Tom Mead On Sweet Revenge: The Dark Origins of Cabaret Macabre

My first novel, Death and the Conjuror, and the bulk of its sequel, The Murder Wheel, were written in 2020 at the height of the UK’s COVID lockdowns. They were attempts to channel the joy—the sheer delight—that I find in Golen Age mysteries and use it to create something new. As such, both books are love letters to my favourite authors: John Dickson Carr, Agatha Christie, Ellery Queen, Helen McCloy, Christianna Brand, Nicholas Blake, Edmund Crispin, and so many others. But as well as direct references to the work of the greats, the first two Joseph Spector novels are conscious attempts to emulate their style—to create something with the feel of a novel that might have been written in the glory days of the 1930s, when the puzzle mystery was at its peak. 

When the time came to get started on the third Spector novel, I felt more comfortable and (dare I say it) confident with my characters and the overall style of the books. As such, I was a little wary of resting on my laurels, recycling the same themes and ideas. But I wanted to retain the elements which (to my mind, at least) define the series, namely: magic, the theatre, the Gothic, the locked-room mystery. So, I started thinking about other influences which would blend neatly with that already-established formula. This brought me to the classic Japanese murder mystery—the honkaku—and its contemporary counterpart, shin-honkaku. These are genres with copious Golden Age connections, but also a heightened, pointedly non-naturalistic approach, high body counts, eccentric families, and brutal, bizarre murders. Tropes which are shared by an entirely different, yet curiously analogous, field: Jacobean tragedy.

As a lover of theatre (The Murder Wheel is set primarily in the backstage corridors of a fictional West End theatre, The Pomegranate), I wanted my characters to leave theatreland this time around, but to bring a semblance of the innately surreal realm of the stage with them to the fresh environs of the snowbound house in the English countryside. So, I looked to Jacobean drama. Agatha Christie made copious use of Shakespearean quotations for epigraphs and titles (Sad Cypress, Taken at the Flood), while Sleeping Murder features the John Webster tragedy The Duchess of Malfi as a prominent plot point—as does P.D. James’s The Skull Beneath the Skin. Meanwhile, Caroline Graham’s The Killings at Badger’s Drift (adapted for television as the very first episode of the long-running smash hit Midsomer Murders) borrows significant plot elements from John Ford’s Tis Pity She’s a Whore. There is therefore significant precedent for the overlap of such seemingly disparate genres. After all, both classic mysteries and these classic dramas rely on complex and remarkably convoluted plots, large casts of characters, and an all-important preoccupation with the macabre.

I have always been particularly fascinated by The Revenger’s Tragedy—even its origins are shrouded in mystery: it has been attributed to both Cyril Tourneur and Thomas Middleton. And the theme of revenge is incredibly potent and evocative. Of course, The Revenger’s Tragedy is decidedly not a mystery—though the characters deceive each other, they never deceive the audience. But what if, I wondered, the plot was reimagined and reinvented—transmogrified into a whodunit and, more importantly, a locked-room mystery? This gave me the shape of Cabaret Macabre.

Instead of Vindice the eponymous revenger, we have the troubled Victor Silvius. Instead of Castiza we have Caroline. And instead of the wicked duke, we have the judge, Sir Giles Drury. This was the inspiration I had been waiting for—I could practically see my cast of characters assembling in front of me.

And, perhaps inevitably, this one idea stimulated a slew of others. References to real-life criminous cases and characters--including the Brighton trunk murders of 1934 and the controversial celebrity pathologist Bernard Spilsbury--found their counterparts in the perverse yet fiercely logical murder plot. One strange, impossible death led to another, and my tapestry of puzzles began to coalesce into a single, cohesive piece. And the identity of the killer was a thrilling enigma.

The aim of any murder mystery is to give the reader a thrill; to whisk them away to another world. Whether Cabaret Macabre meets these criteria is not for me to say… but what I do know is that the book gave me plenty of thrills when I was writing it, and I can only hope it has a few more in store for the reader.

Cabaret Macabre by Tom Mead (Out Now) Head of Zeus

Bestselling author sleuth and illusionist Joseph Spector investigates his most complex case yet in this gripping new locked-room murder mystery, set in an English country house just before the Second World War. Hampshire, 1938. When prominent judge Sir Giles Drury starts receiving sinister letters, his wife suspects Victor Silvius, a man confined to a sanatorium after attacking Sir Giles. Meanwhile, Silvius’ sister Caroline is convinced her brother is about to be murdered... by none other than his old nemesis Sir Giles Drury. Caroline seeks the advice of Scotland Yard’s Inspector Flint, while the Drurys, eager to avoid a scandal, turn to Joseph Spector. Spector, renowned magician turned sleuth, has an uncanny knack for solving complicated crimes – but this case will test his powers of deduction to their limits. At a snowbound English country house, a body is found is impossible circumstances. Spector and Flint’s investigations collide as they find themselves trapped by the snowstorm where anyone could be the next victim – or the killer...

