"The Play's the Thing" - The Queens of Crime and The Theatre

I have written elsewhere on this blog about how the setting of a mystery story has become a major part of my enjoyment of the genre. There are plenty of great mystery novels set in isolated country mansions or sleepy English villages, but I find the more unique the setting, the more unique the novel. The Golden and Silver Age of Mysteries are littered with fine examples: the advertising agency of Dorothy L. Sayers’ Murder Must Advertise; the snowbound train of Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie; the forensic laboratory of P.D. James’ Death of an Expert Witness. The more insular the setting, complete with its own systems and populated by its own characters, the circumstances are all the riper for compelling suspects and intricately-plotted murder schemes. The reverence which Colin Dexter showed to the university and surrounding city of Oxford in the Inspector Morse novels proves the success of this approach to mystery writing and it’s born out in the success of the screen adaptations of his books along with the related media. The success of The Residence on Netflix takes this idea to its extreme setting a Golden Age-style mystery plot in the White House!

For me, there is one setting which rises above all the others. The theatre! As you will have doubtlessly seen by now, there is a tab on this very website devoted to Theatre. I have had a passion for theatre all my life and I have continued to be involved in live performance both on the stage and behind the scenes to this very day. Naturally, I have always taken a keen interest in mystery stories that revolve around live theatre. Today, I examine three examples from the Queens of Crime: Three Act Tragedy by Agatha Christie, Vintage Murder by Ngaio Marsh, and Dancers in Mourning by Margery Allingham. Two of these novels were first-time reads for me while one is a firm favorite in the genre.

Three Act Tragedy by Agatha Christie (1935)

“You have the actor’s mind, Sir Charles, creative, original, seeing always dramatic values. Mr. Satterthwaite here, he has the playgoer’s mind, he observes the characters, he has the sense of atmosphere. But me, I have the prosaic mind. I see only the facts without any dramatic trappings or footlights.”

To any listener of the All About Agatha Podcast, they know that actors pop up a lot in the works of Agatha Christie and we should usually be wary of their presence (cue the klaxon). To that end, it is interesting that Three Act Tragedy (also published as Murder in Three Acts) is one of the only novels in the Christie Canon that is anchored to the theatrical milieu. Indeed, uniquely, it is an actor who is the novel’s central character: the aging former star of the West End, Sir Charles Cartwright, who has returned to the seaside and is hosting a cocktail party for a few of the locals as well as some friends of an artistic persuasion. Among them is Hercule Poirot, the distinguished detective himself, and he is one of the witnesses to a suspicious death: the death of the Reverend Babbington, the local vicar, a man without an enemy in the world. While the death appears to be a natural one, Sir Charles has his suspicions; suspicions which are only compounded when, some time later, his friend, the distinguished psychologist, Sir Bartholomew Strange, dies under nearly identical circumstances at another dinner party for the same guests. Having played many a detective on stage, Sir Charles now must assume the role in real life alongside Poirot to determine who among them is a coldhearted killer.

Three Act Tragedy has long been one of my favorite Agatha Christie novels. It is neither her most ingenious nor her most well-written book, but it occupies a firm position near the top of the second tier of her novels. Perhaps part of the novel’s appeal comes down to its unusual structure. True to its title, the novel is broken into three parts: the first centered around the first death; the second part on Sir Charles’ investigations with the help of Mr. Satterthwaite, a society effete with a taste for death; and the last part bringing Poirot back into the fold and to eventually reveal the truth. As a result, you could say that Three Act Tragedy is a very back-heavy book. The “suspects” are not questioned under the novel is well underway. There is little done to establish alibis or motives from the persons involved. The central question at the heart of the novel is what connects the seemingly disparate deaths of a well-liked clergyman in Cornwall and a wealthy physician in Yorkshire. Christie would play the same game with her readers the very next year to no-doubt stronger effect in The A.B.C. Murders, but Three Act Tragedy makes for an interesting forerunner to that later stone-cold Christie classic.

I am hesitant to divulge too much regarding the ultimate solution to the novel. Suffice it to say, the outcome of the mystery – and the reasoning for that elusive missing link – is one of my favorites in the Christie Canon. It also justifies the theatrical theming of the novel for a book which, otherwise, does not dwell utilize its theatrical theme. We do not ever once set foot in a theatre, Sir Charles’ acting career is only discussed in the broadest of strokes, and the rest of the characters are the usual society types that populate so many of Christie’s novels in the 1930s. (The one character of note, however, is playwright Muriel Wills who writes under the pseudonym Anthony Astor. On this read, I could not help but wonder if this character was a veiled reference to Christie’s contemporary – and some-time Crime Queen herself – Josephine Tey who had a prolific career as a playwright under the name Gordon Daviot.) Nevertheless, the final twist remains one of the most devious and ingenious in all of the novels of Agatha Christie and it deserves to share the accolades with her most revered shock twist endings.

