There is a murder mystery, of some ingenuity, but the real focus of the book is a send-up of Oxford. In Monty Pythonist fashion, some bits land and others do not, or at least haven’t aged well. But the final pursuit from Parson’s Pleasure down to the Randolph is a brilliant set piece, What I perceived as casual British 1950s racism was somewhat nuanced by the penultimate paragraph: “As the Inspector walked away he caught sight of [the universally sought after] Balboa Tomlin on the arm of Mr Singh. ...As he turned the corner, Autumn saw Mr Singh raise his hand to Nicholas. But if it was meant to be Mr Churchill’s V-sign, Mr Singh had got it wrong.” The book in miniature.

An interesting book, a little tongue in cheek mystery about the murder of a couple of Oxford University dons. There are just too many suspects and characters being juggled about and I got a little dizzy keeping them straight. ( )

This book is by Robert Robinson, the English radio broadcaster and was written 53 years ago, when I should imagine he was young man himself. A murder mystery set in a fictional Oxford college, and as a murder mystery it's better than average, but not great.

For me, Robert Robinson in full self-satisfied flow on the radio, is something to be taken in very small doses, reading this book the overall impression is of an author who is insufferably pleased with himself. ( )