I am ending my essays about the ladies of the Golden Age of Mystery with my favorite of all of them, Ngaio Marsh. I fell in love with her sleuth Roderick Alleyn from the first book I read. I picture him as tall, dark and handsome--the way one wants a detective to be. Or at least I do. In fact when I started writing my first novel, a romance, I subconsciously named my hero Roderick Allen who lived on a Texas estate named Allensford Manor.
After I had written the first draft, I visited my mother and stepfather at their home on Lake Texoma where they had an extensive library of mystery novels. I spied their collection of Ngaio Marsh novels, grabbed one and started to read it. To my horror, I realized what I had done. Nonetheless I kept the names Allen and Allensford Manor but changed Roderick to Rockwell. I considered it my way of paying homage to Dame Ngaio.
Ngaio Marsh was born April 23, 1895 although that date can't be verified because her father didn't register her birth until 1990. She died February 18, 1982. She was born in Christchurch, New Zealand and died there also. She was made a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire in 1966.
She studied painting and became an actress with a company that toured New Zealand. According to Wikipedia, from 1928 until the end of her life she divided her time between living in the United Kingdom and in New Zealand.
According to Wikipedia, she wrote 32 detective novels featuring her British detective Roderick Alleyn. There are only two remaining that I have not read and I'm looking forward to reading them. She has been considered as one of the four original "Queens of Crime" along with Dorothy L. Sayers, Margery Allingham and Agatha Christie.
Although all of her novels feature Roderick Alleyn, several also revolve around her other main interests, the theater and painting. Alleyn even marries an artist, Agatha Troy. All but four of her novels are set in England and those four are set in New Zealand.
My favorite of her novels is Clutch of Constables although when I pick up one of her books, it's with a feeling of great joy and anticipation and now I have only two remaining.
Of course, there's no law against rereading old favorites.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Monday, March 19, 2012
Hooked From the Start, Part Five: "Never open a book with weather."
One of my literary heroes is Elmore Leonard and in his ten rules for good writing, number one is "Never open a book with weather."
Say what? In the previous installment of this series of first lines by favorite authors, I talked about Ken Follett's Eye of the Needle, which indeed did begin with weather. Gripping, icy cold weather.
And other favorite novels also begin with weather:
"She was dead. What did it matter if icy needles of freezing rain flayed her skin raw . The young woman squinted into the wind pulling her wolverine hood closer. Violent gusts whipped her bearskin wrap against her legs." From The Valley of Horses by Jean Auel. As this was the second in Auel's Earth Children series, I knew I was going to read it before I ever read the first lines. It didn't matter to me how she started it. I was hooked from the first novel in the series--truly hooked from the start but not from the first lines. And after reading the subsequent books, this one remains my favorite of all of them.
From Tony Hillerman's Listening Woman:
"The Southwest wind picked up turbulence around the San Francisco Peaks, howled across the emptiness of the Moenkopi plateau, and made a thousand strange sounds in windows of the old Hopi villages at Shongopovi and Second Mesa." This was the first of Hillerman's novels that I read and I read it because I saw an interview with him on the Today Show. My interest was peaked because of the subject matter and his Navajo policemen. And after reading this book, I was determined to read every book by Hillerman. The first lines had nothing to do with my love of his books. On a side note, three years after reading Listening Woman and several of his other books, I found myself substitute teaching on a Ute reservation in SW Colorado. I remember one cold winter day when the students were quietly working, I looked out the window on the barren landscape and the mesas in the distance. A feeling of peace and tranquility came over me along with the realization that I was in Hillerman country. Incidentally, Hillerman's books were on the shelves of that classroom.
My first published novel The Pig Farm (by my alter ego Chancey Hernández) began with a reference to weather:
"The tropical night air lay heavy and dense as three men stumbled and shuffled over the stone pavement of the dark, narrow street." Whether or not those words would prevent someone from reading the novel, I have no idea. I hoped when I wrote them that they would entice readers to want to read the novel.