First-time readers of Three Act Tragedy might also be surprised by the peripheral role that Poirot plays in the story. He is sidelined for much of the mystery, stepping back into the fray only as matters reach their crisis. However, unlike later Poirot novels in which his role is diminished, I do not feel myself yearning for more “stage time” with the Belgian detective. It speaks to the power of Sir Charles Cartwright as a protagonist as well as that of Mr. Satterthwaite who appears elsewhere in Christie’s stories as the associate of the vaguely supernatural Mr. Harley Quinn. These two – along with the novel’s female lead, Egg Lytton Gore – carry the book on their shoulders and, I think, they are all some of Christie’s more finely-developed characters of this period. When the novel was adapted for television in the eleventh season of Agatha Christie’s Poirot starring David Suchet, Mr. Satterthwaite was excised to build up Poirot’s role. Martin Shaw delivers a wonderful performance as Sir Charles in an adaptation that hues much closer to the original text than most other episodes of the show during that period, and which introduces a few moments of theatrically-themed surreality to a most pleasing effect.

I was happy to revisit Three Act Tragedy after nearly seven years for this project and I was so glad to see that it held up upon a reread. Rather lost in the shuffle during a period for Christie that includes Peril at End House, Murder on the Orient Express, and The A.B.C. Murders, Three Act Tragedy is deserving of its own moment in the spotlight.

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Vintage Murder by Ngaio Marsh (1937)

"To an actor on tour all theatres are very much alike. They may vary in size, in temperature, and in degree of comfort, but once the gas-jets are lit in the dressing rooms, the grease-paints laid out in rows on shelves, and the clothes hung up in sheets on the walls, all theatres are simply ‘theatre.’”

Of the three novels discussed here, it is fair to say that Vintage Murder is the one that makes the best use of its theatrical setting. It is no surprise, being a work of detective fiction written by Ngaio Marsh, who is well-remembered and well-regarded today for her novels set against the (literal) backdrop of the stage’s proscenium arch. In life, Marsh – who is today perhaps best remembered in her native New Zealand as a theatre actor, director, and teacher – was a member of the Allan Wilkie Company in 1916; a theatrical touring company that established deep roots in both New Zealand and Australia. She translated this experience into the novel Vintage Murder which begins in New Zealand (Marsh's first of several novels set in that country) and follows the Carolyn Dacres Comedy Company who are embarking on a tour of their own. Quite by happenstance, Carolyn, the leading player of the troupe, and her husband, Alfred Meyer, make the acquaintance of Chief-Inspector Roderick Alleyn en route who is enjoying a holiday from crime. His holiday will be cut short when, at a birthday party for Carolyn, an oversized bottle of champagne suspended in the theatre’s flies is booby-trapped; coming crashing down onto Meyer’s head and killing him instantly. As a guest of Dacres and Meyer, Alleyn is tapped by the local authorities to dig into the case and unearth who among the theatrical types might have wanted their company manager dead.

Behind Christie, Marsh is probably my favorite of the Crime Queens. Though, when trawling through Internet pages devoted to Golden Age Mystery Fiction, one is liable to find polarizing opinions of her work. As I have written about before, Marsh’s novels are far-less steeped in the fair play cluing and intricate puzzle making that marked so much of detective fiction of the time. Instead, her books are centered on her characters and settings; both of which are often more outre and eccentric than the typical murder mystery. Vintage Murder is no different and the book is at its strongest and most readable when Marsh breathes life into the literal stock company of characters that populate the suspect list. The sequence toward the end of the novel in which Alleyn is able to destroy the alibi of a suspect by questioning the theatre’s doorman, himself a former actor who is constantly waxing nostalgia about his glory days performing Shakespeare, is an easy highlight and smacks of a tableau that Marsh witnessed herself at some point in her illustrious theatrical career. What is, unfortunately, less successful is the mystery plot. Some mystery commentors like to employ the pejorative term, “To Drag the Marsh” when referring to the middle sections of mystery novels in which the detectives questions each suspect in turn; the name deriving from many a middle section of a Ngaio Marsh mystery. Ardent Marsh defender that I am, I cannot deny that Vintage Murder sags in its middle and, after a while, it is hard to keep track of just who was where backstage and when. Marsh helpfully includes a table of alibis and motives in a little Entr’acte, but it does not really enliven the novel to any great degree.

Part of the reason for this, no doubt, is the fact that Vintage Murder was only the fifth installment in detective Roderick Alleyn’s nearly-fifty-year career in print. Alleyn, though a professional detective, is still a son of aristocracy, and he was clearly written (like Margery Allingham’s Albert Campion) in the shadow of Lord Peter Wimsey. The Alleyn of the early books is airier, lighter, more dandyish, and, frankly, less compelling as a character.

This is no indictment of Marsh or her creation, however. Indeed, her very next novel, Artists in Crime, opens with an Alleyn who has undergone a great transformation of character. From there on out, Alleyn feels more down-to-earth and well-rounded; indeed, not too far a cry from the introspective and cerebral figure of Adam Dalgliesh as created by P.D. James. There is a lovely little coda right at the end of Vintage Murder which lends the finale an air of melancholy and one can almost sense Marsh champing at the bit to explore deeper territory with her lead character in that moment.

However, for all its deficiencies, Vintage Murder does an exemplary job of conveying both its theatrical setting - Marsh writes with the assured hand of lived experience - as well as the New Zealand countryside which is also born from first-hand knowledge. Much has been made in other commentary of the rather peripheral character, Dr. Rangi Te Pokhia, a native Maori doctor who Alleyn befriends, but the sensitivity and nuance with which Marsh renders this character is to be applauded in an otherwise white-washed time and genre. And, for readers with a taste for the grotesque, Marsh delights in the Grand Guignol nature of her murder method (bludgeoning by champagne bottle). Over the course of her career, Marsh would concoct some of the genre’s most unique deaths (skewer through the eye, thallium poisoning, exploding piano, and several decapitations...just to name a few) and Vintage Murder begins the trend.

