first leg of the journey which involves going via London was horrendous. I ended up standing all the way on a train that felt like a sardine tin and I was Not Impressed. I couldn’t even read… The rest of visit and the train travel went swimmingly, however, and I had a lovely time everywhere. Middle Child put me up (she usually does) and they all looked after me beautifully. So I had several days of socialising, eating out and of course managed to sneak in a little book shopping… (well, it wouldn’t be me if I hadn’t, would it?)

As you can see, I managed to be pretty restrained! Two new books and three second-hand is good for me, and they all felt like essential purchases.

These are the newbies. I picked up the Pessoa in Hatchards at St. Pancras Station (yes, even while rushing frantically to catch a train, I made time for shopping – and only just made my connection by the skin of my teeth…) I’ve heard such good things about the Penguin translation that I wanted to try it, and this was the first Real Bookshop I’d seen it in. The Gonzalez was a sale item in Waterstones, Kettering – ยฃ3 is a real bargain and I had this one on a mental ‘must-read’ list so that was a find!

These are two of the second-hand books, from charity shops in Kettering and Leicester. I seem to be amassing a lot of Robertson Davies without actually reading him and I must get on with it. I also have about 5 gigantic Powys books lurking. I could spend a year just reading him…

And the third second-hand book is very, very interesting:

Finding a Green Virago I want is getting harder, as I don’t intend to try to collect them all, and so I’m quite selective nowadays. “Clash” was sitting in the Age Concern Bookshop in Leicester, and the blurb on the back intrigued me – it’s set around the General Strike of 1926, and as I was feeling the need of something to counteract the hideous right-wing stuff that’s going round at the moment I grabbed it (ยฃ2 – a real bargain). It was only when I got it back to the flat and looked more closely I realised that I had a nice review copy of Wilkinson’s second book at home, waiting for me to read… Serendipity or what! I’m about a third of the way into “Clash” at the moment and loving it, and so I think I might move straight on to “Division Bell” afterwards. How exciting!

So a reasonably small haul on my travels. I did, however, arrive back to find that this lovely review copy had arrived, courtesy of Michael Walmer:

I don’t know that I even knew that F. Tennyson Jesse had a sister, but this is she, and this is her only book. Sounds like fabulous fun and I’m really looking forward to it!

Reviewing has got slightly behind while I was away – I’ve finished Marina Tsvetaeva’s Moscow Diaries for #WITmonth, and also have been dipping into Catherine the Great’s Letters. So I’ve done *some* translated women, and I am well into a Virago – hey, I’m almost sticking to my plans!! ๐Ÿ˜€

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*cough* – “Arsenal!” @BL_Publishing

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The Arsenal Stadium Mystery by Leonard Gribble

Football? On the Ramblings??? Anyone who knows me will be boggling a little at the concept; because, despite having lived near a Big Footballing Town for some decades, I’m not really a fan of 22 men kicking a ball around a pitch… However, as this rather intriguing looking little book is part of the British Library Crime Classics series, I really felt I had to give it a look – and as a non-football fan I found it actually great fun!

Author Leonard Gribble was remarkably prolific; he wrote so many crime novels that he actually had to adopt several pseudonyms. “The Arsenal Stadium Mystery” was originally published in 1939, and features Gribble’s regular detecting team of Detective Inspector Slade and Sgt. Clinton. However, as Martin Edwards’ excellent introduction makes clear, the book has some very interesting aspects to it. For a start, the actual Arsenal squad of 1939 are featured in the book as characters! The book was launched as something of a film tie-in, as a movie of the book was also released in 1939 starring Leslie Banks as Slade. This is quite audacious and probably unusual marketing for the time, and the book also came with facsimiles of the squad’s signatures, which are reproduced in the BL edition. The film apparently also featured members of the team plus manager George Allison, so the whole thing tied together well!

The Arsenal crest in 1939

But what of the book as a detective novel? Well, it opens with the Gunners (ha!) taking on a fictitious amateur side, the Trojans, in a friendly match at Highbury (then the Arsenal home ground). However, halfway through the match, one of the players drops dead on the pitch (fortunately, not a real Arsenal man but one of the Trojans…) It soon transpires that John Doyce has been murdered; but how on earth could that happen in the middle of a match, with no obvious weapon in sight? The cause of death is eventually tracked down, but the murderer is more elusive, and there are several candidates as Doyce was a womaniser and not a popular man. One of the other players has no reason to like Doyce, as the latter was messing around with his girlfriend. However, there are links to a death in the past, and it will take all of Slade’s ingenuity to solve the crime and save the name of The Beautiful Game from being dragged through the mud.