However, with my subsequent novels, I have not opened with weather references, heeding Leonard's advice. The Pool Lizards (the sequel to The Pig Farm) begins this way: "A body was floating in the pool Sunday morning but it was a while before I or anyone else noticed it." That first line was read at a meeting of romance authors and one lady raised her hand and said those lines made her want to read the novel. And The Pool Lizards is most definitely not a romance novel!
So, I try not to start with weather when I begin writing a novel but if weather is the subject of another author's first sentence, I will still read the novel. In fact, this leads me to the next topic in this series. Many times I am hooked from the start not with first lines but with the title such as Death in Zanzibar by M. M. Kaye.
Say what? In the previous installment of this series of first lines by favorite authors, I talked about Ken Follett's Eye of the Needle, which indeed did begin with weather. Gripping, icy cold weather.
And other favorite novels also begin with weather:
"She was dead. What did it matter if icy needles of freezing rain flayed her skin raw . The young woman squinted into the wind pulling her wolverine hood closer. Violent gusts whipped her bearskin wrap against her legs." From The Valley of Horses by Jean Auel. As this was the second in Auel's Earth Children series, I knew I was going to read it before I ever read the first lines. It didn't matter to me how she started it. I was hooked from the first novel in the series--truly hooked from the start but not from the first lines. And after reading the subsequent books, this one remains my favorite of all of them.
From Tony Hillerman's Listening Woman:
"The Southwest wind picked up turbulence around the San Francisco Peaks, howled across the emptiness of the Moenkopi plateau, and made a thousand strange sounds in windows of the old Hopi villages at Shongopovi and Second Mesa." This was the first of Hillerman's novels that I read and I read it because I saw an interview with him on the Today Show. My interest was peaked because of the subject matter and his Navajo policemen. And after reading this book, I was determined to read every book by Hillerman. The first lines had nothing to do with my love of his books. On a side note, three years after reading Listening Woman and several of his other books, I found myself substitute teaching on a Ute reservation in SW Colorado. I remember one cold winter day when the students were quietly working, I looked out the window on the barren landscape and the mesas in the distance. A feeling of peace and tranquility came over me along with the realization that I was in Hillerman country. Incidentally, Hillerman's books were on the shelves of that classroom.
My first published novel The Pig Farm (by my alter ego Chancey Hernández) began with a reference to weather:
"The tropical night air lay heavy and dense as three men stumbled and shuffled over the stone pavement of the dark, narrow street." Whether or not those words would prevent someone from reading the novel, I have no idea. I hoped when I wrote them that they would entice readers to want to read the novel.
However, with my subsequent novels, I have not opened with weather references, heeding Leonard's advice. The Pool Lizards (the sequel to The Pig Farm) begins this way: "A body was floating in the pool Sunday morning but it was a while before I or anyone else noticed it." That first line was read at a meeting of romance authors and one lady raised her hand and said those lines made her want to read the novel. And The Pool Lizards is most definitely not a romance novel!
So, I try not to start with weather when I begin writing a novel but if weather is the subject of another author's first sentence, I will still read the novel. In fact, this leads me to the next topic in this series. Many times I am hooked from the start not with first lines but with the title such as Death in Zanzibar by M. M. Kaye.
Monday, March 5, 2012
The Golden Age of Mystery: Josephine Tey
This week as I continue my little essays on the ladies of The Golden Age of Mystery, my subject is Josephine Tey, a pen name used by Scottish author Elizabeth Mackintosh (1896-1952). She also wrote plays under the pen name Gordon Daviot.
She created Scotland Yard Inspector Alan Grant as her sleuth and wrote five novels featuring him. The Daughter of Time is considered to be one of the best, if not the best, mystery novel of all time. Alan Grant also appears in a sixth novel The Franchise Affair as a minor character. She wrote two other mystery novels that did not feature Grant.