For readers who are keen on a well-plotted, gripping mystery, I advise you to look elsewhere before settling on Vintage Murder. There are even better examples in Marsh’s own bibliography: Overture to Death lampoons amateur dramatics; Opening Night renders the theatrical setting as seen through the eyes of a backstage dresser; and even Marsh’s final book, Light Thickens, is built around an ill-fated production of Macbeth. However, as a necessary step in her evolution as a writer and her central character, Vintage Murder is still a fine Ngaio Marsh novel and there are several passages of her peerless prose that will linger in the memory long after the curtain is rung down. Er – make that after the last page is turned.

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Dancers in Mourning by Margery Allingham (1937)

“Theatrical people aren’t like ordinary people sir…They’re theatrical. Things mean more to them then would to you or me.”

Like Ngaio Marsh, one gets the sense that Margery Allingham had a fondness for eccentrics. Her casts of characters go beyond the stock types that so-often populated classic mysteries. Many of them are downright Dickensian, and Allingham’s books can often have an otherworldly quality to them in the same way that Dickens’ Victorian England can feel just a little removed from reality. Dancers in Mourning is no different and Allingham is able to apply her usual gently parodic skills of characterization to a motley assortment of vaudevillians. It is William Faraday, an old friend of series detective Albert Campion, who summons Campion for help after a series of pranks have befallen Jimmy Sutane, London’s number one song and dance man, and put his company in jeopardy. In order to get to the bottom of who the prankster is – and divine if he or she has malicious intent – Campion accompanies Sutane and others to Sutane’s country villa for an extended weekend of rehearsal. Tragedy soon strikes when Chloe Pye, an actress past her prime who has continued to cling onto Sutane’s act, is killed in what seems to be a tragic accident; run-down in the road in a car driven by Sutane himself. Campion, sensing something rotten, unwillingly begins to dive deeper.

Of all the Queens of Crime, Margery Allingham is the one for whom I have read the least and it is an ongoing effort of mine to delve into her bibliography more often because, every time I do, I find myself hugely rewarded. Allingham’s earlier Albert Campion novel, Death of a Ghost (1934), which is set in the world of art and artists, quickly became one of my all-time favorite Golden Age mysteries. Perhaps part of the reason that I have read comparatively little Allingham is that, unlike Christie, Marsh or Sayers, Allingham’s books are not always strictly speaking detective novels. Though Albert Campion is featured prominently in almost all, her books bridge the gap between mystery and thriller; Campion often unmasking criminal gangs or murderous psychos in plots that are predicated more upon happenstance and coincidence than careful plotting and decisive logical reasoning. Dancers in Mourning, however, is one of those select instances in which Allingham has thrust Campion into the middle of a traditional murder mystery and it is a delightful one at that. The plot, though hardly complex, still has room to unfold in a number of genuinely surprising ways, climaxing – quite literally – with explosive results. There’s still an element of criminal conspiracy and hired killers to be dealt with, but, for once, it would not have been out of place for Hercule Poirot or Inspector Alleyn to be on the case in this novel.

Yet, the characterization remains Allingham’s focal point throughout and she allows the characters room to breath and exist on the page. Those Dickensian touches are lovingly pushed to the forefront like Chloe’s former landlady, herself a former dancer who now has little more than her memories of her life on the stage, or one of Chloe’s young admirers who clings to Campion for fear that his idol has committed suicide. And, in doing so, he provides Campion with a major clue to the whole case. Campion himself, who in the earlier novels, was more airily characterized in the vein of Lord Peter Wimsey or Bertie Wooster, is incredibly introspective here. Throughout, he is unwilling to become involved in the case, and his allegiance is tested even further as he begins to fall in love with Suntane’s wife, Linda, just as her husband is becoming the number one suspect in the series of murders. The novel’s final pages, as Campion reluctantly confronts Suntane with the truth, though small-scale when compared to the baroque machinations of the preceding plot, are still powerful and effectively intimate for how well Allingham has built up the world and its characters throughout the book.

Readers who may wish for a backstage tour in Dancers in Mourning will be somewhat disappointed. Despite its theatrical cast, the novel really is more of a country house mystery and little time is spent in the theatre itself. Though, it’s obvious that Allingham is having great fun in conjuring up the one-of-a-kind characters that populate the world of live theatre. When the novel was adapted for television in 1990, it was boosted by a fine assortment of theatrical types with former Fifth Doctor Who Peter Davison (perfectly) cast as Campion himself and Ian Ogilvy as the impresario Sutane.

As has been the case with the last few Margery Allingham novels I have read, I was pleasantly surprised by Dancers in Mourning. Though it may be short on theatrical content, its strong characters and Allingham’s evocative writing push it into the upper strata of Golden Age Detective Fiction. I look forward to dipping into my next Albert Campion adventure sooner rather than later.  

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The three novels highlighted here are, but a few of the many mysteries set in the world of live theatre. Want me to take a deep dive into a few more? Let me know! And comment below the title of your favorite theatrical mystery!

