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An Inspector Morse Mystery. The case seems so simple that Inspector Morse deems it beneath his notice. A wealthy, elderly American tourist has a heart attack in her room at Oxford's luxurious Randolph Hotel. Missing from the scene is the lady's handbag, which contained the Wolvercote Tongue, a priceless jewel that her late husband had bequeathed to the Ashmolean Museum just across the street. Morse proceeds to spend a great deal of time thinking-and drinking-in the hotel's bar, certain the solution is close at hand, until conflicting stories, suspicious doings, and a real murder convince him otherwise.… (plus d'informations)
Pretty happy with this one. A tour bus full of Americans (with interesting back stories) pulls into Oxford to hear tourist talks, but a wife gets dead right away and a jewel (that was to be donated to the Ashmolean Museum) is stolen! Later, a philandering museum director is also killed- must be related, right? Morse and Lewis are on it. Morse also gets cozy with an overly friendly, overly lush Oxford sophisticated lady... .and she is a pretty pleasant time for all. My first Morse and i was struck repeatedly by close resemblances to my favorite Joyce Porter, Inspector Dover. Yes, Dover is certainly played for more laughs (constant) and he has a hostile relationship with his sergeant ... but Morse is also likely to jump to unsupportable conclusions and is often toying with his sergeant and constantly accepting free drinks / food from him too. In short- lots!!!! but .. happily they are both good, so there is space for Morse as well as Dover. ( )
Really enjoyed this. It has been a while since I have read an Inspector Morse mystery. I'll have to add some more to my list. Good mystery, good characters, great characters, good twists and stumbles. This one had a very good narrator. ( )
In a slight reversal of the customary sequence, this novel was actually an adaptation of a television screenplay. The book is derived from an episode broadcast on Christmas Day during the height of the popularity of the Inspector Morse television series, and Colin Dexter subsequently developed it into a novel, changing many of the plot twists, and delivering a completely different solution to the mystery.
I first encountered Colin Dexter’s books following a recommendation from Mr Wilf Massiah, my wonderful English teacher, who was also my school’s librarian. To be fair, this referral had less to do with any literary merit that Mr Massiah might have perceived in the books, and was more a consequence of the fact that Colin Dexter’s first job after graduating from university had been as a classics teacher at the school (Loughborough Grammar School). Dexter’s spell there was very brief (possibly even just one academic year), and he had moved on long before I was even born, let alone attended the school. He did seem to retain fond memories of his time at the school, however, and became a regular speaker at alumni events throughout the period when the television series dominated ITV’s schedules.
I have often wondered why television producers selected Dexter’s books for adaptation. Presumably he was just lucky in his selection of such a photogenic setting. The Oxford cityscape certainly transferred favourably to the small screen, and John Thaw captured much of the querulous and capricious nature of Morse’s personality. If I might briefly slip[ into nerd mode (although you are probably asking, ‘What do you mean “slip into …”?’), I recall that in the original editions of the earlier novels, Morse actually drove a Lagonda, rather than his celebrated red Jaguar, which was an adornment of television’s making.
To my mind, the early novels in the series tended to be over-complicated to a ridiculous degree, primarily as an exercise in demonstrating Dexter’s own dexterity with crosswords and similar puzzles, which quickly emerged as one of Morse’s identifying features. That trait persists into this book, although to a less obtrusive extent than in some of its predecessors.
The basic scenario revolves around the death in Oxford’s smart Randolph hotel of an American tourist before she was due to present a medieval jewel to the Ashmolean Museum. Despite the almost priceless nature of this jewel, it had been stowed in her handbag which appears to have been stolen at the time of her death. Shortly afterwards, the rather extravagant Oxford academic who was due to receive the jewel on behalf of the Ashmolean, and who saw it as his guarantee of academic preferment, is found dead in the River Isis.
There isn’t really much more to say about the book. It is fairly standard Morse fare. The Chief Inspector is as querulous, and Sergeant Lewis as long-suffering as ever. If you like whodunits, you will probably enjoy this one, as I certainly did, although it is nothing out of the ordinary within that genre, and not up to Dexter at his best. ( )
Morse doesn't always get it right. Sometimes he gets to the point of actually charging a suspect before he realises that he's got it wrong. In fact Lewis thinks that Morse creates scenarios before he looks at the facts. But somehow he gets some elements right and then he plucks something else out of left field, and somehow it all fits.
We listen carefully, just as Lewis does, and eventually Morse persuades us.
