The Devil’s Flute Murders by Seishi Yokomizo (tr. Jim Rion)

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The Devil’s Flute Murders, first published in Japanese in 1953, is the fifth of Seishi Yokomizo’s detective novels to be made available in new English translations by Pushkin Press. I’ve now read all five of them and enjoyed some more than others; I think this is one of the best, along with The Inugami Curse and The Honjin Murders.

In this book, set in 1947, Yokomizo’s dishevelled, nervous, stammering detective, Kosuke Kindaichi, is approached by a young woman who wants him to investigate the disappearance of her father, Hidesuke Tsubaki. Tsubaki, who had been a viscount until the recent abolition of the Japanese aristocracy, was found dead in the woods several weeks after leaving his family home, but although his daughter Mineko was the one to identify the body, she now has reason to believe he isn’t dead at all. There have been sightings of a man closely resembling Tsubaki in the grounds of the family estate and sounds of the haunting flute playing for which he was famous in his lifetime.

That evening, Kindaichi is invited to a séance at the Tsubaki home, which has been arranged by the viscount’s widow in the hope of discovering whether her husband is alive or dead. At the end of the event, a recording of Tsubaki’s final composition, The Devil Comes and Plays His Flute, begins to play by itself – and next morning, Kindaichi hears the news that another family member has been found dead in a locked room during the night. Who is responsible for the murder? Is the viscount’s ghost really haunting the family estate? And what is the meaning of the strange symbol found at the scene of the crime?

Yokomizo’s plots are always clever and fascinating and don’t rely quite as heavily on complex puzzle-solving as some of the books I’ve read by other Japanese classic crime authors. Understanding the relationships between the characters, their family secrets and their personalities and motives is just as important as working out how the crimes were committed. I guessed who the culprit was but didn’t know why they did it – I’m not sure if it would have been possible to know until the backstory of each character was revealed, but maybe I missed some clues.

Something else I like about this series is the insight the books offer into life in Japan during the post-WWII years. In The Devil’s Flute Murders the shadow cast by the war is particularly strong. There are mentions of food shortages, problems with electricity supplies and overcrowded, unreliable public transport. The new constitution drafted by the Allies during the occupation of Japan is the reason why Tsubaki and other members of the nobility have lost their titles, while bombed out houses and damage from fire has led to Tsubaki’s extended family all coming to live on the former viscount’s estate, bringing them together in one place for the events of the novel to play out.

This is the first book in the series to be translated by Jim Rion (the others have been translated by Louise Heal Kawai, Bryan Karetnyk and Yumiko Yamazaki). I think all of the translators have done a good job and I haven’t noticed any real differences in quality or readability between the different translations. My only problem with this one came when Kindaichi’s investigations take him from the Tsubaki home in Tokyo to Awaji Island near Kobe in the west and I found the way Rion chooses to write the western accent slightly odd and jarring. Of course, I appreciate how difficult it must be to capture nuances of accent and dialect in a translation!

I’m already looking forward to the next Kindaichi mystery, The Little Sparrow Murders, which is due to be published next May and sounds just as intriguing as the others.

Thanks to Pushkin Vertigo for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

The Water Child by Mathew West

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I enjoyed Mathew West’s first novel, The House of Footsteps, an eerie ghost story set in the 1920s, so I was looking forward to reading his new book, The Water Child. It’s quite different, in both setting and tone, but overall I liked this one as well.

The Water Child is set in Portugal in 1754. Cecilia Lamb is anxiously awaiting the return of her husband John, a Scottish sea captain, who has been away on his latest voyage for much longer than expected. It seems likely that the ship has been wrecked and John is dead, but Cecilia hasn’t given up hope. She spends her days wandering the docks, staring out to sea, certain that her husband is still out there somewhere.

As a young woman alone in an unfamiliar country, this is a difficult time for Cecilia and she struggles to come to terms with John’s absence, beginning to have visions, to hear voices and to suffer from a mysterious sickness. Until she knows for certain that her husband won’t come back, she is unable to mourn or to make arrangements to return to her own family in England – and even if he does come back, will he still be the same person he was when he went away?

Mathew West writes beautifully and creates an almost hypnotic atmosphere as Cecilia moves from one day to the next as if in a dream, watching and waiting, trapped in time until she receives some definite news and can start to move forward. Despite the long absence of her husband (and I’m not going to tell you whether he ever reappears or not), Cecilia does form other relationships – with her maid, Rosalie, and with some other women who understand what it’s like to be the wife of a sailor, while at the same time not fully understanding what is going on inside Cecilia’s mind. West’s previous book had much stronger supernatural elements, but in this one they’re a lot more subtle and it’s open to interpretation whether you think the things Cecilia sees and hears have paranormal explanations or more practical ones.

