The Fabrics of My Life

by Eric

Earlier this year we retired my Race with Grace 10K T-shirt. Even by my lax sartorial standards (mismatched white socks) the poor old thing was unwearable -- faded, discolored, a hole or two. It was almost thirty years old, so it had a good innings for a T-shirt.

Digging through our clothing cache for a replacement, Mary came across a number of shirts I'd forgotten. Since leaving the corporate necktie world to work freelance my favored attire has been T-shirts and jeans. Which means I've rarely had to buy a shirt thanks to my collection of such shirts from road races and orienteering meets in which I participated.

Last week I sported a drawing of a tank from orienteering at West Point. The military academy owns thousands of acres of rugged land in New Jersey used for training and recreation and every year it hosted such an event to take advantage of its steep boulder-strewn terrain. I went out into the woods several times and avoided getting totally lost (orienteers are never lost, only "disoriented") and now it's fun to remember being up to the challenge, more or less. Strangely enough, my usually bad memory holds a thick album of snapshots showing the terrain I navigated in parks around the Northeast and even Canada.

I can remember details of road race courses too. Well, it isn't surprising that the leopard-decorated Jungle Jog shirt jogs my memory of running though a zoo. Even I couldn't forget that. My most memorable race T-shirt might be for the Green Mountain 10K Road Race sponsored by the Summit Ski Lodge. Running Times magazine (then the main competitor to Runner's World) paid me to travel to Killington, Vermont, to cover the race in part by running in it. The course was unforgettably hilly (not to say mountainous) but I did pretty well, probably because I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of all the competitors I'd interviewed for my article the night before. Oh, I said that "might" be my most memorable shirt because it seems to have been mislaid over the years. Maybe one day it will turn up.

There are some T-shirts for creative endeavors. One year I had an entry in the Annual Interactive Fiction Competition for computer games in the tradition of 1980s text-based games like Colossal Cave Adventure. In my game -- The HeBGB Horror! -- the player searches for a mystical lost chord in and around a (highly) fictionalized version of New York City's CBGB rock club. I finished in the middle of the competition, same as my road races. Not bad, considering I'd never even seen a computer program prior to my writing the game. The T-shirt lists all the entrants.

My Deadly Ink T-shirt was from the 2000 conference in Mount Arlington, NJ, where I appeared on a panel to promote our first Byzantine mystery novel One for Sorrow.

Mary also came across a T-shirt produced to raise funds for New York Post staffers who were fighting the newspaper's sale to a notorious NY slumlord. The shirt features a spiffy graphic of the paper's founder, Alexander Hamilton, with a single tear rolling down his cheek. The Post is best known as a tabloid with headlines like "Headless Body in Topless Bar".

The earliest surviving shirt dates back to my law school days. Our Entertainment Law professor gave the class "tour" T-shirts at the conclusion of the course. Professor Silfen knew what he was talking about since he represented many bands, including Aerosmith, REM, and Blondie. Debbie Harry and Chris Stein showed up one day to describe the evils of the music publishing industry to us.

I guess I could write an autobiography in T-shirts.

I hated having to discard my Race with Grace T-shirt. The race was named for George Grace, pastor at the Rochester First Bible Baptist Church, who organized the event and ran in it. The race took place on Thanksgiving Day and the T-shirt featured a pumpkin. One long sleeve displayed a Bible verse that runners, writers, or anyone else could take for their motto: "...let us run with patience the race that is set

She Sometimes Rings Three Times

by Mary

We're occasionally asked how we broke into publication. Our reply is we arrived there sideways by storming the castle around the back, taking advantage of an overlooked ladder to a window carelessly left open. We say this because Fortuna arrived at the postern of Maywrite Towers on three occasions, bringing unlikely and indeed almost unbelievable assistance on our journey to appearing in print .

It is the tragic fact acceptance of my first solo short mystery story was indirectly connected to terrible events on the world stage. When the hostage crisis in Iran began, a friend who accompanied her husband when he took a job there had to leave for Dubai with their children. Their relocation led to her meeting a BBC employee at a jamboree such as expats often organise and from her learning the BBC World Service short story programme accepted submissions from the public. On hearing this I asked myself why not have a bash at it? And thus it came about Aunt Ba's Story was accepted and duly transmitted. Since I cannot leave subscribers wondering what happened to the family mentioned, I'm happy to report they were reunited in Dubai in due course, followed shortly thereafter by their household effects, and returned safely to England.

