Book Review: The Leavenworth Case by Anna Katharine Green

The Leavenworth Case is told from the point of view of lawyer Mr Raymond as he gets drawn into a mysterious murder inquiry. Mr Leavenworth has been found shot dead in his library by his secretary, Mr Harwell. The house has been locked overnight and the only people inside were Harwell, the servants and Leavenworth's two nieces, Mary and Eleanor. The curious thing about Mary and Eleanor is that, simply by virtue of being prettier, Mary will inherit all her uncle's money. Does that give Eleanor or her sister the motive for murder? And why is one of the servants missing?

I enjoyed the plot of this book. I thought it was clever, though it felt a little static in the middle before Raymond set off on his mission to locate the missing servant. The resolution surprised me, though, and that's always a good thing with a murder mystery. However, about a third of the way into the book, I lost faith with the narrator and I found it difficult to recover from that. It was very difficult for me to accept that Raymond had not considered an alternative to one of his assumptions at all and, after that, I treated him as a guide but nothing more. I didn't see how he could've been so stupid to be honest.

The rest of the book was fairly good. The later scenes with Mrs Belden were very well written and, in truth, I felt more attached to her character than the narrator. Equally, the detective Mr Gryce was an excellent character, humanised by his gout that provides Raymond with an opportunity to follow up the case on his own. The complex relationships between the suspects are gradually drawn out, realistically so, but, again, I feel this hampered the middle section of the novel.

However, The Leavenworth Case works as a piece of detective fiction and is especially interesting as a nineteenth-century example written by a woman.

Book Review: The Good Soldier by Ford Madox Ford

The Good Soldier, published in 1915, is one of the most powerful Modernist texts I have come across. It's fairly short at under two hundred pages but I would urge anybody reading it to digest in as few sittings as possible. It's one of those novels where every word matters and you're expected to analyse every action dictated to you.

The novel tells the tale of an English gentlemen, Edward Ashburnham, and his wife (Leonara) as seen from the perspective of narrator John Dowell. The Ashburnhams seem like the perfect couple, the traditional concept of 'good people', but their marriage is a lot more complex than at first sight. Slowly, as you progress through the novel, you discover that Dowell himself in the most interesting of characters, the unreliable narrator who frequently contradicts himself. The narrative flow means the reader is trapped in Dowell's head, travelling back and forth in time with him as he sees fit. It may make the text difficult to follow at times but it is certainly reminiscent of a person searching their own memories - recollections rarely occur in a linear manner. Dowell explains his predicament at the beginning of Part Four (there are five sections to the novel):

I have, I am aware, told this story in a very rambling way so that it may be difficult for anyone to find their path through what may be a sort of maze. I cannot help it. I have stuck to my idea of being in a country cottage with a silent listener, hearing between the gusts of the wind and amidst the noises of the distant sea, the story as it comes. And, when one discusses an affair - a long, sad affair - one goes back, one goes forward. One remembers points that one has forgotten and one explains them all the more minutely since one recognises that one has forgotten to mention them in their proper places and that one may have given, by omitting them, a false impression. I console myself with thinking that this is a real story and that, after all, real stories are probably told in the best way a person telling a story would tell them. They will them seem most real. 


That last line sums up the danger of the novel: things seem real but, with Dowell as your only portal, they may very well not be. It's up to the reader to analyse Dowell's motives as best they can. It might make reading the novel a little challenging, but no one ever said Modernist texts were easy to read. I enjoyed the book. It reminded me of my love for Modernism, prompted by an unit on my undergraduate degree. Although The Good Soldier is considered to be Ford Madox Ford's greatest work, I certainly plan to read more of his books in the future.

Beware Character Amnesia

So your character has made a momentous decision. He/she is leaving their partner. They have decided to quit their job or move to the other side of the country or leave their children with no intention of ever seeing them again. That's sorted then: decision made and onto the next problem.

Not quite.

Characters are designed (hopefully) to be as realistic as possible. If you suddenly decide the person you love is no good for you (perhaps because they're a criminal or an expert manipulator) then you might make the choice to distance yourself but in reality it is not simply a case of drawing the line and sticking to it. We human beings constantly analyse our decisions and most of us dwell on the past at regular intervals. If your character leaves their children in chapter three then they will return to it in their heads at a later point - unless they have a very good reason for not doing so.

Of course, your viewpoint plays into this. If you have a first-person narrator then you may have to be a little more explicit than a third-person narrator would have to be when describing the after-effects of such a choice. Demonstrating internal conflicts can be an integral aspect of first-person narration and it's something that shouldn't be forgotten.

The key point here is that you must be prepared to deal with the consequences of killing someone off, moving someone out or making an altogether different life-altering choice. It cannot ever just be a means to an end. If your protagonist ditches his wife in chapter one and goes off to search for oil without ever mentioning her again, you have to wonder whether he should have had a wife to begin with. If she was simply a springboard for the main storyline to begin then maybe she could be replaced with something else which wouldn't baffle your readers when they failed to hear of it again.

It is irritating as a reader to come across something which you think will play a vital part in the ongoing plot only to realise it was a device that was utilised then abandoned. When that happens I lose faith in the author; not the book, because I've usually finished it before I realise what has (or hasn't) happened. But it would make any repeat business from me unlikely.

Classic Openings: To Kill A Mockingbird

This is one of the novels of the 20th Century, for both Americans and readers elsewhere. To Kill A Mockingbird celebrates fifty years of being in print this year and the Pulitzer Prize Winner remains Harper Lee's only novel. It's a legendary piece of fiction and the magic starts right from the off.

To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee

When he was nearly thirteen my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow. When it healed, and Jem's fears of never being able to play football were assuaged, he was seldom self-conscious about his injury. His left arm was somewhat shorter than his right; when he stood walked, the back of his hand was at right-angles to this body, this thumb parallel to his thigh. He couldn't have cared less so long as he could pass and punt.

When enough years had gone by to enable us to look back on them, we sometimes discussed the events leading up to his accident. I maintain that the Ewells started it all, but Jem, who was four years my senior, said it started long before that. He said it began the summer Dill came to us, when Dill first gave us the idea of making Boo Radley come out.

The beginning of a fantastic story! But what makes these first paragraphs so good?

1. The best authors set the scene without seeming to do so. Lee feeds the reader information about what's to come but not patronisingly. We discover that the as-yet unnamed narrator has a brother named Jem and that he's mad about football. Other names are thrown in - the Ewells, Dill, Boo Radley - created a lush universe full of characters right from the off.

2. The narrator settles quickly. What I mean by that is there's no need for either the author or the reader to pause to get a feel for the voice. It's a simple voice that is easy to slip into. It's not unnecessarily flamboyant and it doesn't jar. A narration that flows well is gift to a reader.

3. It prophesies. Almost everything in this short extract points to the future. Intrigue is immediately garnered by the mentions of Boo Radley and Jem's arm. The reader may not care about the characters yet but there is at least a glimmer of intrigue to keep them reading.

4. It utilises description without overdoing it. Lee is a skilled writer and she uses that in the opening section to great effect in describing Jem's arm injury. It's enough to make the reader shudder at the thought of the injury then smile at Jem's reaction to it. It builds character, as I said before, and that has to be a primary goal of any opening. If you don't build up character swiftly the reader will want to know why they should care about whatever's happening to your characters.

To Kill A Mockingbird was first published in 1960. It is available to buy here.