More information about Tom Mead can be found on his website. You can also find him on X @TomMeadAuthor, on Instagram @tommeadauthor and on Facebook.

             

Syd Moore - Keeping it Real - Why I Write About Real Events

The historical mystery in my latest book, Strange Fascination, had been fluttering on the edges of my imagination, attracting my glances periodically, since I was first alerted to it by a friend. He’s a photographer and seven years ago was commissioned to document a cute little Essex pub. When he had arrived he noticed a lump of rock situated rather strangely at the entrance to the carpark. It was in such an odd position that when he finished his work he commented on it to the owner. To his surprise the landlord informed him that, yes it was a pain but unfortunately it couldn’t be moved. When asked why, my friend was told rather casually, it was the ‘Witches Stone’ and had been there for centuries to stop the witch underneath rising from her grave. That’s right – this was just seven years ago. As you can imagine, my curiosity was well and truly piqued and, when I had cleared my desk of other tales, I began to research.  As my studies got underway I uncovered a true story of murder, mayhem and magic.  Gradually I peeled back layers of legend and lore to 1621 where I learned of the sad tale of Anne Hewghes. She, like the majority of accused witches in Essex, was a poor woman and a widow who lived in the village of Great Leighs. In 1621 she was accused of ‘bewitching to death’ a pied cow, the ‘goods and chattels’ of Richard Edwardes and murdering John Archer through sorcery. Her neighbours threw in a couple of other grumbles for good measure, so that over time Anne’s story became a legend that told of a powerful and evil old witch who brazenly slayed a fine upright citizen and who was consequently burnt at the stake on the crossroads of Scrapfaggot Green. Not only that, the villagers decided once her body had been obliterated her ashes should be buried under the site of her execution and a great boulder moved over the top to ensure she could not take revenge. Hence the reason why the carpark rock could never be moved.

It was a fascinating story, which took a further twist when I discovered that it had been the source of much concern to none other than the US military as late as 1944. Commandeering the pub for their use during the Second World War, the army found that they could not get their military vehicles into the carpark: they were big and the entrance was small. In their way, you see, was a large stone boulder with a ridiculous local legend attached to it. Having no truck with the concerns raised by the locals they commissioned a bulldozer to remove it. The desecration however soon began to wreak havoc: church bells rang of their own accord; livestock keeled over and died; geese disappeared, and a dark and lonely phantom was seen walking the village at night.

And, it wouldn’t stop.

The haunting became so notorious that it was featured in several national newspapers, alongside news about the war. The publicity, however, did nothing to halt the slew of strange phenomena engulfing the village. In their desperation the military called in well-known ghost hunter, Harry Price, of Borley Rectory fame. His conclusions were utterly compelling, and I could not resist exploring them in Strange Fascination. So in my latest book, I’ve located the boulder in the carpark of a pub in Adder’s Fork, home to the Witch Museum. Instead of the military driving into town the story, set today, sees greedy developers arrive in the village. They intend to build a brace of new executive homes, but guess what? There’s a large boulder in their way. Obviously, they decide to move it – I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

The history that lies under every inch of our country, its real people and real crimes, also keep me focussed on structure, especially beginnings and ends. But more than that this aspect enables me to reclaim the stories of some of those lonely unheard voices, the owners of which have long since slipped through the fingers of history. One thing that’s for certain is that Essex, with the highest number of indictments for witchcraft than any other English county, will be keeping the Witch Museum stocked with stories for many years to come.   

STRANGE FASCINATION by Syd Moore is out now from Point Blank, an imprint of Oneworld, paperback £8.99.

 It's summer in Adders Fork. The sun is out, the sky is blue and things are going swimmingly for Rosie Strange, thank you very much. The Essex Witch Museum has been relaunched with a new Ursula Cadence wing and picnic grounds.  Then developers roll into the sleepy village to widen the road. When the centuries-old Blackly Be boulder, said to mark the grave of a notorious witch but now in the car park of the Seven Stars, is moved, all hell breaks out. Within hours a slew of peculiar phenomena descends and, when a severed head is discovered atop the boulder, the locals can take no more and storm the Museum to demand someone take action.  Can Rosie and Sam unravel the mystery? And what of the ancient treasure that could drastically change someone's fortunes and offer a motive for murder?

Past Tense with Elly Griffiths

Today’s guest blog is by author Elly Griffiths who is the author of the Ruth Galloway series.  In 2012 and 2014 she was shortlisted for the CWA Dagger in the Library.  Her novel The Crossing Places won the Mary Higgins Clark Award in 2011.  The novel was also Shortlisted for the Theakstons Old Peculier Crime Novel of the Year.  Her novel The House at Sea’s End was shortlisted for the Barry Award for best British Crime Novel.  Her latest novel is Zig Zag Girl.