Although her mystery novel output was small compared to other writers of the Golden Age of Mystery, she had great influence on authors such as Mary Stewart and Elizabeth Peters (pen name of Barbara Mertz). She is mentioned in Stephen King's novella Apt Pupil. Nicola Upson wrote a series titled the Josephine Tey Mysteries in which Tey is the main character.
It has been many years since I read her mysteries and, as a result of researching this little piece, I want to go back and reread them. I am also intrigued by the Nicola Upson series.
She created Scotland Yard Inspector Alan Grant as her sleuth and wrote five novels featuring him. The Daughter of Time is considered to be one of the best, if not the best, mystery novel of all time. Alan Grant also appears in a sixth novel The Franchise Affair as a minor character. She wrote two other mystery novels that did not feature Grant.
Although her mystery novel output was small compared to other writers of the Golden Age of Mystery, she had great influence on authors such as Mary Stewart and Elizabeth Peters (pen name of Barbara Mertz). She is mentioned in Stephen King's novella Apt Pupil. Nicola Upson wrote a series titled the Josephine Tey Mysteries in which Tey is the main character.
It has been many years since I read her mysteries and, as a result of researching this little piece, I want to go back and reread them. I am also intrigued by the Nicola Upson series.
Monday, February 27, 2012
A Strange Odor and Apple Peelings
A STRANGE ODOR
On the Oklahoma farm where I lived when I was a very little girl, my parents began to notice something very strange about me. When I came in from playing outside, they noticed dirt around my mouth and that I had very bad breath. Finally, my mother decided to watch what I did when I went out to play.
The next day when I walked out of the kitchen, Mother stood behind the screen door and watched me head for the garden nearby. I went to the rows of onions and began pulling them up and eating them!
Even at such an early age I liked strong-tasting foods!
APPLE PEELINGS
When my brother Mike and I were little, Mother for some reason thought that apple peelings weren’t good for us although in those days fruit wasn’t sprayed with insecticides and herbicides as it is today. She carefully peeled the apples and quartered them for us to eat.
However, I much preferred the tangy taste of the peelings and while she was peeling and looking away, I would quietly grab some and run to the bedroom and hide under the bed to eat them. I would tell Mike to do the same thing although I doubt if he understood why he should do this. (In those days he usually did what I told him.)
Of course, eventually Mother found us hiding under the bed eating apple peelings and must have realized that they couldn’t have harmed us.
When I told this story to my two youngest grandchildren, they thought it was hilarious that I would have to hide under a bed to eat apple peelings. Of course, I didn't have to do that but I thought I did.
On the Oklahoma farm where I lived when I was a very little girl, my parents began to notice something very strange about me. When I came in from playing outside, they noticed dirt around my mouth and that I had very bad breath. Finally, my mother decided to watch what I did when I went out to play.
The next day when I walked out of the kitchen, Mother stood behind the screen door and watched me head for the garden nearby. I went to the rows of onions and began pulling them up and eating them!
Even at such an early age I liked strong-tasting foods!
APPLE PEELINGS
When my brother Mike and I were little, Mother for some reason thought that apple peelings weren’t good for us although in those days fruit wasn’t sprayed with insecticides and herbicides as it is today. She carefully peeled the apples and quartered them for us to eat.
However, I much preferred the tangy taste of the peelings and while she was peeling and looking away, I would quietly grab some and run to the bedroom and hide under the bed to eat them. I would tell Mike to do the same thing although I doubt if he understood why he should do this. (In those days he usually did what I told him.)
Of course, eventually Mother found us hiding under the bed eating apple peelings and must have realized that they couldn’t have harmed us.
When I told this story to my two youngest grandchildren, they thought it was hilarious that I would have to hide under a bed to eat apple peelings. Of course, I didn't have to do that but I thought I did.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Hooked From the Start, Part Four: The Eye of the Needle by Ken Follett
Continuing my series on the first lines of some of my favorite novels, this month I concentrate on The Eye of the Needle. I loved this book and the movie. It was the first Ken Follett novel that I read many years ago and remains my favorite out of all his books.