The dispersal of seventy thousand spectators is not achieved in a few minutes. At the top of Highbury Hill foot and mounted police controlled the queues invading the Arsenal Station of the Underground. More mounted police kept the crowd in Avenell Road on the move. All the tributary roads were choked with cars that had been parked throughout the game. A score of taxi-drivers who had seen an opportunity of combining business with pleasure that afternoon now tried to work their cabs through the throng, which took singularly small notice of honking horns and verbal exasperation. Peanut vendors and newsboys were exercising their lungs and taking a steady flow of coppers for their trouble. Over the crown hung a pall of tobacco smoke and dust.

“Arsenal…” was a really enjoyable mystery which rattled along at a good pace, with plenty of sleuthing, not too much football, a bit of romance on the side and plenty of characters with axes to grind. Slade and Clinton, in particular, made an entertaining team, with Clinton sticking obstinately to what seemed to him the obvious solution while Slade went off into the psychology of the case and the suspects. The latter is probably the best drawn character in the book, although I was quite fond of several of the main Trojan characters who by necessity took a more prominent position in the book; the Arsenal team were mainly more what you would call bit parts, apart from real-life manager George Allison who took quite a leading role. I had a wee inkling of who the murderer might be about halfway through, although I wasn’t sure, and although I turned out to be right the ending was nevertheless very satisfying.

“Preposterous?” Slade shrugged. “Read the evidence of most murder trials which result in a verdict of guilty. Most of it is preposterous. Because a great deal of human behaviour is preposterous. But we rarely confess the fact.”

So “The Arsenal Stadium Mystery” ended up being a worthy addition to the BLCC series. The writing may occasionally lack the sophistication of, say, a Sayers, but it makes up for this with a twisty plot, energetic action and some particularly effective prose when scene-setting. The clever publicity stunt of tying the book in with the film (which also featured the Arsenal squad) gives it an extra frisson, but this element doesn’t mean you have to like football to enjoy the book (although if you’re a fan of the game or Arsenal it will be a bit more special). It’s a fun, entertaining read, and ideal for transporting you back to times when football and its followers were less confrontational (excluding the odd murder…); also to when the concept of paying footballers stupid, stupid money would have seemed ridiculous. I did wonder whether the publication date was significant; the book came out in 1939 (the film was the November of that year), a time when the world was entering a period of turmoil and conflict, and it may have been felt that football was something to pull the nation together.

So this was a really good read and I suppose I should come clean here: although I really have no time for football nowadays, back when I was 10 I had a brief phase of following the game, and Arsenal were my team! I soon grew out of it, but nevertheless I suppose I should have been reading this book whilst cheering on Arsenal! Up the Gunners!! :))

NB – if you understand what I’m on about with the heading of this post, you’re obviously as old as I am…. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Why a visit to London is *very* dangerous for a bibliophile… #bookfinds

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Those of you who follow me on social media might have noticed I shared a little photo of a pile of books in the lovely Foyles cafe yesterday. I met up with my dear friend J. for a day out to celebrate the start of the summer break (a little tradition we seem to be developing), and by that point we were hot and laden with books. I’m afraid this is going to be a bit of a book haul post, as we *both* got a little carried away!

The joy of train travelling is being able to read – I devoured this marvellous book over the outward and return journey!

Often we meet up with a tight agenda of an exhibition to see and specific places to go, but yesterday we’d kept things loose. I had specifically said I wanted to pop into the British Library – apart from the fact it’s just a place of worship for anyone who loves books, they had a little display in their Treasure Room devoted to Karl and Eleanor Marx. Both are fascinating figures, and I recall in my teens seeing a rather wonderful BBC drama on the life of Eleanor. So we started at the BL (after a stop for coffee and stationery in Tottenham Court Road) and the Treasure Room was just wonderful. I found it ridiculously exciting to see Marx’s Reading Room slip from all those decades ago and the whole room itself is inspirational. As I pointed out to J., there was a perfect trio of manuscripts for us on display next to each other in one of the cases – Woolf, Peake and Plath. Such an inspirational place to visit, and we managed to successfully get out of the shop without purchasing after spending some time admiring a lovely display of British Library Crime Classics!

