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Albert Campion #8
The Case of the Late Pig
?Pig? Peters made Albert Campion?s life a misery at prep school, and now that he?s dead, Campion is hard-pressed to squeeze out a tear. Still, he does attend the funeral. Not because he much regrets the passing of the Pig, but because he got an intriguingly anonymous invitation and Campion never can resist a mystery. The mystery deepens significantly six months later, when a friend in the countryside urgently requests Campion?s help. On arrival in Sussex, Campion is presented with a dead body that, in life, most definitely belonged to the late-and-not-much-lamented Pig. So who, exactly, was buried six months earlier? Narrated, for the first and only time, in Campion?s own voice.
224 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1937
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About the author
Margery Allingham
269 books583 followersAka Maxwell March.
Margery Louise Allingham was born in Ealing, London in 1904 to a family of writers. Her father, Herbert John Allingham, was editor of The Christian Globe and The New London Journal, while her mother wrote stories for women's magazines as Emmie Allingham. Margery's aunt, Maud Hughes, also ran a magazine. Margery earned her first fee at the age of eight, for a story printed in her aunt's magazine.
Soon after Margery's birth, the family left London for Essex. She returned to London in 1920 to attend the Regent Street Polytechnic (now the University of Westminster), and met her future husband, Philip Youngman Carter. They married in 1928. He was her collaborator and designed the cover jackets for many of her books.
Margery's breakthrough came 1929 with the publication of her second novel, The Crime at Black Dudley . The novel introduced Albert Campion, although only as a minor character. After pressure from her American publishers, Margery brought Campion back for Mystery Mile and continued to use Campion as a character throughout her career.
After a battle with breast cancer, Margery died in 1966. Her husband finished her last novel, A Cargo of Eagles at her request, and published it in 1968.
Also wrote as: Maxwell March
Margery Louise Allingham was born in Ealing, London in 1904 to a family of writers. Her father, Herbert John Allingham, was editor of The Christian Globe and The New London Journal, while her mother wrote stories for women's magazines as Emmie Allingham. Margery's aunt, Maud Hughes, also ran a magazine. Margery earned her first fee at the age of eight, for a story printed in her aunt's magazine.
Soon after Margery's birth, the family left London for Essex. She returned to London in 1920 to attend the Regent Street Polytechnic (now the University of Westminster), and met her future husband, Philip Youngman Carter. They married in 1928. He was her collaborator and designed the cover jackets for many of her books.
Margery's breakthrough came 1929 with the publication of her second novel, The Crime at Black Dudley . The novel introduced Albert Campion, although only as a minor character. After pressure from her American publishers, Margery brought Campion back for Mystery Mile and continued to use Campion as a character throughout her career.
After a battle with breast cancer, Margery died in 1966. Her husband finished her last novel, A Cargo of Eagles at her request, and published it in 1968.
Also wrote as: Maxwell March
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May 11, 2025
British mystery writer Margery Allingham (1904-1966) was one of the better-known authors in the genre during its interwar "Golden Age." By far her most popular character was her series sleuth Albert Campion, who was actually introduced in a supporting role in her second novel, The Crime at Black Dudley, but became the protagonist in the next novel, Mystery Mile (1930) at the instigation of her American publisher, who liked the character. In the series novels before this one, it's established that "Albert Campion" is actually an alias used by the main character, who's a scion of a family in the upper nobility (though his older brother has the title), an adventurer and non-professional sleuth who solves mysteries out of interest rather than for money; he's blond, bespectacled, and able to look deceptively bland and unintelligent, an impression he sometimes finds it useful to cultivate. (If these characteristics remind genre fans of Dorothy Sayers' series sleuth Lord Peter Wimsey, that comparison has been made before; Campion was at first widely thought to be a parody of Lord Peter, though I'm not sure if Allingham ever stated that.)
My just-concluded read of this novel is actually my second; but the first was as a teen, back in the late 60s. (I felt that I needed a refresher read in order to do the book justice in a review.) It's still my only exposure to the series, despite the fact that it's the eighth, rather than the first, entry; my first read was as part of the omnibus volume Ten Great Mysteries, which happened to include it. At only 165 pages in a large-print version, it's really a novella, and a very quick read. It opens with Campion's manservant (and reformed burglar), series regular Magersfontein Lugg --his first name isn't used in this book-- calling his attention to the obituary of Campion's former schoolmate R. I. Peters. "Pig" Peters, as he was known in their schooldays, was a bullying sadist; Campion had declared back then (not in a friendly sense) that he'd go to Pig's funeral. (On the same day, our hero gets a weird anonymous letter with cryptic references to a mole, and apparently to Peters' death.) He does go down to the burial, a bleak no-frills interment in a tiny East Anglian village. Some six months later, he's called back down to that area by the county's chief constable, to consult on an apparent homicide. When he sees the body of the newly-dead victim, he recognizes --"Pig" Peters. (That's not a spoiler; it all takes place in the first chapter.)
This book isn't without its drawbacks. Campion's character suffers by comparison with Lord Peter's. The latter is unfailingly courteous to his own manservant, Bunter, and obviously respects and appreciates him; but although both Bunter and Lugg have knowledge and skills of their own which are helpful to their employers, Campion tends to take Lugg for granted and is at times positively rude to him. Where Lord Peter has a sense of humor, Campion tends to go in more for silliness, which isn't the same thing. (The chief constable's daughter bluntly tells him "Shut up," at one point when he's in that mode, and she probably speaks for a lot of readers. :-) ). In general, humor here is of a very British sort: dry, and often taking the form of tongue-in-cheek statements; it takes some getting used to. A couple of British slang expressions here might be confusing and/or jarring for American readers (and a passing use of the n-word in a figure of speech is offensive, though there's actually not much bad language in the book). I also wasn't a fan of Campion's failure to tell the chief constable about Pig's prior funeral, which was certainly relevant to the case.
For all that, it does have its positives. The mystery is intelligently constructed, twisty and challenging. (I remembered the identity of the culprit from my prior read, along with a surprisingly great deal of dialog and narrative, mostly verbatim; but I don't think I guessed his/her identity the first time.) Allingham's pacing is brisk, with a tendency to wind up chapters with a sudden dramatic development which practically demands that you keep reading, and her writing is atmospheric. She develops her characters enough to engage the reader's sympathy for some of them (and antipathy for others), the denouement is effective, with a suspenseful lead-up that's masterfully done, and I liked the way she handled the ending (but no spoilers here!). Though I've never been motivated to follow the series, I did like this installment overall, and can recommend it to genre fans who can appreciate mysteries set in this period.