There are some lovely and vivid descriptions of 1750s Portugal, so I was intrigued by Mathew West’s comments at the end of the book that the Portugal he describes probably never existed and owes as much to fantasy as reality, although he also says that he carried out a lot of research into certain details. I don’t have much knowledge of Portugal in that period (the only other book I’ve read with the same setting is Linda Holeman’s novel, The Devil on Her Tongue), so I would have been interested to hear more about what was real and what was fictional.

There’s one more thing I want to mention; I don’t usually give trigger warnings for books, but there is a brief scene of animal cruelty towards the end of the book which doesn’t really feel necessary and I’m sure the author could have found another way to illustrate the cruelty of the person involved. Otherwise, The Water Child is a dark, unsettling and fascinating novel, slow to begin but picking up pace towards the end. I’ll be interested to see what setting Mathew West chooses next, having written two such different books so far.

Thanks to HarperNorth for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

This is book 46/50 for the 2023 Historical Fiction Reading Challenge.

The Christmas Appeal by Janice Hallett – #NovNov23

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In this new novella, published just in time for Christmas, Janice Hallett returns to the world of her earlier novel, The Appeal. Once again, newly qualified lawyers Femi and Charlotte are sent a folder of documents and are challenged by their former mentor, the now retired Roderick Tanner, to read through them all and solve the mystery they contain. And once again, the mystery unfolds in the town of Lower Lockwood where the amateur theatrical group known as The Fairway Players are preparing to stage another play, with the aim of raising money for the church roof appeal. This time, it’s that great British tradition, the Christmas pantomime! This year’s choice is Jack and the Beanstalk and rehearsals are about to begin.

Sarah-Jane MacDonald, the fundraising expert from The Appeal, and her husband Kevin have now been elected as co-chairs of The Fairway Players, a move that not everybody is happy with – particularly not Celia Halliday, who believes that she should be the one running the group. Celia is determined to do whatever it takes to prevent Jack and the Beanstalk from being a success, but it seems that the pantomime is already destined to be a disaster and anything that can go wrong will go wrong. What has happened to the young couple who auditioned for parts and have never been seen or heard from since? Is it true that the giant beanstalk Sarah-Jane wants to use as a prop is made of deadly asbestos? Is it really a good idea to use a script written in the 1970s? And whose is the dead body that appears on the night of the performance?

Like The Appeal, this book is written entirely in the form of emails, texts, WhatsApp messages and other types of media. If you’ve read the first book you’ll already be familiar with many of the characters which will make things easier to follow, but if not I don’t think it will be too much of a problem as this one should also work as a standalone. The format of the book allows the different personalities of the characters to shine through very strongly, from bossy Sarah-Jane to snobbish Celia, so you should be able to get to know them quickly.

I found this a more light-hearted book than The Appeal, with lots of humorous misunderstandings and funny moments (I particularly loved Kevin attempting to buy ‘sweets’ to hand out to the children on performance night and accidentally purchasing something completely different instead). I felt that Hallett was trying to make this an entertaining festive read rather than a more serious crime novel, which does mean that the actual mystery is quite weak. The solution relies heavily on information that is only revealed by Tanner at the end of the book and I think it would be almost impossible to solve otherwise. As Tanner already knows all the answers, he doesn’t really need Charlotte and Femi’s assistance and there’s a sense that he has set them this task simply as a problem-solving exercise and to see what they will do with what they’ve learned.

Despite the mystery not being very strong, I enjoyed this book for the characters, the humour and the insights into staging a Christmas pantomime. Hallett’s next novel, The Examiner, out next year, seems to be unrelated to this one, but I wonder whether she’ll return to the Fairway Players in the future for another book.

Thanks to Viper for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

The Wayward Sisters by Kate Hodges

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It’s 1769 and Nancy Lockaby is on her way to Inverness where she has been invited to stay with the renowned Shakespearean scholar, Caleb Malles, to help him with his research. Nancy is a keen astronomer who has been developing a theory of her late mother’s involving an astronomical phenomenon known as ‘the Fold’ – a theory that has provoked the scorn and derision of her male colleagues at the Greenwich Observatory. Nancy isn’t sure what her role will be in Caleb’s work as she has little interest in literature, but she welcomes the opportunity to get away from the hostile atmosphere of the Observatory for a while and start a new life in Scotland.

Arriving at the large, crumbling Blackthistle House with her maid, Cora, on a cold, snowy night, Nancy is immediately unsettled by the atmosphere. Why are there lights flashing in the window of a turret? Who are the three strange women she sees in the darkness as her carriage approaches the house? Once she settles in, however, she becomes fascinated by Caleb Malles and his passion for Shakespeare’s Macbeth. She also gets to know the three women she glimpsed in the dark and finds them less threatening as she learns more of their backgrounds. But is it true that they have lived for many centuries and possess special powers? And what is Caleb’s real reason for bringing Nancy to Blackthistle House?

