Review: The Lake District Murder – by John Bude
You know what’s nice? Watching people who are good at things do them well. There’s something so utterly satisfying about it.
This is the reason I love watching the Olympics, the rugby world cup… less so the mens’ football world cup! I love watching shows where people make stuff, like glass blowing, wood working and mending cars.
Of course, it’s always a pleasure to watch Hercule Poirot go about deducting.
But there’s always something kept from the viewer/reader. Poirot is always held above – we don’t figure things out at the same time as he does, because we aren’t finicky little Belgians with a penchant for details. We’ve got jobs and messy flats, and hobbies beyond trimming mustachios.
The Lake District Murder doesn’t focus on superhuman personality and mighty little grey cells. Instead the reader follows the process of some good, careful, thorough policing.
When a body is found at an isolated garage, Inspector Meredith is drawn into a complex investigation where every clue leads to another puzzle: was this a suicide, or something more sinister? Why was the dead man planning to flee the country? And how is this connected to the shady business dealings of the garage? This classic mystery novel is set amidst the stunning scenery of a small village in the Lake District.
In contrast with the irrepressible personality of detectives like Poirot, Inspector Meredith is almost without personality.
He’s how I imagine a right and proper gent from the 30s.
He always stops for lunch, he’s always punctual, never complains and has a healthy respect for his bosses. He’ll go the extra mile to solve a case, not because he’s on a mission for justice so much as because it’s his job, so that’s what he’s supposed to do.
We follow Inspector Meredith and are party to his innermost thoughts, both when he thinks then and when he reports them, working with him as he extrapolates his findings and posits solutions. In spite of the dead body, this is such a low drama mystery, as gentle and meandering as the roads around the Lake District which he must traverse on his combination motorbike.
To compare this to the high-octane thrillers and American cop dramas I’ve been more familiar with, this probably reminds me most of Bones, both the tv show and the Kathy Reichs books. It’s methodical, it’s the complex made simple. The whodunnit aspect of The Lake District Murder isn’t a secret for long. We know for most of the book. The journey and the excitement comes from bringing the perpetrators to justice, in finding proof where there seems to be none, and all with careful, methodical thought and action. Gentle and uniquely satisfying, this book gave me the same kind of joy as watching Edd China replacing brake discs.