Fortuna rang a second time some years later when Eric and I began writing short mystery stories together. Since then, if questioned on the matter he inevitably says he couldn't avoid getting involved since we were married. Several other short mystery stories appeared before John sprang in spritely fashion into the literary arena. His first appearance came about after an unexpected call from England It was from editor Mike Ashley to consult us about contributing a story to an anthology to be devoted to historical whodunnits. Naturally we grabbed his hand off. The problem was it had to be written to an extremely tight deadline. As it happened, Eric's interested in Byzantine history and had a number of books devoted to it sitting right there on our bookcase. Justinian and Theodora -- two powerful and colourful personages even if you don't believe half the scandal penned about them by Procopius -- were a natural choice as major characters so we were off to the Hippodrome races in short order. Using the resources mentioned and burning much midnight oil resulted in John's debut in A Byzantine Mystery in The Mammoth Book of Historical Whodunnits. There is no doubt we couldn't have met our deadline without those books and now, when quizzed how the Lord Chamberlain short mystery stories came into existence, we smile and reply it's all Mike's fault.

Comes the day when, after the fashion of films in which youthful friends decide to put on a show in the family barn despite inexperience in musical matters, we began to consider writing a novel with John as protagonist. We already had a ready-made cast of supporting actors and at least part of their histories from several of these short stories relating John's investigations and possess imaginations we are not afraid to use.

But hold on! After One For Sorrow was completed a ghastly thought struck us. As mapless newcomers wandering at midnight in the dense forests of novel-length fiction, having no agent meant long odds against our finding a publisher.

Luckily for us Fortuna rang again. Poisoned Pen Press was a new publisher at the time. It had recently released AZ Murder Goes Classic, a collection of papers presented at a conference on the topic of what makes a mystery a classic. When it was nominated for an Edgar Award in the Best Critical or Biographical Work category we jotted the press a note of congratulations and in passing, somewhat cheekily in retrospect, asked if they would be publishing fiction. After all, the French have a saying Fortuna holds out her hand to the bold and as it turned out, editor Barbara Peters had only recently commented on the lack of Byzantine mysteries and was willing to consider ours. We confess it was a Herculean struggle to get the first chapter suitably situated but, as my mother used to say, patience is a virtue and One For Sorrow eventually launched John on his full length literary voyage as the first original mystery published by Poisoned Pen Press.

Not being among those who, as they say in the old country, consider themselves all that and a bag of crisps, we acknowledge we were lucky to be standing at the right literary crossroads at the right times. Our theory is it's as well to be ready to leap into action should Fortuna comes a-calling with an unexpected opportunity. Unlike the postman, she sometimes rings more than twice. Still it's best not to complain about the racket but to answer her summons immediately, because being a flighty sort of gal if you don't she'll doubtless cross the street and ring someone else's door

Review: Death At Swaythling Court by J. J. Connington (1926)

by Mary

Colonel Sanderstead of the Manor awaits the arrival of his young friend Jimmy Leigh to play golf on the Manor's private course. Jimmy is a talented young mechanic and inventor with a lab in his home and recently constructed what is claimed to be a lethal ray capable of killing without leaving any mark.

The cast includes the colonel's nephew Cyril Norton, who is to marry Jimmy's sister Stella when her divorce is finalised a few weeks hence. Then there's William Hubbard. a wholesaler dealer in artificial perfume, suspected war profiteer, and ardent butterfly collector. He is also a bad 'un disliked by more than one local resident, having been overly familiar with local girls and unkind to intelligently challenged villager "Sappy" Morton.

Events begin to unfold when Jimmy dines with the colonel, who senses something is wrong, and then leaves for an appointment with Hubbard. Next morning the village is agog on hearing Hubbard stands accused of blackmail but it is too late to arrest him. He has been murdered. The plot unspools to include a burning candle in a room with its light still on, a profane parrot, an allegedly haunted shop, a rifled safe, a damaged tyre, and an item that should be there but isn't. Not to mention the involvement of the Green Devil, which local legend has it foretells someone will die.

This novel features what at first glance appears to be a simpler plot than other of Connington's works but what seems obvious at the beginning is soon turned on its head. As Colonel Standerstead remark; the dead man was not one of them but was that any reason to do away with him? Well, as it turns out a number of people had strong grievances against the dead man that in the right circumstances could lead to violence. A particularly clever twist clears a character I had ignored as a suspect so I award this debut novel a B+.