My just-concluded read of this novel is actually my second; but the first was as a teen, back in the late 60s. (I felt that I needed a refresher read in order to do the book justice in a review.) It's still my only exposure to the series, despite the fact that it's the eighth, rather than the first, entry; my first read was as part of the omnibus volume Ten Great Mysteries, which happened to include it. At only 165 pages in a large-print version, it's really a novella, and a very quick read. It opens with Campion's manservant (and reformed burglar), series regular Magersfontein Lugg --his first name isn't used in this book-- calling his attention to the obituary of Campion's former schoolmate R. I. Peters. "Pig" Peters, as he was known in their schooldays, was a bullying sadist; Campion had declared back then (not in a friendly sense) that he'd go to Pig's funeral. (On the same day, our hero gets a weird anonymous letter with cryptic references to a mole, and apparently to Peters' death.) He does go down to the burial, a bleak no-frills interment in a tiny East Anglian village. Some six months later, he's called back down to that area by the county's chief constable, to consult on an apparent homicide. When he sees the body of the newly-dead victim, he recognizes --"Pig" Peters. (That's not a spoiler; it all takes place in the first chapter.)
This book isn't without its drawbacks. Campion's character suffers by comparison with Lord Peter's. The latter is unfailingly courteous to his own manservant, Bunter, and obviously respects and appreciates him; but although both Bunter and Lugg have knowledge and skills of their own which are helpful to their employers, Campion tends to take Lugg for granted and is at times positively rude to him. Where Lord Peter has a sense of humor, Campion tends to go in more for silliness, which isn't the same thing. (The chief constable's daughter bluntly tells him "Shut up," at one point when he's in that mode, and she probably speaks for a lot of readers. :-) ). In general, humor here is of a very British sort: dry, and often taking the form of tongue-in-cheek statements; it takes some getting used to. A couple of British slang expressions here might be confusing and/or jarring for American readers (and a passing use of the n-word in a figure of speech is offensive, though there's actually not much bad language in the book). I also wasn't a fan of Campion's failure to tell the chief constable about Pig's prior funeral, which was certainly relevant to the case.
For all that, it does have its positives. The mystery is intelligently constructed, twisty and challenging. (I remembered the identity of the culprit from my prior read, along with a surprisingly great deal of dialog and narrative, mostly verbatim; but I don't think I guessed his/her identity the first time.) Allingham's pacing is brisk, with a tendency to wind up chapters with a sudden dramatic development which practically demands that you keep reading, and her writing is atmospheric. She develops her characters enough to engage the reader's sympathy for some of them (and antipathy for others), the denouement is effective, with a suspenseful lead-up that's masterfully done, and I liked the way she handled the ending (but no spoilers here!). Though I've never been motivated to follow the series, I did like this installment overall, and can recommend it to genre fans who can appreciate mysteries set in this period.
July 13, 2020
This delightful story begins with this paragraph: The main thing to remember in autobiography, I have always thought, is not to let any damned modesty creep in to spoil the story. This adventure is mine, Albert Campion’s, and I am fairly certain that I was pretty nearly brilliant in it in spite of the fact that I so nearly got myself and old Lugg killed that I hear a harp quintet whenever I consider it.
Don't you just love it? The words of an old wordsmith at her finest. 1937. Margery Allingham. Our protagonist, writing in the first person, autobiographical style, is Albert Campion, and he spends no time hiding his quirky, almost curmudgeon-like humor on the ensuing events.
And who is Lugg, you might wonder? Well, he is introduced immediately by our lord and master as: Lugg, who in spite of magnificent qualities has elements of the Oaf about him, met His Lordship’s valet in the Mayfair mews pub where they cater for gentlemen in the service of gentlemen and was instantly inspired to imitation. Lugg has not taken lessons in elocution, at least not since he left Borstal in the reign of Edward the Seventh. When he came into my service he was a parole man with a stupendous record of misplaced bravery and ingenuity. Now he reads The Times to me when I eat, whether I like it or not.
Since his taste does not run towards the literary in journalism he reads to me the only columns in that paper which do appeal to him. He reads the Deaths.
Lugg was reading from The Times. The Death column.
Wait a minute, this is serious. Peters is dead. R. I. Peters… Pig Peters. Roly Peters to some. A funeral announcement.
But Campion had a mysterious letter in his hands. Silently trying to decipher the anonymous message, while Lugg tried to engage him in his readings.
Lugg insisted on attention.
‘We were boys together,’ I said. ‘Sweet, downy, blue-eyed little fellows at Botolph’s Abbey. Pig Peters took three square inches of skin off my chest with a rusty penknife to show I was his branded slave. He made me weep till I was sick and I kicked him in the belly, whereupon he held me over an unlighted gas jet until I passed out.’
He promised Pig to attend his funeral, that was more than twenty years ago, but still, it was a promise. Besides, Campion's friends were like a basket full of eggs. He never knew which one will grow up into something offensive. Pig was repulsive, to say the least.
Then, five months later, there's another death, announced to Campion over the phone by Janet, a woman who twittered away like a nest full of sparrows. It was Peters. Dead. Again. This time around he looked like he was kicked through a felt hat by a cart-horse. Definitely, gruesomely dead this time. But then he was gone again.
And everywhere Campion went to investigate, he heard Pig's particularly vicious way of clearing his throat. It was a sort of hoarse rasping noise in the larynx, followed by a subdued whoop and a puff.
The anonymous letters: it kept coming. The words were in the nature of a prophecy.
Driving from mortuary, to old dilapidated houses, to the river, to the fields to find new evidence, and here and there a new corpse, Campion realized that the letters were like puff paste with a sausage in it, after all. He just had to keep on digging for it. He did. Of course he did.
Miss Effie Rowlandson inevitably had to be encountered. Late Roly-Poly's fiancé. Pure militant sparrow, Campion thought. She followed Pig's trail, to make sure he was truly dead, since she planned to sue him for all he had if he wasn't. He left everything to his brother in his will and she would have none of it. She was the fiancé, for crying out loud.
Paraphrased:
'Ever see a cat come out of a dawg-kennel?' Lugg murmured, and added, when Campion stared at him: 'Gives you a bit of a turn. That's all.'
And then there was Miss Janet Pursuivant. But that's another angle, not to be diclosed here...
The denouement was pure 'Made in Britain'. Like Royal Albert porcelain. Unique. Top of the range. An excellent British detective saga at its finest. But it was also a good ole rendition of great eccentric characters, British wit, and mastery with the written word. So utterly refreshing. A feel-good moment in words.
Man, I just love love love these old British novels.
I started out listening to this radio drama/audio narration ( Youtube), and then pursued the book itself to catch more of the atmospheric nuances. Couldn't help myself. So worth it. I was looking for something different to read. This 126-page fast moving detective drama was a perfect find.
RECOMMENDED.
Don't you just love it? The words of an old wordsmith at her finest. 1937. Margery Allingham. Our protagonist, writing in the first person, autobiographical style, is Albert Campion, and he spends no time hiding his quirky, almost curmudgeon-like humor on the ensuing events.