We have really been enjoying this set of audio books narrated superbly by Samuel West. ( )
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
Espied the god with gloomy soul The prize that in the casket lay, Who came with silent tread and stole The jewel that was ours away (Lilian Cooper, 1904-1981)
(Chapter 1) It is not impossible to become bored in the presence of a mistress (Stendhal)
(Chapter 2) For the better cure of vice they think it necessary to study it, and the only efficient study is through practice (Samuel Butler)
(Chapter 3) "Oh, come along, Mole, do!" replied the Rat cheerfully, still plodding along. "Please stop, Ratty!" pleaded the poor Mole, in anguish of heart. "You don't understand! It's my home! My old home! I've just come across the smell of it, and it's close by here, really quite close. And I must go to it" (Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows)
(Chapter 4) "The cockroach Blatella germanica," it was observed darkly in 1926, "was at one time recorded as present in the Randolph Hotel kitchen" (Jan Morris, Oxford)
(Chapter 5) All saints can do miracles, but few can keep a hotel (Mark Twain, Notebook)
(Chapter 6) There are worse occupations in this world than feeling a woman's pulse (Laurence Sterne, A Sentimental Journey)
(Chapter 7) Almost all modern architecture is farce (Diogenes Small (1797-1812), Reflections)
(Chapter 8) Madame, appearing to imbibe Gin and It in roughly equal measures, yet manages to exude more of the gin than of the "it" (Hugh Sykes-Davies, Obiter Dicta)
(Chapter 9) Often I have wished myself dead, but well under my blanket, so that neither death nor man could hear me (George Lichtenberg)
(Chapter 10) A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds (Ralph Waldo Emerson, Essays)
(Chapter 11) History, n. An account mostly false, of events mostly unimportant, which are brought about by rulers mostly knaves, and soldiers mostly fools (Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary)
(Chapter 12) Water taken in moderation cannot hurt anybody (Mark Twain)
(Chapter 13) Solvitur ambulando (The problem is solved by walking around) (Latin proverb)
(Chapter 14) It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances. The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible. (Oscar Wilde)
(Chapter 15) The best-laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-gley, And lea'e us nought but grief and pain For promised joy (Robert Burns, To a Mouse)
(Chapter 16) As you go through, you see the great scientists, scholars, and statesmen; the thinkers, writers, actors, monarchs, and martyrs who are part of Oxford's history. By passing this doorway, you have a glimpse of the people whom Oxford has moulded, and many of whom have, in their turn, gone on to help mould the world (Lord Jenkins of Hillhead, The Oxford Story)
(Chaper 17) Clever people seem not to feel the natural pleasure of bewilderment, and are always answering questions when the chief relish of a life is to go on asking them (Frank Moore Colby)
(Chapter 18) In the police-procedural, a fair degree of realism is possible, but it cannot be pushed too far for fear that the book might be as dull as the actual days of a policeman (Julian Symons, Bloody Murder)
(Chapter 19) At Oxford nude bathing was, and sometimes still is, indulged in, which used to cause mutual embarrassment when ladies passed by in boats (Marilyn Yurdan, Oxford: Town and Gown)
(Chapter 20) The moon jellyfish like a parachute in air sways under the waves (Basil Swift, Collected Haiku)
(Chapter 21) You did not come, And marching time drew on, and wore me numb (Thomas Hardy, A Broken Appointment)
(Chapter 22) Duty is what one expects from others; it is not what one does oneself (Oscar Wilde, A Woman of No Importance)
(Chapter 23) Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news Hath but a losing office (Shakespeare, King Henry IV, Part 2)
(Chapter 24) There are several good protections against temptations, but the surest is cowardice (Mark Twain, Following the Equator)
(Chapter 25) Going by railroad I do not consider as travelling at all; it is merely being "sent" to a place, and very little different from becoming a parcel (John Ruskin, Modern Painters)
(Chapter 26) Wilt thou have this Woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live? (Book of Common Prayer, Solemnization of Matrimony)
(Chapter 27) It is a matter of regret that many low, mean suspicions turn out to be well founded (Edgar Watson Howe, Ventures in Common Sense)
(Chapter 28) Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument About it and about: but evermore Came out by the same Door as in I went (Edward FitzGerald, The Rubaiyat)
(Chapter 29) There are an awful lot of drunks about these days. It wouldn't really surprise me if you turned out to be one yourself (Martin Amis, Other People)
(Chapter 30) Precision of communication is important, more important than ever, in our era of hair-trigger balances, when a false, or misunderstood word may create as much disaster as a sudden thoughtless act (James Thurber, Lanterns and Lances)
(Chapter 31) There is much virtue in a window. It is to a human being as a frame is to a painting, as a proscenium to a play (Max Beerbohm, Mainly on the Air)
