Little did I think when I decided on visiting the birthplace of Venus that all I should get handed in lieu of Love would be a coupla’ corpses. It’s time the boys at the Tourist Bureau rewrote that “Come to Sunny Cyprus!” stuff, and urged the prospective visitor to pack a gat and bring a lawyer with them.’
Miss Amanda Derington decides to declare her independence from her rich uncle and legal guardian by going alone on a trip to Cyprus, a dream destination ever since she had read a romantic poem in school. Her timing is not the best, with the island about to start a civil war as the English administrators are preparing their exit strategy. As her uncle remarks drily, there is a strange tendency among certain coloured races to take an actively unappreciative view of Empire builders.
I have known for years that the author is often singing praise to those same Empire builders, in particular from her epic novels set in the British Raj. One can fault her political views, but not her talent as a storyteller. I keep coming back to her stories, because M M Kaye can be relied upon to provide a good time, mixing romance, adventure and humour against an exotic backdrop. She applied to murder-romance recipe six times in the 1960s’ in a series of unrelated novels that send beautiful young girls to faraway places where they get mixed up in murder investigations and are usually rescued by tall, dark strangers with mysterious backgrounds. This one is the third.
Miss Amanda is accompanied on her cruise from Egypt to Cyprus by a colourful group of casual friends, mostly military men and their spouses, with the notable exception of a Mrs Persis Halliday, an American author on a world tour collecting material for Love in an Eastern setting. . Not everybody is charmed by the loud personality of the popular romance novelist.
‘Twaddle!’ said Mrs Blaine angrily, watching her go.
‘What is?’ inquired Amanda, startled.
‘Her books. Silly, sloppy, sentimental twaddle with a nasty, slimy streak of sex. I can’t think why anyone ever reads the stuff.’
I’m pretty sure the inclusion of Persis Hollyday is not only as a source of comic relief [more on that later]. It’s an open invitation from the author to relax and enjoy the ride! She knows she is selling us sentimental twaddle, but so what? A good escapist adventure can be therapeutic for a troubled mind, such as Mrs. Julia Blaine, the lady who is openly critical of love stories.
If she hadn’t anything to be angry about I believe she’d invent it. It’s a habit of mind.
For all her self-awareness of the kind of prose she writes, M M Kaye can be quite sharp in her observations of human nature and motivations. Maybe not quite up to the level of Agatha Christie, but a cut above the modern drivel that is sold as romance.
At any party, picnic, ball or social gathering where Alastair appeared to be enjoying himself, she would develop a headache or feel suddenly unwell, and ask to be taken home.
It became her way of demanding his attention and demonstrating her possession of him, and satisfied some hungry, jealous, grasping instinct in her that could not bear to see him entertained or interested by anything or anyone but herself.
Julia Blaine is a bitter woman, struggling with depression. She is also the first victim to die in the arms of our heroine Amanda, setting up the murder investigation part of the novel. There are no big surprises here, although the identity of the culprit was quite well masked with red herrings and smoke screens. Amanda is convinced the killer is somebody from the group of friends that gathered in picturesque Kyrenia, on the North coast of the island. Apparently, Amanda is also in immediate danger, as the only witness to the death of Julia Blaine.
‘To tell the truth, I find art an admirable excuse for avoiding work and loafing around in the sun.’
When the beautiful girl takes an instant dislike to the handsome stranger that hovers around the edges of her group, the wise reader knows something different is cooking, that that pesky boy Cupid is sharpening his arrows. Steven Howard claims to be a wandering painter and treats Amanda rather high-handedly when he is not quoting the poetry of Richard Lovelace in praise of her long hair. [To Amarantha]
Mr Howard also has the curious habit of showing up when least expected, usually when the damsel is in some sort of peril. All par for the course for a novel written a few years before the sexual revolution of the 60s’. You will not find the modern version of feminism in any of the M M Kaye novels. Her heroines tend towards the Romantic and Victorian morality, where a woman can be courageous and outspoken, but she still needs a strong hand to control her and she still views marriage as the ultimate goal of her existence. As witnessed is the way Amanda gives relationship advice to a husband whose wife ran away.
‘She sounds to me,’ said Amada candidly, ‘as if she needed a dozen with a good solid slipper. It’s a pity you didn’t try it.’
Coming in with the right expectations will prevent the reader from being disappointed in these old-fashioned attitudes. The novel is for me like a time-capsule, true to the standards of its social class and times. This holds true also for the Cyprus island offered to us here: a peaceful, sunny, spectacular place with a rich history and romantic ruins, unspoiled yet by war or mass tourism. For some Britons, like the old lady that plays host to Amanda, a place of self-imposed exile to be preferred over the clammy coldness of London. The small city of Kyrenia and the crusader castle of St Hilarion are the main haunts of Amanda and her group.
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In conclusion: I didn’t have high expectations from this. I just wanted to read something fluffy and fun as I close the 2020 list and to continue the duel at a distance with the very similar series written by Dorothy Dunnett. Mission accomplished! Three stars just about describes the experience: not bad, not exceptional, but ‘good’
My favorite passage has nothing to do with the murders, or with tourism, or with the budding love story. It’s the way the author uses her fictional author to describe what it means to be an author.
‘Persis – are we real to you? Or are we all just people acting out parts that give you ideas for stories?
‘Sometimes I do feel that way. As if I was on the other side of a sheet of plate glass, watching a puppet show and thinking “that’s interesting”. Sometimes the people I write about seem more real to me than a lot of people I meet, because I know them and I own them. It’s – I suppose it’s a little like being God.’