Midnight at Marble Arch

Midnight at Marble Arch by Anne Perry
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I feel I first need to deal with the elephant in the room. In 1954 in New Zealand (from which I hail), Anne Perry, born Juliet Hulme, was convicted, along with her friend Pauline Parker, of the murder of Parker’s mother. She served her sentence, moved abroad, changed her name, found religion, lived a quiet and productive life and, as far as I can tell, was genuinely sorry for what she had done.

What I find curious is why I should know that there’s an elephant in the room in the first place: just why was Anne Perry outed? Does anyone else find it odd that it should happen around the time that Heavenly Creatures, the film based on Hulme’s and Parker’s relationship, was released? I feel quite angry on Anne Perry’s behalf, and am glad that the incident does not seem to have lost her any friends or, for that mater, readers.

So. Midnight at Marble Arch. Set in London in 1896, it’s one of the William Pitt series of books. A number of brutal and distressing rapes take place, though nobody wishes to report them; the wrong man is charged; precious little evidence comes to light; and Pitt, his wife Charlotte, his former boss Narraway, and his wife’s aunt Vespasia wrack their brains as to how they might save the accused man and bring the guilty to justice.

Because of the subject matter, this is not an easy or enjoyable read. Perry offers plausible and compelling reasons for the rapes going unreported, as saddening and frustrating as these reasons may seem. One of the more touching scenes involves the Pitts trying to explain rape tactfully to their teenage children across the dinner table.

That said, Perry conjures up the era with consummate ease. Her research is palpable but never feels forced; her main interest seems to lie with the characters she writes. However, it’s overly protracted in places, and Pitt’s character and that of his wife only occasionally get a chance to shine through—though when they do, Perry breathes real life into them. Narraway and Vespasia carry a good proportion of the book, and Vespasia is certainly one of the most interesting older female characters I’ve come across in a long while.

There is a real historical event (the failed 500-strong raid that Leander Starr Jameson led into the Transvaal) that plays a key role in the plot, but, given that the rest of the book dwells on the brutality of rape and its myriad consequences, its introduction in chapter three as the latest cause célèbre or public sensation feels a tad clumsy, if not downright inappropriate. I would much rather the novel opened with Pitt discussing it—and Jameson’s subsequent trial—at the Spanish Ambassador’s function, where it would seem a perfectly reasonable subject for discussion.

Despite (or possibly because of) the singular lack of evidence, Perry builds tremendous tension in the later courtroom scenes and again at the climax.

But that’s just my own humble opinion…what do you think? Do let me know! Read for the Crime & Thrillers reading group that I attend at Canada Water Library, and also for my 2015 Goodreads reading challenge.


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