And who is Lugg, you might wonder? Well, he is introduced immediately by our lord and master as: Lugg, who in spite of magnificent qualities has elements of the Oaf about him, met His Lordship’s valet in the Mayfair mews pub where they cater for gentlemen in the service of gentlemen and was instantly inspired to imitation. Lugg has not taken lessons in elocution, at least not since he left Borstal in the reign of Edward the Seventh. When he came into my service he was a parole man with a stupendous record of misplaced bravery and ingenuity. Now he reads The Times to me when I eat, whether I like it or not.
Since his taste does not run towards the literary in journalism he reads to me the only columns in that paper which do appeal to him. He reads the Deaths.
Lugg was reading from The Times. The Death column.
Wait a minute, this is serious. Peters is dead. R. I. Peters… Pig Peters. Roly Peters to some. A funeral announcement.
But Campion had a mysterious letter in his hands. Silently trying to decipher the anonymous message, while Lugg tried to engage him in his readings.
Lugg insisted on attention.
‘We were boys together,’ I said. ‘Sweet, downy, blue-eyed little fellows at Botolph’s Abbey. Pig Peters took three square inches of skin off my chest with a rusty penknife to show I was his branded slave. He made me weep till I was sick and I kicked him in the belly, whereupon he held me over an unlighted gas jet until I passed out.’
He promised Pig to attend his funeral, that was more than twenty years ago, but still, it was a promise. Besides, Campion's friends were like a basket full of eggs. He never knew which one will grow up into something offensive. Pig was repulsive, to say the least.
Then, five months later, there's another death, announced to Campion over the phone by Janet, a woman who twittered away like a nest full of sparrows. It was Peters. Dead. Again. This time around he looked like he was kicked through a felt hat by a cart-horse. Definitely, gruesomely dead this time. But then he was gone again.
And everywhere Campion went to investigate, he heard Pig's particularly vicious way of clearing his throat. It was a sort of hoarse rasping noise in the larynx, followed by a subdued whoop and a puff.
The anonymous letters: it kept coming. The words were in the nature of a prophecy.
Driving from mortuary, to old dilapidated houses, to the river, to the fields to find new evidence, and here and there a new corpse, Campion realized that the letters were like puff paste with a sausage in it, after all. He just had to keep on digging for it. He did. Of course he did.
Miss Effie Rowlandson inevitably had to be encountered. Late Roly-Poly's fiancé. Pure militant sparrow, Campion thought. She followed Pig's trail, to make sure he was truly dead, since she planned to sue him for all he had if he wasn't. He left everything to his brother in his will and she would have none of it. She was the fiancé, for crying out loud.
Paraphrased:
'Ever see a cat come out of a dawg-kennel?' Lugg murmured, and added, when Campion stared at him: 'Gives you a bit of a turn. That's all.'
And then there was Miss Janet Pursuivant. But that's another angle, not to be diclosed here...
The denouement was pure 'Made in Britain'. Like Royal Albert porcelain. Unique. Top of the range. An excellent British detective saga at its finest. But it was also a good ole rendition of great eccentric characters, British wit, and mastery with the written word. So utterly refreshing. A feel-good moment in words.
Man, I just love love love these old British novels.
I started out listening to this radio drama/audio narration ( Youtube), and then pursued the book itself to catch more of the atmospheric nuances. Couldn't help myself. So worth it. I was looking for something different to read. This 126-page fast moving detective drama was a perfect find.
RECOMMENDED.
March 30, 2025
Late pig is in reference to a man's death!
This was not my favorite Campion mystery. It seems I came in in the middle of the story, because I was confused the whole time. Two identical brothers, suspicious deaths, conversations with Lugg and who is Janet? All are beyond me.
This was not my favorite Campion mystery. It seems I came in in the middle of the story, because I was confused the whole time. Two identical brothers, suspicious deaths, conversations with Lugg and who is Janet? All are beyond me.
December 26, 2013
Whaaah? Who switches from 3rd to 1st person a dozen books into a series?
1st person really doesn't work with the pattern Allingham has established of strangers not taking Campion seriously until too late, or with the way the jokes are set up.
Aside from this bit of strangeness, The Case of the Late Pig is a pretty typical installment. I saw the main plot twist coming from the beginning, but it seemed like she pretty much tipped her hand at the funeral in the beginning of the story. Also saw the minor romantic twist coming, since it works pretty much the same way in several books: some girl who we've never heard of before (or will again) is asserted to be part of a family of Old, Dear Friends of Campion's, and some romantic interest between them is asserted, but not demonstrated by interaction or emotion, or acted on by the characters, and by the end the girl has found someone new. As I mentioned in my review of Sweet Danger, these tiny and irrelevant love elements seem tossed into the story to make it clear that Campion is straight.
In additional to no real romance, there are also no real pigs. But there are dead bodies, some of which are real.
1st person really doesn't work with the pattern Allingham has established of strangers not taking Campion seriously until too late, or with the way the jokes are set up.
Aside from this bit of strangeness, The Case of the Late Pig is a pretty typical installment. I saw the main plot twist coming from the beginning, but it seemed like she pretty much tipped her hand at the funeral in the beginning of the story. Also saw the minor romantic twist coming, since it works pretty much the same way in several books: some girl who we've never heard of before (or will again) is asserted to be part of a family of Old, Dear Friends of Campion's, and some romantic interest between them is asserted, but not demonstrated by interaction or emotion, or acted on by the characters, and by the end the girl has found someone new. As I mentioned in my review of Sweet Danger, these tiny and irrelevant love elements seem tossed into the story to make it clear that Campion is straight.
In additional to no real romance, there are also no real pigs. But there are dead bodies, some of which are real.
June 5, 2019
This is the eighth Albert Campion novel, published in 1937, and the only one written in the first person, with Campion narrating the story. It begins with Campion hearing of the death of Rowland ‘Pig’ Peters, who bullied him at school. Campion attends the funeral, but, some months later, he goes to visit an old friend, who says there has been a suspicious death in his village. Oswald Harris, unpopular property developer, has had his head bashed in. The problem is, when Campion views the body, it is Pig Peters – dead again. Even worse, the body then vanishes before Peters can have his second funeral…
I started off unsure of Mr Campion, but am enjoying the series more and more. This is a short, fun read. There is lots of rushing about, anonymous letters, strange characters and bizarre happenings. For those who enjoy Lugg’s appearances, he is very much a part of this mystery. An enjoyable addition to the series and I liked Campion talking to the reader directly, which worked particularly well as I listened to this on Audible.
I started off unsure of Mr Campion, but am enjoying the series more and more. This is a short, fun read. There is lots of rushing about, anonymous letters, strange characters and bizarre happenings. For those who enjoy Lugg’s appearances, he is very much a part of this mystery. An enjoyable addition to the series and I liked Campion talking to the reader directly, which worked particularly well as I listened to this on Audible.
