This latest instalment of the Lydmouth series has been the most enjoyable so far and despite my petty annoyance at the, 'will they, won't they?' relationship between Lydmouth Gazette journalist Jill Frances and DI Richard Thornhill, I'm really starting to warm to the characters. With Mr Quale, factotum at The Bull Hotel and although his role in this particular novel is rather minor, he has been a rare recurring character in all three Lydmouth books so far, and although somewhat disagreeable at times, is a most welcome and amusing standout. Where his scenes and lines are wholly relishable.
Speaking of petty annoyances however, I do find it rather bizarre, that in these small town murder mystery stories, that ordinary, down to earth, normally law abiding (I'd presume!) citizens, immediately turn to murder and the covering up of murder/manslaughter, as their first port of call as a solution to their problems! If I or someone I hold dear accidentally killed someone, I'm sure the seriousness of the event would make sure I automatically went through the proper channels and just told the truth, as I wouldn't want the hole that had just been dug to get any deeper, not manifestly make things worse by attempting to cover it up, which would inevitably in the end, come crashing down around my ears and land me in an even larger world of sh*t!
I know, I know, at the end of the day, if the characters in these stories thought as pragmatically and rationally as that, there'd be no story to tell, blah, blah, blah, but it does rip my knitting ever so slightly and I'm 'just sayin' haha!
However, it is what it is and I'll now stop my whinging.
There were a couple of great characters in the book, besides the afore mentioned Mr Quale, first up was the entirely sympathetic exPOW Italian, Umberto Nerini. Sadness overload surrounded this character, with some great writing, that really got the emotional juices flowing with the tangled life he had with his employers, a husband and wife team of farmers.
Then we had a myriad of conflicting emotions with the character of Hubert Paxford, whom had horrifying facial deformities down half of his face, due to a war time grenade explosion. Mercilessly and cruelly teased by the pupils of Ashbridge boarding school where he was the groundsman and hatefully known as ’Frankie’, short for Frankenstein’s monster by both pupils and masters alike. Disliked and treated harshly by the school's headmaster, whom did nothing to stem the bullying and egregious persecution of his school caretaker by the privileged school boys.
Obviously this engendered much sympathy, but when we found out what extracurricular activities Paxford had been getting up to, due to his inability to speak to and attract women, an inability that speaks to many, a great deal of that affinity was lost.
We then had passages of great writing, where due to the now sympathetic ears of one of his victims, Jill Frances and his willingness to cooperate with the police, leading to that of DI Thornhill, with the book now asking the moral questions of what extent should Paxford's crimes be punished? Was losing his home and his job on top of any judicial punishment an appropriate outcome? Or should he just receive psychological help and be shown some much needed love and affection? Lots of emotions, lots of superb writing, as usual from the pen of Andrew Taylor, and for the first time, I'm now looking forward to the next Lydmouth story! Woohoo!
Nevertheless, I did find it a bit contrived in one particular scene, near the end, where Jill Frances, having just found some extremely pertinent and damning evidence against the main culprits, who’s web of lies were only now unraveling and being exposed, proceeds to trip over, spilling the entire contents, including the evidence, of her handbag right in front of one of the perpetrators! ”Aye right!” you heard me cry! ”As if…..?!” It’s not even like there had been a lot of comedy thrown into the tale generally, so a slapstick ’pratfall’, was most definitely out of place and certainly out of character for Jill Frances! A highly contrived clumsy fall just equated to a piece of poor writing in my book, albeit rare, so I’ll forgive him this one,
**points and wags finger**
”But don’t do it again!”