Book Review - "A Mind to Murder" by P.D. James

In December, I ranked the mystery novels of P.D. James. The post was the culmination of many years reading and ranking and I was ultimately satisfied with the results of this experiment except for one title. Ranked number 16 of 17 books was James’ second novel, A Mind to Murder, originally published in 1963. I had to admit that I felt uneasy about this position: I had only read the book once, in the summer of 2021, and in that time, I had managed to forget most of it. I vowed to revisit A Mind to Murder and determine whether this ranking was ultimately justified or if my list warranted a redux. I was fascinated at what I discovered.

A Mind to Murder is not only James’ second-published novel, but also the return of Adam Dalgliesh, now promoted to Superintendent status at Scotland Yard. Dalgliesh, introduced here attending a literary function to promote the release of his second volume of poetry, is called away from this social gathering to investigate a grotesque murder at the Steen Clinic in London. The Steen, we learn, is a prestigious psychiatric clinic catering to a select group of wealthy patients all of whom are treated by a staff of psychologists and psychiatrists whose skill is matched only by their discretion. Yet, someone has stabbed to death the clinic’s administrative director, Miss Bolam, who is discovered dead in the basement records room with a chisel in her heart and a crude wooden carving lying on top of her body. It falls to Dalgliesh to sift through the complex web of professional and personal relationships inside the Steen Clinic to uncover the identity of the cold-hearted killer.

Having now read almost all of P.D. James’ novels (Children of Men and Death Comes to Pemberly still outstanding), I think it is fair to suggest that there is a formula to her books – the Adam Dalgliesh mysteries especially. James habitually takes time to build up the setting of her mysteries, filling out the world with a group of characters, and usually singling out one of these people as the perspective victim. The reader is presented with a deep dive into the – to cull a phrase from one of James’ later books – the Devices and Desires of these characters, exploring their often-fraught relationships and ultimate motives for murder. Only then, once this foundation has been well-laid, does the murder actually take place, Dalgliesh arrives on the scene, and we follow the police procedure from start to finish. There are exceptions that prove the rule, and A Mind to Murder is one of those outliers. In my copy of the book, the body of the clinic administrator, Miss Bolam, is found on page 18 and Dalglish is arriving to begin his investigation only a couple of pages later. In this way, A Mind to Murder is a unique inverse of the standard Jamesian formula. We do learn more about the characters that populate the novel and James does her customarily excellent job in fleshing them all out, but a good deal of police procedure and active investigation has already taken place before we are privy to all the habitual psychological insight.

All of this is liable to make the reader feel like they have plunged into the deep-end of the pool when reading A Mind to Murder. There are a lot of names thrown at you in the opening pages of the book and even a seasoned mystery reader like me had some difficulty in keeping them all straight. I was especially pleased, then, when the narrative slowed down and I was able to get a handle on who all these characters were and came to grips with which ones were essential to the narrative and which were not. (Though James is harkening back to the Golden Age tradition of a closed circle of suspects, she rounds out the cast list of her books with characters who are still afforded a good deal of page real estate but who are never seriously considered as potential murderers. In stark contrast, think how Agatha Christie does not delve into the world of the other train carriages in Murder on the Orient Express and you have summed up one of the key fundamental differences between these two Queens of Crime.)

I was also pleasantly surprised by how strong the mystery plot of this novel is too. In time, we learn that Miss Bolam was not well-liked by the staff of the Steen Clinic and there are plenty of tantalizing motives that are considered before the truth is revealed. Dalgliesh is on fine form in this book; indeed, we see rather more of him than we did in James’ debut, Cover Her Face, and his investigation feels much more active. In the novel’s closing stages, he uncovers a nasty blackmailing scheme which proves that the prestigious sheen of the clinic has harbored far darker secrets than anyone could have anticipated. And as Dalgliesh’s investigation reaches its zenith, the pace of the novel picks up dramatically. Though James’ books are usually rather quiet and contemplative, one of the most under-appreciated elements of her writing is the breathless suspense which she can manifest as situations become dire for her characters, and here she brilliantly juxtaposes Dalgliesh’s summation of the case with the criminal preparing to kill again. Toss in a neat last-second reversal which justifies Dalgliesh’s nagging suspicion that he has overlooked a crucial bit of the case throughout, and we have one of the most pleasing endings to a P.D. James mystery that I can think of.

Despite the fact that the novel features an elegant, multi-layered plot, compelling cast of characters, and a strikingly portrayed setting in the heart of London, the book never seemed ripe for adaptation. When the Dalgliesh novels were first being adapted for television starring Roy Marsden, it took the creative team 12 years before they tackled A Mind to Murder. The new Dalgliesh series starring Bertie Carvel hasn’t adapted it at all despite the fact that that show has already tackled later, weightier books. Perhaps the novel is a product of its time: patients being treated with LSD is a major component of the plot as are the other antiquated practices of the Steen Clinic which were certainly considered cutting edge at the time of the book’s initial publication. It makes sense, perhaps, that that Roy Marsden version changes so many aspects of the novel’s plot that to call it a straightforward adaptation feels disingenuous. The action is transposed from London to the Suffolk coast (strikingly photographed on location), eliminates and combines characters, and introduces a second murder and a third attempted murder. While these changes are hardly gratuitous, far less successful is the introduction of a half-baked spy plot and Dalgliesh mourning the death of his partner who was killed during a hostage situation. What’s more, the adaptation’s mud-soaked finale taking place on a boggy tidal island is embarrassing for all involved. (Also, not for nothing, Marsden, usually impeccably dressed throughout the series, is encumbered here in an unflattering double-breasted suit that does nothing for him as a performer.)

