What really intrigued me about this tale is it’s provenance. Given the benefit of informed hindsight, it’s fairly clear from the start that here is a writer finding his way into a character. It’s a tale told by a man who is looking to sell not just one book but maybe a number of them; it’s a tale told by a man creating a central character.
The writing is a bit hesitant, he’s feeling his way into the character, aided by a knowledge of an environment which will be novel to most readers … a fictionalised Norfolk. He’s developing a voice – he plays it for laughs in places, eschews the potential bleakness of a murder enquiry. No gore, no sensationalism, nothing to frighten the servants or horses. Simply death.
And Gently emerges – a planned pregnancy, everything on hand to ensure a problem-free delivery. This was a clinically designed, planned love child, with ten fingers, ten toes, with carefully choreographed traits and idiosyncrasies.
Yet, maybe, subjected to forensic enquiry, we can see in places the nervousness or hesitancy of a novice writer not quite sure of his central character. Does Gently come across as being mechanically constructed rather than as organically emerging in the course of the narrative?
Alan Hunter grew up on a farm. After service with the RAF during the Second World War he ran a bookshop – so we can assume a love of the written word (he’d had a book of poetry published during the War).
In 1955, ‘Gently Does It’ appeared, his first novel, the first of 46 Gently novels. And Gently novels are what he wrote, publishing pretty much one per year until 1999.
This was in a pre-Internet era, an era when there were very few ‘How To’ books telling wannabe writers how to – so he didn’t pore through millions of bullshit websites and advice pages explaining that anyone could write a best seller by following these five, or seven, or ten golden rules. Hunter had worked it out for himself, had presumably read hundreds of whodunnits, had devised plot and characters for himself.
So, if this first one does look a bit naïve in places or contrived at times, it’s also clearly a labour of love and, if he doesn’t always get it quite right … well, it’s a learning process. I suspect the seasoning of humour reflects a degree of hesitancy about the recipe, or maybe just relief from the intensity of building a character.
Of course, I opted to read this after watching the TV Gently – 25 programmes in all, set in the 1960s, set in the North East of England rather than Norfolk and, from the pilot first aired in 2007 (2 years after Hunter’s death) having a central character with a developed backstory and with a more physical approach to policing and its politics.
Two years after Hunter’s death, half a century after ‘Gently Does It’ was published – different times, different creatures … different audiences.
So back to this title. A tad over-written in places. A new novelist, an aspirational one, a new novelist working hard to establish himself, creating a creature, creating the atmosphere of a mythical reality grown from a real one.
In places, the writing lacks fluency … there’s a stumbling, a falling back on the contrived and the convenient, a reliance on words and phrases which have been consciously and carefully elaborated rather than being allowed to flow.
A reader – well, certainly this reader – can sense the writing gets laboured at times, breaking your engagement with the flow. You can lose momentum, have to snap yourself back into the story. There are even the odd words he uses which stop you in your tracks. Gently interviews a ‘stuggy man’. ‘Stuggy’, apparently, means overweight. Amongst other words I had to go look up are ‘spuffle’, ‘bosky’.
Meanwhile, the police are caricatures. Not so much cliché good cop / bad cop as visionary cop / functionary cop. Hunter knew about a few things – his description of the canal trade is engaging. He hadn’t talked to many coppers, though.
The characters can be one dimensional. Gently has no back story – he’s some sort of supersleuth, on holiday from the Yard and drawn into this local crime. Hunter gives him an idiosyncrasy – he devours bags full of peppermint creams, which can really piss you off if you develop a sweet tooth reading this when the shops are shut.
And the plot? Maybe not quite as simplistic as some of the 1930s cozies. Maybe. There are moments when it looks like it’s a stage play – you can visualise the murder scene as a stage – so, we have Mr.Dutchvictim, in the study, with a knife … enter police, stage left.
Deconstructing the book was probably more enjoyable than reading it. I’m now left wondering if I’d read any more of the Gently stories? I’m tempted to opt for the last one, to see how the character and plotting changed – to see if, in fact, the character had been developed at all. If I do, I’ll make sure I’ve got bags of peppermint creams to hand.