Title: The Lost Gallows
Author: John Dickson Carr
It started when El Moulk’s automobile roared crazily through a London fog, its driver dead as a herring. The car screeched to a stop in front of that creaky relic of ancient horrors, the Brimstone Club. Through its cavernous rooms and gaslit passages a murderer hunted victims for a private gallows. The calling cards of a notorious hangman, a miniature gibbet, a length of rope, and an inscription from the tomb of Egyptian kings warned El Moulk and his dazzling French mistress that death was on their trail. It was a perfect case for Bencolin, a detective who preferred fantastic murders.
Carr really should be exactly for me: over-the-top pulpy mysteries about fiendish villains who don’t only make elaborate plans that makes it seem like they have an alibi for the time of the murder, no they are also in it for the aesthetic. They are doing all this for a particular reason and the murder and everything that surrounds it needs to match that reason. I love that stuff and can even overlook some of its issues….like that women in pulp fiction generally are only allowed to be distressed damsels, love interests, femme fatales (or distressed love interests). I did roll my eyes at Bencolin (and I guess in extension also Carr) slagging off crime writers who go for more ordinary, down-to-earth mysteries. I mean I knew what I was getting into when picking up this book, no need to piss on books that belong to a completely different end of the sub-genre. But I could have overlooked that as well. The ableism was harder to ignore but sadly it’s also not exactly surprising for books of that time and type.
But what really made me realise that Carr is probably just not for me is that I have now read several of his stories and in all of them I read and after a while noticed that I have absorbed absolutely nothing of what happened in the last view paragraphs (or sometimes pages). He just has a writing-style that makes my thoughts wander to everything but what’s actually on the page. His narrator is just so…rambling. The Bencolin books do go for a Holmes/Watson dynamic with his friend Jeff Marle, recording Bencolin’s adventures. It’s possible that it’s supposed to show that Marle really has no clue what’s going on and gives a lot of unnecessary information but he doesn’t only do that he describes everything in a similar way…it all sounds the same no matter if he’s describing interior decoration or fighting for his life. And that monotony makes it very hard to stay focussed on what’s happening on the page. Previously, I had just though that that I was in the wrong mood while trying to read Carr but now I have come to the conclusion that it’s definitely him, not me.