April 18, 2022
I found this a sufficiently entertaining sojourn among the upper-middle-classes in 1930s England, and a plot that kept me wanting to know who was behind the dirty deeds, and why.
It is largely set in a country pile and its surrounding villages, and concerns the untimely death of a somewhat dubious character who had the ‘misfortune’ to be recumbent in a sun-lounger when a large ornamental urn ‘fell’ from the battlements above.
The title, by the way, refers not to some farmyard connection, a tardy porker, but the nickname of the deceased, R.I. ‘Pig’ Peters. RIP, indeed.
However, perhaps the most striking aspect of the novel concerns Mary Allingham’s blue-blooded amateur sleuth, Albert Campion. Having made my way to this, the eighth book in the Campion series, I was surprised to find it written in the first person, from our hero’s point of view.
Curiously, the author fails to take advantage of this privileged position, and the reader learns precious little about his inner workings. It struck me that she was either embarrassed by the potential riches at her disposal, or perhaps just embarrassed – what does a man think when approached by an attractive and beguiling female?
I should say that much more effective is the detached perspective of the previous books – in which the anonymous narrator, through informed conjecture, paints a nuanced and intriguing portrait of the protagonist.
I’m hoping it’s back to third-person semi-omniscient for number nine!
It is largely set in a country pile and its surrounding villages, and concerns the untimely death of a somewhat dubious character who had the ‘misfortune’ to be recumbent in a sun-lounger when a large ornamental urn ‘fell’ from the battlements above.
The title, by the way, refers not to some farmyard connection, a tardy porker, but the nickname of the deceased, R.I. ‘Pig’ Peters. RIP, indeed.
However, perhaps the most striking aspect of the novel concerns Mary Allingham’s blue-blooded amateur sleuth, Albert Campion. Having made my way to this, the eighth book in the Campion series, I was surprised to find it written in the first person, from our hero’s point of view.
Curiously, the author fails to take advantage of this privileged position, and the reader learns precious little about his inner workings. It struck me that she was either embarrassed by the potential riches at her disposal, or perhaps just embarrassed – what does a man think when approached by an attractive and beguiling female?
I should say that much more effective is the detached perspective of the previous books – in which the anonymous narrator, through informed conjecture, paints a nuanced and intriguing portrait of the protagonist.
I’m hoping it’s back to third-person semi-omniscient for number nine!
July 21, 2019
Something of an odd one out in the Allingham/Campion oeuvre, this shortish novel is (uniquely) narrated by Campion himself and is played, for the first few chapters, as a sort of P.G. Wodehouse does Albert Campion and Magersfontein Lugg (complete with Campion/Wooster being thwarted in his affairs of the heart by matters beyond his control and the wayward misunderstanding of circumstances by the girl of his dreams), then settles down to be a bit more sober as a Wimsey does Campion exercise before finally becoming a proper Campion mystery -- a very fine mystery, in fact. In other words, this is a monstrously uneven piece from Allingham, but at the same time it's tremendously entertaining.
When Campion was at boarding school, his life was made a misery by the bully Rowland "Pig" Peters. Learning from the newspaper obit columns that Pig is dead, he makes a point of attending the funeral -- perhaps wishing he had a stake to hand.
A few months later, he's called to the East Anglian home of his old friend Leo Pursuivant, whose daughter Janet he nurtures a pash for. A man called Oswald Harris has just been discovered with his head bashed in. Harris was proposing to destroy the life of much-loved local hotelier Poppy Bellew, transform the village of Kepesake into a tourist-ridden hellhole, and much more. As Leo points out, anyone in the vicinity could have knocked Harris off, and no one is especially interested in seeing the killer brought to justice.
The trouble is that Campion, as soon as he sees the corpse, recognizes it. It's Pig Peters. As if that weren't enough to cope with, a few hours later the corpse goes AWOL from the morgue . . .
This is not a novel with a great many subtexts: its pure raison d'etre (outside the parodies) is to entertain, and it does this enormously well. I giggled a lot and, even as I was priding myself over having gotten to the solution before Campion, I discovered that, actually, he was there first.
When Campion was at boarding school, his life was made a misery by the bully Rowland "Pig" Peters. Learning from the newspaper obit columns that Pig is dead, he makes a point of attending the funeral -- perhaps wishing he had a stake to hand.
A few months later, he's called to the East Anglian home of his old friend Leo Pursuivant, whose daughter Janet he nurtures a pash for. A man called Oswald Harris has just been discovered with his head bashed in. Harris was proposing to destroy the life of much-loved local hotelier Poppy Bellew, transform the village of Kepesake into a tourist-ridden hellhole, and much more. As Leo points out, anyone in the vicinity could have knocked Harris off, and no one is especially interested in seeing the killer brought to justice.
The trouble is that Campion, as soon as he sees the corpse, recognizes it. It's Pig Peters. As if that weren't enough to cope with, a few hours later the corpse goes AWOL from the morgue . . .
This is not a novel with a great many subtexts: its pure raison d'etre (outside the parodies) is to entertain, and it does this enormously well. I giggled a lot and, even as I was priding myself over having gotten to the solution before Campion, I discovered that, actually, he was there first.
May 7, 2025
Thriller dating from 1936. Boring.
August 15, 2023
ENGLISH: Told in the first person by Albert Campion himself, he makes clear to the reader what he knows, but never tells about it to the people who are investigating the murder. This is a typical "who-done-it" mystery, a little contrived, as is usual in Albert Campion's adventures.
I had my suspicions about the identity of the murderer, and they were correct, although I got convinced a little later than Albert.
ESPAÑOL: Contada en primera persona por Albert Campion, deja claro al lector lo que sabe, pero no se lo cuenta a las personas que investigan el asesinato. Se trata del típico misterio en el que hay que averiguar quién es el asesino, un poco artificioso, como es habitual en las aventuras de Albert Campion.
Tenía mis sospechas sobre la identidad del asesino, y eran correctas, aunque me convencí de ello un poco más tarde que Albert.
I had my suspicions about the identity of the murderer, and they were correct, although I got convinced a little later than Albert.
ESPAÑOL: Contada en primera persona por Albert Campion, deja claro al lector lo que sabe, pero no se lo cuenta a las personas que investigan el asesinato. Se trata del típico misterio en el que hay que averiguar quién es el asesino, un poco artificioso, como es habitual en las aventuras de Albert Campion.
Tenía mis sospechas sobre la identidad del asesino, y eran correctas, aunque me convencí de ello un poco más tarde que Albert.
January 22, 2020
Another delightful Albert Campion mystery, this one told by Mr. Champion himself, so you get a little glimpse into how the mind of the master sleuth works. Just a glimpse, mind you. He doesn't give too much away, and you are left guessing until the very end. He pulls off a bit of subterfuge which hoodwinks even his readers.
