Murder in the Basement by Anthony Berkeley

Anthony Berkeley’s 1932 novel, Murder in the Basement, starts with every homeowner’s worst nightmare. A newlywed couple discovers a corpse buried in the basement of their new home. With little to go on, the police must identify the body of a young woman, who died from a gunshot wound, and has been underground for about six months. As each clue is investigated, they lead to one dead end after another, and it becomes increasingly apparent that this is going to be a near impossible case to solve. 

I won’t go into what clues leave the police empty-handed, because I think the early work on the investigation makes for very interesting, and exciting reading. Chief Inspector Moresby, the detective in charge of the investigation, refuses to lose heart. There is no lead too insignificant for him to investigate. But finally he gets the break he needs and through that clue he whittles the number of women who could be the victim from an unlimited number, to 641, then to 422. He has the help of local detectives across the country in following up on each woman on his list to make sure they are either still alive and well, or have died by natural causes. Still, the search takes months. The body was found in January, and it isn’t until June that Moresby has one name remaining on the list, last known whereabouts a boarding school for boys in Allingford called Roland House.

This is when he approaches, Roger Sheringham, a writer and amateur sleuth who has assisted Scotland Yard in cases in the past. Roger recently took the place of a master at Roland House who was ill. This seemed to me to be one of the least likely coincidences in the book. I have to remind myself at times that I am reading a novel, and if I’m hoping to find realistic scenarios in police work perhaps I should be reading the news instead. Roger admits the fill-in work for his friend was not entirely altruistic.

“The truth was that I’d been contemplating a novel with the setting on an English preparatory school and wanted to collect a little local colour, but that’s between ourselves.” (50)

Well, he has written a manuscript—that is, he wrote a few chapters before putting it aside when he got bored of it. Desperate for any information on the case, Moresby reads the unfinished manuscript. Murder in the Basement is divided into three parts and the manuscript takes up the whole of the second part. One quibble with this is that the chapters of the book continue through the second part where they have no business being, as this section is solely Roger’s manuscript without any sort of framing device. I found it confusing when I started the manuscript, and the chapters did not seem to fulfill any purpose, especially because the manuscript itself is also broken up into sections that I assume are meant to be the chapters that its author, Roger, has put in. Anyway, the manuscript is gripping, but it does go on for 60 pages. I suspect that readers either like the book within a book construct, or they do not. When they are done well and serve a purpose, other than providing the author with a means of impressing the reader with their ability to write like someone else, then I love them. The manuscript is essential to this book and one aspect that simplifies the manuscript for the reader is that the character names Roger used were swapped for the real names of the actual people at the school which the characters are based on. There is a funny moment when Moresby questions Roger about basing his characters on real people. 

“You mean, you used the real people there for your book?”

“Well, of course. One always does that, in spite of the law of libel and the funny little notices some people put in the front of their books to say that all the characters in this story are imaginary. Imaginary my hat! Nobody could imagine a character and make it live. No, all the characters in my manuscript are transcribed as literally and as truthfully as I could manage it from Roland House, and if I give you a key to the changed names you’ll know as much about the staff there as if you’d stayed among them for a fortnight. How’s that!”

“That seems the very thing, Mr. Sheringham. That ought to help me quite a lot.” (52)

There were a couple of things that did not work for me in this one. For one, the newlywed couple whose house the body is found in we never hear from again. The husband discovers the body in the basement, they call the police, after being interviewed, the police suggest they stay with friends or relatives. The couple are escorted by the police to that relative’s home, and we are lead to understand the police keep a man on them, just in case. Though, really we are meant to dismiss them as suspects and forget all about them, as we do, unless you are me and the part that attracted you to this book was the newlywed couple and seeing how they hold up under a murder investigation. The other thing I would have liked is the opportunity to see the conclusion play out. The book is already 250 pages, which is a fine length for a Golden Age mystery—or any mystery for that matter—but another chapter could have done it. I was more interested in Chief Inspector Moresby than in Roger Sheringham, and much to my disappointment, Moresby is left out of the final scenes. There is a quippy ending that I assume is meant to give us a chuckle, and I’m not a huge fan of that sort of thing unless it is really smart. And I’m sorry to say, I don’t believe this one was. The conclusion fell a bit flat for me. I would have liked a more certain resolution, and a more just conclusion. I did feel there was some victim blaming at the end, and as I read over 200 pages of believing this woman was worth having her murderer brought to justice, I was not about to change my mind as we got to know her better. Because every victim of violence deserves to have their attacker brought to justice, no matter how likeable they are. But then, I am probably reading too much into the ending and taking the whole thing a great deal too seriously. I tend to do that. 