A Mind to Murder was a really pleasant re-read. I can see how fans of traditional Golden Age Detective Stories are especially partial to this book; along with Cover Her Face, this book feels the most apiece with that earlier tradition. While I think James’ debut features a set of better-fleshed out characters, A Mind to Murder already feels like the product of a more assured writer. It comes highly recommended from me and you can now find my newly-revised ranking list below.

P.D. James Novels Ranked

1. A Taste For Death

2. Shroud For a Nightingale

3. Original Sin

4. Death of an Expert Witness

5. Unnatural Causes

6. Cover Her Face

7. A Mind to Murder

8. A Certain Justice

9. Innocent Blood

10. The Murder Room

11. The Skull Beneath the Skin

12. Devices and Desires

13. Death in Holy Orders

14. The Black Tower

15. An Unsuitable Job for a Woman

16. The Private Patient

17. The Lighthouse

Ranking the Novels of P.D. James

Phyllis Dorothy James – Baroness James of Holland Park – occupies a unique place in the history of mystery fiction. Her very first novel, Cover Her Face, was published in 1962, the same year that other Queen of Crime, Agatha Christie wrote The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side, and though James’ debut is easily described as the archetypal country house mystery, when one reads it alongside the works of her contemporaries, it is clear that James was doing something very different within the genre. Throughout the course of her nearly-fifty-year writing career, P.D. James would champion a new kind of mystery novel: one that was built upon strong, lifelike, and deeply fallible characters, and a verisimilitude that made her novels feel true and timely. Reading a James book, one is immersed in her evocative settings, all brought to life by prose that is richly textured and dense, but infinitely rewarding.

Fans of the Golden Age of Detective Fiction may today balk at the critical comments that James would go on to make about writers like Christie and the other Queens of Crime, but to write off her novels as a result is to lose out on a body of work that deserves recognition and celebration. Well beyond the arbitrary confines of the Golden Age, James was a champion of the classic mystery; nearly all of her books predicated upon the closed circle of suspects, an act of violence shattering the tranquility of her isolated settings, and an intrepid investigator coming in from the outside to restore order. To read a James novel is to blur the line between the past and the present; even her later books have a cozy feeling of nostalgia about them and, without the references to laptops, computers, and mobile phones, they could just as easily be set in the 1960s as they could in the early 2000s. It is no surprise then that the latest series to adapt her work – the sumptuous Dalgliesh starring Bertie Carvel – has liberally altered the time and place of her novels, transporting them to the late 1970s with ease.

And to address that rift that exists between James and Christie directly, I believe that it stems from a place of fundamental difference in their approach to work. One of Christie’s defining traits was her unrivaled ability to maintain her style and standard of writing even late into her career. While her contemporaries Dorothy Sayers and Margery Allingham had quit writing murder mysteries altogether or evolved to pen more straightforward adventure yarns or psychological thrillers, Christie was still the master of the puzzle mystery until her death. James, like another Queen of Crime, Ngaio Marsh, never seemed to worry over the intricacies of her puzzle plots. Her books relied less on powerful hooks and surprise twist endings. And they are far less breezy reads than Christie too; the typical James novel weighs in somewhere north of 350 pages. I am sure that to James, to find herself endlessly compared to Christie began to feel less like a compliment and more like an albatross around the neck. I could go on speculating, but I think it fair to say that there was never any animus between James and the spirit of Agatha Christie. Christie is namechecked throughout James’ novels and, in Original Sin, James conjures up an image of the Golden Age mystery that can be nothing other than a loving homage to the progenitors of the genre she so loved:

“Sipping her whiskey, Blackie reflected that there was something strangely reassuring about Joan’s uninhibited interest in and speculation about the crime. Not for nothing was there those five shelves of crime paperbacks in her bedroom, Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers, Margery Allingham, Ngaio Marsh, Josephine Tey, and the few modern writers whom Joan considered fit to join those Golden Age practitioners in fictional murder….She stared into the leaping flames from which the image of Miss Marple seemed to rise, handbag protectively clutched to her bosom, the gentle wise old eyes gazing into hers, assuring her that there was nothing to be afraid of, that everything would be all right.”

I began my journey reading P.D. James in the dark days of the Covid-19 pandemic. During lockdown, I sought to broaden my understanding of the mystery genre beyond titles penned by perennial favorites like Christie or John Dickson Carr. While not all of those attempts were great successes, there was a hypnotic quality to James’ writing that was unlike anything else that I had read before. Her entire canon demanded to be read. In that time, James has had a profound influence on me as mystery lover and writer. I strive to match the power of her prose in my own work; to create memorable, realistic characters, and create settings that are unique and as carefully curated as her own. Now four years later, I am almost done that initial read-thru. True, I have not read her science fiction tale, Children of Men (I’m a big fan of the film) or Death Comes to Pemberley, equal parts murder mystery and love letter to Jane Austen. However, included below is a ranking of her most celebrated mystery novels featuring Adam Dalgliesh and Cordelia Gray each accompanied with an image of their first edition cover art. This ranking is based on my first-time reading all these novels and this list could be very different in a year, a week, or even a few days from now!

