Showing posts with label Edwards. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Edwards. Show all posts

Monday, 24 August 2020

He even included a league table in his diary, ranking his friends in order

[Hugh] Walpole was born in Auckland, New Zealand, where his father - later the bishop of Edinburgh - was canon of St Mary's Cathedral. The family was British, and Walpole's grandfather was the younger brother of the first Prime Minister. After they returned to England, he set his heart on establishing himself as a writer. His fierce ambition was not accompanied by a think skin. He wanted everyone to love him, but in his drive to build a reputation and the right connections he sometimes trampled on the feelings of others. He even included a league table in his diary, ranking his friends in order. Yet he was easily bruised by criticism and incurably jealous . When Hilaire Belloc described P.G. Wodehouse as the best English writer of the day, Wodehouse thought it hilarious, but Walpole was hurt. His wealth provoked envy and he alienated people through trivial disagreements. 

M. Edwards, The Golden age of murder (2015), 164

I can never think of Walpole without thinking of Maugham's portrait in Cakes and Ale, which I love.

Sunday, 23 August 2020

Scientific detection is 'too easy'.

 For all its associations with sportsmanship, cricket is governed by complicated laws, and Milne reckoned that if the detective novel was a game, readers and writers need to know the rules. When The Red House Mystery was reprinted, he set out half a dozen key points:

  1. The story should be written in good English.
  2. Love interest is undesirable.
  3. Both detective and villain should be amateurs.
  4. Scientific detection is 'too easy'.
  5. The reader should know as much as the detective.
  6. There should be a Watson: it is better for the detective 'to watsonize' than soliliquize.
M. Edwards, The Golden age of murder (2015), 113