So the ending was a bit of a let down for me, but I should add that the actual whodunit aspect was on point. I loved the academic setting, the book within a book structure, and I really liked Chief Inspector Moresby. I did not warm to the author, Roger Sheringham, but I’m not sure we are supposed to. Overall, it was a good read, and I liked the setting enough that I would read it again. But with something like 140 titles in the British Library Crime Classics collection and the fact that I only own about 25 of them, this one is not high on my wishlist. That said, I dream of one day completing my collection, because folks, I have a problem. 

(I just wanted to note that I have linked to the UK edition of Murder in the Basement, which is published by British Library Publishing, not the American edition by Poisoned Pen Press, which is the one that I borrowed from my library and is pictured in these photos. The editions are slightly different sizes and the covers have different textures, but the contents are the same.)

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!

Not to be Taken by Anthony Berkeley

I stayed up until the wee hours of Monday morning finishing Not to be Taken. It was so good that I just could not go to bed without having finished it. Then I made the mistake of picking up another book before starting work on this review. Never a good practice for someone like me who struggles with switching between tasks. I really did think I would just dip into the British Library Women Writers book, The Spring Begins, read a couple of chapters in the morning and then work on my review of Not to be Taken that evening. Needless to say, I got completely swept away by Katherine Dunning’s writing. But more on that captivating book in a future post. We’re here to talk about Anthony Berkeley’s 1938 novel, Not to be Taken.

Not to be Taken is a deceptively simple village mystery on the surface, but do not let the bucolic setting and the first-person narration of a self-deprecating gentleman fruit-tree farmer lull you into complacency, like it did me. Anthony Berkeley is at his finest in this seemingly straightforward mystery. 

John Waterhouse has died of some type of gastric illness. He had been having some trouble with his stomach off and on for a while, but nothing to raise any alarm bells. Even his doctor was not too concerned about the complaint. Still, he died a few days later, leaving behind an ineffectual wife, and a brother who suspects foul play. The body is exhumed and lo and behold it turns out to be death by arsenic poisoning. Soon the Dorset village of Anneypenny is the centre of a media and gossip frenzy. Everyone is a suspect, and each seems as unlikely a murderer as the last.

The novel was first published in serial form under the title Poison—Not to be Taken in the highly popular John o’ London’s Weekly from November 1937 to March 1938, as a competition by the magazine. Readers were invited to act as detectives in the case, and anyone who was able to fully answer the three questions provided at the end of the second to last chapter was eligible for the first prize of £200. The British Library thoughtfully inserted the questions at this point in the novel, giving modern readers the opportunity to play along, as it were. Although, I was eager to read the last chapter, I found this invention too fun to pass up. While I will admit I did not come close to getting any of the answers correct, it was a thought-provoking activity that greatly added to my enjoyment of the last chapter. Every revelation in the conclusion added a new dimension to how obviously wrong I had been in my assumptions, and while it was undeniably humbling, it was also great fun!

Now, I loved where this book went. But I have to admit that while I never considered putting this book down, the first half felt incredibly tame. Yes, someone had just died in suspicious circumstances in this sleepy village, but the reader gets everything through the perspective of a gentleman farmer, who, while not a bumbling fool, does just sort of wait around for things to happen. If I am reading a book I plan to review, I normally try to make note of interesting passages as I read. I think it is telling that I do not have any passages marked in the first half of this book. That isn’t to say I didn’t enjoy the first half, but the narration provided by Douglas Sewell lulled me into a similar feeling of complacency that seems to arrest Sewell himself. I do believe this is a device the author uses to pull one over on the reader. Well done, Berkeley! I let the plot spin out while paying little attention to the clues, trusting that all would be revealed eventually, and not worrying myself over it. I’m slightly exaggerating to make my point, as I did in fact read the first half of this book in two sittings, so I couldn’t have been all that complacent about the result.

I hesitate to share too many quotations from this book because I think to highlight too much from the second half might draw attention to one suspect over another and I want readers of this review to have the same experience I did with trying to solve the crime before reading the last chapter. Instead, I will just share a couple of fun scenes that don’t directly relate to the mystery.

Eventually Scotland Yard are called in to investigate, and our narrator, Douglas Sewell, is taken aback by the bland and polite Detective Chief Inspector and Detective Sergeant that show up at his door, a stark contrast to the “bullying, hectoring, loud-mouthed, exceedingly unpleasant detective” to be found in the American detective fiction he had been reading lately (166).