This story is full of mysterious brothers, crashing flower pots, dismal funerals, several damsels in distess, and, of course, Lugg, Campion's irrepressible, incorrigible, curmudgeon of a manservant.
This story is full of mysterious brothers, crashing flower pots, dismal funerals, several damsels in distess, and, of course, Lugg, Campion's irrepressible, incorrigible, curmudgeon of a manservant.
June 19, 2017
A very nontraditional house-party mystery. An old schoolfellow of Campion's has died, and he attends the funeral--only to have the same man found dead on the terrace six months later! Campion also starts getting strange anonymous letters that sound like they were written by someone on drugs or worse.
This eighth installment of the Campion series is told in first person, from Campion's point of view. One would think that would let the reader in on the detecting process a little more, but one would be mistaken. Campion plays things even closer to the chest than old Poirot, and any inescapable clues to his mental processes are given in murmured asides to other characters, such as "he leaned forward and murmured something in X's ear" without letting us know what the "something" was. Important plot points are skimmed over using the 1st person POV--something I didn't realise until now was possible! Again, I found there were a lot of characters given very little introduction and at times I had to go back and re-read to remember who was who and why they were there.
We are treated to the tired old trope of moonlight as bright as day; at one point Campion claims that "colours were almost distinguishable!" I've talked to people who lived in places where there wasn't much light pollution, and they all say that's nonsense. Allingham doesn't go as far as some of her contemporaries, who speak of reading books by moonlight etc, which isn't possible, either.
The foreshadowing also rattles and bangs. At least once per chapter (usually more) we are treated to phrases such as "in which I was entirely mistaken as it turns out" or "If I had known what was to happen, I wouldn't have..." And of course Campion continues to be a total Gary Stu--in the face of superstrong superclever madmen, obfuscation, poison and strangulation, he still wins the day, even when he loses consciousness!
On the pro side, there's no "woo-woo" in this book, and you can read it in about 90 minutes, which is fortunate, as the reader is kept totally in the dark as to who actually did what and why until the very last page! I have to say I was quite annoyed with Allingham by that time. She seemed to be trying a bit too hard to ring the changes on the standard Golden Age whodunit.
This eighth installment of the Campion series is told in first person, from Campion's point of view. One would think that would let the reader in on the detecting process a little more, but one would be mistaken. Campion plays things even closer to the chest than old Poirot, and any inescapable clues to his mental processes are given in murmured asides to other characters, such as "he leaned forward and murmured something in X's ear" without letting us know what the "something" was. Important plot points are skimmed over using the 1st person POV--something I didn't realise until now was possible! Again, I found there were a lot of characters given very little introduction and at times I had to go back and re-read to remember who was who and why they were there.
We are treated to the tired old trope of moonlight as bright as day; at one point Campion claims that "colours were almost distinguishable!" I've talked to people who lived in places where there wasn't much light pollution, and they all say that's nonsense. Allingham doesn't go as far as some of her contemporaries, who speak of reading books by moonlight etc, which isn't possible, either.
The foreshadowing also rattles and bangs. At least once per chapter (usually more) we are treated to phrases such as "in which I was entirely mistaken as it turns out" or "If I had known what was to happen, I wouldn't have..." And of course Campion continues to be a total Gary Stu--in the face of superstrong superclever madmen, obfuscation, poison and strangulation, he still wins the day, even when he loses consciousness!
On the pro side, there's no "woo-woo" in this book, and you can read it in about 90 minutes, which is fortunate, as the reader is kept totally in the dark as to who actually did what and why until the very last page! I have to say I was quite annoyed with Allingham by that time. She seemed to be trying a bit too hard to ring the changes on the standard Golden Age whodunit.
March 9, 2022
Once again, Albert Campion has delighted me for reasons I can't quite lay a finger on. Allingham populates her pages with characters so vividly eccentric that Campion, not a little quirky himself, feels like a solid citizen. This story is unusual in that Campion himself narrates, and it must be admitted that he is unfairly selective in what he chooses to tell.
Campion receives a mysterious missive in the post and connects it with a notice in the paper of the death of an old (and loathed) schoolmate. So off he goes with his outre sidekick (not really a servant) Lugg to the funeral. Things seem a little off at this event, but nothing to what ensues six months later when a body turns up in his favorite village, Kepesake--the body of the man whose funeral he attended!
This brief novella has many of the hallmarks of early Campion novels--hints of mysterious crime syndicates, old school chums with silly names, a half-hearted love interest, misunderstandings for comic relief, plausible rogues. I spotted the perpetrator early on but didn't even try to suss out the motives and methods; it's much more fun just to take the ride. Lugg, as ever, was sublimely offensive, a great literary creation who would never survive the unforgiving light of the real world. But who reads Allingham to experience the real world? Her imaginary one is far too colorful and entertaining.
Campion receives a mysterious missive in the post and connects it with a notice in the paper of the death of an old (and loathed) schoolmate. So off he goes with his outre sidekick (not really a servant) Lugg to the funeral. Things seem a little off at this event, but nothing to what ensues six months later when a body turns up in his favorite village, Kepesake--the body of the man whose funeral he attended!
This brief novella has many of the hallmarks of early Campion novels--hints of mysterious crime syndicates, old school chums with silly names, a half-hearted love interest, misunderstandings for comic relief, plausible rogues. I spotted the perpetrator early on but didn't even try to suss out the motives and methods; it's much more fun just to take the ride. Lugg, as ever, was sublimely offensive, a great literary creation who would never survive the unforgiving light of the real world. But who reads Allingham to experience the real world? Her imaginary one is far too colorful and entertaining.
May 2, 2022
آگهی ترحیم همکلاسی خیلی قدیم کارآگاه همراه شده با رسیدن یک نامهی بدون امضا خیلی مشکوک و مبهم. تقارن همین دو اتفاق باعث میشه کارآگاه در تشییع جنازهی پیترز شرکت کنه. تشییع جنازه در یک دهکده برگزار میشه که چندان بزرگ نیست. فضای تشییع جنازه و آدمهای شرکت کننده مشکوک هستند اما اتفاق خاصی نمیافته و کارآگاه کم کم داره موضوع رو فراموش میکنه که حدود ۶ پس از تشییع جنازه رییس پاسگاه پلیس یکی از دهکدههای اطراف از کارآگاه درخواست میکنه فورا به اونجا بره و وقتی میرسه متوجه یک قتل میشه و مقتول کسی نیست جز پیترز! حالا کارآگاه نه تنها باید قاتل رو پیدا کنه بلکه باید به راز اینکه چطور یک نفر دو بار مرده هم پی ببره.ه
تقریبا تا اواخر داستان خیلی راحت نمیشه حدس زد ماجرا چیه و همین به جذابیت کتاب کمک کرده. در کل سرگرم کننده هست کتابش.ه
تقریبا تا اواخر داستان خیلی راحت نمیشه حدس زد ماجرا چیه و همین به جذابیت کتاب کمک کرده. در کل سرگرم کننده هست کتابش.ه
January 4, 2018
Campion with a twist. Told by Albert Campion himself the reader knows all he does except he does not reveal the mystery until it is played out in the story. A much shorter book than the others I've read, you are almost on top of the climax while still feeling the scene is being set but when you get there it is as exciting as ever. In the meantime there are so many suspicious and eccentric characters around that it is a mind game just to keep them straight as to who is who!
