Constance Little
Auteur van Great Black Kanba
Over de Auteur
Ontwarringsbericht:
(eng) Constance and Gwenyth Little wrote as a team using both of their names on all books.
Werken van Constance Little
Quoth the Raven / Great Black Kanba 1 exemplaar
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Tagged
Algemene kennis
- Officiële naam
- Little, Constance
Little, Gwenyth - Pseudoniemen en naamsvarianten
- Little, Jessie Constance
Little, Norma Gwenyth
Little, Conyth (pseudonym) - Geboortedatum
- 1899 (Constance)
1903 (Gwenyth) - Overlijdensdatum
- 1980 (Constance)
1985 (Gwenyth) - Geslacht
- female
- Geboorteplaats
- Australia
- Plaats van overlijden
- Newton, New Jersey, USA
- Korte biografie
- [from Goodreads website]
Jessie Constance Little (1899-1980) co-authored with her sister Gwenyth Little (1903-1985) mysteries in the screwball-comedy fashion. The Little sisters are referred to as "queens of the wacky cozy." They were sometimes published as Conyth Little, a portmanteau of their names.
Their youngest sister Iris wrote under the pseudonym Robert James.
Constance Little married Lawrence Baker, a men's clothing designer for the Dubois Uniform Company in New York City. - Ontwarringsbericht
- Constance and Gwenyth Little wrote as a team using both of their names on all books.
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A rather boring entry in the Little series of mysteries.
At the behest of her father’s will, Carla Bray is cruising the world. After docking in the port of Tahiti and picking up a new passenger, the ship sets sail once more for its final port of call—San Francisco. But not everyone is destined to finish the cruise. Three dead bodies turn up in quick succession, and all of the murders seem to center around Carla.
Ogilvie, a member of the ship’s crew, hones in on Carla as suspect number one. However, Robert Arnold—the newly acquired passenger from Tahiti—doesn’t believe Carla is guilty, and he sets out to uncover the real culprit before the killer succeeds in getting rid of Carla, too.
This is a rather dispirited mystery that never really gets any energy going in terms of plot or character development. The cruise ship setting should be ideal for the Littles, but they just can’t seem to capture the allure or the excitement of a trans-oceanic cruise liner—maybe because this is their first attempt at mystery writing.
The heroine, Carla Bray, is unusual for the Littles in the sense that she is not a very strong female protagonist; she spends most of her time crying, fainting, or having hysterics. Robert Arnold is, of necessity, her love interest; and he falls in love with her at first sight although there is no earthly reason for him to do so. Carla herself eventually falls for Arnold, but only because she is scared out of her wits and he is the only fresh thing on the ship’s stale menu of eligible males. Arnold pursues, protects, and otherwise harangues poor little Carla throughout the book, until—in typical Little fashion—they end up engaged…mostly because Arnold seems to think it is required and Carla can’t seem to think of anything else to do.
All of the shipboard travelers are flat, easily forgettable characters. None of the murder victims are tragic; none of the passengers are sympathetic or quirky; and the eventual murderer seems like more of a bland afterthought than a sinister presence.
Once again, be prepared to endure errors in the Rue Morgue Press edition. My personal favorite this time around: “I rang the hell again” instead of “I rang the bell again.”… (meer)
At the behest of her father’s will, Carla Bray is cruising the world. After docking in the port of Tahiti and picking up a new passenger, the ship sets sail once more for its final port of call—San Francisco. But not everyone is destined to finish the cruise. Three dead bodies turn up in quick succession, and all of the murders seem to center around Carla.
Ogilvie, a member of the ship’s crew, hones in on Carla as suspect number one. However, Robert Arnold—the newly acquired passenger from Tahiti—doesn’t believe Carla is guilty, and he sets out to uncover the real culprit before the killer succeeds in getting rid of Carla, too.
This is a rather dispirited mystery that never really gets any energy going in terms of plot or character development. The cruise ship setting should be ideal for the Littles, but they just can’t seem to capture the allure or the excitement of a trans-oceanic cruise liner—maybe because this is their first attempt at mystery writing.
The heroine, Carla Bray, is unusual for the Littles in the sense that she is not a very strong female protagonist; she spends most of her time crying, fainting, or having hysterics. Robert Arnold is, of necessity, her love interest; and he falls in love with her at first sight although there is no earthly reason for him to do so. Carla herself eventually falls for Arnold, but only because she is scared out of her wits and he is the only fresh thing on the ship’s stale menu of eligible males. Arnold pursues, protects, and otherwise harangues poor little Carla throughout the book, until—in typical Little fashion—they end up engaged…mostly because Arnold seems to think it is required and Carla can’t seem to think of anything else to do.