Quite five minutes were wasted in their apologies for troubling me and my protestations that it was no trouble. Would they like to see my wife? Well, if it really wouldn’t be too much inconvenience, they would be grateful for the opportunity. Would they like to see her alone, or with me? That was just as I, and she, preferred. Would they have a glass of sherry? Why, that was exceedingly kind, almost too kind of me, but they found it better not to drink on duty. But I was just going to have a glass of sherry myself, and it was awkward to drink alone. Oh, well, in that case, they would come to the rescue but only just a drain in the bottom of the glass, really. Ha, ha. Yes, yes. Dear, dear. (165-66)

I think I would be a little surprised if these two came to my door under the guise of police detectives. They seem like very polite guests, indeed!

The interview lasted half an hour and was conducted in the same charming spirit throughout. Frances joined us in ten minutes or so, and the proceedings were more in the nature of an informal chat than a police interrogation. In point of fact, Frances and I did chat, quite garrulously. A question from one or other of our visitors would produce not merely an answer, but a confirmation, an allusion, an anecdote, all manner of divergencies. I think that secretly Frances and I felt that the two men, so far from being frightening, were so pleasant, and so much at sea, and so rather helpless, that we became doubly talkative in a kind of subconscious effort to help them out. (166)

All I could think while reading this passage is alternately, “oh, no!” and “you idiots!”. Although, now that I think about it, I would likely want to help out these nice men as much as I could too. Of course, the detectives are not quite as ineffectual as they seem. This should come as no surprise to the reader, as the chapter is humorously entitled, “Scotland Yard Is Not So Dumb”.

The novel starts on 3 September with the narrator observing “there is always something slightly sinister about the third of September”, it is always “one of those decadent days, half dying summer and half autumn, with the worst features of both” (15). Martin Edwards points out in his introduction that it was on 3 September 1939 that the United Kingdom declared war on Germany. A spooky coincidence as this book was published in 1938. From the introduction, I learned that Berkeley had a propensity to use material from his own life in his fiction, so that date may have held some special significance for him. What Berkeley does make clear in this book is his disdain for the Nazis. The  tension with Germany reaches this sleepy village in Dorset with the person referred to in the chapter “Disappearance of a Nazi” not being the only Nazi in the book. This adds a timely dash of the spy thriller to this mystery, while not actually crossing over into tense thriller territory.

Overall, I enjoyed this one much more than I expected to from the quiet start. It actually took me my surprise to be honest. As I said, it is a quiet, unassuming mystery that does not rely on cheap thrills or a twisty plot to carry itself. Berkeley’s very good writing and fair play mystery holds its own among the British Library Crime Classics. And while it is not going to take the top spot, which I believe belongs to Christianna Brand’s London Particular, it is definitely up there among the ones I would gladly reread in the future. If you are looking for a crime novel that is not at all gruesome and won’t make your stomach churn with anxiety, while still keeping you reading late into the night, then Not to be Taken is the book for you.

I had such a great time swapping theories about the suspects with my friend Sabine (find Sabine's fabulous Instagram account here). I think that if you can find someone to read this one with it will greatly improve your enjoyment. It would be a great choice for a book club. You could meet before reading the last chapter, go over your theories together, and then read the last chapter as a group! You could even arrange your own contest but perhaps the prizes would need to be slightly more modest than the one run in John o’ London’s Weekly!

Thank you to British Library Publishing for kindly sending me a copy of Not to be Taken for review. As always, all opinions on the book are my own.

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!

Before the Fact by Frances Iles

I have a confession to make. I love Alfred Hitchcock films. Love them! It all started when I was introduced to Rebecca, by my mum when I was about 10 years old, or so. After that I was hooked! I watched all of the films I could get my hands on and, along the way, the films inspired my reading. My love of Daphne du Maurier’s writing grew out of watching Hitchcock’s film adaptations of Rebecca and “The Birds”. 

It should come as no surprise then that I was extremely keen to read Francis Iles' Before the Fact, the book that inspired the Hitchcock film Suspicion. It’s one of my favourites. Black and white, and staring Joan Fontaine and Cary Grant. It’s subtle. It’s moody. And never did a glass of milk look more menacing! (Did you know the spooky glow of the milk in that scene was achieved by putting a lightbulb in the glass?)

Expectations were high when I started reading Before the Fact and I am pleased to report that this book did not disappoint! It grabbed me from the first lines.