She looks.  The man is still watching her.  She waits.  He’s still there.  Should she take her chance?  She runs.

In some ways the present tense seems the obvious choice for crime fiction.  It’s immediate, it’s compelling, and it has the added advantage of not giving anything away.  As soon as you use the past tense, you are removing the reader from the action.  It’s like that fantastic first-person essay you wrote when you were 12.  The one where the narrator dies horribly and your teacher says, ‘So who was telling the story then?’  With the past tense there’s always the implication that someone was left alive, like Horatio in Hamlet, to tell the story.

When I wrote The Crossing Places, my first crime novel, I had already ready published four books under my real name Domenica de Rosa (I know it sounds made-up).  These books fell into that vague category that ranges between ‘chick lit’ and ‘women’s fiction’ and they were all written in the present tense, which seems the norm for the genre.  Not one critic ever commented on this.  Mind you, not many critics read the books.  It is almost impossible to get reviews for women’s fiction.  I used to wonder if anyone, apart from my close family, ever read the books.  Looking at the sales figures, the answer is probably no.

When I started The Crossing Places, it seemed natural to write in the present tense.  I didn’t at first realise I was writing a crime novel and there is certainly a ‘women’s fiction’ element to the book.  But, if I had thought about it, I would have thought that the present tense was ideal for crime.  ‘She looks, she gasps, she runs etc etc’.  However, when the book came out, I was astonished to see that many of the reviews mentioned the present tense.  Actually, I was astonished to see reviews at all.  That’s the lovely thing about crime; you know people are reading it.  There are bloggers and reviewers – people who are extremely knowledgeable and enthusiastic about the genre – who actually read books by new authors.  It’s amazing.  Anyway, a lot of these people mentioned how unusual it was to read a crime novel written in the present tense.  Most people liked it but there were some reviewers on Amazon who boasted that they were unable to read more than a page written in this outlandish style.  This didn’t stop them giving the book a one star review though.

I was surprised by the reaction to the tense (but delighted that so many people seemed to like Ruth, the protagonist).  I wondered if I should switch to the past for the next book.  Because that’s the other lovely thing about crime readers, they like a series.  But, in the end, I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to get the tone right if I changed tenses.  But, six Ruth books later, when I decided to write something different, I made a decision.  This book would be set in the past and it would be written in the past tense.

The Zig Zag Girl is set in the theatrical world of the 1950s.  Writing a historical novel (even

one set in the fairly recent past) involves a complete change of mind-set: no mobile phones, no computers, and very few private cars, wireless instead of television.  Using the past tense seemed to suit this new way of thinking and it reflected the slightly melancholy mood of the book.  Because, with the present tense, you can never say things like, ‘And now, years later, he was tormented by the fact that he could not remember whether she ever said ‘I love you’ back.’ With the past tense you can look back with the benefit of hindsight and that’s a lot of fun for a writer.

Do I prefer the past or the present?  I’m not sure.  The present is dramatic and it allows you to differentiate easily between action and flashback.  The past is more elegant, it allows you to muse and ponder, to reflect on the ironies of life.  It can be exhausting to read a book written in the present tense, like being endlessly buffeted by waves, no time to draw breath, always the danger of slipping under the water.  But the present tense makes you feel involved.  I sometimes wonder if is it part of the reason why people have taken Ruth to their hearts.  We share Ruth’s experiences in real-time, they are not filtered back to us by the forgiving past tense.

So, for the moment (the present moment, that is), I’ll stick to the present for Ruth and the past for Edgar and Max.  Because that’s another wonderful thing about the world of crime fiction – there’s room for everyone.

More information about Elly Griffiths and her books can be found on her website.  You can also follow her on Twitter @ellygriffiths and on Facebook.

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Zig Zag Girl

Brighton, 1950.

When the body of a girl is found, cut into three, Detective Inspector Edgar Stephens is reminded of a magic trick, the Zig Zag Girl.

The inventor of the trick, Max Mephisto, is an old friend of Edgar’s.  They served together in the war as part of a shadowy unit called the Magic Men.

Max is still on the circuit, touring seaside towns in the company of ventriloquists, sword-swallowers, and dancing girls.  Changing times mean that variety is not what it once was; yet Max is reluctant to leave this world to help Edgar investigate.  But when the dead girl turns out to be known to him, Max changes his mind.

Another death, another magic trick: Edgar and Max become convinced that the answer to the murders lies in their army days.  When Edgar receives a letter warning of another ‘trick’, the Wolf Trap, he knows that they are all in the killer’s sights…