One of the genius things about crime novels is that because they’re all the same, there are limitless possibilities of what you can do with them. Yes, there’s the basic structure that the reader expects, but beyond that the author can use his or hers ‘hunt the murderer’ yarn to tackle anything they damn well like.Take this interesting, if very flawed, Albert Campian novel. The basic set-up is that there’s a ruthless and expert killer on the loose in London; he is one of the most dangerous men in Britain, and Campian and Scotland Yard have to track him down before any more victims fall. And yet the murder plot is almost the least fascinated element of this book. Written in 1952 and set post-war, Allingham portrays a dark fog forever hanging over the city. Such is the depth and darkness of this fog/smog, that it becomes almost existential in nature. The characters in this book are literally unable to see what is in front of them and where they are going; they’re always fighting against the gloom and lost in this world of blackness. Without a doubt there’s a sense of post-war malaise in this fog, Britain was a country on the winning side of the war, but they don’t feel like victors in this gloomy London – instead they seem to have lost their sunshine and their joy. And perhaps even more than that, a dark and heavy fog is by its nature hugely oppressive, and this oppression is felt right across society itself. If you read the adventures of the aristocratic detective Campian which were written before the war, then there is a sense of a very ordered society. Everybody knows their place. In The Tiger in the Smoke on the other hand, that society is pushed down and crumbling. People who used to have money don’t any more, respectable persons are letting themselves down, things aren’t what they were promised to be and all is too vulnerable to the forces of disorder.Jack Havoc – the tiger of the title – is an incredibly interesting post-war British character: a man who has tasted violence during the war, and is now unable to stop his worst impulses. He represents society’s underbelly, the poor boy who was offered charity by those better and richer than him, but still grew up to be a bad one. That war against Hitler allowed him to pick up all kind of new and violent tricks, which he can employ to get what he wants while the forces of law and order stagger along helplessly behind him. It is quite striking how often he exposes the limitations of the agents of authority, showing them up as foolish and flat-footed. And more so than say Brighton Rock’s Pinkie (a pre-war character of similar ilk), Jack Havoc is a force of incredible nature – remorseless, unrelenting and for the most part unstoppable. Certainly he is one of the most noir characters I have ever read in English fiction. There are American characters like him in the novels of Jim Thompson, or played on the screen by Robert Mitchum, but few in English fiction. He is wild and uncontrollable, a destructive force which threatens society itself.As I said though, this is a distinctly flawed novel. Allingham would clearly rather be writing about Havoc than anyone else, so it does often feel as if the police and even Albert Campian himself have been inserted in from a different novel. It’s also a quite poorly paced story, with vaguely sketched minor characters, and plot development and twists which are casually and almost carelessly unspooled. However it is a really terrifying and evocative portrayal of London, and a must for anyone interested in the state of Britain after the war.
Sometime in the 1980s my local paper, the San Francisco Chronicle, published the favorite mysteries of Dilys Winn, editor of Murder Ink and Murderess Ink, which are apparently companion volumes for fans.I used to clip the reviews of appealing new books with the intent of getting around to them — a pre-internet version of the To Be Read shelf. Like my TBR shelf here on Goodreads, that file got really thick, and most of the stuff in it was ignored and forgotten.But I recently decided to get rid of some clutter, and got around to my files. Most of the stuff in the "Reading List" file went straight into the recycling bin, but a few caught my eye. One was a report I'd apparently requested and paid for on what books were considered required reading in American secondary education. I presumably wanted to double-check my literacy, and I see that I still haven't read many of those undoubted classics. If you want to take a look at the list, I turned it into one of Goodread's Listopias here.Anyway, this was one of the favorites listed on that faded newspaper clipping. And I'm glad I read it — it's really good. Not "literary classic" good, but a cut above most of the detective/mystery fiction I've read. It's probably been twenty years since I read any Agatha Christie, but based on vague recollections, I think I like this better. I think it has a better... er, dynamic range of personalities than I remember from Christie. Maybe not.What really struck me was that the people that populate this foggy London just after World War II seem closer in spirit to Dicken's London than our own. Some of the sad miscreants don't seem to have any counterpart in this modern world. That gives this a peculiar feel of a world times — now that coal is no longer a common fuel, even the legendary London fogs that provide such a mood within this story have now gone.I see from Wikipedia that the author died many decades ago, so I won't encourage you to buy a new copy of this, but see if it is available at your local library and spend a few evenings with this gem.
