Jason Hall Writes

At an early age I fell in love with the classic mystery story, and whenever possible I supplemented my reading with Agatha Christie, Rex Stout, G.K. Chesterton and the works of other writers of detective fiction from the genre's Golden Age, roughly the 1920s through the 1950s. As I grew older I started to look for strong mystery writers who haven't withstood the test of time and are now relatively unknown to readers. The plots and puzzles of writers like John Rhode, E.R. Punshon, and Nicholas Blake offer an enjoyable contrast to today's grim psychological thrillers, and their imagined narrative worlds often carry an escapist charm and fascination akin to the landscapes conjured by Austen or Dickens. 

A decade ago I stumbled across a book from one of these forgotten mystery writers, an atmospheric tale of serial murders in a sleepy English village. Called The Rising of the Moon and written by a prolific teacher-turned-novelist named Gladys Mitchell, the story is narrated by 13-year old Simon Innes, who has the burden of watching his younger brother Keith and their toddler sibling as his fascination grows over the summer killings. A teen boy makes a brilliant set of eyes to view events, and when a strange, terrifying elderly lady comes to town to investigate the murders, she presses Simon into service. Assured in tone, brilliant in detail, and with a narrative sweep that kept me turning pages, I had never read a mystery story that was so vibrant and alive.

That surprising author, Gladys Mitchell, wrote 66 books in the Mrs. Beatrice Lestrange Bradley series alone (along with historical adventure and children's novels). Mrs. Bradley, her yellow-skinned, reptilian psychoanalyst detective, is an amazing figure and the titles of the author's first two decades (1929-1950) are amazingly diverse in approach, from the broad Wodehousian comedy of The Saltmarsh Murders to the Wilkie Collins-inspired When Last I Died to the somber and nostalgic The Rising of the Moon.  Unlike Christie, she is concerned foremost with tone and style and not the puzzle. But it is the tone and style which I cherish, and which is why I can read many of her books again and again.

Because there was so very little information about Miss Mitchell--and especially about the individual titles--I created a tribute website in 1999 to provide prospective readers with more information. Of those 66 Mrs. Bradley books, I have now written plot synopses and reviews of all but two, and posted them (and dustjacket scans) on the site. Yesterday I added a review of 1944's My Father Sleeps, a particularly rare title. But there has been a bit of a renaissance in reprints: the Random House UK imprint Vintage Press, Minnow Press, and Rue Morgue Press (based in the US) have all published recent editions, with more on the way.

Which is a great thing. Gladys Mitchell deserves to be read. Check out my tribute website or, better yet, pick up a Mrs. Bradley mystery!
 

After six weeks of teaching for Johns Hopkins University's Center for Talented Youth summer program, I finally found a pocket of time to begin working on this website. When I'm not doing that I'm working on my next play, a full-length drama about tulip bulb sellers in 17th century Holland. The flower to the left is a Semper Augustus, one bulb of which--at the height of the tulip mania--would be worth three times Rembrandt's commission for his masterpiece, The Night Watch.

The story of traders caught up in a capitalist market that ultimately collapses is fascinating against today's still-stinging Wall Street follies. I'm planning to have a first draft ready sometime in September.