REVIEW: The Santa Klaus Murder
Dec. 31st, 2020 02:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
feather_ghyllThe Santa Klaus Murder: Mavis Doriel Hay The British Library (Crime Classics) 2015
I had thought that the only fictional books Doriel Hay had had published were the duology I’ve reviewed previously, but having come across this, apparently not. That and its seasonality appealed. I meant to read it last Christmas, but failed, so made sure I managed to this year. Well, I started on Boxing Day.
There’s nothing quite like reading about other people’s miserable Christmas with their family – even in a year when ‘a family Christmas’ has been impossible - because what could be more miserable than, after a few days of strain, for the head of the house to be murdered and to know that one of the household must have done it? The Melburys traditionally go to Flaxmere as Sir Osmond Melbury wishes, even if most of them dread it. He has very firm ideas about how the holidays should be spent and how his adult children should lead their lives, and through his pocketbook, he has presided over most of his children marrying people of whom he approves. The only exception was his eldest daughter, Hilda, now widowed and the mother of grown-up Carol, who had a difficult time of it financially because she made her own choice. His youngest daughter, Jennifer, is torn over what to do. She wants to marry one Philip Cheriton, but her father doesn’t approve, and is trying to dangle his preferred Oliver Witcombe and also pressurise her to stay at home until he dies, which may be years and years hence. Her brother George and sisters Eleanor and Edith AKA ‘Dittie’ are all for the latter plan, because they’re worried that Sir Osmond’s private secretary is far too attractive a woman. The reader is forced glumly to wonder what kind of life it is to be married to someone ‘suitable’ who isn’t suitable at all, all in the hope of getting paid off for it by your tyrant father’s will. But the Melburys are used to a certain style of living.
Obviously, from the first chapters on, which concern the build-up to Christmas 1935, when various family members and guests arrive at Flaxmere, one awaits the death of (the not much mourned) Sir Osmond. He has got it into his head to have one of the household dress up as Santa Klaus (insisting on this pronunciation. I hadn’t realised that Santa Claus was a deGermanificaton attempt, distancing Father Christmas even more from St Nicholas.) He will distribute the presents, making the children wait until nearly teatime, which I thought was a bit mean. What Sir Osmond did not plan was to be shot dead in his study.
Perhaps the most interesting feature of this book is that the chapters are related by various characters, although mainly by Colonel Halstock, the chief constable in charge of investigating the case and a friend of the family’s. A reason for this is given within the book, as it is suggested that this is a way of getting all the details that people might not think to mention, which might be important clues about the murder. In fact, as a lot of the characters forget to mention many things when interviewed, or ‘forget’ and lie and lie, partly from a sense of privilege, partly from self-preservation, the question of how reliable those accounts are always lingers.
It would have been a more impactful technique if the characters had been a little more vividly drawn. I didn’t care for any of the Melburys – I’m not meant to, there’s a satirical take on the upper classes, though not too savage. One of the main romantic couples are undermined by the fact that the lady is worried her intended husband killed her father – what kind of a basis for marriage is that? Things liven up a little when charismatic actor Kenneth Stour, another family friend and former (or not so former) suitor of Dittie’s turns up and wheedles his way into the investigation. There’s also mild amusement at watching Inspector Rousdon tactlessly rile up the family and his more thoughtful superior, but I usually need to care more about or be more entertained by the characters for a murder mystery to grip me.
Without that, one has to pay attention to who went through which door when, which I find a bore (it’s why I’m terrible at guessing whodunit as I was again here.) But I think the plot was sturdy, with the investigative attempts to solve the murder mainly complicated by the falsehoods obscuring what really happened.
I enjoyed reading it at the same time of year as these events took place - nodding about the complaint about the half-light of eight o’clock in the morning. Flaxmere is some twenty minutes’ 30s car drive from Bristol, so I recognised the description of Bristol Temple Meads station and the areas visited on an investigative roadtrip towards the end of the book. There was no introduction, afterword or biographical note with this reprint, and the punctuation was very hit and miss when it came to the use of the question mark. I wished an editor had asked the author whether all the characters needed to use the expression ‘fuss about’ or if she knew of an occasional alternative to ‘beastly’.