All of the shipboard travelers are flat, easily forgettable characters. None of the murder victims are tragic; none of the passengers are sympathetic or quirky; and the eventual murderer seems like more of a bland afterthought than a sinister presence.
Once again, be prepared to endure errors in the Rue Morgue Press edition. My personal favorite this time around: “I rang the hell again” instead of “I rang the bell again.”… (meer)
Once again, the Littles let themselves down by ruining a great story with an unnecessary train-wreck of a ‘romance’.
Diana Prescott is a strong-willed free spirit—sort of. She defied her pea-cannery owner, millionaire father and ran off to follow her dream of stardom on the Broadway stage. She now lives in a respectable boardinghouse while pursuing her studies in drama school. The boardinghouse is operated by Mrs. Lulu Markham and her aspiring-actress daughter Barbara, who rehearses with Diana in the drawing room whenever it is free.
The other inhabitants of the boardinghouse are a motley crew: schoolteachers Mary and Grace, thirty-something spinsters who still have high hopes; Camille, a washed up former actress with a slight drinking problem; Neville Ward, a milquetoast bank employee; Imogene and Opal, a couple of elderly sisters who have an insatiable appetite for library books; Barbara’s uncle, Alvin, a man of few words and even fewer interests; Dennis Livingstone, the handsome newcomer who has apparently been sent to lure Diana back home to her father; Kate, the irritable cook; Evie, the insolent maid; Miss Giddens, a dotty old lady who is no longer playing with a full deck; and Diana’s father, Quincy Prescott, a bombastic industrialist and bridge enthusiast who just wishes his pea-heiress daughter would take up sewing and stay home.
Life in the boardinghouse is running smoothly when some of its most innocuous residents suddenly begin disappearing…along with the draperies. When their dead bodies (& the curtains) start turning up under odd circumstances throughout the house, it becomes clear that a brutal killer is on the loose, but who could possibly want to kill such a harmless bunch of old pensioners, and why?
Diana and Barbara scour the house in search of clues and find way more than they can possibly handle. It is definitely an inscrutable puzzle. What could a burned topaz brooch, a missing library book, a bunch of old photos, a copy of Elsie Dinsmore, a battered hat, and experiments with garden peas possibly have to do with triple murder? When Diana finally succeeds in putting the pieces together and realizes the dismal truth, she finds herself fending off a deadly assault from the ruthless killer. Will help arrive in time, or will Diana become innocent murder victim #4?
With The Black Shrouds, the Littles are successful in creating a mystery chockfull of wacky characters and a plot that is clever and comes together nicely in the end. Unfortunately, it suffers from the same failing common to all of the Little mysteries I have read so far—a thoroughly tepid and unconvincing romance between our supposedly free-spirited heroine and some dumb cluck who is more dud than dreamboat.
Diana knows her own mind and is determined to fulfill her ambition of having a career on the stage. Dennis Livingstone appears on the scene, taunts her, pushes her around, and paws all over her every chance he gets; and, except within the context of getting her father’s goat, Diana has no more enthusiasm for him than she does for old Uncle Alvin. Yet, at the end of the story, Diana is meekly bundled off back home to her father with an engagement to that pompous buffoon Dennis looming over her head. It’s pointless and utterly infuriating.
This is one of my favorite Little mystery plots, but it is largely spoiled by an insufferable character who could just as easily been left out of the book entirely.… (meer)
Diana Prescott is a strong-willed free spirit—sort of. She defied her pea-cannery owner, millionaire father and ran off to follow her dream of stardom on the Broadway stage. She now lives in a respectable boardinghouse while pursuing her studies in drama school. The boardinghouse is operated by Mrs. Lulu Markham and her aspiring-actress daughter Barbara, who rehearses with Diana in the drawing room whenever it is free.
The other inhabitants of the boardinghouse are a motley crew: schoolteachers Mary and Grace, thirty-something spinsters who still have high hopes; Camille, a washed up former actress with a slight drinking problem; Neville Ward, a milquetoast bank employee; Imogene and Opal, a couple of elderly sisters who have an insatiable appetite for library books; Barbara’s uncle, Alvin, a man of few words and even fewer interests; Dennis Livingstone, the handsome newcomer who has apparently been sent to lure Diana back home to her father; Kate, the irritable cook; Evie, the insolent maid; Miss Giddens, a dotty old lady who is no longer playing with a full deck; and Diana’s father, Quincy Prescott, a bombastic industrialist and bridge enthusiast who just wishes his pea-heiress daughter would take up sewing and stay home.