In keeping with our plan of no real plan, we ambled off and J. suggested that as we were quite close to Skoob Books we could drop in. It’s a dangerous place which I’ve only visited once, but I couldn’t resist the idea. However, as we flaneured our way in the general direction of the Brunswick Centre we happened upon a likely looking bookshop I don’t think I’ve been aware of before – Judd Books in Marchmont Street. It would of course have been rude not to go in and so we did. And this was the result for me…

The shop is a mixture of second-hand and what look to me to be remaindered books, including a lot of US editions, and was oh! so tempting. I was distracted by a number of titles, but ended up with the two above. I couldn’t not come home with the Orwell – ’nuff said. As for Khodasevich’s poems, that one was a must. I’ve only stumbled across him recently and whilst havering away trying to decide I flicked through the book. A stunning poem called “Look for Me” hit me in the eye and I was sold. It’s a beautiful hardback Overlook/Ardis edition in dual language, with translations by Peter Daniels, and so even though I can’t read Russian I can gaze in awe at the beauty of the cyrillic script while appreciating the efforts of Daniels. J. was very happy with Judd as well as she tracked down a lovely hardback edition of Willa Cather’s letters from her wishlist. So we thought this was a propitious start and drifted on in the direction of Skoob.

And as you can see, I didn’t get out unscathed… The Machado de Assis was a no-brainer as I’ve really enjoyed all of his books I’ve read so far, plus it’s a pretty little Peter Owen edition. The Maigret has a relevant year to an upcoming event (!) – plus will also give me a chance to try one of the new translations. I thought I was getting off quite lightly until I saw the Penguin Russian Writing Today anthology on my way to the till. Oh well…. J. was even happier than earlier as she found a nice edition of a Cather novel she doesn’t have – it was a Cather kind of day for her.

After this it was a bus to Foyles for tea and regrouping. Foyles itself (and its tea!) is always such a delight, and I was sorely tempted by a gigantic biography of Eleanor Marx (a Verso edition) but decided that my shoulders wouldn’t take it. J. however was seduced by a Thames and Hudson book on Frida Kahlo (we’re visiting the V& exhibition later in the year) so added to her bulging rucksack. We decided to take a break from bookshops and trotted (well, strolled at a very leisurely pace) down Charing Cross Road to make a detour into the Cas art shop (again, I bought nothing although J. invested in some art materials) and then on into the National Portrait Gallery.

This was just a flying visit, as we both have a fondness for the wonderful Allan Ramsay self-portrait that hangs there and always pop into the NPG to say hello. As the heat was increasing, we decided to bus back up to Tottenham Court Road and got distracted again by a shop called Hema – a new one to us, but it had Stationery Which Could Not Be Resisted – oh dear… After more drinks and sitting down, we decided we were too close to the LRB bookshop and the craft shop next door to say no, and paid both a visit. Again, I succeeded in restraint, but our decision to drop by the lovely Bloomsbury Oxfam was not so successful…

I thought the two Bowles books I own comprised her meagre published output, but not so it seems. This lovely volume from Sort Of collects stories, plays, sketches and letters. Again, not to be resisted…

We had just about reached our limit of endurance of heat and heavy bags, but I was still vaguely irked that the only options for books about Eleanor Marx were mahoosive. So I persuaded J. into Bookmarks, the left-wing bookstore over the road and hurrah!

Bookmarks publish a little series of “Rebel’s Guide” books and one of their subjects was indeed Eleanor Marx! It was the last copy left and of a much more manageable size!

So these were my bookish purchases yesterday:

And I don’t regret a single one! However, the story doesn’t end there, because J. arrived with some books for me which were charity shop finds she’d read and was passing on to me. However, she didn’t tell me she was bringing six.… And unfortunately I hadn’t brought a backpack so she very bravely and stoutly carted them round all day until we exchanged books at the end of the day (I had brought one for her to borrow) – now that’s friendship. And here they are:

There are only five in the picture as one of the six was a return of my copy of Guard Your Daughters which J. had borrowed.

Phew! Four nice BLCCs and a lovely Virago edition of Gertrude Stein – how wonderful! But how heavy!! They took a bit of lugging home, I can tell you…

The blog’s trusty tote guarding the books while I have a meal in Leon!