Do You like book The Tiger In The Smoke (2005)?
Having seen a few episodes of the "Campion" TV series in the eighties, I was curious about the books. I somehow got the impression this one was the beginning, which it obviously is not. But anyway, I read it. There were a few too many characters in Campion's household (or Meg's household, or whatever) and I got confused about who was who and what was what. I even took Luke for Maggers, there for a bit, until I remembered M's name. However, the language is good and the story flowed well until about halfway through. Unfortunately things bogged down a bit when they got to the baddies' hideaway; I felt the setup of who was in authority etc took far too long. The ending was all right, but a bit predictable, with important events taking place "offstage."An OK read, though I hope some of the other novels are a bit more engaging. I liked Vicar Avril, but Campion was hardly present at all and didn't do much sleuthing.
—Orinoco Womble (tidy bag and all)
This was a somewhat difficult read for me. I had purchased this book many months before and have tried on numerous times to get into the story. This time I gave it a good 150 pages before I eventually felt defeated. I have a feeling that perhaps this book is not for me as many readers have enjoyed it. I really tried to get into the story but failed. The only redeeming feature for me was the illustrations by Finn Campbell-Notman (I have the Folio Society edition) that were beautiful but extremely creepy. I love old vintage crime/thriller novels however this one was not for me. It's a shame because I wanted to love it. I think I may just stick to Agatha Christie in the future.
—Kevin
The great thing about going to book conferences is that there you are, penned up with a bunch of other people who all love books. This time it was the Poisoned Pen Con in Phoenix, a small, intimate gathering with single-track paneling where you have time to visit and hobnob with other readers and your favorite authors.One of my favorite authors is Francine Matthews (aka Stephanie Barron) and she and I and Barbara Peters were talking about our favorite Golden Age mysteries. They were as one in declaring this novel to be one of their favorites.I'd read a couple of the Albert Campion novels way back when, didn't like them much and moved on, but if Francine and Barbara say it it must be so, I picked up a copy.London, 1950. Beautiful couturier Meg Elginbrodde lost her husband in World War II and after mourning him for five years has become engaged to Geoffrey Levett. Unfortunately, as soon as they announce their wedding photos of her previously deceased husband begin appearing in the society journals, and she calls in Campion for help.There is some lovely description here, especially of the oppressive London fog, "a saffron blanket soaked in ice-water" and "[the fog] oozed in ungenially, to smear sooty fingers over the two elegant young people who sat inside" and "greasy drapery." Yeesh.But what I love most about this book is the character descriptions. Take Campion's associate, Divisional Detective Chief Inspector Charles Luke:Charlie Luke in his spiv civilians looked at best like a heavyweight champion in training...His pile-driver personality...It made him an alarming enemy for someone. When he is detailing a subordinate to accompany an unwilling Canon Avril, Luke says, "He's my senior assistant, a quiet, discreet sort of man," he added firmly, eying the sergeant with open menace." You'd develop quiet discretion, too, if Luke looked at you that way.Of Canon Avril, Meg's father, Allingham writes:He believed in miracles and frequently observed them, and nothing astonished him. His imagination was as wild as a small boy's and his faith ultimate. In ordinary life he was, quite frankly, hardly safe out.(As is made manifestly obvious when he nearly gets his daughter killed, for which Allingham never brings him to judgement, the only thing that irritates me here.)There are lots of fun throwaway lines and phrases everywhere. Of one of the minor characters Allingham writes, "Her voice was gentle, placatory, and never-ending." At one point Levett says, "Values are so relative...Hitler wanted the modern world. Well, I mean to say, Campion, look at the modern world!" Francine and Barbara recommended the next two books in the Campion series, too, The Beckoning Lady, which I've already started, and Hide My Eyes, which is on my to-read shelf.
—Dana Stabenow