The first lines:
"It was the coldest winter for forty-five years. Villages in the English countryside were cut off by the snow and the Thames froze over. One day in January the Glasgow-London train arrived at Euston twenty-four hours late."
it has been such a long time since I read the book (first published in 1978 as Storm Island) that I cannot remember what drew me to it. I doubt however that the first lines had anything to do with it. More than likely it was the genre: a WWII spy thriller.
But today as I read the above lines, I shiver as I read them and I wonder what I thought the first time, perhaps expecting something dire to happen during that cold winter. Dire things do happen as a German spy kills people with a stiletto (hence his name "The Needle") and is then sent to Aberdeen, Scotland where he sets out on a small trawler to meet a U-boat but he is not used to the open sea and becomes shipwrecked on an island called Storm Island, The island is inhabited by a young married couple. The husband lost his legs in a car crash and his young beautiful wife tires of him and their loveless marriage. And then enters an exciting but unknowingly murderous German spy.
No, those first lines did not entice me but they provided an icy terror as I read about the young wife and the attraction she felt for the German spy.
And this leads me to the topic of the next article in this series: From another of my all-time favorite authors, Elmore Leonard: "Never open a book with weather."
The first lines:
"It was the coldest winter for forty-five years. Villages in the English countryside were cut off by the snow and the Thames froze over. One day in January the Glasgow-London train arrived at Euston twenty-four hours late."
it has been such a long time since I read the book (first published in 1978 as Storm Island) that I cannot remember what drew me to it. I doubt however that the first lines had anything to do with it. More than likely it was the genre: a WWII spy thriller.
But today as I read the above lines, I shiver as I read them and I wonder what I thought the first time, perhaps expecting something dire to happen during that cold winter. Dire things do happen as a German spy kills people with a stiletto (hence his name "The Needle") and is then sent to Aberdeen, Scotland where he sets out on a small trawler to meet a U-boat but he is not used to the open sea and becomes shipwrecked on an island called Storm Island, The island is inhabited by a young married couple. The husband lost his legs in a car crash and his young beautiful wife tires of him and their loveless marriage. And then enters an exciting but unknowingly murderous German spy.
No, those first lines did not entice me but they provided an icy terror as I read about the young wife and the attraction she felt for the German spy.
And this leads me to the topic of the next article in this series: From another of my all-time favorite authors, Elmore Leonard: "Never open a book with weather."
Monday, February 6, 2012
Life’s Embarrassing Moments: Locked out on a Rooftop
Many years ago my young son and I lived in Puerto Rico with a Cuban lady and her three children on the second floor of a spacey, new, modern house. The house faced a busy highway that connected San Juan to Caguas, a city in the interior. A frontage street ran between the house and highway. We entered our living quarters via a narrow staircase, which was located next to the garage on the right side of the house. Above the garage was a large concrete porch with a nice view where we did our laundry. One of the kitchen doors opened onto this porch. On the opposite side of the house was a corresponding porch, which led to the living room. Neither porch had a roof. A waist-high concrete railing lined each porch and a ledge below the railings encircled the top floor of the house.
Monday was my day off from the Sears Retail Distribution Center where I worked as training coordinator, one of the most enjoyable jobs I’ve ever had. On Mondays I did my laundry early and then I would catch a bus for the beaches in the Condado area of San Juan. My son was in a pre-kindergarten, the Cuban lady room-mate was at work in a business across the highway and her children were at school. It was my day of complete freedom.
On one bright sunny Monday morning, I straggled out onto the laundry porch after everyone had left. I had on nothing but a faded little housedress. I was also barefoot. I put the clothes in the washer and went back into the kitchen for breakfast. Thirty minutes later I went out to hang up my clothes on the clotheslines. It was now a quite windy day and I knew my clothes would dry in no time and I could leave early for the beach. But the wind blew the kitchen door shut and in horror I remembered that it could only be opened from the inside.! I was stranded for the morning, at least, on that porch!