It has been a pleasure reading and savoring these books over the past few years and, as you shall see, there are several I am anxious to revisit soon!

The journey has only just begun.

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No. 17 – The Lighthouse (Dalgliesh 13) (2005)

This novel feels perfunctory; like the best bits of other, better James books, simply not done as well. The offshore island setting recalls The Skull Beneath the Skin; the lighthouse and its metaphorical representation of past sins plays the same role as that of the titular Black Tower. The characters, though isolated and given time to be built-up, do not resonate the way the bet of James’ creations do and, Dalgliesh, sidelined here after he falls ill with SARS, also fails to make as strong an impression. James’ prose is, of course, as strong as ever, but I failed to find myself gripped by The Lighthouse from start to finish.

No. 16 – A Mind to Murder (Dalgliesh 2) (1963)

I feel sort of bad putting this title down here as I clearly need to revisit it. As it is, A Mind to Murder hardly stands out at all for me to the extent that I cannot remember much about the characters, their various motivations for the murder, or, indeed, who is responsible! While all of James’ books have become nebulous in my memory after a certain period of time, I remember a great deal about nearly all of her books except this one. As usual, the setting is the strongest thing about it; the psychiatric clinic being a strong backdrop for murder, but even Dalgliesh – who is going through a personal crisis while undertaking the investigation – fails to make much of an impression. This could be the perfect exemplifier of a sophomore slump, but I hope that my opinion is turned around some when I reread this book again very soon. Stay tuned!

No. 15 – The Private Patient (Dalgliesh 14) (2008)

In the same way that The Lighthouse felt like it was a “Greatest Hits” of the earlier Dalgliesh novels, The Private Patient, the final novel in the Adam Dalgliesh series, is similarly evocative of James’ earlier works. The clinical setting harkens back to Shroud for a Nightingale and A Mind to Murder; the simplicity of the murder itself reminds me of Cover Her Face; and the suspects populating a series of cottages is reminiscent of Death in Holy Orders. However, unlike The Lighthouse, I actually felt more engaged in the mystery this time around, even if the murder doesn’t occur until nearly 100 pages in, and the killer revealed earlier than usual. It is nice to see Dalgliesh and the team on good form in this final outing and the subplot of his impending marriage does not feel intrusive on the murder narrative. Though the novel was not James’ last, its final lines are especially poignant; the perfect summation of her ethos not simply as a mystery novelist but a writer at large and a human being: “The world is a beautiful and terrible place…If the screams of all earth’s living creatures were one scream of pain, surely it would shake the stars. But we have love. It may seem a frail defense against the horrors of the world, but we must hold fast and believe in it, for it is all that we have.”

No. 14 – An Unsuitable Job for a Woman (Cordelia Gray 1) (1972)

I know that there is great fondness for this book and there are elements of it that have resonated with me. James’ evocation of Cambridge is beautiful and I reveled in the scenes that depict Cordelia in and around the academic buildings in the university city as she makes enquiries into the suspicious death of a young man. There are other well-rendered scenes including a rather harrowing set-piece in a well, but ultimately An Unsuitable Job for a Woman stands out to me better as a time-capsule of 1970s Britain (one of my favorite things about reading James is her descriptions of the times in which they were set) than it does a mystery novel or indeed a crime story. There is a dirty and grimy sensibility to this book from the opening, shocking suicide of Cordelia’s boss and mentor, to the morally duplicitous interview she has with a cameoing Adam Dalgliesh at the conclusion. Yet, in between, my attention wavered and I failed to grasp onto Cordelia as strongly as a protagonist as I did with Dalgliesh. Perhaps I ought to give it another reading, but there are plenty of other James novels I would rather have another go at first.

No. 13 – The Black Tower (Dalgliesh 5) (1975)

I find myself pretty lukewarm on this book and without much to say. Perhaps the greatest disappointment is the lack of sense of place; one of James’ greatest strengths as a writer. The manor house of Toynton Grange is rendered without the same detail to which I have become accustomed in her novels and the characters, though expertly drawn as usual, do not leave much of an impression. A morbid book, dwelling heavily on the illnesses and infirmities of the nursing home patients, The Black Tower is also a weak mystery. The central murder does not happen until late in the story and Dalgliesh’s investigations feel underdeveloped – the fact that he is not acting in an official capacity surely part of the reason here. The action in the book’s final chapter is, however, very strong.

No. 12 – Death in Holy Orders (Dalgliesh 11) (2001)

James’ first novel of the twenty-first century feels no more modern than any of her other books save for a few references to mobile phones and computers. That may be entirely intentional for the setting of the novel, St. Anselm’s theological college, is one of the most revered and centenarian of any in James’ canon. This setting allows James to wax philosophically on one of her favorite subjects – the role of religion in the modern world combating technology and progress – and Dalgliesh, visiting St. Anselm’s with fond memories spending his boyhood summers there, is on fine form investigating two suspicious deaths before the first murder has even taken place. It is slower-paced than some of James’ other books and more loosely-plotted – the final murder especially feels thrown in simply to pad out the wordcount – but it is not without its charms, quirky characters, and evocative writing.

