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A review by daja57
The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins
5.0
Not the first time I have read this Victorian classic, often hailed as the first detective novel, but re-reading it means that I am reading having already known whodunnit and how; this in turn means that I can spot the hints dropped in the plot which make the solution of the mystery possible.
The Moonstone, a cursed diamond looted from India, is presented to Rachel Verinder on her birthday, but that same night it vanishes. The crime baffles the local police and a famous detective is called in to investigate. Add to this two young men seeking to marry Rachel and a maidservant with a criminal past who is hopelessly in love with a gentleman, and the strange behaviour of Rachel herself, and we develop an interesting mystery.
Sergeant Cuff, the detective, was probably based on the real-life Inspector Whicher, an early detective employed by the London Metropolitan Police, whose investigation into a murder at Road Hill House for which Constance Kent was subsequently found guilty also involved a nightdress. Sergeant Cuff's retirement to a cottage where he grows roses preceded the retirement of Hercule Poirot (who grows Vegetable Marrows) in Agatha Christie's The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, a brilliant novel which also shares a narrative device with The Moonstone. The relationship between the clever, but sometimes enigmatic, detective and the slow-witted butler who narrates much of The Moonstone is clearly the model for Sherlock Holmes and his narrator Watson, and for Poirot and Captain Hastings. The character of Gooseberry, the nimble-witted street urchin, in The Moonstone is clearly a model for the Baker Street Irregulars in the Sherlock Holmes books. And of course the local policeman is incompetent! Thus, this book pioneers many of the tropes of detective fiction.
It is told from multiple perspectives. One of the narrators is unreliable; I can't think of any novel previous to the Moonstone which uses this device. The first section is narrated by the steward, Mr Betteredge. He is a fussy old man with an amusing (and rather unPC) view on life; this narrative allows Collins to add humour, both laughing with Mr B and laughing at him: "On hearing those dreadful words, my daughter Penelope said she didn't know what prevented her heart from flying straight out of her. I thought privately that it might have been her stays." (Ch 3) The second section is narrated by Miss Clack, a poor relation of the family, whose genteel poverty have led her to become a proselytising Christian, forever handing out unwanted tracts and advice; Collins skilfully pokes fun at her naivete. Other narrators include a principal protagonist, a sinister-looking medical assistant, and a solicitor.
Collins employs subtle humour in his characterisations of the steward, Miss Clack and Mrs Merridew; these comic characters are far more skilfully drawn than the crude but compelling caricatures of Dickens.
The pacing is a little unusual. Most of the action occurs in the first half of the book and we discover the identity of the person who took the Moonstone from Rachel's bedroom with a full third of the book still to go; the last part is concerned principally with the mechanics of the plot and where the Moonstone is now. To my eyes, trained by modern mysteries, this gives the feeling that the narrative isn't quite balanced.
And of course Victorian prose can be a little long-winded at times.
But it is a classic and the characterisations and the real moments of humour, not to mention a baffling mystery, make it well worth a read.
The Moonstone, a cursed diamond looted from India, is presented to Rachel Verinder on her birthday, but that same night it vanishes. The crime baffles the local police and a famous detective is called in to investigate. Add to this two young men seeking to marry Rachel and a maidservant with a criminal past who is hopelessly in love with a gentleman, and the strange behaviour of Rachel herself, and we develop an interesting mystery.
Sergeant Cuff, the detective, was probably based on the real-life Inspector Whicher, an early detective employed by the London Metropolitan Police, whose investigation into a murder at Road Hill House for which Constance Kent was subsequently found guilty also involved a nightdress. Sergeant Cuff's retirement to a cottage where he grows roses preceded the retirement of Hercule Poirot (who grows Vegetable Marrows) in Agatha Christie's The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, a brilliant novel which also shares a narrative device with The Moonstone. The relationship between the clever, but sometimes enigmatic, detective and the slow-witted butler who narrates much of The Moonstone is clearly the model for Sherlock Holmes and his narrator Watson, and for Poirot and Captain Hastings. The character of Gooseberry, the nimble-witted street urchin, in The Moonstone is clearly a model for the Baker Street Irregulars in the Sherlock Holmes books. And of course the local policeman is incompetent! Thus, this book pioneers many of the tropes of detective fiction.
It is told from multiple perspectives. One of the narrators is unreliable; I can't think of any novel previous to the Moonstone which uses this device. The first section is narrated by the steward, Mr Betteredge. He is a fussy old man with an amusing (and rather unPC) view on life; this narrative allows Collins to add humour, both laughing with Mr B and laughing at him: "On hearing those dreadful words, my daughter Penelope said she didn't know what prevented her heart from flying straight out of her. I thought privately that it might have been her stays." (Ch 3) The second section is narrated by Miss Clack, a poor relation of the family, whose genteel poverty have led her to become a proselytising Christian, forever handing out unwanted tracts and advice; Collins skilfully pokes fun at her naivete. Other narrators include a principal protagonist, a sinister-looking medical assistant, and a solicitor.
Collins employs subtle humour in his characterisations of the steward, Miss Clack and Mrs Merridew; these comic characters are far more skilfully drawn than the crude but compelling caricatures of Dickens.
The pacing is a little unusual. Most of the action occurs in the first half of the book and we discover the identity of the person who took the Moonstone from Rachel's bedroom with a full third of the book still to go; the last part is concerned principally with the mechanics of the plot and where the Moonstone is now. To my eyes, trained by modern mysteries, this gives the feeling that the narrative isn't quite balanced.
And of course Victorian prose can be a little long-winded at times.
But it is a classic and the characterisations and the real moments of humour, not to mention a baffling mystery, make it well worth a read.