The Wayward Sisters is Kate Hodges’ first novel, having previously written several non-fiction books. You never really know what to expect when trying a new author and I had mixed feelings about this book, but generally more positive than negative. The first half is slow, but has a wonderfully eerie, Gothic atmosphere as Hodges sets the scene and introduces the characters. There’s a particularly memorable scene where Nancy encounters some sinister crows during a snowstorm! I had expected elements of Macbeth to be more deeply woven into the plot, but they really aren’t, apart from the presence of the three women, who clearly represent Shakespeare’s three witches, the Weird (or Wayward) Sisters. The witches have more nuance here than in the play, with each being given a detailed backstory of her own.

Kate Hodges writes very well and there are some nice descriptions to bring the Scottish setting to life, although I was surprised that the recent Jacobite Rebellions were barely mentioned as they must surely have still been having an impact on the lives of the Highlanders in the 1760s. Nancy is an interesting heroine; astronomy is an area of science where women could and did make an impact in the 18th century (the most famous female astronomer of that period was probably Caroline Herschel, the first woman to discover a comet) although it was obviously still a male-dominated field and difficult for women to be taken seriously. However, Nancy’s theories regarding the Fold begin to take the story into the realms of science fiction, particularly when the witches get involved and we discover Caleb’s motives for enlisting the services of an astronomer.

I think I would have enjoyed this book more if it had continued as the atmospheric historical fiction novel it seemed to be at first, rather than the more fantastical story it became. There’s a lot to like about The Wayward Sisters, but it wasn’t really the right book for me.

Thanks to Hodder & Stoughton for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

This is book 45/50 for the 2023 Historical Fiction Reading Challenge.

Where All Good Flappers Go: Essential Stories of the Jazz Age – edited by David M. Earle

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I’ve never considered myself to be a fan of Jazz Age fiction – but, to be fair, I’ve read very little of it, other than a few F. Scott Fitzgerald novels. When I saw that Pushkin Press had put together this collection of Jazz Age short stories, I thought it would be a good opportunity to branch out and try some new authors from that era.

This edition begins with an introduction discussing the changes following WWI that led to the birth of the ‘flapper’ as women pursued social and sexual equality, then a short 1925 essay by Zelda Fitzgerald, What Became of the Flappers?. In this essay, Fitzgerald attempts to give her own definition of what a flapper is, before revealing what she believes will happen to them in the end:

The best flapper is reticent emotionally and courageous morally. You always know what she thinks, but she does all her feeling alone. These are two characteristics which will bring social intercourse to a more charming and sophisticated level. I believe in the flapper as an artist in her particular field, the art of being – being young, being lovely, being an object.

The essay is followed by twelve short stories, most of which were originally published in various periodicals between 1920 and 1932. Apart from F. Scott Fitzgerald, all of the other authors were new to me; I had at least heard of a few of them, such as Zora Neale Hurston, Anita Loos and Dorothy Parker, but was unfamiliar with the rest. The Fitzgerald story is Bernice Bobs Her Hair, which stands out as one of the best in the book, but I expect a lot of people will have read that one so I’m going to focus on some of the less well known stories instead.

My favourite story is probably Night Club by Katharine Brush, which describes a typical night at a New York club through the eyes of Mrs Brady, who works there as a maid. Mrs Brady’s job involves looking after a dressing room, where young women come to reapply their make-up throughout the evening, therefore she gets to hear a lot of scandalous gossip involving affairs and proposals. In the world of the flapper, however, these dramas have become so commonplace that Mrs Brady is more interested in the ‘real life’ stories in her magazine!

Another I particularly enjoyed is Dawn Powell’s Not the Marrying Kind, about Aileen, who is not the kind of girl men want to marry – unlike Joan who has always known she will marry and has a ‘hope chest’ of linen ready and waiting for her special day. Then there’s Gertrude Schalk’s The Chicago Kid, in which a chorus girl at the Yellow Parrot cabaret elopes with a millionaire, which inspires Flora, a black girl from Chicago to set out to do the same. I liked the twist at the end of this one!

Despite all dealing with the common theme of the flapper lifestyle, the stories in this collection are quite diverse and include contributions by male authors and black authors, so we see things from a range of different perspectives. Rudolph Fisher’s Common Meter describes a battle-of-the-bands contest between two jazz band leaders trying to win the affections of a beautiful woman, while Viña Delmar’s Thou Shalt Not Killjoy is written in the style of a Biblical parody. I can’t claim to have enjoyed all of the stories – Dorothy Parker’s The Mantle of Whistler, a story written mostly in dialogue as a satire on the flirtatious language used by the flappers, was particularly disappointing, considering she is one of the more famous authors in the collection.

Stories by Dana Ames, John Watts and Guy Gilpatric make up the rest of the book and although, as I’ve said, I found this collection a real mixed bag, it’s always good to try something different and it was an entertaining read overall.

