stefhyena's review
1.0
This is first and foremost a very ideological book. I was up for a cosy mystery and I was surprised that someone had chosen C.S. Lewis as the detective but I thought it might reveal hidden depths in the man and be well researched.
I am not sure it was particularly well researched, what we have is a 2 dimensional "Jack" spouting his dry, conservative (and logically flawed) theology in a self-consciously painted setting. Warnie is portrayed as a stereotype- a bit of a bumbler but likeable and we have the eager "young Morris" who can be sent off on lengthy red herrings to find out almost nothing and provide filler.
It was disappointing how much of this book ended up being filler one way or the other. The actual puzzle was fairly obvious and I expected more twists but to no avail. We don't get to know the suspects at all, they are at an arms distance while the narrative tells us way too much about Lewis' religious beliefs (presenting this as intellectual rigour when it really- as portrayed in the book - is not), what the three men ate and overly detailed descriptions of their walking and conversations with unimportant characters and interactions with the very hierarchical police (who have names out of Christie novels and I am not sure if that is deliberate). Morris' trip to somewhere-on-the-sea covers 2-3 chapters to give one small glimmer of content but much detail about bacon and eggs and the weather and milk cans.
There is a lot of discussion also of the "new" genre of whodunnits, especially by Warnie who is a superfluous character to the plot. I also got a bit sick of Warnie telling us Jack was going to solve the mystery because his mind was as big as various geographical features. We do not get to see a great mind in the overly detailed conversations (which seem a vehicle for what must be the author's own personal beliefs) nor in the very small amount of detecting that happens (if "Jack" is a genius then so am I). The story is foregrounded by a local piece of folklore which is referred to again in quite silly circumstances toward the end but serves no narrative purpose.
All in all a precious, self-indulgent mess of a book with women characters written as peripherally as only a conservative white man can.
I am not sure it was particularly well researched, what we have is a 2 dimensional "Jack" spouting his dry, conservative (and logically flawed) theology in a self-consciously painted setting. Warnie is portrayed as a stereotype- a bit of a bumbler but likeable and we have the eager "young Morris" who can be sent off on lengthy red herrings to find out almost nothing and provide filler.
It was disappointing how much of this book ended up being filler one way or the other. The actual puzzle was fairly obvious and I expected more twists but to no avail. We don't get to know the suspects at all, they are at an arms distance while the narrative tells us way too much about Lewis' religious beliefs (presenting this as intellectual rigour when it really- as portrayed in the book - is not), what the three men ate and overly detailed descriptions of their walking and conversations with unimportant characters and interactions with the very hierarchical police (who have names out of Christie novels and I am not sure if that is deliberate). Morris' trip to somewhere-on-the-sea covers 2-3 chapters to give one small glimmer of content but much detail about bacon and eggs and the weather and milk cans.
There is a lot of discussion also of the "new" genre of whodunnits, especially by Warnie who is a superfluous character to the plot. I also got a bit sick of Warnie telling us Jack was going to solve the mystery because his mind was as big as various geographical features. We do not get to see a great mind in the overly detailed conversations (which seem a vehicle for what must be the author's own personal beliefs) nor in the very small amount of detecting that happens (if "Jack" is a genius then so am I). The story is foregrounded by a local piece of folklore which is referred to again in quite silly circumstances toward the end but serves no narrative purpose.
All in all a precious, self-indulgent mess of a book with women characters written as peripherally as only a conservative white man can.
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