An sich soll der Krimi ja im Stil der großen Agatha Christie geschrieben sein, aber da kommt das Buch wirklich bei Weitem nicht dran, auch wenn der Grundgedanke selbstverständlich an die Queen of Crime erinnert: An einem stürmigen Winterabend sind einige Gäste in ffolkes Manor zum Weihnachtsfest versammelt. Und in einem verschlossenen Raum findet sich am nächsten Morgen die Leiche eines unangenehmen Zeitgenossen, den jeder der Anwesenden wohl gerne ins Jenseits befördert hätte. Also dürfen sich ein pensionierter Scotland-Yard-Inspektor und eine Schriftstellerin ans Werk machen, um den Mörder zu ermitteln, was natürlich der Krimiautorin gelingt. Vom britischen Humor ist (in der Übersetzung) nicht viel zu merken und die Lebensgeschichten der Anwesenden sind zum Teil so langatmig, dass sie zum zügigen Weiterblättern animieren.
Der Clou ist sicherlich gut durchdacht, der Täter kommt ein wenig aus dem hohen Hut und dem Ganzen fehlt es an Saft und Kraft, auf jeden Fall an Humor, sodass ich beim nächsten Mal doch lieber wieder meine Bekanntschaft mit Miss Marple und Hercule Poirot auffrische. ( )

This is supposed to be a send up of Golden Age detective fiction, and I suppose it is, but I have to say I agree with the previous reviewer and think it more enjoyable because it is a whodunnit, rather than because of all the 'send up' going on over ones head.
You develop a fondness for the characters, and I second guessed myself a few times over 'whodidit' so worth a read if you like that sort of thing.

Here's another book I thought I'd like but couldn't get going with. I picked it up at the library to read over Christmas - it's an Agatha Christie pastiche sort of a thing, set in a snowed in manor on Boxing Day. I gave it 50 pages to grab me before I took it back to the library on a snowy February weekend. It delivered on about page 45 and turned into another book I wanted to read to the end without putting it down. It's full of clever word plays and insights into the Christie stereotypes, but mostly I feel like I probably missed a lot of them. I wonder if I'd have been just as happy reading a real Agatha Christie and not worrying about what was going over my head. It was fun alright, but I felt that was mostly because the genre it's taking the mickey out of is fun rather than being fun in its own right.

For those of you who know your Agatha Christie, or the Golden Age of British crime, the title of this book will speak volumes. It is, as you would expect, a spoof of the great era of crime writing, and, in part, a homage to Christie's exceptional The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. This book involves a British manor house, an amateur sleuth, the usual range of British upper class (and not-so-upper class) characters, and a locked room mystery.

It is rather amusing stuff, with a great meta-analysis feel as our amateur sleuth, Evadne Mount, is a writer of mystery novels herself, with some gentle fun being had at the expense of the genre. Lots of "oh, but when I wrote cheesy murder mystery title..." comments, and a general disdain of locked room mysteries, which Miss Mount would never write, oh no. Particular mention also has to be made of the map at the front of the book: completely useless and unnecessary, and then one of the characters gets to complain about completely useless and unnecessary maps at the front of murder mystery novels.

And the crime itself was rather good, I didn't guess whodunnit at all. I'd read The Murder of Roger Ackroyd a few years ago, and it was good having it sort-of-fresh in the back of my mind, but not essential to enjoyment of this book, I would think.

I won't rush out for the next Evadne Mount book, but will happily pick it up when I see it at the library. (And how does one pronounce "Evadne"??) ( )

A clever, witty pastiche of intra-war English cozies. ( )