May 7, 2025
A group read for May- even though I read it out of order it was an enjoyable mystery (once I got the cast of characters straight in my head!) and had fingered the culprit but not the whydunnit!
December 19, 2024
A story about freud, murder and blackmail. Campion attends a funeral of a school companion after Lugg reads from The Times an obituary of a man nicknamed Pig. Six months later the same man is murdered by an urn falling on his head. This leads to the usual suspects the vicar, a too enthusiastic country doctor and another school friend. The whole story is nicely tied up at the end revealing the murderer.
SPOILERS AHEAD
The motive was money. Pig double crossed the doctor Kingston who fraudulently issued a death certificate for a fictional brother. The doctor poisoned Pig and then killed the uncle of Pig who foolishly tried to blackmail the brother. I suspected Whippet the other school friend who instead stole the attractive Janet from Campion to the amusement of Lugg his manservant.
SPOILERS AHEAD
The motive was money. Pig double crossed the doctor Kingston who fraudulently issued a death certificate for a fictional brother. The doctor poisoned Pig and then killed the uncle of Pig who foolishly tried to blackmail the brother. I suspected Whippet the other school friend who instead stole the attractive Janet from Campion to the amusement of Lugg his manservant.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 23, 2021
Three and a half stars.
I have just re-read this book after many years and found it not as good as I originally thought. I didn't really like it being (unusually) written in the first person, narrated by Campion himself although Allinghams' writing is as good as ever. I also found it rather far-fetched.
I have just re-read this book after many years and found it not as good as I originally thought. I didn't really like it being (unusually) written in the first person, narrated by Campion himself although Allinghams' writing is as good as ever. I also found it rather far-fetched.
October 5, 2023
Interesting when it gets going though I'm not convinced the change to first person works.
The villain seemed obvious though the trickery needed revealing.
The villain seemed obvious though the trickery needed revealing.
September 25, 2013
1937, #8 Albert Campion, Enquiry Agent, London and rural Kepesake. This is a long novella not an actual novel, and uses, unusual for the series, Campion's own first person narration. A nasty bully is dead (twice), bodies go missing, very strange folks abound in the sweet little village of Kepesake, and then there's Lugg... Wonderful almost-thriller, true classic; four stars.
"Pig" Peters was a much-dreaded bully during Campion's school-years, so when he reads the obituary stating that Peters' funeral is to be held the next day, he's not at all unhappy about it. But then an anonymous letter arrives, and it, too, mentions Peters - and death. Some coincidence - it was mailed a day or two previous to Peters' actual demise... Campion's curiosity is aroused (of course!) and he feels it might be a good idea to go to the funeral and see what's going on, for himself.
Everything goes the way a funeral is supposed to go, although there aren't many mourners, and those that are there are a rather peculiar lot. Campion goes home and promptly forgets about it all. But six months later he is asked by a long-time family friend, a judge, to come down to the little village of Kepesake to help in the investigation of a (possibly) accidental death. Upon arrival he finds that the dead man not only looks a lot like Pig but truly IS Pig Peters. So who was buried six months ago? And why? And as he was undoubtedly murdered, who actually killed him *this* time? Was it, as Judge Leo fears, his beloved Poppy, or one of her many other admirers?
This tasty thriller has enough goings-on for a full novel, but for some reason Allingham chose to not flesh it out enough for that. Nonetheless, it's chock full of wonderful things, including a very strongly woven plot (although the basic premise might be easy to guess now), glorious characterizations - pretty nearly every participant, but IMO the best were Judge Leo, Miss Effie, Poppy, and Albert himself. And the pace is just the good side of frantic, as this novella moves rather similarly to her earliest Campion books, with something peculiar and some sort of chase or active investigatory thing going on at almost every page or so.
Although her style here is almost that of her earlier work, her execution is quite superior to even that good writing, as she fully enthralls the reader in the goings-on in little Kepesake. Nice folks, mean and cruel folks, "difficult" folks, all show up here, and each has something to add to the plot. Not terribly believable even for 1937, but it's wonderful stuff, if a mite frantic in spots.
The TV film made from this in the late 1980s starring Peter Davison was superb, as all the action translated very nicely to the screen. It's all fairly light-hearted and entertaining, as is this wonderful short read (only 165 pages in large print!), although the prose version has nicely dark edges too.
"Pig" Peters was a much-dreaded bully during Campion's school-years, so when he reads the obituary stating that Peters' funeral is to be held the next day, he's not at all unhappy about it. But then an anonymous letter arrives, and it, too, mentions Peters - and death. Some coincidence - it was mailed a day or two previous to Peters' actual demise... Campion's curiosity is aroused (of course!) and he feels it might be a good idea to go to the funeral and see what's going on, for himself.
Everything goes the way a funeral is supposed to go, although there aren't many mourners, and those that are there are a rather peculiar lot. Campion goes home and promptly forgets about it all. But six months later he is asked by a long-time family friend, a judge, to come down to the little village of Kepesake to help in the investigation of a (possibly) accidental death. Upon arrival he finds that the dead man not only looks a lot like Pig but truly IS Pig Peters. So who was buried six months ago? And why? And as he was undoubtedly murdered, who actually killed him *this* time? Was it, as Judge Leo fears, his beloved Poppy, or one of her many other admirers?
This tasty thriller has enough goings-on for a full novel, but for some reason Allingham chose to not flesh it out enough for that. Nonetheless, it's chock full of wonderful things, including a very strongly woven plot (although the basic premise might be easy to guess now), glorious characterizations - pretty nearly every participant, but IMO the best were Judge Leo, Miss Effie, Poppy, and Albert himself. And the pace is just the good side of frantic, as this novella moves rather similarly to her earliest Campion books, with something peculiar and some sort of chase or active investigatory thing going on at almost every page or so.
Although her style here is almost that of her earlier work, her execution is quite superior to even that good writing, as she fully enthralls the reader in the goings-on in little Kepesake. Nice folks, mean and cruel folks, "difficult" folks, all show up here, and each has something to add to the plot. Not terribly believable even for 1937, but it's wonderful stuff, if a mite frantic in spots.
The TV film made from this in the late 1980s starring Peter Davison was superb, as all the action translated very nicely to the screen. It's all fairly light-hearted and entertaining, as is this wonderful short read (only 165 pages in large print!), although the prose version has nicely dark edges too.
August 3, 2020
The second death...
