The Gutenberg Murders by Gwen Bristow & Bruce Manning

I’ve been having a great time reading the Gwen Bristow and Bruce Manning books that Dean Street Press republished in 2021. I had planned to read them in chronological order, but decided against it when I realised that their second book, The Gutenberg Murders (1931), and their fourth book, The Mardi Gras Murders (1932) share some of the same characters. Both The Invisible Host (1930) and Two and Two Make Twenty-Two (1932) are ones that I can recommend. The Invisible Host has such an original premise and one that is remarkably similar to Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None (1939). It was great fun reading those two books back-to-back and comparing them. Although, I must admit that it is Two and Two Make Twenty-Two that has become the favourite. What can I say? I love when a book is set on a remote island and if it’s a mystery—harkening back to the opinions I shared about And Then There Were None in my review—so much the better.

Hot on the heels of finishing Two and Two Make Twenty-Two, it was with high hopes that I picked up The Gutenberg Murders. And let me tell you, this book was everything I hoped it would be, and more. This is another book from this wife and husband writing team that I think would make a great film. It is no surprise to me that Bruce Manning went on to have a career in Hollywood as a screenwriter. Like the other two books of theirs I have read, The Gutenberg Murders feels like Old Hollywood to me. What starts as a mystery surrounding the theft of a nine leaves from a Gutenberg Bible, escalates to a series of murders with the victims dying by fire, quite literally.

Nine leaves of a Gutenberg Bible have been stolen from a safe at the Sheldon Memorial Library, and all fingers point to assistant librarian, Quentin Ulman, whose “racket is wine, women and books” (1). This latest theft comes on the heels of a number of others, going back six months. 

What I love about this book is how the theft of a few scraps from a rare book juxtaposes with the bigness of the crimes. There is nothing subtle about these murders, and this contrast is not unlike the city itself, as Bristow and Manning describe it.

New Orleans is a Janus-town, and any story of New Orleans must be a tale of two cities. Wade drove along the narrow white canyon of Carondelet Street, walled on either side by the unromantic modernity of skyscrapers; he crossed Canal Street, brilliantly lit and brisk with the evening crowds; then suddenly, before he had gone a hundred yards on the other side of Canal Street he entered into the old city, built two hundred years ago, and was driving slowly through the serene decadence of the Quarter. (58) 

Where Ulman’s body is found is another place, again.

Algiers is a disgruntled suburb of New Orleans that sprawls along the west bank of the Mississippi River and is reached from the city by the Canal Street ferry. Farther up the river, opposite the ferry station at Napoleon Avenue, is Harvey, another sulky little suburb, and between Algiers and Harvey is a dirt road that winds lonesomely through the shadowy chaos of live oaks and moss and red lilies that grow in the marsh on either side.

The little road is bright with traffic at night, when the people of Algiers and Harvey finish their day’s work and go to ride, but in the daytime passing autos are few, and for this reason Dr. Prentiss and the Sheldon Library had selected a spot on this road as the site of the bindery where repairs might be made on those of his literary treasures that had been mishandled in the course of years. The bindery was a compact little building isolated among the moss-hung oaks. (6)

Of course, the prime suspect in the thefts is found murdered. Anyone who has read enough mysteries will not find this a surprise, but what did take me aback is the state in which his body is found. Ulman is diminished to a “charred and smoking skeleton that was found on a dirt road” with only a “blackened cigarette case bearing Quentin Ulman’s name” and the location, a quiet road near the library’s bindery, to identify him. I don’t know about you, but there is something about a burnt body that feels particularly horrendous. We are certainly not in cosy murder mystery country with this one! 

Someone is held at gunpoint. There is not one, but two women who have femme fatale potential. More than one person gets burnt alive. But I think the most memorable scene for me will be when an intruder in the form of a journalist hides behind the screen of a large fireplace, while listening in on an argument, and taking a surreptitious snap or two, while he’s at it. And it is all set with the backdrop of this city of two faces, and it is not always clear which face is which. This is in some ways an even more dramatic book than Two and Two Make Twenty-Two, and that one was plenty heavy on the drama. I believe I said this in that review, but I’m going to say it here too. These books feel of their time, in the best way. They scream the 1930s to me, and apparently, the thirties is the decade I read the most from. (I actually had no idea of this fact until I started making note of it recently.) 

Without discussing any spoilers—but, oh, how I am tempted!—I really enjoyed the build to the conclusion, as the tension is slowly ratcheted up. Bristow and Manning make fantastic use of setting throughout this book, and in the build to the conclusion this is especially true. Just thinking about this book and how much I did not see that ending coming, makes me want to read it all over again. Alas, my copy must go back to the library. But this is one for the wishlist, for sure. I have already read the first few chapters of the last book penned by Bristow and Manning, The Mardi Gras Murders, and I have to say, that one is already chalking up to be a doozy. I can’t wait to get back to it.  

If you got something out of this post, please consider subscribing to my blog. You can find the email sign up on the right hand side at the top of this page (on desktop version only), or click on the link here. You will receive a confirmation email in your inbox (or possibly your junk folder). Once you click to confirm your email address you will receive an email notification whenever a new blog post goes up. And, of course, you can unsubscribe at any time. Whether you subscribe or not, I’m thankful you are here.

This blog post contains affiliate links for Blackwell’s. As a Blackwell’s Affiliate, I may receive a small commission, at no additional cost to you, if you decide to make a purchase through one of the links on my website. I recommend Blackwell’s because I use them myself. This helps support me in sharing—what I hope is—valuable content. Thank you for your support!