Marsh Better than Sayers or Christie--read review now!

 
I began listening to detective fiction about five years ago when, forced to drive more often and longer distances than I had in years, I decided to occupy my mind with a human voice other than Bob Dylan (Time Out of Mind). Oddly, most of the books, fiction or non-fiction, that I like to read I can't listen to on audio and vice versa. Hence my discovery of classic detective stories.

A friend presented me with a leather bound addition of Ngaio Marsh for my birthday one year. That I had never even heard of her tells some of you how very, very little I knew about the genre. I liked the book and began to check others out of the library, except got the audio instead of print. Some of Marsh's later works aren't worth reading or listening to, but her earlier works, all of which feature Allen Roderick, are detailed and complex enough so that I feel as if I really have to listen to keep the characters straight in my mind. She manages to develop the characters enough for me to like them, and she gives enough information to leave me satisfied that I at least have a chance of guessing who the guilty party is, if I focus on all the details.

When I ran out of Marsh books at the local library, I tried Agatha Christie only to find myself curious about her perennial popularity, which I thought must hinge on the fact that readers could not possibly guess who the guilty party is because Christie withholds vital information—one tiny fact on which all evidence rests—until the very end, a practice that others apparently like but which I found to be manipulative. As for Dame Christie—off with her head, I said, and gave her up.
Recently, I tried Dorothy Sayers, whom I had read years ago with little intention of reading more, not because I disliked her work but because I felt indifferent towards it. After getting through Chapter 1 in Gaudy Night (audio), I gave her up as well, feeling as if Sayers had used her readers to vent a bit of rage against old classmates who mistreated her before she was rich and famous. No thanks.

So, I'm back to Marsh, though I'm not sure I can explain exactly why I like her when the others leave me frustrated or cold. Maybe I had it right earlier: she's fair enough to give me a fighting chance at getting the villain right, which I almost never do, without making me feel as if I'm being subjected to a grown woman's vent about the mean girls she encountered 30 years ago.

I recommend her to those who like classical detective fiction or more modern writers such as P. D. James.