A review by robinwalter
Mystery Villa by E.R. Punshon

dark mysterious reflective sad medium-paced
  • Plot- or character-driven? Plot
  • Strong character development? N/A
  • Loveable characters? It's complicated
  • Diverse cast of characters? No
  • Flaws of characters a main focus? N/A

5.0

When it comes to that exalted icon of golden age mystery fiction, Dorothy Sayers, I may well be iconoclast-in-chief. However, my esteem for her as a literary critic soared after reading this book. By the time I'd read about 1/4 of it, I posted this on social media: 
"my reaction to Curtis Evans' intro was to think he (and Dorothy Sayers) were laying it on a bit thick re the Gothic gloomy malevolence, so I started it. Now I'm 1/4 done, it's time for bed & the knowledge they weren't will haunt me" 

There was no hyperbole in that. The chapter given over to describing Bobby Owen's search of the eponymous mystery villa was outstanding writing. It was literally atmospheric in the best possible way. I was there, and I was very unsettled. So much so that I was not entirely unhappy at discovering a  little computer problem that took an hour to fix and that ensured I went to bed without Punshon's eerily evocative writing percolating. That lengthy passage was such a highlight that when I resumed reading the next morning, I started from the beginning of that chapter rather than from where I had left off, in order to get back into the mood of the book. 

After that magnificent exercise in scene-setting, the story got down to the brass tacks of working out whodunnit. There are actually two murders in the story; the first a sad tale that fits perfectly with the  Gothic setting of the mystery villa, the second a depressingly commonplace crime which was however meticulously planned and carried out. The two murders are linked and the newly promoted Sergeant Bobby Owen and Superintendent Mitchell do some first class detective work in solving one of them. Along the way, there's plenty of Punshon's penchant for wryly droll observations that amuse me, like this summary of a newspaper article 

a leading local Fascist (aetat 18) had exchanged rude repartee with a prominent Communist (aetat 17½) of the neighbourhood, both of them probably destined to be good sound solid Tory voters before many more years had passed. 


Or this comment about the unstoppable nature of a Police investigation. 

It’s simply got to go on – like day and night, or a broadcast talk, or the traffic down the Strand, or one of Noel Coward’s plays.’ 


and some writing that gave me pause, like this  reflection on the aftereffects of World War 1 

 The war tried humanity too highly, and men and nations broke beneath the strain, often reacting strangely and dreadfully. Now the peace, too, tries some beyond their strength, and they, too, at times, react strangely – and even dreadfully. 


and this observation on the passing of time. 


the supreme mystery of time that slips by like a dream and yet bears all substantial things away. 


This very understated scene at the very end  left me wondering how Punshon felt about capital punishment: 

‘Yes,’ she said. 
(the other woman), standing by her side, shook her head. 
‘No,’ she said. 
Two soft, half-whispered common words that doomed a living person to the gallows. 

I read this as my 14th book for Dean Street December 2024 and after my 13th had confirmed Susan Scarlett is not for me, this one proved Punshon definitely IS. Once again I am indebted to Dean Street Press for reissuing this work, and to Curtis Evans for his as always excellent introduction. The next time he warns me of an eery, unsettling atmosphere in a story, I'll believe him!