I am now convinced THE MOVING TOYSHOP was a fluke. It was a fast-paced, almost slapstick adventure with a large cast that never got cluttered and were easy to differentiate. I then tried BURIED FOR PLEASURE and gave up one-third thru because nothing was happening other than a ton of pointless talk. Which brings me to BEWARE OF THE TRAINS. It's not completely bad, probably because it isn't a novel. It's 16 short stories. By restricting himself to short stories Crispin had to do away with the clutter that otherwise bogs down his work. What he kept, unfortunately, was all the talk.
The stories, if you examine them, don't stand up. They're told in that quick, breezy manner where you're expected to accept whatever the author says and not go back and verify it. (Erle Stanley Gardner relied on this trick also.) Take for instance this sentence from the opening title story: And since, as I've demonstrated, ____ was unquestionably in the motorman's cabin... There's only one problem: nowhere in the story did Fen ever demonstrate it. I went back and reread it twice and can't find where he did it. But if you just go along and take the author's word for it, well, then I suppose you have a clever story.
The next one is no better. Fen spends his time explaining the how and why of a crime only to have someone else call up with evidence that contradicts what Fen has been saying. Fen's response (paraphrasing) is to the effect, "Well, I guess we'll never know." Sorry Crispin but I don't accept that. You wasted my time telling a story that has no resolution. So FU.
Gervase Fen here is reduced to an sedentary Sherlock Holmes. There's none of the literary comments from TOYSHOP. All he does is sit or stand around while others tell their tale then pounces on an answer. I suppose I was fortunate to read TOYSHOP first, since it was a real gem (despite the revelation making no sense). I have 3 more Fen novels lying around but I doubt I'll bother with them. If I do I'll destroy whatever good feelings I had toward Crispin at all, and I'd like to hang onto the memory of at least one good book.