E-text: Death At Swaythling Court

Nemesis at Raynham Parva (aka Grim Vengeance) by J. J. Conningham (1929)

by Mary

Late at night Sir Clinton Driffield is on his way to visit his sister Mrs Anne Thornaby of Fern Lodge near the titular village. His headlights suddenly pick out a car with two men engaged in a vicious fight beside it. A woman with a suitcase stands nearby. The donnybrook ends when he stops and the victor drives off. So does the trounced man after the woman refuses his command to get into his car. She will not accept a lift or any sort of help from Sir Clinton and waits at the roadside until he departs.

Shocking news awaits him at Fern Lodge. Despite general expectations his niece Elsie would marry Rex Brandon she's gone off and married Argentinian Vicente Francia without telling anyone. Needless to say her mother is terribly upset but even so the couple are staying at Fern Lodge until they depart for his home country. Three friends of Elsie's who will be traveling with them are also in residence. There's Estelle Scotswood, one of her oldest friends, who will accompany the couple so Elsie will have an English companion while settling into her new home, and sisters Noreen and Linda Anstruther, a musical duo who'll stay with the newly-weds before taking up appearances arranged by Francia.

Next morning more startling news arrives. During the night a local constable had come across the wreck of one of the cars involved in the incident Sir Clinton witnessed, the driver's body lying not far off. Local farmer's son Teddy Barford stands beside it, covered in blood. Quick-tempered Teddy had threatened the dead man, who'd offered to take Teddy's sweetheart to London on the grounds she could do better for herself there, the absolute cad. Not to mention Teddy told the constable he'd settled the score he had against the dead man and had been arrested on the spot.

The narrative steadily darkens, ultimately forming a tangle including more than one person with a motive for murder. Both genders smoke a great deal -- note gentlemen always asked permission to light up! -- and a box of matches forms a pivotal turning point in an increasingly complex plot More deaths, the white slave trade, an undercover agent with the League of Nations, a seemingly unsolvable moral and ethical dilemma, a quest for revenge, and the architecture of Fern Lodge all play their parts in the mystery. I did not guess whodunnit and was amazed when the culprit was revealed. I acknowledge this fact by awarding Nemesis at Raynham Parva an A.

E-text: Nemesis at Raynham Parva

Review: Maigret at the Coroner's

by Eric

After an evening of drinking, five young servicemen and a girl drive out of town and into the countryside. Members of the party leave and return to the car, or fail to return, in various combinations. After a night of drunken comings and goings, which none of those involved agree upon when questioned, the girl is found dead on railroad tracks near the highway, having been struck by a train.

Who is responsible for the death? If anyone. Was it an accident or murder?

Georges Simenon is one of my favorite authors and over the years I've read a lot of his Inspector Maigret mysteries, dipping into them at random. Recently I've embarked on a project -- a snail-paced one -- to read all 75 Maigret novels in chronological order. I just finished the 32nd book, Maigret at the Coroner's. It's a very unusual entry in the series.

For one thing the setting isn't Paris or its environs. The countryside where the mysterious death takes place isn’t even that of France but rather the desert outside Tuscon, Arizona. Simenon wrote the book in 1949 while living in Tuscon during a ten year stay in North American which saw him moving all over the continent accompanied by a bewildering assortment of wives and mistresses.

A further peculiarity is that Maigret takes no part in unraveling the case. In an earlier book, The Madman of Bergerac, Maigret is confined to bed after being shot and depends largely on Madam Maigret to conduct interviews and search for clues but he does direct the investigation. That isn’t true here. The French detective, touring America to observe policing methods, is merely an observer during an inquest lasting several days. Rather than exploring feotid alleyways and seedy bars in the less savory neighborhoods of Paris he's stuck in a stifling Arizona courtroom.

He is not, however, a passive observer. He analyzes the conflicting testimony, observes the demeanor of witnesses and is silently frustrated when the prosecution fails to ask questions that seem obvious to him.

When court isn't in session, Maigret talks to several people connected to the girl's death. He does so informally, for his own edification, out of intellectual curiosity. Eventually he reaches what appears to be the correct conclusion in the case (is that really a spoiler?) -- the same conclusion reached by local law enforcement without any input from their foreign visitor.

So Maigret at the Coroner's is a detective novel without much detecting but for me it was just as compelling as any of the more typical books in the series. It still contains all the elements that I enjoy in a Maigret.

Authors like Agatha Christie and John Dickson Carr present complex puzzles like locked rooms and exotic poisons. Simenon's puzzles are the most complicated and baffling puzzles of all -- human beings.