Life in the boardinghouse is running smoothly when some of its most innocuous residents suddenly begin disappearing…along with the draperies. When their dead bodies (& the curtains) start turning up under odd circumstances throughout the house, it becomes clear that a brutal killer is on the loose, but who could possibly want to kill such a harmless bunch of old pensioners, and why?
Diana and Barbara scour the house in search of clues and find way more than they can possibly handle. It is definitely an inscrutable puzzle. What could a burned topaz brooch, a missing library book, a bunch of old photos, a copy of Elsie Dinsmore, a battered hat, and experiments with garden peas possibly have to do with triple murder? When Diana finally succeeds in putting the pieces together and realizes the dismal truth, she finds herself fending off a deadly assault from the ruthless killer. Will help arrive in time, or will Diana become innocent murder victim #4?
With The Black Shrouds, the Littles are successful in creating a mystery chockfull of wacky characters and a plot that is clever and comes together nicely in the end. Unfortunately, it suffers from the same failing common to all of the Little mysteries I have read so far—a thoroughly tepid and unconvincing romance between our supposedly free-spirited heroine and some dumb cluck who is more dud than dreamboat.
Diana knows her own mind and is determined to fulfill her ambition of having a career on the stage. Dennis Livingstone appears on the scene, taunts her, pushes her around, and paws all over her every chance he gets; and, except within the context of getting her father’s goat, Diana has no more enthusiasm for him than she does for old Uncle Alvin. Yet, at the end of the story, Diana is meekly bundled off back home to her father with an engagement to that pompous buffoon Dennis looming over her head. It’s pointless and utterly infuriating.
This is one of my favorite Little mystery plots, but it is largely spoiled by an insufferable character who could just as easily been left out of the book entirely.… (meer)
A fun, screwball premise that should have worked, but didn’t.
Mary Fredon’s husband Homer has just run off with their next door neighbor, Betty Emerson. Mary plans to escape to her cottage in the country to recover, so she offers the use of her apartment to her friend, Eugenia Gates.
Eugenia is looking for somewhere to spend a quiet couple of weeks by herself, relaxing. Unfortunately, Eugenia doesn’t even get to spend one moment by herself because Mary has also invited furloughed Army soldier, Ken Smith, and vivacious, middle-aged, bon vivant chaperone, Lucy, to live in the apartment, too. Ken and Lucy immediately decide to throw a party, so Eugenia’s hopes for peace and quiet are soundly thwarted.
Yes, the apartment is definitely packed full of people, and there seems to be evidence that Homer has come back to roost, too; but, nobody actually manages to catch him in the flesh.
Before long, dead bodies begin showing up in the weirdest places throughout the apartment. Is Homer really the homicidal maniac he appears to be? Or is something more sinister going on? And just what is this black eye John Emerson keeps talking about? Eugenia tries hard to solve the mystery before her failed two-week vacation turns into a lifelong imprisonment in Mary’s increasingly crowded, yet immaculately clean, abode.
This story is rife with possibilities for humor and entertaining mystery-solving, but it falls seriously flat for two reasons.
First of all, Ken Smith is an absolutely odious character. Seconds after encroaching on Eugenia’s holiday, he demands to know when his dinner will be ready. Later on he puts his hand around her neck and chokes her, demanding that she give him a smile. As if that’s not bad enough, he then comments that he can’t wait to smack her around. Throughout the book, he orders Eugenia to: do the dishes, make her bed, go to a party, give him a place to stay on his next furlough, go on a date with him, etc., etc., etc. At one point, he claps his hand over her mouth and forcibly removes her from a room. And he also repeatedly tells her to shut up. Isn’t he a peach? And, unfortunately, he is a constant presence throughout the entire book. Although most of the story would have been a fun read, my teeth were perpetually clenched just because Ken was present.
Second, the ending was ludicrous. The murderer’s means and motivations were just downright stupid. There is no other way to put it. The reasons the victims were murdered did not make reasonable sense. And the way they were killed absolutely defied believability. Although it had the potential to be really good, the farfetched ending, coupled with the presence of that colossal creep Ken, made this book an absolutely painful experience.
As always, the Rue Morgue Press edition I read had its share of typographical errors. Having to slog through sentences like “the door dosed” instead of “the door closed” and “it yeas important” instead of “it was important” only succeeded in making this awful book even worse. Rue Morgue Press should be commended for making these old mystery titles available to newer generations of readers; Rue Morgue Press needs to be censured for having no quality control procedures whatsoever.… (meer)
Mary Fredon’s husband Homer has just run off with their next door neighbor, Betty Emerson. Mary plans to escape to her cottage in the country to recover, so she offers the use of her apartment to her friend, Eugenia Gates.