(Chapter 32) Man has such a predilection for systems and abstract deductions that he is ready to distort the truth intentionally; he is ready to deny the evidence of his senses in order to justify his logic (Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground)
(Chapter 33) If you are afraid of loneliness, don't marry (Chekhov)
(Chapter 34) Thou hast committed-- Fornication; but that was in another country, And besides, the wench is dead (Christopher Marlowe, The Jew of Malta)
(Chapter 35) Just a song at twilight When the lights are low And the flick'ring shadows Softly come and go . . . (From the English Song Book)
(Chapter 36) Their meetings made December June (Tennyson)
(Chapter 37) Sic, ne perdiderit, non cessat perdere lusor (To recoup his losses, the gambler keeps on backing the losers) (Ovid, Ars Amatoria)
(Chapter 38) The west yet glimmers with some streaks of day: Now spurs the lated traveller apace To gain the timely inn (Shakespeare, Macbeth)
(Chapter 39) I feel like I done when Slipper Sun Romped 'ome a winner at 30 to 1 (A. P. Herbert, Derby Day)
(Chapter 40) He That kills himself to avoid misery, fears it, And, at the best, shows but a bastard valour (Philip Massinger, The Maid of Honour)
(Chapter 41) Light thickens and the crow makes wing to the rooky wood (Shakespeare, Macbeth)
(Chapter 42) No one came On the bare platform (Edward Thomas, Adlestrop)
(Chapter 43) As usual he was offering explanations for what other people had not even noticed as problems (Bryan Magee, Aspects of Wagner)
(Chapter 44) "When my noble and learned brother gives his Judgment, they're to be let go free," said Krook, winking at us again. "And then," he added, whispering and grinning, "if that ever was to happen -- which it won't -- the birds that have never been caged would kill 'em." (Dickens, Bleak House)
(Chapter 45) Perchance my too much questioning offends (Dante, Purgatorio)
(Chapter 46) I do love to note and to observe (Jonson, Volpone)
(Chapter 47) Some circumstantial evidence is very strong -- as when you find a trout in the milk (Henry Thoreau, unpublished manuscript)
(Chapter 48) Darkness is more productive of sublime ideas than light (Edmund Burke, On the Sublime and Beautiful)
(Chapter 49) Where water, warm or cool, is Good for gout -- at Aquae Sulis (Graffito in the Pump Room, Bath, c. 1760)
(Chapter 50) During late visits to Stinsford in old age he would often visit the unmarked grave of Louisa Harding (Thomas Hardy, The Early Life of Thomas Hardy)
(Chapter 51) At day's end you came, and like the evening sun, left an afterglow (Basil Swift, Collected Haiku)
(Chapter 52) Rigid, the skeleton of habit alone upholds the human frame (Virginia Woolf, Mrs. Dalloway)
(Chapter 53) And summed up so well that it came to far more Than the witnesses ever had said (Lewis Carroll, The Barrister's Dream)
(Chapter 54) Either what woman having ten pieces of silver, if she lose one piece, doth not light a candle, and sweep the house, and seek diligently till she find it? (St. Luke, ch. 15, v. 8)
(Chapter 55) In great affairs we ought to apply ourselves less to creating chances than to profiting from those that offer (La Rochefoucauld, Maxims)
(Chapter 56) And as the smart ship grew In stature, grace, and hue, In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too (Thomas Hardy, The Convergence of the Twain)
(Chapter 57) What's in a name? that which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet (Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet)
(Chapter 58) . . . that the fair field Of Enna, where Proserpin gathring flowrs Her self a fairer Flowre by gloomie Dis Was gathered, which cost Ceres all that pain To seek her through the world . . . (John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book IV)
(Chapter 59) Je ne regrette rien (French song)
(Chapter 60) Accipe fraterno multum manantia fletu, Aque in perpetuum, frater, ave aque vale (Catullus, Poem CI)
Dédicace
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
For my wife, Dorothy
Premiers mots
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
The red-seal Brut Imperial Moët & Chandon stood empty on the top of the bedside table to her left; empty like the champagne glass next to it, and like the champagne glass on the table at the other side of the bed.
Citations
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
"I'm not thinking at all -- not for the minute," replied Morse loftily. "I am deducing -- deducing the possibilities. When I've done that, I shall begin to think."
Derniers mots
Informations provenant du Partage des connaissances anglais.Modifiez pour passer à votre langue.
An Inspector Morse Mystery. The case seems so simple that Inspector Morse deems it beneath his notice. A wealthy, elderly American tourist has a heart attack in her room at Oxford's luxurious Randolph Hotel. Missing from the scene is the lady's handbag, which contained the Wolvercote Tongue, a priceless jewel that her late husband had bequeathed to the Ashmolean Museum just across the street. Morse proceeds to spend a great deal of time thinking-and drinking-in the hotel's bar, certain the solution is close at hand, until conflicting stories, suspicious doings, and a real murder convince him otherwise.
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