Maigret believes that when he comes to understand the people connected to the victim, their relationships and motivations and their environment the identity of the murderer will become clear. So instead of searching for clues in the usual sense he immerses himself in the victim's world. Simenon's descriptions of human nature and the strange and desperate predicaments it can lead people into interests me most. In this novel it is fascinating to watch Maigret piece together the various characters' stories, even though he is doing so for his own amusement. Maybe he should have a go at the mystery of the princes in the tower!

Another enticing feature of Maigret books is Simenon's brilliant but concise and never flowery descriptions of settings. Bleak, deserted streets and quays drenched in cold rain, dim lights shining from the grimy windows of dives long after midnight are themselves familiar characters. And far removed from hot, dry, mid-summer Arizona. Yet seen through the somewhat bewildered eyes of a middle aged French policeman these surroundings look as exotic as the noir byways of Paris.

I will also note that a stuffy courtroom might seem to be an uninspiring place to set a large part of a book but Simenon populates the room with interesting characters: a baliff who resembles an old testament prophet, a nursing mother, a black juror who appears more astute than the prosecutors.

Then there is the character of Maigret himself, not just his problem solving thought processes, but his human side. He is perplexed by America, chagrined that his FBI escort insists on calling him Jules, annoyed that the magistrate presides over the inquest in short sleeves rather than robes, amazed that everyone in America seems to own a car, and ashamed to admit he never learned to drive.

I wouldn't recommend reading Maigret at the Coroner's as an introduction to the series because it is unusual, but if you're a fan of Maigret put it on your list.

Remembrance of Finnegan's Past

By Eric

Amateur sleuths are a staple of mystery fiction. From little old ladies with a talent for sleuthing, to bored aristocrats looking for recreation, to today's entrepreneurial types who somehow make a living selling chocolate muffins and still have time for investigations. Quite a few authors have decided that if fictional amateurs are good, amateur detectives who are historical figures are better. Machiavelli, Groucho Marx, Jane Austen, Teddy Roosevelt for instance. it might be easier to think of someone who hasn't been conscripted into the fictional gumshoe brigade. I admit this trend irritates me even more than the proliferation of cats in mysteries. The occasional feline or famous person is fine, but isn't enough enough?

The trend might have gotten out of hand in my opinion, but it isn't new. In the 1938 The Gracie Allen Murder Case S.S. Van Dine had George Burns' wacky sidekick help out detective Philo Vance. The very first mystery to feature a real historical person is arguably Mademoiselle de Scuderi: A Tale from the Times of Louis XIV by E.T.A. Hoffmann, published in 1820. The German author imagined the titular 17th century French poet trying to uncover a band of murderous thieves plaguing Paris.

As with Gracie Allen, Mademoiselle de Scuderi merely assisted the actual detectives. More recently we've seen a spate of mysteries in which usually highly unlikely personages team up to solve murders. I mean, the Bronte sisters? Really? Arthur Conan Doyle, perhaps, but with Oscar Wilde? It seems authors are currently competing to come up with the most freakish, outlandish, and implausible teams of historical figures as detectives.

With that in mind, I offer the following suggestions:

Murder on the Pequod
(A Captain Ahab Mystery)

Queequeg is found pinned to the main mast with his own harpoon. Is the culprit the quarrelsome young chief mate Starbuck, fellow harpooner Tashtego, or the sailor who wants to be called Ishmael (but may be someone else entirely)? It could be anyone on the ship. It's up to Captain Ahab (and the ship's cat) to find the murderer before he can strike again. Before time runs out, Ahab is forced to team up with his adversary the Great White Whale himself, Moby Dick.

Tricky Dick and the Pelvis Investigate
(A White House Mystery)

Elvis visits the White House to receive an honorary FBI badge but soon becomes a real investigator as he and President Richard Nixon (and the White House cat) race against time to find out who did in the First Lady, in the Oval Office, with the tape recorder. Their efforts put the sleuths in perilous situations. Will Elvis-the-Pelvis be able to avert a nuclear holocaust when the red telephone in the Oval Office rings? Can Tricky Dick cover for the KIng's absence from a D.C. stadium concert by performing Hound Dog? The fate of world may depend on it!