When Albert Campion, gentleman detective, gets an urgent message from an old friend to come to the village of Kepesake, he’s not surprised to learn it’s because there’s been a murder. However, when he comes to view the corpse, he’s more than surprised – he’s shocked! The dead man is “Pig” Peters, a former schoolmate of Campion’s who used to bully the younger boys, including Campion himself. But the shocking thing is that it’s only a few months since Campion attended Peters’ funeral. So how can he possibly be here, freshly dead? And what is the meaning of the cryptic anonymous notes that both Campion and another old schoolmate are receiving?
I haven’t read many of Allingham’s books, mainly because I don’t much like Campion as a detective. Like Lord Peter Wimsey he has an aristocratic background and the snobbery level in the books is high, especially in her supposedly comic portrayal of Campion’s valet and sidekick, the unendearingly common Magersfontein Lugg. Even his silly name makes me grit my teeth. To make up for these annoyances, however, Allingham provides intriguing mysteries, usually fair play, although so devious that I can rarely work them out until all is revealed.
This one is unusual in that Campion tells us the story himself – usually the books are written in the third person. I quite enjoyed getting inside his head for a change. He often comes over as a sort of silly ass, an upper-class twit whose brilliance everyone underestimates because of the Wodehouse-ish (or Wimsey-ish – I’m never quite sure which it is that Allingham is attempting to parody) way he talks and behaves. But the first person approach takes the edge off the silliness, and I actually found him far more likeable when we could see his thought processes, especially since he tells us when he got things wrong.
The slight downside of the first person, though, is that Allingham has to tread the line carefully neither to reveal too much nor to make it too obvious when Campion is holding things back for the purposes of the big reveal. She does pretty well, on the whole, but I did manage to guess the who and the why and even had an inkling of part of the how. There was still enough that I couldn’t work out, though, to keep me turning the pages quite happily until Campion explained it all at the end.
I’m still not sure why Allingham gets ranked as one of the Queens of Crime – for my money she’s not a patch on ECR Lorac, for example, who is a “forgotten” author. But I suspect that’s more down to my subjective taste regarding style than an objective judgement about quality – I really don’t like the snobbery that comes with aristocratic detectives – and there’s no doubt Allingham has her fair share of dedicated fans. I don’t think I’ll ever class myself as one of them, but I find her quite entertaining for an occasional read. And, overall, for me this was one of the more enjoyable of the Campion novels.
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When Albert Campion, gentleman detective, gets an urgent message from an old friend to come to the village of Kepesake, he’s not surprised to learn it’s because there’s been a murder. However, when he comes to view the corpse, he’s more than surprised – he’s shocked! The dead man is “Pig” Peters, a former schoolmate of Campion’s who used to bully the younger boys, including Campion himself. But the shocking thing is that it’s only a few months since Campion attended Peters’ funeral. So how can he possibly be here, freshly dead? And what is the meaning of the cryptic anonymous notes that both Campion and another old schoolmate are receiving?
I haven’t read many of Allingham’s books, mainly because I don’t much like Campion as a detective. Like Lord Peter Wimsey he has an aristocratic background and the snobbery level in the books is high, especially in her supposedly comic portrayal of Campion’s valet and sidekick, the unendearingly common Magersfontein Lugg. Even his silly name makes me grit my teeth. To make up for these annoyances, however, Allingham provides intriguing mysteries, usually fair play, although so devious that I can rarely work them out until all is revealed.
This one is unusual in that Campion tells us the story himself – usually the books are written in the third person. I quite enjoyed getting inside his head for a change. He often comes over as a sort of silly ass, an upper-class twit whose brilliance everyone underestimates because of the Wodehouse-ish (or Wimsey-ish – I’m never quite sure which it is that Allingham is attempting to parody) way he talks and behaves. But the first person approach takes the edge off the silliness, and I actually found him far more likeable when we could see his thought processes, especially since he tells us when he got things wrong.
The slight downside of the first person, though, is that Allingham has to tread the line carefully neither to reveal too much nor to make it too obvious when Campion is holding things back for the purposes of the big reveal. She does pretty well, on the whole, but I did manage to guess the who and the why and even had an inkling of part of the how. There was still enough that I couldn’t work out, though, to keep me turning the pages quite happily until Campion explained it all at the end.
I’m still not sure why Allingham gets ranked as one of the Queens of Crime – for my money she’s not a patch on ECR Lorac, for example, who is a “forgotten” author. But I suspect that’s more down to my subjective taste regarding style than an objective judgement about quality – I really don’t like the snobbery that comes with aristocratic detectives – and there’s no doubt Allingham has her fair share of dedicated fans. I don’t think I’ll ever class myself as one of them, but I find her quite entertaining for an occasional read. And, overall, for me this was one of the more enjoyable of the Campion novels.
www.fictionfanblog.wordpress.com
March 16, 2015
Another entry in the Quest-for-a-Christie-Like Series: Margery Allingham.
This is my first Allingham. I've been informed that she has a rather varied corpus, and I picked this one as it was characterized as a standard fairplay mystery. Overall, I quite enjoyed it. It didn't have any rug-pulling twists, and I had the culprit, method, and much of the motive pegged around the same time that Campion seems to have figured it out. That said, kudos for being fairplay.
The book gets the extra star up from "just good" on the merits of the intangibles. Here's a mystery that- at 150 pages or so- maintains its focus and doesn't overstay its welcome. The minor subplots efficiently establish character and add levity to the proceedings without interrupting the focus. Ultimately, she's a strong substitute for Christie up to the point of the reveal, at which point, you've either got Christie's brains and capacity for misdirection or you don't.
Allingham may surprise me yet, but for now, she's quite good fodder in between Christie's so that I can further delay that inevitable day when I have no Christie novels left.
This is my first Allingham. I've been informed that she has a rather varied corpus, and I picked this one as it was characterized as a standard fairplay mystery. Overall, I quite enjoyed it. It didn't have any rug-pulling twists, and I had the culprit, method, and much of the motive pegged around the same time that Campion seems to have figured it out. That said, kudos for being fairplay.
The book gets the extra star up from "just good" on the merits of the intangibles. Here's a mystery that- at 150 pages or so- maintains its focus and doesn't overstay its welcome. The minor subplots efficiently establish character and add levity to the proceedings without interrupting the focus. Ultimately, she's a strong substitute for Christie up to the point of the reveal, at which point, you've either got Christie's brains and capacity for misdirection or you don't.
Allingham may surprise me yet, but for now, she's quite good fodder in between Christie's so that I can further delay that inevitable day when I have no Christie novels left.
June 16, 2019
2019: 3.5 stars - Still a fun, lighthearted read - the audiobook increased the almost Wodehouse vibe of this one for me.
8/2009: Fun, and I enjoyed it, but not as much as previous Campions. The story dragged a bit for me, and I'm really not sure why . . . having said that, a three-star Campion is better than most mystery writers best efforts! The scenes between Lugg and Campion, as always, were among my favorites.