Eugenia is looking for somewhere to spend a quiet couple of weeks by herself, relaxing. Unfortunately, Eugenia doesn’t even get to spend one moment by herself because Mary has also invited furloughed Army soldier, Ken Smith, and vivacious, middle-aged, bon vivant chaperone, Lucy, to live in the apartment, too. Ken and Lucy immediately decide to throw a party, so Eugenia’s hopes for peace and quiet are soundly thwarted.
Yes, the apartment is definitely packed full of people, and there seems to be evidence that Homer has come back to roost, too; but, nobody actually manages to catch him in the flesh.
Before long, dead bodies begin showing up in the weirdest places throughout the apartment. Is Homer really the homicidal maniac he appears to be? Or is something more sinister going on? And just what is this black eye John Emerson keeps talking about? Eugenia tries hard to solve the mystery before her failed two-week vacation turns into a lifelong imprisonment in Mary’s increasingly crowded, yet immaculately clean, abode.
This story is rife with possibilities for humor and entertaining mystery-solving, but it falls seriously flat for two reasons.
First of all, Ken Smith is an absolutely odious character. Seconds after encroaching on Eugenia’s holiday, he demands to know when his dinner will be ready. Later on he puts his hand around her neck and chokes her, demanding that she give him a smile. As if that’s not bad enough, he then comments that he can’t wait to smack her around. Throughout the book, he orders Eugenia to: do the dishes, make her bed, go to a party, give him a place to stay on his next furlough, go on a date with him, etc., etc., etc. At one point, he claps his hand over her mouth and forcibly removes her from a room. And he also repeatedly tells her to shut up. Isn’t he a peach? And, unfortunately, he is a constant presence throughout the entire book. Although most of the story would have been a fun read, my teeth were perpetually clenched just because Ken was present.
Second, the ending was ludicrous. The murderer’s means and motivations were just downright stupid. There is no other way to put it. The reasons the victims were murdered did not make reasonable sense. And the way they were killed absolutely defied believability. Although it had the potential to be really good, the farfetched ending, coupled with the presence of that colossal creep Ken, made this book an absolutely painful experience.
As always, the Rue Morgue Press edition I read had its share of typographical errors. Having to slog through sentences like “the door dosed” instead of “the door closed” and “it yeas important” instead of “it was important” only succeeded in making this awful book even worse. Rue Morgue Press should be commended for making these old mystery titles available to newer generations of readers; Rue Morgue Press needs to be censured for having no quality control procedures whatsoever.… (meer)
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- 22
- Ook door
- 2
- Leden
- 571
- Populariteit
- #43,841
- Waardering
- 3.3
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- 22
- ISBNs
- 23
Richard’s two spinster aunts, Ivy & Violet Balron, quarrel about everything. Their most recent quarrel involves who will inherit their indivisible estate; Ivy wants the money to go to Richard, but Violet favors making their step-niece Ada Terry their sole heir. Violet & Ivy come up with a novel solution to their predicament—a variation of Russian roulette. At regular intervals, the two sisters each take a pistol containing a single bullet and fire at one another; the first one to die loses.
When Richard catches them at their deadly little game, he is horrified and quickly concocts a scheme to put an end to his aunts’ foolhardy shenanigans. He asks his nemesis—smart-mouthed, red-headed actress Ada—to acquiesce to a phony, secret engagement; Richard reasons that when Violet & Ivy learn of the impending marriage they will have to give up on killing one another because—as a married couple—both Ada and Richard would inevitably receive the inheritance. Much like their aunts, Ada & Richard are constantly bickering, and their constant tit-for-tat hostility catapults them unwillingly to the altar.
Meanwhile, all sorts of things are disappearing from the aunts’ home: a missing tea set turns up at the local antique store, an unknown dead body vanishes from the parlor, and—eventually—both Ivy & Violet disappear without a trace, too.
When more dead bodies start cropping up in curious places, Richard must look amongst an odd array of friends and neighbors to uncover a motive and unmask a heartless killer.
Exactly the same review can be written about most of the Little Sisters’ series of mysteries: A highly original, fun and quirky plotline is thoroughly ruined by an irritating, nonsensical ‘romance’ and a cast of unnecessarily obnoxious and annoying characters. Typographical errors are commonplace throughout the Rue Morgue Press edition.
The Black Iris is no exception to this rule.… (meer)