"It beats me," said Wimsey, "the way these policemen give way over a trifling accident. In the Sexton Blake book that my friend Ginger Joe has just lent me, the great detective, after being stunned with a piece of lead-piping and trussed up for six hours in ropes which cut his flesh nearly to the bone, is taken by boat on a stormy night to a remote house on the coast and flung down a flight of stone steps into a stone cellar. Here he contrives to release himself from his bonds after three hours' work on the edge of a broken wine-bottle, when the villain gets wise to his activities and floods the cellar with gas. He is most fortunately rescued at the fifty-ninth minute of the eleventh hour and, pausing only to swallow a few ham sandwiches and a cup of strong coffee, instantly joins in a prolonged pursuit of the murderers by aeroplane, during which he as to walk out along the wing and grapple with a fellow who has just landed on in from a rope and is proposing to chuck a hand-grenade into the cockpit. And here is my own brother-in-law--a man I have known for nearly twenty years--giving way to bad temper and bandages because some three-by-four crook has slugged him one on his own comfortable staircase. (pg 112)I laughed aloud. The implausibility of books is matched only by the implausibility of cop shows on TV.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Wordy Wednesday: Most Fortunately Rescued
I'm reading Murder Must Advertise by Dorothy Sayers. I loved this assessment of police novels: