Gyles Brandreth has taken great license in making one of the
most controversial figures of Victorian society and literary circles of his day an
amateur sleuth.
Amazingly, this works rather splendidly. Having now read The Candlelight Murders, Dead
Man’s Smile and now the fourth book, The
Nest of Vipers, Oscar’s powers of deduction go from strength to strength as
does Brandreth’s prowess as a writer of mystery fiction.
I enjoyed The
Candlelight Murders and was surprised by the revealing of those with murderous
intent. Dead Man’s Smile was where I was first introduced to Oscar in
Paris, in the theatre; how wonderful. I
found both books enjoyable reads although a little clunky in places, the flow
of Brandreth’s narrative not always feeling comfortable with me, leading to
paragraphs where I had to determine to plough on rather than glide through.
And then you have Nest
of Vipers. I breezed through this
book, delighting in the twists of the narrative; pleased by the inclusion of
Arthur Conan Doyle again and revelling in the insight into the royal avoidance
of scandal that seems surprisingly paramount to all suspects concerned in the
narrative to the detriment of the pursuit of justice and, of course, the truth.
The Duchess of Albemarle is found murdered in her telephone
room after a prestigious party held at her house. Initially, it is assumed that she died of an
enfeebled heart. However, it transpires
that the Duchess is a lustful woman with an appetite that must be satiated; an
appetite the Duke is unable to assuage.
Linked with the Prince of Wales as one of his many lovers,
the royal household is keen to avoid a scandal but the Prince is also curious
about the truth of the Duchess’ demise and so instructs or orders Oscar and his
band of followers, Robert Sherard, biographer and Conan Doyle, admirer and
friend, to investigate. Which they duly
do.
There are many possible suspects who come under the
detective eye of Oscar Wilde, and he deduces the facts and surmises the truth
in a way which is uncannily like Conan Doyle’s famous sleuth, Sherlock
Holmes. Oscar’s insights litter the
text, his astute observation of people’s behaviour and accomplished (and some
might say rather lucky) guess work, revealing much about the characters around
him and these are greatly entertaining.
Oscar keeps much to himself allowing Brandreth the wonderful
climactic reveal at the end of the book where the killer is uncovered in a
Poirot style summary and confrontation.
And this sits easily with the portrayal of Oscar as showman and orchestrator,
the person in the centre of attention to whom others clamour.
Brandreth’s style of narrative structure is developed in
this book, the author making great use of secondary sources as opposed to
Sherard’s sole voice and the odd smattering of telegrams.
At the opening, Brandreth has Sherard talking to Wilde about
publishing the story of the Duchess’ murder and asks him to read through his
gathered source material corresponding to the affair. We are then beadily looking over Oscar’s
shoulder while he peruses the papers which are collated chronologically and
include diary entries, telegrams, party invitations, etc.
Adopting this format makes the book exceptionally easy to
digest, avoiding the turgidity
that sometimes permeated Sherard’s narrative. The inclusion of letters by other applauded
writers and friends of Oscar like the aforementioned Doyle and also Bram
Stoker, author of Dracula add the
element that Brandreth’s book spans two worlds rather well, those of fiction
and reality.
So, another great mystery story. What were also interestingly provided in this
novel which I liked were the diary entries of an intimate of Wilde, Rex
LaSalle. Whilst also being a suspect, he
is an acolyte of Oscar’s who is disarmingly attractive and also claims to be a
vampire.
His personal private encounters with our hero allow a small,
albeit fictional glimpse beneath the veneer of Wilde’s persona into a world
where he is more vulnerable, more
exposed. I liked these hints of
intimacy, the man beyond the image.
Altogether, I think this is Brandreth’s best book to
date. I wonder where Wilde will wander
(and wonder) next.
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