A Rat to Remember
(A Titanic Mystery)

Is the Titanic's collision with an iceberg a clever pretext to disguise the killing of someone aboard? Famous mystery writer Jaques Futrelle teams up with two rats -- a roguish ship's rat and an aristocratic little girl's demure pet -- to bring the murderer to justice. Rather than fleeing the sinking ship, the trio race against time to bring the murderer to justice. A thrilling tale told from the point of view of Mollie Brown's cat.

Remembrance of Finnegan's Past
{A Famous Authors Mystery)

Who killed Finnegan? And how was it done? Faced with a case no one can understand, The Royal Irish Constabulary call in those bloodhounds of bafflement, James Joyce and Marcel Proust. Could it have been something as simple as a poisoned madeleine? Probably not. Assisted by several of T.S. Elliot's Jellicle cats, the perplexing private eyes wander through an incomprehensible wasteland of clues and suspects, taking their time in twelve thrilling volumes.

And that's not even mentioning Mickey Spillane and Bennett Cerf (My Pun is Quick) or Arthur Conan Doyle, assisted by a band of fairies, the supernatural equivalent of the Baker Street Irregulars. Which I can't believe hasn't already been done but I don't have the heart to look it up.

Even Royalty Sometimes Do Their Own Laundry

By Mary

Since we last showed up, we've managed to finally tame our front-loader washer, an advanced appliance which weighs the contents of its drum and then supplies the amount of water it reckons should be used for the load . One disgruntled owner declared online his opinion was that front-loaders just dampened clothes and chucked them around a bit and at times we were tempted to agree with him.

Laundering has certainly trundled many miles down the pike since a time.when the traditional Monday wash day involved wash tubs and poss sticks, stiff-bristled scrubbing brushes, yellow laundry soap, and a mangle aka known as the poor man's piano. Drawing a bow at a venture, I suggest this is because fingers of necessity get close to the rollers -- and hopefully no further.

Mr Maywrite remembers how as a child he watched his elderly aunt assist his grandmother to make laundry soap. Its ingredients included lye and fat and the process involved boiling them together. When the witchy mixture cooled into solid form, it was cut into chunks and stored in a bucket in his grandparents' cellar until wash day rolled around again. Buying a jug of detergent these days is so much easier. .

We have yet to see The Odyssey but I for one am interested to see how it handles the sequence where, following a dream, the soon to be wed princess Nausicaa of Phæacia and her attendants hie themselves off to washing cisterns near the mouth of a river. It transpires the royal personage has brought along not only her own clothing but also that of her family members. Well, after placing their laundry in the cisterns the assembled company -- including Nausicaa herself commence trampling on the wet garments to cleanse them, a homely touch in a narrative devoted to high adventure, extensive travel, a touch of magic, and an absence from home for twenty years.

As we all know, moggies may look at monarchs but this scene clearly demonstrates, despite assumptions to the contrary, even royalty sometimes do their own laundry. Sadly, when we recently viewed the mid-fifties cinematic presentation of Ulysses starring Kirk Douglas and Anthony Quinn the laundering sequence was not included. Instead, it depicts the immediately following scene where Nausicaa meets shipwrecked Ulysses nearby.

It is therefore only right that the princess stands on one side of the coat of arms of the Worshipful Company of Launderers.* To my delight, the heraldic device depicts a mangle as well as three flat irons and a laundress with a dolly, an advanced form of our old poss stick**. I particularly enjoyed the inclusion of a cat, that well-known cleaner of self.

Subscribers may recall an essay relating how we toiled mightily to remove an old top-loading washer from Maywrite Towers. While it was an epic struggle between us and the Harvest Gold appliance, we were sorry to see its departure For one thing it was happy to employ any old detergent you cared to put into it whereas the instructions for our current appliance, a front-loader controlled by mini-computer, sniffily declares the machine was specifically designed to use High Efficiency detergent and only that type. Using the wrong sort might, among other horrors, lead to malfunctioning components, cycles taking longer, and over-sudsing. Home-made detergents are included in the warning and we have to wonder what Grandmama Mayer would have to say about that.

Mind you, our opinionated appliance provides an unexpected bonus. Watching clothing circling and twirling in a fantastic fandango past the washer door's window allows thoughts to wander hither and yon, occasionally leading to inspiration for newsletter essays.

As you see.

* Figure 15 depicts the coat of arms of the Worshipful Company of Launderers

https://www.theheraldrysociety.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/10/Goddard-Coat-of-Arms-2018-1.pdf

** Dolly on the left, poss stick on the far right. Our long since retired poss stick had a shorter handle.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Posser#/media/File:PuckMuseum24.JPG