8/2009: Fun, and I enjoyed it, but not as much as previous Campions. The story dragged a bit for me, and I'm really not sure why . . . having said that, a three-star Campion is better than most mystery writers best efforts! The scenes between Lugg and Campion, as always, were among my favorites.
January 6, 2022
This was enjoyable. It marked a change in Allingham's method of telling the story, because it was Mr Campion himself who was the narrator. I worked out who the villain was, though of course not all the whys and wherefores.
Mr Campion made me smile occasionally in his descriptions, as for example this description of the local police Inspector:
He looked proudly puzzled, I thought, like a spaniel which has unexpectedly retrieved a dodo.
Good fun.
Mr Campion made me smile occasionally in his descriptions, as for example this description of the local police Inspector:
He looked proudly puzzled, I thought, like a spaniel which has unexpectedly retrieved a dodo.
Good fun.
April 14, 2015
I thought this book seemed interesting at first- very different being randomly from Campion's first-person point of view. But in the end I found it dreadfully boring. I really enjoyed Allingham's first book, in which Campion was really a side character, but I haven't been crazy about any of the others.
October 5, 2019
I can't say I enjoyed this overly much; it was written in an abrupt style, full of 'telling' rather than 'showing', it had annoying characters and a silly plot. At least it was very short.
Reading some reviews I see that it is considered a bit of a shift in the author's usual style so I'l give her books another shot to see if this was just a poor one in comparison.
Reading some reviews I see that it is considered a bit of a shift in the author's usual style so I'l give her books another shot to see if this was just a poor one in comparison.
September 21, 2020
I am not one of these intellectual sleuths, I am afraid. My mind does not work like an adding machine, taking the facts in neatly one by one and doing the work as it goes along. I am more like the bloke with the sack and spiked stick. I collect all the odds and ends I can see and turn the bag at the lunch hour.
January 3, 2018
Complicated, but fun.
April 4, 2019
Maybe I read it in too many short sittings? I struggled to remember who characters were and didn’t enjoy the unreliability of a narrator as much as usual.
July 15, 2022
Well, this was fine. I tend to like golden age mysteries, though I'd never read Allingham, and she's often cited with Christie, Sayers and Marsh as one of the Queens of golden age mystery. So I thought I'd read one. I admit, I picked this one because it was the one my father owned.
And it was fine? The mystery was competent, if a bit predictable at times. I'm not sure how I feel about the writing style. I am withholding some judgement because apparently this is the only Capion book written in the first person, so the others may flow better. But when I was reading this the writing itself felt a bit, well, dated. And I know this was written the better part of a century ago, but it feels dated in a way that most Christie and Sayers don't. This doens't feel dated because it was written at a time pre-computer. This feels dated because it dind't age well.
As an example, take Gull, Campion's manservant. I admit, I wasn't wild about Gull particularly, but the slang/dialect he uses doesn't help. I'm not saying it's not accurate to a particular place and time (it may be - I have no way of assessing that), but I didn't like it, and it was hard to follow at times. And I don't think it's a speech pattern that most modern readers would be that familiar with.
Also, there's a bit of an odd almost-romantic subplot, that in the end feels like either a) the biggest case of insta-love ever, b) based entirely a bit of a red herring, which I actually respect more, given it's a mystery novel, but it's not clear. It very much felt like Allingham was of the Nagio Marsh school of b-plot romances, where minimal development/payoff is required.
I dunno, as I said, it's fine. The mystery is competent. Not sure I'll seek out another one.
It was fine. I'm not sure I'm interested enough to read another one.
And it was fine? The mystery was competent, if a bit predictable at times. I'm not sure how I feel about the writing style. I am withholding some judgement because apparently this is the only Capion book written in the first person, so the others may flow better. But when I was reading this the writing itself felt a bit, well, dated. And I know this was written the better part of a century ago, but it feels dated in a way that most Christie and Sayers don't. This doens't feel dated because it was written at a time pre-computer. This feels dated because it dind't age well.
As an example, take Gull, Campion's manservant. I admit, I wasn't wild about Gull particularly, but the slang/dialect he uses doesn't help. I'm not saying it's not accurate to a particular place and time (it may be - I have no way of assessing that), but I didn't like it, and it was hard to follow at times. And I don't think it's a speech pattern that most modern readers would be that familiar with.
Also, there's a bit of an odd almost-romantic subplot, that in the end feels like either a) the biggest case of insta-love ever, b) based entirely a bit of a red herring, which I actually respect more, given it's a mystery novel, but it's not clear. It very much felt like Allingham was of the Nagio Marsh school of b-plot romances, where minimal development/payoff is required.
I dunno, as I said, it's fine. The mystery is competent. Not sure I'll seek out another one.
It was fine. I'm not sure I'm interested enough to read another one.
January 2, 2021
In January, Albert Campion goes to the funeral of a long-ago schoolmate, the nasty 'Pig' Peters, whom Campion hasn't seen since school. A few months later, while visiting friends, Campion finds Peters, definitely Peters, whom Campion sees with his own eyes, dead. Murdered, by having a massive stone urn dropped on his head from a height. There seems to be no end of suspects, since pretty much everybody at the grand mansion where Peters was staying hated him.
But who is the culprit? And who is sending Campion odd anonymous notes about moles and whatnot? Most puzzlingly, how could Pig have died twice?
This was so mystifying till pretty close to the end, I had absolutely no idea what was happening. The motive, the means, the very fact that one man cannot die twice: all were very odd, and there was an entire panoply of strange characters that were pretty fascinating. And Margery Allingham has a delightfully dry, witty style that I liked a lot.
Despite that, though, I won't rate The Case of the Late Pig at four stars; more like three and a half. That's because there's some stuff near the end, in the denouement, that doesn't quite fit. Campion makes some deductions which seemed a little far fetched (the bit about how the urn fell is something I find hard to believe, for one). I ended up feeling a little let down, as if I had not, as a reader, been provided sufficient clues through the course of the book to let me attempt to solve the crime myself.
But who is the culprit? And who is sending Campion odd anonymous notes about moles and whatnot? Most puzzlingly, how could Pig have died twice?
This was so mystifying till pretty close to the end, I had absolutely no idea what was happening. The motive, the means, the very fact that one man cannot die twice: all were very odd, and there was an entire panoply of strange characters that were pretty fascinating. And Margery Allingham has a delightfully dry, witty style that I liked a lot.
Despite that, though, I won't rate The Case of the Late Pig at four stars; more like three and a half. That's because there's some stuff near the end, in the denouement, that doesn't quite fit. Campion makes some deductions which seemed a little far fetched (the bit about how the urn fell is something I find hard to believe, for one). I ended up feeling a little let down, as if I had not, as a reader, been provided sufficient clues through the course of the book to let me attempt to solve the crime myself.
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