I had no idea if the Cuban lady would come home for lunch or not but, at any rate, that was hours away. I began to panic. I desperately wanted to get back into the house. I was having “lock-out claustrophobia” or some such panic attack! Then I had the brilliant idea of climbing over the railing to the ledge and crawling around to the other porch.
No sooner had I climbed over and found myself standing on the ledge clutching the top of the railing did I remember that the living room door was locked also. Then looking down, a fear of heights swept over me. Although paralyzed with fear I finally managed to sit on the ledge, dangling bare legs and bare feet, wondering how I was going to get out of this predicament. Traffic was roaring past. It was a normal day, everyone was busy and minding one’s own business, no one paying any attention to me. Or so I thought.
Then I saw the milk truck slowly approaching up the frontage street and I knew I had found my savior. When the truck finally pulled into our driveway and stopped a few feet away, I rather timidly asked the driver as he got out, “¿Me ayuda bajar, por favor?”
He got back into the truck and pulled it up until the car was directly under me. Then he got out, raised his hand to mine as I leaned over and helped glide me onto the roof of the cab and then to the ground. At that a loud ovation broke out. The entire neighborhood had suddenly gathered and I had not even noticed them!
Extremely embarrassed I turned to open the gate to the stairs and to my dismay discovered it was locked also! Luckily one of the neighbors ran across the highway for the Cuban lady who came quickly to let me in! Sadly, it was too late for my sojourn to the beach.
Now one would think I had learned my lesson about being locked out on rooftops but many years later, it happened again! This time I was living in an apartment building with a friend in Marbella, Spain. We washed our clothes in the apartment but took them to the roof to hang them to dry. One had to be very careful to make sure the door to the roof remained unlocked because it could only be unlocked from the inside. As I was hanging my clothes, another tenant appeared, gathered his clothes, left and, for some reason, locked the door.
And there I was once again, stranded on a rooftop. Granted I had a beautiful view of the Mediterranean, Gibraltar to the southwest and the Atlas Mountains of Africa across the sea but at the moment that view was the last thing I cared about. I walked around the roof and discovered that I could see the porch below in front of our apartment. I started screaming for my roommate but she didn’t appear. I don’t know how long I was there growing panicky by the moment when finally she ambled out onto the porch and I started yelling. She looked up, disappeared into the apartment and finally reappeared, walked up the stairs and unlocked the rooftop door.
And that was the last time I hung my clothes out to dry on that rooftop or any other.
Monday was my day off from the Sears Retail Distribution Center where I worked as training coordinator, one of the most enjoyable jobs I’ve ever had. On Mondays I did my laundry early and then I would catch a bus for the beaches in the Condado area of San Juan. My son was in a pre-kindergarten, the Cuban lady room-mate was at work in a business across the highway and her children were at school. It was my day of complete freedom.
On one bright sunny Monday morning, I straggled out onto the laundry porch after everyone had left. I had on nothing but a faded little housedress. I was also barefoot. I put the clothes in the washer and went back into the kitchen for breakfast. Thirty minutes later I went out to hang up my clothes on the clotheslines. It was now a quite windy day and I knew my clothes would dry in no time and I could leave early for the beach. But the wind blew the kitchen door shut and in horror I remembered that it could only be opened from the inside.! I was stranded for the morning, at least, on that porch!
I had no idea if the Cuban lady would come home for lunch or not but, at any rate, that was hours away. I began to panic. I desperately wanted to get back into the house. I was having “lock-out claustrophobia” or some such panic attack! Then I had the brilliant idea of climbing over the railing to the ledge and crawling around to the other porch.