No. 11 – Devices and Desires (Dalgliesh 8) (1989)

Devices and Desires seems to owe a debt to The Black Tower and presages Death in Holy Orders in many interesting ways. This is a big book and complex with one of James’ largest cast of characters set in and around a nuclear power station in East Anglia. In James’ typically profound prose, the monolithic presence of the station on the headland is deeply felt and she is able to juxtapose the power of modern society with the earthy inhabitants of the rural seaside community. Though the first third of the novel is centralized around a serial killer known as The Whistler, Dalgliesh’s role here is his most hands-off. He never does any investigating acting merely as a participant in the titular devices and desires of the large cast. If Dalgliesh were not such a compelling protagonist, I would have my qualms about the detective of a detective novel not doing much detecting, but as the book also positions itself more as a human drama than a pure mystery, I understand what James is doing here. It is not my preferred cup of tea and with a more diffuse plot than most, I doubt that it will ever be a favorite of mine, but I can appreciate what James has done.

No. 10 – The Skull Beneath the Skin (Cordelia Gray 2) (1982)

Though Cordelia Gray continues to prove herself an elusive protagonist for me to really understand, I found myself enjoying this book a lot more than her debut outing. What really works here is – of course – the setting. The novel is set on the fictional Courcy Island off the Dorset coast and in the castle owned by an eccentric with an interest in Victorian theatre. As such there is a real sense of Gothic atmosphere lingering over the book and, as James’ only embarkation into the theatrical world of Ngaio Marsh, I felt a real connection with the material. The references to Shakespeare and particularly Webster, whose play The Duchess of Malfi becomes a focal point of the narrative, were extremely pleasing and the pool of suspects, though large, are all rendered extremely well; the ailing theatre critic a real highlight. As was the case in An Unsuitable Job for a Woman, the world of the Cordelia Gray books (of which this was the last) seems a little more morally ambiguous than the Dalgliesh mysteries with an ending that is rather unsatisfying if one is looking for justice to prevail and rights to be wronged. As such, the plotting feels weaker here than in James’ best; the motive for murder being a real disappointment, but The Skull Beneath the Skin compensates in a number of other ways.

No. 9 – The Murder Room (Dalgliesh 12) (2003)

James’ interest in true crime becomes a central focus of The Murder Room; the titular room a reference to a grisly exhibit at the fictional Dupayne Museum on Hampstead Heath. As usual, evocation of place is particularly strong with the museum and the surrounding grounds beautifully described even if they lack the foreboding presence of better books higher up on this list. While the Dupayne honors the years between World Wars, there is something reflective of mystery’s Golden Age about The Murder Room. With only a few extraneous characters rounding out the cast, this a tighter and more focused closed circle mystery than James had penned in some time and, as such, Dalgliesh assumes a more prominent role. His investigative duties take up the bulk of the narrative and his ongoing romance with Emma Lavenham (introduced in Death in Holy Orders) does not overly distract. If there is a key weakness to this book it is the perfunctory finale with a distinct lack of material clues. When the BBC adapted the novel in 2004, they cleverly solved this issue.

No. 8 – Innocent Blood (1980)

Certainly the biggest surprise for me, I went into Innocent Blood with uncertain expectations. Only one of a few standalone novels in her career, Innocent Blood is not a mystery or a detective story, but a thriller more akin to the type of crime novel penned by her friend and contemporary, Ruth Rendell. The novel’s inciting incident – Philippa Palfrey seeking out her birth parents - uncovers dark secrets of the past when it is revealed that her parents were involved in the assault and murder of a young girl. A web of intrigue and suspense is revealed when we discover Philippa’s mother is to be released from prison and the young girl’s father is out to exact his revenge. Watching these two plotlines spin themselves out, slowly beginning to overlap, was enthralling, thrilling stuff. Though the plot progresses at a leisurely pace, seldom has James’ ability to get inside the heads of her characters worked better, making even the most mundane of scenarios the impetus for a suspenseful set piece. If only the book’s final chapters concluded in as exciting of style. But the journey was well worth it in the end!

No. 7 – A Certain Justice (Dalgliesh 10) (1997)

One of the first James novels I read, A Certain Justice perhaps ranks a little lower than it ought to in that I was not yet accustomed to her style of writing and approach to the mystery genre. Like A Mind to Murder, it warrants a revisiting. Until then, I can say that A Certain Justice stands out as one of the more complex mystery plots in the James canon with a number of divergent plot strands coalescing into an intriguing if not wholly believable narrative. I like the exploration of the English justice system that James does here and her description of the barrister’s chambers is strong as are the characters populating it. Reviewers at the time called it “vintage James” which feels right. If there was a book that sums up what James contributed to the mystery genre, A Certain Justice might be the very best example of that and perhaps also explains why it is placed where it is on this list.

No. 6 – Cover Her Face (Dalgliesh 1) (1962)

The first Dalgliesh novel and James’ first novel overall, Cover Her Face, at times, feels like an exercise in archetypes. The large manor house, the weekend gathering, the duplicitous servant, the complex web of romances and relationships are all staples of the classic detective novel. Right away though, one feels James’ unique stamp on the genre with her deeply-realized characters standing out immediately. It is the core group of suspects that makes Cover Her Face such a memorable read and they take center stage throughout with Dalgliesh, in his debut outing, something of a peripheral cipher. In this way, the novel feels more in line with the work of Christianna Brand (whose own detective Inspector Cockrill lurked on the outskirts of her plots and allowed the suspects to do the finger pointing) than the beloved Agatha Christie and though James herself would later critique the book for being too traditional, this is the book that the appreciator of the classic mystery novel will probably enjoy the most.