Fortunately, I had come armed with my trusty KBR tote – a gift from Middle Child which always goes to London with me, and which although small is perfectly formed and manages to hold a surprising number of books; and also enables effective smuggling of them past OH who was feeling vaguely tense at the arrival of the six from J. There was a reason for this, as a package had arrived while I was away gallivanting containing these:

I think the BL are going into overdrive, but I’m always delighted to have review books from them – these two are out in September, and I’m very keen to read them, as Symons’ books were about a lot in my younger years. However, I can empathise a little with OH’s concern – he muttered something about having to build an annexe to the house and he has a point. I think this summer will need to see a little more pruning of books….

But all in all itย  was a lovely (if warm) day out in London. It’s always wonderful to meet up with an old friend, and J. is great company. I need to put in a word for the Leon chain of restaurants too – a recent discovery for me and to which I was introduced by J. I paid two visits yesterday – one so that J. could get a late breakfast, and one for a meal later before journeying home. Their vegan options are excellent and well worth a visit!

Meantime, I need to have another bit of a book shuffle – oh dear…. =:o

British Library Crime Classics – and trains!!! @shinynewbooks @BL_Publishing

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Ahem.

As you can see, I am a little behind on my reading and reviewing of the latest releases in the wonderful British Library Crime Classics series….

However, I *have* read one title in the series recently, a rather wonderful collection of short works featuring (you’ve guessed it!) trains and entitled “Blood on the Tracks”. Put together by the excellent Martin Edwards, it’s a really strong entry into the series and absolutely unputdownable.

The book has the added bonus of a Sherlock Holmes pastiche and Lord Peter Wimsey (not in the same story, of course…) I can’t recommend this one highly enough and you can read my full review over at Shiny New Books! ๐Ÿ™‚

My Blog’s Name in Books…. :)

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There is a lovely meme doing the rounds at the moment that I’ve been umming and ahhing about, but I’ve finally succumbed! It originated with Fictionophile and basically you have to choose books from your TBR to spell out your blog name. Sounds fun, yes, and I’ve enjoyed everyone else’s posts on this; however, I hesitated for a couple of reasons. Firstly, because my TBR books are frankly all over the house; and because I figured it would take quite a lot of books. But I gave in at last, and with some helpful suggestions from OH behind the scenes, this is what I came up with:

Yes, there they are – a selection of unread books that spell out Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings! I’ve split them up into the three words (without apostrophe, of course) so that I can run through what they are. Be prepared – as my blog has a long name, this will be a long post…

First up, Kaggsys:

(The) Kremlin Ball by Curzio Malaparte – a fascinating sounding review copy from NYRB – I’mย  hoping to get this one to the top of the pile soon!

A Passionate Apprentice – early essays by Virginia Woolf – one day I would like to read through all of Woolf’s essays – one day….

(The) Great Hunger – Patrick Kavanagh – a Penguin Modern from my box set by an author I’ve not read before.

Grand Hotel Abyss by Stuart Jeffries – an interesting title picked up when Verso were having one of their regular online offers (which I can never resist – damn you Verso!)

Silas Marner by George Eliot – another lovely review copy, this time from OUP – I *may* have read this book decades ago, but I can’t be sure….

(The) Year of the Death of Ricardo Reis by Jose Saramago – I loved my first experience of reading Saramago so I’m glad I had picked this one up in the charity shop. It has connections to Pessoa, too – more of whom later in this post… ๐Ÿ˜‰

Selected Writings by John Muir – I had this on a wishlist for ages; then I had a fit of fedupness and decided to treat myself. So there you go.

Next up is Bookish:

Bats in the Belfry by E.C.R. Lorac – another beautiful review copy, this time from the British Library. It sounds fun. This meme is making me want to read all these books at once…

On the Beach At Night Alone by Walt Whitman – one of my many Penguin Little Black Classics – I need to get reading some more of those too. Plus the complete Walt Whitman that OH gave me. Gulp. Will the books to be read never end???

(The) Old Man of the Moon by Shen Fu – and another Penguin Little Black Classic. I love the diversity of Penguin books.

Keep the Aspidistra Flying by George Orwell – I was really struggling to find another K book, when OH suggested this. Now, I initially thought I’d read it but I went and had a look on my shelves anyway. And as I don’t have a paperback copy of it, I don’t think I can have – so George to look forward to!! This is a gorgeous hardback edition from a fancy box set that OH gifted me many years ago – he’s a great book enabler! ๐Ÿ™‚

I am a phenomenon quite out of the ordinary by Daniil Kharms – this has been sitting on the TBR for a while and I’ve dipped but not read properly or finished. I love Kharms’ strange and beguiling work, and I really must get back to this one.

