The suspicious detective in the nineteenth century

As a break from marking essays, I’ve been reading The Suspicions of Mr Whicher by Kate Summerscale. I’d seen it in bookshops but probably wouldn’t have read it if a friend hadn’t lent it to me, but I’m glad I did – it’s fascinating by any standard, but particularly so for someone with an interest in the nineteenth century. It’s based on the true story of the murder of a three-year-old boy at Road Hill House in Somerset in 1860; I’d expected it to be somehow “novelised” – to read like sensation fiction, but it doesn’t; it’s a factual account with little unnecessary detail, which makes it somehow all the more compelling.

Summerscale’s research has clearly been extremely extensive; she tells the story, of the child’s murder and the enquiries into the death, but there’s much more to it than that. For example, I didn’t know that the first proper detective in fiction appeared in Edgar Allen Poe’s The Murders in the Rue Morgue (I thought there must have been an earlier precedent for this), and that the first detective force was set up in Britain eight years after this. The detective in the Road Hill murder was Jack Whicher, a prominent detective of the day, whose case notes Summerscale has consulted. This book is as much about the construction of the figure of the detective, in the press, in society, and in literature, as it is about the investigation and social implications of the murder case.

What is fascinating about this book is twofold: firstly, I really wanted to know “whodunit” – and usually that kind of thing doesn’t matter too much to me. Secondly, it’s what it reveals about mid-Victorian life. The details – both cosily domestic and surprisingly sordid – of life at the house are laid out before the reader, as, it turns out, they were at the time; this was one of the highest-profile murder cases of the time. Every detail was analysed in the press; everyone had an opinion, and the Whicher received thousands of letters suggesting possible murderers and offering information. The public was both intrigued and fully absorbed, becoming armchair-detectives themselves, and at the same time absolutely horrified about the intrusion into the private domestic space which seemed paramount to a threat to national security. Of course, the voyeurism of the nineteenth century press is ironically echoed by that of the reader of this book.

When Whicher made an accusation, he was vilified for calling the family into disrepute, as a lower-class working detective who had “intruded” on the middle-class security of the bereaved family. The paradoxes and hypocrisy the case, and this book, illuminates is fascinating; I was also surprised by how much effect this and other real-life cases had on contemporary writers, in particular (of course) Dickens and Wilkie Collins. One wonders what future generations might make of the news stories that capture the current generation’s interest.

Serious Money

Last night was the first night of Caryl Churchill’s play Serious Money at Birmingham Rep. I like Churchill’s political approach in Top Girls so was looking forward to seeing Serious Money without being quite sure what to expect. Well, like Top Girls, it seems to have the 1980s down to a T – you can just feel the atmosphere of corporate greed and excessive shoulderpads. The play takes a look at the working lives of stockbrokers and their ilk during the 1980s boom, when it seemed as though it would go on forever. That the play was written and produced in the 1980s allows the audience to appreciate the irony given its timely production in the middle of a recession – their “it’ll last forever” approach is hubristic, and we know it. In fact, the play opens with a scene from a play of 1692 (The Volunteers, or The Stockjobbers, by Thom,as Shadwell) in which the wealthy are being persuaded to buy into things that may not exist. The message, of course, is that the human mind, the desire for money and power, never changes. And while that may be true, we can see the fallibility of that all to strongly at the moment. 

The play does two slightly daring things. Firstly, it stages the trading floor of the London International Finance Futures Exchange – no mean feat on an average sized stage with not that many people, but the buzz and energy (and desperation) of it is captured very well in this production. Secondly, it’s in rhyming couplets. I didn’t know that before I went, but it works. Really well, in fact – the actors handle the verse with flair, and the rhymes give a rhythm and speed to the script which works fabulously with the subject matter – and of course, rhyming verse always gives a few laughs, too, when the obvious rhymes are used; Churchill’s couplets are good at this.

Somehow, as we (audiences) become increasingly political, and increasingly conscious of the hollowness of apparent financial security, the play seems very much of-the-moment. In 1987, when it was produced at the Royal Court Theatre, one might think it could be viewed as a warning, but in fact the programme tells me that the very people it lampooned loved it. Now, perhaps, it seems a sadder play; the intrusion of the personal into working lives when one of their number dies seems to ring true.

Serious Money is on until 23rd May.

And finally…a new Poet Laureate

Finally, we have a female poet laureate. I’m not getting hysterical about not having had one before, because, well, we know all about centuries of patriarchal oppression etc, and Christina Rossetti would have said no anyway, but I am very pleased that finally, it’s happened. Being poet laureate is a strange position – just over £5,000 a year plus 600 bottles of sherry, or something like that (presumably to stimulate the creative juices, although research published last week says that red wine helps the thought processes best, news I am delighted to hear). In fact, she says that Andrew Motion hasn’t had his yet so she’s asking for hers upfront – a woman after my own heart.

However, I can’t imagine what Duffy is going to write in her new post – and I say that in a good way; I’m looking forward to seeing what she does write on, say, the death of the Queen – or, perhaps, swine flu, the recession, and other “newsworthy” items! It can only be an improvement on Motion’s “rap” on Prince William’s 21st birthday – I do see where he was coming from, it must have seemed like a great idea, but it strikes me as the kind of thing that would only appeal to an amateur. Duffy says, though, that “In accepting this Laureateship, I hope to contribute to people’s understanding of what poetry can do and where it can be found.” I presume she means to highlight that it can be found in places outside poetry books, but I hope she’ll start with the books.

Read more about it here.