“Now it is a principle which every detective recognises, that if of a hundred leading circumstances connected with a crime, ninety-nine of these are acts pointing to the suspected party with unerring certainty, but the hundredth equally important act is one which that person could not have performed, the whole fabric of suspicion is destroyed.” – Ebenezer Gryce, The Leavenworth Case
Upon graduating from college, Anna Katharine Green (1846-1935) embarked on a literary journey of writing poetry, but later on, without telling her father, who was a lawyer, she secretly began to write her very first detective novel, The Leavenworth Case. It received enormous critical acclaim with its publication in America in 1878 as well as the United Kingdom the following year. Following its success, Green wrote many more and with that she was earned the wonderful sobriquet – “the mother of detective novel”. I’ve just lately discovered this lady and her works, and I was thrilled after finishing the novel in finding that Wilkie Collins also adored The Leavenworth Case. He claimed to have read this book dozens of times without ignoring the fact that he always paused to “admire the fertility of invention, the delicate treatment of incident – and the fine perception of event on the personages of the story”.
Blue curtains, blue carpets, blue walls. It was like a glimpse of heavenly azure in a spot where only darkness and gloom were to be expected.
Accidents all happen in the fairest scenes, and profound secrets are to be divulged under the veneer of hospitable roofs – that we of course commonly acknowledge. But while devouring this novel, I was still amused by how Anna K. Green crocheted this aura of mystery brilliantly. The matter of duality is explored not only in terms of household surroundings between levity of ornaments and grimness of the case, but also of its characters as well. There are multi-facets of personalities one gets to witness and exhume in another person gradually in time, or thoughts and actions which are considered perceptibly incongruous. These portrayals of characters debunk experiences and meddle in the heads of contemporary readers. Means of living do not fit one’s looks and appearance seamlessly: the duties of an amanuensis make one apparently behave like an automaton, but deep down, he might own a fiery heart and be capable to love; a girl who is stripped off the favours and attentions by elders might be seen to constitute a mind full of envy and hatred, conversely she could be an effigy symbolising self-respect and the willingness to sacrifice. In this novel, everything does not look what it seems to be and shrouded in clouds of mystery.
Ambition, love, jealousy, hatred, revenge – transitory emotions with some, are terrific passions with me.
The vagueness and uncertainty are also illustrated in the aspect of how one possessing feelings and affections towards another.
“It was enough that I was allowed to stand in her presence and look unrebuked upon her loveliness. To be sure, it was like gazing into the flower-wreathed crater of an awakening volcano. Fear and fascination were in each moment I lingered there; but fear and fascination made the moment what it was, and I could not have withdrawn if I would.”
A lady in the story, although being haughty in her position, to a man, she seems to illuminate him in rays of sunshine. Several characters are also besotted by her grace and beauty, but it is the loneliness which underlines a human’s fragility, contributes to his downfall, crushes his sense and reason, incriminates and hurls himself into the deep irretrievable gulf of darkness. The derailment, emotional complexity and psychological development keep us weighing every circumstance of the criminal case and its suspects. At one point, Detective Gryce states that a murderous crime must be uprooted mainly by a motive of none other than avarice. Because of that, while we are guessing the real culprit, we are also led blindly into a cul-de-sac, but in the end, the summation of the story actually points to the avarice of love and the endeavour to dispel one’s loneliness.
Mr. Gryce was a portly, comfortable personage with an eye that never pierced, that did not even rest on you. If it rested anywhere, it was always on some insignificant object in the vicinity, some vase, inkstand, book, or button. These things he would seem to take into his confidence, make the repositories of his conclusions; but as for you – you might as well be the steeple on Trinity Church, for all connection you ever appeared to have with him or his thoughts. At present, then, Mr. Gryce was, as I have already suggested, on intimate terms with the door-knob.
I love everything about this novel. The locked-room murder case is gripping, the romance is alluring and flowery descriptive, the confessions and denouement are superb with no stones being left unturned. The idea of incorporating the superstition element with the crime is interesting. I also like the symbiotic relationship from enmity to amity between the two cousins, Mary and Eleanore.
Reading along the plotlines with twists and convolution, I am amused and fascinated by Ebenezer Gryce. He has not the typical look of a detective. There are no gimlet eyes and glaring eyes staring about at the stakeholders of the affairs, but he has that brooding disposition of “conversing” and “caressing” the objects around him. And then there is his personal assistant Q (short of “query”), a sprightly, ubiquitous young lad who is good at disguising anything but a gentleman. They not only propel the people in motion, but also provide more or less a comic relief regarding the investigation of a painstaking criminal case. When the “knight errand”, or the protagonist is still fastidious over moral scruples, them two have already worked on some discreet and cheeky espionage on their own.
I am glad when finding out they are actually recurring characters of the “Gryce series”, which I hope to spend more time reading in future. What’s more, I would also like to read Anna K. Green’s Amelia Butterworth crime cases. This amateurish spinster detective is said to be the prototype of Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple and Patricia Wentworh’s Miss Silver.
Quotes:
He remained a moment silent. “Mr. Raymond,” he cried at last, “have you any idea of the disadvantages under which a detective labors? For instance, now, you imagine I can insinuate myself into all sorts of society, perhaps; but you are mistaken. Strange as it may appear, I have never by any possibility of means succeeded with one class of persons at all. I cannot pass myself off for a gentleman. Tailors and barbers are no good; I am always found out.” – Ebenezer Gryce
Turning my attention, therefore, in the direction of Mr. Gryce, I found that person busily engaged in counting his own fingers with a troubled expression upon his countenance, which may or may not have been the result of that arduous employment. But, at my approach, satisfied perhaps that he possessed no more than the requisite number, he dropped his hands and greeted me with a faint smile which was, considering all things, too suggestive to be pleasant.
“Women are a mystery; and though I flatter myself that ordinarily I am a match for the keenest bit of female flesh that ever walked, I must say that in this case I feel myself thoroughly and shamefully worsted.” – Q
Reading & Roaming 