Somebody at the Door by Raymond Postgate – another lovely from the British Library – I obviously desperately need to catch up with review books.

His Only Son by Leopoldo Alas – and yet another review book from NYRB, one about which I know nothing but I’m willing to explore!

And finally, Ramblings (goodness knows, I do enough of that…):

(The) Rings of Saturn by W.G. Sebald – I didn’t get Sebald the first time round, but I think I’m probably better placed on a second attempt – we shall see…

Aurora Leigh by Elizabeth Barrett Browning – another gift from my book-enabling OH who thought it was a pioneering feminist work I should have. I don’t think I’ve read it before, so on the TBR it sits.

Memoirs from Beyond the Grave by Chateaubriand – a review copy from NYRB which is fascinating so far (I *have* started it, I confess) and which promises to stretch into the French Revolution – so *that* should be good! ๐Ÿ™‚

(The) Book of Disquiet by Fernando Pessoa – which I’ve been intending to read for ages and which has links to the Saramago above. But I keep wondering which translation/version is best to read – any advice out there??

Looking Backward by Edward Bellamy – early sci fi which has been lurking for ages and which I might have nicked from Eldest Child (the sci fi buff of the family). One day I will read this…

Iconoclasm in revolutionary Paris by Richard Clay – #Iconoclasm #FrenchRevolution #ProfRichardClay #Coveted book I finally got a copy of. ‘Nuff said…

Notes of a Crocodile by Qui Miaojin – have you noticed several NYRB review books in this meme? I should catch up, I really should…

(The) Gigolo by Francoise Sagan – another Penguin Modern. I have had mixed experiences with Sagan so it will be interesting to find out how I react to this one!

Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen – I have only read a couple of Austens, despite owning them all (sometimes multiple copies). Perhaps this gorgeous hardback review copy from OUP will help a bit.

*****

There – I told you it would be a long post! So what does this tell you about me and my TBR? Probably that I have a grasshopper mind, refuse to stick to genres or types of books, and that I have more books than I need and that I’ll probably die before I read them all. At least I’ll be ok for reading matter if there’s a zombie apocalypse…

Dipping into Detection

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Yes, I’m afraid there’s been *more* dipping going on at the Ramblings! I think it must be a necessary counterpoint to all the Big Review Books I’m reading at the moment; I’ve obviously felt the need to also read something I can actually *finish* fairly quickly…

“Great Tales of Detection”, an unassuming looking collection (the cover is a bit dull, isn’t it?) from 1936, which was reprinted in 1976, came from a charity shop trawl recently; and I picked it up a) because it was edited by Dorothy L. Sayers and b) because the contents were by lots of lovely favourite crime authors and I think several are stories by them I haven’t read! So it was definitely one to come home with me. From the Oxfam if I recall correctly, and not too pricey (they seem to have had a bit of an overhaul since and the cost of some of their books seems to have suddenly spiked – which is a bit daft, because this has made me put several back on the shelves…)

Anyway, I have dipped, reading a short extract entitled “Was it Murder?” by Robert Louis Stevenson with a very entertaining take on how you actually define murder if the murderer wasn’t present and nothing can be proved! But the other story I found myself glued to was “The Yellow Slugs” a very dark little tale by H.C. Bailey, whom I’ve read before. Bailey’s detective was Reggie Fortune, a doctor with a strong hatred of cruelty, and I first made his acquaintance in the wonderful British Library Crime Classics collection “Capital Crimes” back in 2015. The stories there impressed me, and I did say how keen I was to read more about Reggie. Now, I know there is an e-book lurking somewhere on my tablet, but I always forget about those, so this was the first story I turned to in this anthology.

“The Yellow Slugs” opens with a tragic-sounding case; a teenage boy apparently going off the rails and accused of trying to drown his younger sister. Is the boy insane or just a nasty piece of work? Reggie is called into the case in his role as a doctor, but he soon sees there is more to things than meets the eye and of course starts to investigate.

It’s not a straightforward crime; all the evidence supports the boy being a bad lot, and the pious and upset parents, as well as their genteel lodger, seem blameless. However, an actual murder is discovered and it takes all Reggie’s persistence and ingenuity to get to the truth of the matter – which is clever, chilling and quite fiendish.

I was just as impressed with Bailey’s storytelling as when I first read his Reggie Fortune stories and I really *can’t* understand why his work is out of fashion. The plotting and characterisation are excellent, the scenario dark and compelling and it’s edge of the seat stuff while you desperately will Reggie on to sort things out. Bring back Reggie Fortune stories, I say!

The rest of the book looks to have plenty of treasures too: there are a number of authors here who have been picked up and celebrated by the British Library Crime Classics imprint, including John Rhode, Anthony Berkeley, Freeman Wills Crofts and R. Austin Freeman. A number of other familiar names are here, too, from my readings of Detection Club composite works, such as Father Ronald Knox and Milward Kennedy. And of course, there are Agatha and Dorothy…

So a positive cornucopia of delights into which to dip as an alternative to Big and Intense Books: you can look forward to hearing more about the stories in this volume when I need a quick crime break! ๐Ÿ™‚

A light-hearted and entertaining escapade @BL_Publishing

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Calamity in Kent by John Rowland

I’m gradually making my way through the lovely pile of British Library Crime Classics that seem to have amassed at the Ramblings lately; some as gifts and some as review copies from the rather super BL. Other Half presented me with two titles I don’t have over the festive season in the form of John Rowland’s pair of crime adventures, and I posted about “Murder in the Museum” here. The other one is “Calamity in Kent”, published much later than “Museum” in 1950, and it turned out to be an enjoyable, if perhaps a little light, read.

“Calamity” once again features Rowland’s regular detective, Shelley, but like the earlier book is narrated by a character from outside the police force who manages to become involved in the investigation. That person is Jimmy London, a Fleet Street reporter who’s convalescing in the Kent seaside town of Broadgate (a kind of amalgamation of Broadstairs and Margate, it seems). As the book opens, he’s startled to be in on the discovery of a dead body in the cliff-side railway; but the lift was locked from the outside and there is only one set of keys, so Jimmy (and the reader) are instantly faced with a potential locked room mystery. Despite the fact that he’s recovering from a (mysterious and unspecified) illness, London’s reporter instincts kick in and he’s fortunate to find that an old friend, in the form of Inspector Shelley, is down in Broadgate and gets put on the case; doubly fortunate, because the local Inspector takes an instant dislike to him!

Shelley, however, is a more imaginative man and is happy to ally himself to external investigators who can possibly wheedle things out of people which a policeman wouldn’t. Soon, Jimmy and Shelley are hot on the trail, tracking down the murdered man’s fiancรฉe and business associates. However, another murder follows hot on the heels of the first, and the detecting duo are hard pressed to find out the reason for the killings or indeed identify the killer him/herself. It seems that there is a possible angle of black marketeering, but the items being sold on are so varied that it’s hard to work out what’s going on. However, a chance remark by a suspect’s girlfriend gives them a hint as to what might be going on behind the scenes, and it’s then that things get dangerous…

A cliff side railway – hopefully with no dead bodies inside….

“Calamity in Kent” was great fun to read, although not so much a pure crime classic as a criminal caper with thriller elements. Shelley and London are an entertaining pair, and watching London gathering his material and spinning what he could to a Fleet Street editor was very entertaining. The plot was also intriguing, although not entirely unpredictable, and the supporting characters were perhaps a tad 2D. But I liked Jimmy’s enthusiastic narration, and the story was fast-paced with the action never being allowed to flag. In fact, ‘action’ is a good word to apply to the latter half of the book as it ended up going at a bit of a breakneck pace with Jimmy becoming a potential victim, kidnappings, murder threats, gangs and a ringleader who I actually didn’t suspect although that was quite cleverly done and looking back I should have picked up on it!

The setting was rather nicely evoked as well, with the typical British seaside town, full of a variety of hotels and boarding houses, landladies ranging from motherly to grim, and of course the ubiquitous English pub (although one of those does turn out to be not what it seems). And the 1950s era is also fun to see, still suffering from post-War shortages and rationing – it’s timely to be reminded that this latter continued for 9 more years after the end of WW2 and so there was still a burgeoning trade in restricted items.

I’ve found quite a bit of variety in my readings of the British Library Crime Classics; some are books of real substance, playing with the genre, such as Anthony Berkeley’s “The Poisoned Chocolates Case”; others are definitely lighter, more of a frothy confection if you like, and certainly “Calamity in Kent” falls into that latter category as Martin Edwards acknowledges in his introduction. This is not necessarily a criticism, and I did thoroughly enjoy my reading of it – just right when you need a bit of old-fashioned escapism!

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