Thanks to Pushkin Press for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

Water by John Boyne – #NovNov23

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Water is the first in a planned quartet of novellas named after the four elements and linked by some shared characters and themes. I’ve enjoyed many of John Boyne’s longer novels so I was intrigued to see what he could do with a shorter format.

We begin with Vanessa Carvin arriving on an island off the coast of Ireland where she has rented a cottage in the hope of escaping from her past and starting a new life for herself. The first thing she does when she gets there is cut her hair and change her name to Willow, before settling into a quiet existence, going for walks, attending church and trying not to attract too much attention to herself.

The whole book is narrated by Willow and she reveals her secrets to the reader slowly, when she is ready to do so, but we know from the start that something has gone badly wrong with her marriage to Brendan Carvin, Director of the National Swimming Federation. Where is he now? What happened to their eldest daughter, Emma? Why is Willow estranged from her younger daughter, Rebecca, who refuses to answer her texts and keeps blocking Willow’s number? It takes a while for the truth to emerge but, once it does, it gives Boyne the opportunity to return to the themes he has explored in other books such as A History of Loneliness and All the Broken Places (Father Odran Yates, protagonist of the former, is even referred to once or twice as a friend of Brendan’s, strengthening the tie between the two books). These themes include the questions of whether we can be considered complicit in another person’s crimes just by choosing to look the other way when our instincts tells us something is wrong and whether there is always more we could and should have done.

Water is the title of the book, but that element is also worked into the novel in a variety of different ways. Not only is Willow’s husband a swimming coach, but the sea has a role to play in the fate of one of the other characters and Willow’s own name refers to a tree that grows by water. And of course, the island itself is surrounded by water, both physically and metaphorically separating Willow from her old life in Dublin. For such a short book (176 pages in the hardback edition) it’s a very powerful one. It deals with some difficult and uncomfortable topics but, as I’ve come to expect from Boyne, there are also some humorous moments to lighten the mood. I can’t wait to see how he tackles the other three elements; I’m already looking forward to the second book in the series, Earth, which is due in May 2024.

Thanks to Doubleday for providing a copy of this book for review via NetGalley.

The Progress of a Crime by Julian Symons

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Remember, remember, the Fifth of November,
Gunpowder, treason and plot,
I see no reason why gunpowder treason,
Should ever be forgot

It’s the fifth of November today, so no better time to review one of my recent reads, Julian Symons’ The Progress of a Crime, first published in 1960 and subtitled A Fireworks Night Mystery. For those not in the UK or familiar with British culture, this is the night when people traditionally light bonfires and set off fireworks to mark the anniversary of when Guy Fawkes was caught preparing to blow up Parliament with gunpowder in 1605. The Progress of a Crime, the first book I’ve read by Julian Symons, deals with a murder committed at a Bonfire Night celebration.

Hugh Bennett, reporter with the Gazette, has been covering a news story in the village of Far Wether on November the fifth and decides to stay on to watch the lighting of the bonfire on the village green. However, he witnesses more than just a fire that evening when a gang of youths arrive and begin throwing fireworks and causing a disturbance. Things escalate and a man is stabbed to death, but although there are many witnesses, in the darkness nobody is able to say with any certainty which of the boys was the culprit.

All of the group are arrested and questioned, but two quickly emerge as the most likely suspects: the leader, Jack ‘King’ Garney, and his most faithful friend, Leslie Gardner. There’s enough evidence to bring the two to trial and Hugh Bennett is drawn into the investigations due to both his role as a local journalist and as a witness to the crime. Hugh has his own opinions on what happened in Far Wether that night, but when he begins to fall in love with Jill Gardner, Leslie’s sister, things become more complicated.

The Progress of a Crime is an interesting portrayal of society in the early 1960s, but will probably disappoint anyone looking for a more conventional mystery novel. There’s very little suspense and not much actual ‘detecting’ as there are only really two suspects and we know who they are from the beginning. The most exciting part of the book comes in the second half when Garney and Gardner stand trial and we are given some insights into the preparations for the court case, the cross examining of the witnesses and the tensions between family members as they worry over what will happen in court.

According to Martin Edwards’ introduction, Symons took his inspiration for this novel from a real crime, and the book as a whole does feel realistic and gritty. It explores a range of topics including the causes and consequences of juvenile crime, the methods of extracting information used by the police, and the role of the press in reporting on the investigations and maybe even influencing the outcome. This British Library Crime Classics edition also features a short story by Symons, The Tigers of Subtopia, which has obviously been selected for inclusion because it covers similar themes. I can’t really say that I enjoyed either the novel or the short story as I found them quite bleak and depressing, with some very unlikeable characters, but they are interesting from a social history perspective and I would be happy to read some of Symons’ other books.