No sooner had I climbed over and found myself standing on the ledge clutching the top of the railing did I remember that the living room door was locked also. Then looking down, a fear of heights swept over me. Although paralyzed with fear I finally managed to sit on the ledge, dangling bare legs and bare feet, wondering how I was going to get out of this predicament. Traffic was roaring past. It was a normal day, everyone was busy and minding one’s own business, no one paying any attention to me. Or so I thought.
Then I saw the milk truck slowly approaching up the frontage street and I knew I had found my savior. When the truck finally pulled into our driveway and stopped a few feet away, I rather timidly asked the driver as he got out, “¿Me ayuda bajar, por favor?”
He got back into the truck and pulled it up until the car was directly under me. Then he got out, raised his hand to mine as I leaned over and helped glide me onto the roof of the cab and then to the ground. At that a loud ovation broke out. The entire neighborhood had suddenly gathered and I had not even noticed them!
Extremely embarrassed I turned to open the gate to the stairs and to my dismay discovered it was locked also! Luckily one of the neighbors ran across the highway for the Cuban lady who came quickly to let me in! Sadly, it was too late for my sojourn to the beach.
Now one would think I had learned my lesson about being locked out on rooftops but many years later, it happened again! This time I was living in an apartment building with a friend in Marbella, Spain. We washed our clothes in the apartment but took them to the roof to hang them to dry. One had to be very careful to make sure the door to the roof remained unlocked because it could only be unlocked from the inside. As I was hanging my clothes, another tenant appeared, gathered his clothes, left and, for some reason, locked the door.
And there I was once again, stranded on a rooftop. Granted I had a beautiful view of the Mediterranean, Gibraltar to the southwest and the Atlas Mountains of Africa across the sea but at the moment that view was the last thing I cared about. I walked around the roof and discovered that I could see the porch below in front of our apartment. I started screaming for my roommate but she didn’t appear. I don’t know how long I was there growing panicky by the moment when finally she ambled out onto the porch and I started yelling. She looked up, disappeared into the apartment and finally reappeared, walked up the stairs and unlocked the rooftop door.
And that was the last time I hung my clothes out to dry on that rooftop or any other.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
The Golden Age of Mystery: Mary Roberts Rinehart
Mary Roberts Rinehart is often considered as the American Agatha Christie. However, she was sixteen years older than Dame Agatha and began her writing career before her. Some people say she was the creator of "The butler did it" phrase but apparently she never used it. According to Wikipedia, "She is considered to have invented the "Had-I-But-Known" school of mystery writing."
My favorite novels by Rinehart are The Red Lamp and The Wall. Many years have passed since I read The Red Lamp and I had to research the novel to refresh my memory. It is a seemingly supernatural story, eerily suspenseful. I read The Wall in recent years and was impressed by its clever plot regarding the murder victim who was beautiful and devious and hated by apparently everyone. This past year I read The Bat, "a costumed super criminal", which, according to Wikipedia was one of the sources of inspiration for Batman although I couldn't see a connection at all.
In 1907, she wrote The Circular Staircase, the novel that made her famous. I remember reading it during a visit to Cuernavaca, Mexico many years ago. I must have found it in a bookstore that sold used books to tourists.
Luckily, I have not read all of her books and have many hours of pleasurable reading ahead of me.
My favorite novels by Rinehart are The Red Lamp and The Wall. Many years have passed since I read The Red Lamp and I had to research the novel to refresh my memory. It is a seemingly supernatural story, eerily suspenseful. I read The Wall in recent years and was impressed by its clever plot regarding the murder victim who was beautiful and devious and hated by apparently everyone. This past year I read The Bat, "a costumed super criminal", which, according to Wikipedia was one of the sources of inspiration for Batman although I couldn't see a connection at all.
In 1907, she wrote The Circular Staircase, the novel that made her famous. I remember reading it during a visit to Cuernavaca, Mexico many years ago. I must have found it in a bookstore that sold used books to tourists.
Luckily, I have not read all of her books and have many hours of pleasurable reading ahead of me.
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