I had thought that the only fictional books Doriel Hay had had published were the duology I’ve reviewed previously, but having come across this, apparently not. That and its seasonality appealed. I meant to read it last Christmas, but failed, so made sure I managed to this year. Well, I started on Boxing Day.
There’s nothing quite like reading about other people’s miserable Christmas with their family – even in a year when ‘a family Christmas’ has been impossible - because what could be more miserable than, after a few days of strain, for the head of the house to be murdered and to know that one of the household must have done it? The Melburys traditionally go to Flaxmere as Sir Osmond Melbury wishes, even if most of them dread it. He has very firm ideas about how the holidays should be spent and how his adult children should lead their lives, and through his pocketbook, he has presided over most of his children marrying people of whom he approves. The only exception was his eldest daughter, Hilda, now widowed and the mother of grown-up Carol, who had a difficult time of it financially because she made her own choice. His youngest daughter, Jennifer, is torn over what to do. She wants to marry one Philip Cheriton, but her father doesn’t approve, and is trying to dangle his preferred Oliver Witcombe and also pressurise her to stay at home until he dies, which may be years and years hence. Her brother George and sisters Eleanor and Edith AKA ‘Dittie’ are all for the latter plan, because they’re worried that Sir Osmond’s private secretary is far too attractive a woman. The reader is forced glumly to wonder what kind of life it is to be married to someone ‘suitable’ who isn’t suitable at all, all in the hope of getting paid off for it by your tyrant father’s will. But the Melburys are used to a certain style of living.
Obviously, from the first chapters on, which concern the build-up to Christmas 1935, when various family members and guests arrive at Flaxmere, one awaits the death of (the not much mourned) Sir Osmond. He has got it into his head to have one of the household dress up as Santa Klaus (insisting on this pronunciation. I hadn’t realised that Santa Claus was a deGermanificaton attempt, distancing Father Christmas even more from St Nicholas.) He will distribute the presents, making the children wait until nearly teatime, which I thought was a bit mean. What Sir Osmond did not plan was to be shot dead in his study.
Perhaps the most interesting feature of this book is that the chapters are related by various characters, although mainly by Colonel Halstock, the chief constable in charge of investigating the case and a friend of the family’s. A reason for this is given within the book, as it is suggested that this is a way of getting all the details that people might not think to mention, which might be important clues about the murder. In fact, as a lot of the characters forget to mention many things when interviewed, or ‘forget’ and lie and lie, partly from a sense of privilege, partly from self-preservation, the question of how reliable those accounts are always lingers.
It would have been a more impactful technique if the characters had been a little more vividly drawn. I didn’t care for any of the Melburys – I’m not meant to, there’s a satirical take on the upper classes, though not too savage. One of the main romantic couples are undermined by the fact that the lady is worried her intended husband killed her father – what kind of a basis for marriage is that? Things liven up a little when charismatic actor Kenneth Stour, another family friend and former (or not so former) suitor of Dittie’s turns up and wheedles his way into the investigation. There’s also mild amusement at watching Inspector Rousdon tactlessly rile up the family and his more thoughtful superior, but I usually need to care more about or be more entertained by the characters for a murder mystery to grip me.
Without that, one has to pay attention to who went through which door when, which I find a bore (it’s why I’m terrible at guessing whodunit as I was again here.) But I think the plot was sturdy, with the investigative attempts to solve the murder mainly complicated by the falsehoods obscuring what really happened.
I enjoyed reading it at the same time of year as these events took place - nodding about the complaint about the half-light of eight o’clock in the morning. Flaxmere is some twenty minutes’ 30s car drive from Bristol, so I recognised the description of Bristol Temple Meads station and the areas visited on an investigative roadtrip towards the end of the book. There was no introduction, afterword or biographical note with this reprint, and the punctuation was very hit and miss when it came to the use of the question mark. I wished an editor had asked the author whether all the characters needed to use the expression ‘fuss about’ or if she knew of an occasional alternative to ‘beastly’.
