Familiarity doesn’t always breed contempt. If it did, none of us would read series fiction. “Noooo,” we’d whine. “Not another book about Inspector Alleyn!” When it comes to Ngaio Marsh – and in truth, one or two other writers we could mention – familiarity has tended mostly to breed delight.
And yet. There is something wonderful about watching a writer go for the unfamiliar, write short pieces instead of novels, true crime rather than fiction, fiction without the support of – well, in this case, without Inspector Alleyn. He’s here (and Troy is too); their devotees will not be disappointed. But this collection also offers a lot we haven’t seen before, gives us access to rooms in Dame Ngaio’s imagination that we hadn’t known existed.
Familiarity doesn’t always breed contempt. If it did, none of us would read series fiction. “Noooo,” we’d whine. “Not another book about Inspector Alleyn!” When it comes to Ngaio Marsh – and in truth, one or two other writers we could mention – familiarity has tended mostly to breed delight.
And yet. There is something wonderful about watching a writer go for the unfamiliar, write short pieces instead of novels, true crime rather than fiction, fiction without the support of – well, in this case, without Inspector Alleyn. He’s here (and Troy is too); their devotees will not be disappointed. But this collection also offers a lot we haven’t seen before, gives us access to rooms in Dame Ngaio’s imagination that we hadn’t known existed.