Murder as a Fine Art by Carol Carnac

After reading Murder in Vienna, written under Edith Caroline Rivett’s pen name, E.C.R. Lorac, I approached Murder as a Fine Art with eager anticipation. But I have spent much of my reading time lately feeling tired, which may explain why this one published under her lesser known pen name, Carol Carnac, at first, failed to grab me. However, I prevailed, got some sleep, and by the midway point I was really enjoying this classic mystery set in March.

After the first and second Minister of Fine Arts died shortly after taking up the position, Humphry David is the third in line. It is his job to get things in order, despite the fact that he thinks the whole idea of a Ministry of Fine Arts is rubbish. In fact, when the idea for the Ministry had been broached, David had voted against it. 

Regardless of personal opinion, he must do the job he has been given. When David spots some irregularities in the Ministry’s correspondence, which lead him to suspect there may be some forgeries in their collection, he invites Henry Fearon, one of the experts from Scotland Yard who specialise in forgeries, to investigate. But before Fearon can get to work, Scotland Yard is called in on a more pressing matter. A civil servant has been found crushed beneath a marble bust. The bust of the last Earl of Manderby is generally hated by the staff. The civil servant was not exactly a favourite either.

On one topic, the Minister and the dead man, Pompfret, were of similar mind and that is regarding that marble bust.

“The thing is too utterly revolting. It offends one's sense of values, and the sheer virtuosity of the treatment renders it the more deplorable. It should not be here at all. It labels us as Philistines.”

“It’s a work of art,” said David unhappily. “One mustn’t let personal prejudice intervene..."

“I’ve often wondered if it would topple off with a little encouragement,” said Pompfret. “It’d be a wonderful sight to see it bounce down the stairs. It must weigh several tons.” (33)

Even the detectives, Detective Inspector Lancing and Chief Detective Inspector Julian Rivers, have a low opinion of the marble bust sculpted by Canova. Although, of course, they are critiquing it as it lays in pieces amongst a crime scene.

Together they lay at the foot of the noblest state staircase in London: both with broken necks. Earl Manderby’s neck had severed below the chin; detached from its monumental shoulders, among chips and blocks of laurel leaves, stylised curls and fragments of outsize features, the marble head lay grotesquely close to Pompfret's, while Pompfret's blood clotted on the black and white blocks of the pavement. (46)

One of the things I would not have expected from a mystery set in a Ministry of Fine Arts is that most of the people who work at the Ministry have a specialised appreciation for art and almost no appreciation for that which falls outside of their specialty. For example, David who is known for being a “passionate addict of the arts”—which is what lead him to being given the job as Minister—has a passion for Holbein drawings and Dürer engravings. Having never studied contemporary art, he admits to feeling a “clinic distaste” for it (18). I got a kick out of all of the jabs at contemporary art and Canova’s sculptures. One gets a sense that Carnac had a great time trashing certain styles of art and artists in the writing of this book.

As I mentioned earlier, David is not the first Minister to be appointed. The two men who held the position before him left their own legacy, shall we say. The first, Joyce-Lawrence, had been given a strict budget in which to stick to, and so he filled the collection with representative pieces of the various schools and periods, and concerned himself less with the actual artists included in the collection. In his office he chose contemporary pieces, referred to by the typists as “the Minister’s “funnies” (18). When Fearon asks about them, David explains,

“You see, Joyce-Lawrence had a sense of humour. These pictures aren’t signed. He didn’t have the name of the painter attached to any of them, and his private list has been lost—if it ever existed. It is my own opinion that they’re all anonymous, for the best of reasons.” (20)

The second Minister was no better. He was not interested in art at all, but he worked wonders in the Ministry’s finances, cutting overspending left over from his predecessor by firing all of the experts. The result is that the Ministry is left with a collection that no one knows much about. The staff who work directly with the art collection might know a painting well enough by sight, but it seems unlikely that most would be able to tell the real thing from a counterfeit. A bit of a problem when pieces in the collection are regularly out on loan to galleries across the country. 

And now, here is the current Minister, David, trying to make sense of the Ministry he has been assigned. He is such a kind and helpful person, that I did not think too much of him—except to suspect him, of course, because he seemed a great deal too good. When I was trying to figure out why the first half of this book dragged a bit, I noticed that just about every scene that David was in my interest started to wane. He is so much of a do-gooder that I found him a bit boring. Although, if he was a person—not just a character in a book—he would be the type to have many friends, and not a bad word could be said about him. 

The second half of this book picks up and feels a lot like a country house mystery to me. The Ministry of Fine Arts may be situated in London, but we don’t see much of the city besides a few scenes near the end where the detectives are rushing around asking questions and chasing leads. Lancing and Rivers spend a lot of time searching Medici House, the building that holds the Ministry, for clues, and ways a person could sneak in or out of the building. And of course, just about everyone who works at the Ministry is a suspect, minus the dear typists, of course.

If you like country house mysteries, I think you would enjoy this one. But don’t expect tea served by a loyal retainer in the drawing room. Refreshment can be found in the canteen with the rest of the house staff, minus the night watchmen, Titmarsh and Smith, who prefer to keep their own company in the bowels of the building.

Overall, I really enjoyed this one. I was impressed with the solution to Pompfret’s death, and while I did not come close to figuring it out, the clues were there in the text, so that one could solve the crime themselves, in theory. Carnac’s skill with description gave me a clear picture of Medici House, but also the crime scene, which I sometimes find writers either gloss over, so as not to make things too gruesome, or go too far with it. Carnac provides a good balance, I think. 

I won't say the tense conclusion made up for the slow beginning, but it did make me want to return to this one again sometime. I would like to see if it was just the mood I was in while reading, or if the first half really did drag. Next time, perhaps, I will have more patience with the ever kind and helpful David. If you have read this one, I would love to hear your thoughts on the pacing and anything else you care to discuss about it!

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of Murder as a Fine Art for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

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