“Some women give birth to murderers, some go to bed with them, and some marry them. Lina Aysgarth had lived with her husband for nearly eight years before she realized that she was married to a murderer.” (17)

Twenty-eight-year-old, Lina McLaidlaw meets, Johnnie Aysgarth, a man one year her junior. He is flattering, charismatic, and just plain fun. Lina doesn’t know what to make of him. Does he like her or are his attentions nothing more than a flirtation? Regardless, Lina has fallen for him and despite her father’s warnings that Johnnie is a ne’er-do-well, the two soon marry.

What follows is the suspenseful story of an overly trusting woman navigating her marriage to a charismatic and less than trustworthy man. He gambles. He cheats. He lies. He is a layabout. He breaks his promises. He repeatedly waves red flags with both hands, but still Lina stubbornly chooses to see the best in him. It takes eight years before she sees her husband for who he really is, and the journey is tense!

Johnnie leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, rubbed its silk-covered ankle, and laughed as if this was all the greatest joke in the world. ‘Not a cent!' he repeated. I thought you'd better know,' he added.

‘Well, I should hope so,’ Lina said tartly. And after a pause, as calmly as she could, 'What do you intend to do about it?' Already she saw them begging their bread, from house to house.

'Oh, I don't know. I expect something will turn up. It always does.' (47)

This scene comes just after the couple have returned from a lavish honeymoon. Lina discovers that not only does Johnnie not have a cent to his name, he borrowed a thousand pounds to fund their honeymoon and let a house with eight bedrooms, fully furnished and decorated, without paying for any of it. When she asks him why he took a house far bigger than they need, his nonchalant response is, “I like plenty of rooms” (47). That in a nutshell sums up Johnnie’s approach to life. He doesn’t allow himself to worry too much about where the next pound will come from because there is always a way of getting your hands on some. But he certainly isn’t about to work it. Heaven forbid!

This book has light points, as well. An old school friend of Johnnie’s, Mr. Thwaite, comes to visit and proves to be something straight out of a P.G. Wodehouse novel, as Lina points out to the reader. It’s all “old bean” this and “what?” that and “what ho!” galore. Of course, even Beaky Thwaite becomes a point of contention between the couple. Lina grows to hate him. Likely, because she suspects Johnnie is going to steal from the man, and she can’t hate Johnnie no matter how hard she might try. Not that she is trying.

Suspicion is a tenuous thing, so impalpable that the exact moment of its birth is not easy to determine. But looking back over the series of little pictures which composed the memory of her married life, Lina found later that certain of them - a small incident here, its significance quite unnoticed at the time, an unimportant action there, perhaps just a chance word of her husband's - had become illuminated by her fear so that they stood out like a row of street lamps along a dark, straight road: a road which looks so easy in the daytime, but so sinister by night. (17)

Lina goes on to tell the reader that from the perspective she has now, even her first meeting with Johnnie seemed “a red triangle of danger whose warning she had deliberately ignored” (17). 

This is, in part, why I think Before the Fact would make for a very enjoyable reread. Once you reach the ending you can’t help but wonder if Johnnie has managed to pull the wool over your eyes, along with his wife’s. 

So how did Before the Fact stack up against the film adaptation? From the beginning I was so impressed with how true a representation we get of Johnnie through the film script and in the casting. Cary Grant was Iles’ Johnnie, as much as he was Hitchcock’s. Johnnie blurs the lines between naivety and knowingness, deceiving while being innocent as a child, and all the while he is charming and playful. The character must also be loveable in order to break down Lina’s barriers, so that she always ends up doubting herself before she doubts Johnnie. Cary Grant pulls all of this off with style, as one would expect. 

The same is true for Lina. Joan Fontaine is a great fit. Lina is a very similar character to Mrs. De Winter from Rebecca. It’s no wonder Joan Fontaine was cast in both roles. Lina falls for Johnnie from the start, and as a woman who has been led to believe she is plain, she is perhaps even more susceptible to Johnnie’s charms than most. While she suspects Johnnie of gambling and repeatedly says she will leave him if he doesn’t quit. Johnnie knows just as well as the reader that the threats are empty.

Whether you have watched the Hitchcock film or not, I think you will be pleasantly surprised by this book. It’s quite the ride! By the end, I just about wanted Iles to put me out of my misery and wrap it up already. The tension reaches such a fever pitch! I know I will be returning to this one again, before too long. I would love to read more books by Francis Iles, Anthony Berkeley, or any of Anthony Berkeley Cox’s other pen names.

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