Holy Disorders by Edmund Crispin was first published in 1945. It is the second in his Gervase Fen murder mysteries. I read it a few days ago and I am giving it five stars. I really enjoyed this one, but I recognize that not every reader will tolerate it. Crispin (Robert Bruce Montgomery) was a heckuva writer. Allegedly he ran toward a rather bad end full of alcohol and ruined friendships. As an author, though, he produced at least two (I have read two so far!) excellent mysteries.
The novel has a really long setup – it seems the first three chapters are really out of place and the reader is stuck wondering where all of this is going. I have no doubt that the engaged reader will keep reading, though, because there is so much hilarity over a certain prop and the personalities of the characters that even if these chapters seem far from the expected novel, they are highly entertaining. We meet Geoffrey Vinter, who has received a telegram from Gervase Fen and is complying with the request to come to Tolnbridge. The reader assumes that Vinter must be in the employ of Fen – or be a very good friend of his, to say the least. And while the latter might be true – it certainly does not feel that way. Vinter puts up with so much difficulty on Fen’s part. Yet, there is clearly a respect and a fondness there because when Fen runs deep into danger, Vinter is nearly wild with panic to save Fen.
I am going to be bluntly honest, at points I was a little tiny bit chagrined because well, I can recognize myself in some of Fen’s quirks. The cow mask? and the mooing? Yeah, all me. Fighting with a paper map while walking? Yep, me too. Occasional churlish and childish behavior about things? Maybe me. Oh, not quite as (I hope) blatantly as Fen’s attitude, but I do display a measure of impatience at times. So, anytime Fen acted out in the novel, I felt that simultaneous: oh! a kindred spirit and oh! the sting of: shucks, my people put up with a lot from me.
There are literally two points in the novel where I knew what Fen was about to say because I really, really would have said the same thing. The amusing part is that these are not the parts referring to the case or some brilliant deduction – they are the minor parts wherein Fen is being very Fen. For example in chapter nine when the Inspector is discussing the case and he says: “She’s about as likely to know anything about the murder as you are to have climbed Mount Everest.” Without missing a beat, Fen: “I have climbed Mount Everest.” I laughed out loud because this is exactly the ridiculous thing I torture my people with. Shame on me. It happens again in chapter thirteen, when Fen is able to speak after a certain experience and the first thing he says is a comment on his immunity – which is absolutely preposterous and obnoxious. Yet, I am really sure I hear myself saying this, too.
I have to give all the credit and praise to my friends and family – for yes, while I am in the middle of combat and loudly quoting Kant, I know my loyal people have my back – even when they probably want to throttle me. (I do usually save the day, though.) I could ask any of them for a butterfly net.
Anyway, one of the best features of the novel is how Crispin delightfully breaks the third wall now and again – its sudden and funny and not belabored at all. I did not mark down the number of times this happens, but each time it was witty and smooth and got a deserved chuckle. Also, Crispin pokes fun at the “traditional Golden Age mystery” a few times – especially the bit (which you can practically hear Inspector Japp muttering about) of cigarette ash and footprints. All of this keeps the reader on their toes and engaged with the story. The fact that these little moments are done effortlessly is really what makes them fun.
Now, this is rather in contrast to the second half of chapter eight. Chapter eight has to be one of the funniest chapters I have read in a novel in a very long time. The whole thing only works if the reader is quite familiar with Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven (1845). What makes the whole chapter work is that Crispin balances the visit of Vinter and Fen to Garbin’s house – and making progress in the case – with the endless allusions to The Raven that are, indeed, ridiculous and absurd, but absolutely funny. I will share that the entire thing is quite amusing – but I think my favorite part is when Lenore is mentioned and:
“Who?” The word burst from Geoffrey before he could stop himself. -pg 146
Of course, the entire scene has to be built long before we trample into Garbin’s house. The personality of Garbin is developed carefully so that in chapter eight he can portray the straight-faced, stern, humorless foil to everything happening in the scene. Crispin manages this by making Garbin and Spitshuker the ever-arguing, best friends that carry on the eternal arguments that transcend any mysteries or novels and seeming like someone is always debating (usually far less civilly). Garbin is necessary to the novel, because he is just the right balance for a lot of the other characters.
Now, the crimes and the villains are really quite disturbing. Crispin inserts a whole lot of hilarity and absurdity into the novel but I will not hide the fact that there are Black Masses and Nazis about. And maltreatment of a 15 year old girl. So, there is a reason Crispin surrounded some of this in such a level of entertaining amusements: the criminals and crimes are actually a bit darker and nastier than one would expect in a country-whodunit. There are the correct number of red herrings to keep the reader (and other characters) guessing as Fen gets impatient with everything. Also, I am thrilled that at the end, Crispin has Fen explain a tiny detail that while obvious, just shows that as an author he really did a thorough job setting up the steps to solving the crimes.
Yet another fun incidental: there is a character in the book that we are very repeatedly told is carrying around a certain book. I am not sure if people, nowadays, know what this is about, but Crispin is making a little savvy/sarcastic point about the storyline – if you know anything about the Vilfredo Pareto work being mentioned. And continuing the little “Easter egg” and name-dropping business, Crispin allows Fen to flip out and howl when the Inspector tells him the Yard is coming down to handle the case. Fen wails about “Appleby” – whom we all know from Michael Innes (1906 – 1994) and his detective series starring Sir John Appleby.
I really enjoyed reading this. I do like novels when there are homages, hidden “clues,” and sleight-of-hand by the authors. I like when the author is able to display his wit, balance many threads, show off his intellectual knowledge, and yet thoroughly amuse the reader. I think this is a fantastic example of writing and the story is engaging. Any Golden Age Mystery fan should read this, certainly. However, for readers who do not care for the third wall breaks, the allusions, and a bit of ridiculous – this novel may lose some of its charm. I cannot imagine anyone reading this and really disliking it, though. As Fen said: “The motive…… was obvious from the start — as was the whole of this business,” he added with some vehemence, “to anyone with even a speck of brain.” – pg 256
5 stars
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