No. 5 – Unnatural Causes (Dalgliesh 3) (1967)

James’ first novel to be set on the English coast, the desolate headland of East Anglia would become just as much a recurring character in her works as Adam Dalgliesh and many of the themes and motifs explored in Unnatural Causes – most memorably the encroaching sea that has already swallowed up coastal villages – would reappear in her later books. The artistic, writerly community that populates Unnatural Causes feels unique for James and, even if the characters do not stick in the mind as well as her others, there is an aura of evil and villainy that lingers from the first page of this book describing the corpse of a man with no hands adrift in a boat on the ocean. James often called Dorothy L. Sayers her major influence as a mystery writer and that influence is strongest felt here with the novel's harrowing, apocalyptic ending recalling a similarly tempest-tossed finale in Sayers' The Nine Tailors. It’s a solid read and one of the stronger mystery plots from the first part of James’ writing career.

No. 4 – Death of an Expert Witness (Dalgliesh 6) (1977)

I think of all the James’ books I have read; this is the one to which I was glued the fastest. In many respects it represents a pinnacle in the first part of her writing career. Until the 1980s, James’ books worked as purer expressions of puzzle mysteries; the world of her books populated by psychologically-rich characters without ever feeling one aspect of the writing was more important than the other. Death of an Expert Witness strikes that perfect balance and feels like another of James’ deliberate homages to Dorothy L. Sayers. In the same way that Sayers weaponized the hallowed corridors of academia in her mystery fiction, James does the same with her firsthand knowledge of a forensic laboratory-turned-crime-scene. The more literary-minded James reader will, perhaps, not find as much going on behind the eyes of Dalgliesh and his team this time around, but the setting compensates and the jargon of the forensic team informs and entertains. I wish there was a more action-packed finale in the vein of James’ most exciting endings, but, then again, the emotional toll that this story takes upon its cast (and particularly the murderer) may have made such a set-piece feel out of place.

No. 3 – Original Sin (Dalgliesh 9) (1994)

In the same way that Death of an Expert Witness feels like the perfect amalgamation of mystery plot and literary novel, Original Sin does much the same but comes with a nastier bite and more nuance from a writer who has allowed her craft to age like a fine wine. Set within the impressive corridors of Innocent House, a mock Venetian palace on the Thames, the book has a very strong sense of place and, as Innocent House is the headquarters for the Peverell Press, James uses firsthand knowledge of the publishing world as the backdrop for a serious of gruesome suspicious deaths. Dalgliesh takes a backseat here to the machinations of his subordinates Kate Miskin and Daniel Tarrant whose personal and private lives become entwined in the murder investigation. I wish, perhaps, that there was a little bit more time taken in the construction of the plot. There are very few clues and the killer is captured once they start acting singularly sloppy, but when reading the novel, I did not mind. This is one of those James novels where certain passages continue to resound in my head. It is a testament to the strength and the power of her writing.

No. 2 – Shroud for a Nightingale (Dalgliesh 4) (1971)

For a long time this was my favorite James book; an excellent distillation of what makes her such a unique mystery writer. On reflection, the novel does perhaps feel like something of an outlier. The characters are not as well-drawn as some of her others, but this is compensated for by a stronger-than-usual mystery plot. Uniquely, James said that she concocted the plot and the opening shocking murder first when plotting the story and that hook remains one the best in her catalogue of titles. Dalgliesh’s introduction to the novel is delayed but once he arrives on the scene, we seldom leave his side as we are taken through the minutia of the murder case; the bureaucratic procedure of murder investigation always one of James’ strengths as a writer. On this occasion that is also coupled with her in-depth knowledge of hospital procedure and the environment of the nursing school is beautifully evoked. Like Original Sin, there are passages in Shroud for a Nightingale that have lingered with me ever since I first read it. They remain some of James’ best writing capturing the strongest sense of place. Of all her books, this is the one I always have a hankering to revisit.

No. 1 – A Taste For Death (Dalgliesh 7) (1986)

Since A Taste For Death habitually tops the list of James’ titles, I wish for once that I could be a contrarian and offer up another one of her books for the number one spot. But the fact of the matter is A Taste For Death is an astounding, epic work. I use the word epic deliberately. One of the few books in James’ canon that does not focus itself on one location, the city of London is the background for this exceedingly complex story. Yet, for how large a scale on which James is operating here, the story is still shockingly intimate. We get to know all of the characters inside and out including that of the murderer who – somewhat unusually for James – is an out-and-out psychopath. Dalgliesh’s partner, Kate Miskin, makes her first appearance in this novel and she instantly becomes a compelling, morally grey figure who manages to feel multifaceted in a way that Cordelia Gray never did. Perhaps A Taste For Death is less successful as a detective story than it is a saga of crime, but I have found that James is often at her best when she dispenses with the traditional mystery story palaver and focuses on the crime itself, the participants in the drama, and the consequence of those actions. The final few chapters of this book are blistering in their intensity and remain some of the most gripping in James’ entire series.