I trentanove scalini

Di John Buchan

Tra i classici del giallo, I trentanove scalini, da cui Hitchcock ha tratto il celebre film, è certo uno dei più grandi. L’intreccio è un vero modello di suspence: Richard Hannay, da poco trasferitosi a Londra dal Sudafrica, incontra per caso un americano, Scudder, e apprende da lui di un’infernale macchinazione per far scoppiare una guerra tra Germania e Russia. Una volta fatte le sue rivelazioni al giovane Hannay, Scudder viene ucciso: spetterà pertanto allo stesso Hannay tentare di sventare il complotto. Ma solo dopo una serie di pericolose avventure il giovane scoprirà il mistero dei trentanove scalini.


John Buchan, primo barone di Tweedsmuir, ha avuto una vita piuttosto movimentata. Nato in Scozia nel 1875, studiò a Glasgow ed esercitò la professione di avvocato. Dopo aver passato un periodo in Sudafrica rientrò in Inghilterra, dove divenne direttore di un’importante agenzia giornalistica; poi, durante la prima guerra mondiale, fu in Francia, come corrispondente di guerra. Tesoriere dell’Università di Oxford, nel 1927 entrò nel parlamento inglese come membro del partito conservatore e, nel 1935, divenne Governatore generale del Canada. Studioso di storia e autore di imponenti opere storiografiche e di varie biografie, Buchan morì nel 1940 a seguito di una caduta.

• Lingua: Italiano
• Editore: Newton Compton Editori
• Data di uscita: 16 dic 2013
• ISBN: 9788854141179

John Buchan

John Buchan was a Scottish diplomat, barrister, journalist, historian, poet and novelist. He published nearly 30 novels and seven collections of short stories. He was born in Perth, an eldest son, and studied at Glasgow and Oxford. In 1901 he became a barrister of the Middle Temple and a private secretary to the High Commissioner for South Africa. In 1907 he married Susan Charlotte Grosvenor and they subsequently had four children. After spells as a war correspondent, Lloyd George's Director of Information and Conservative MP, Buchan moved to Canada in 1935. He served as Governor General there until his death in 1940. Hew Strachan is Chichele Professor of the History of War at the University of Oxford; his research interests include military history from the 18th century to date, including contemporary strategic studies, but with particular interest in the First World War and in the history of the British Army.

Anteprima del libro

cacciatore

1. Incontro con un uomo morto

Ero proprio nauseato dell’esistenza, quel giorno, quando rincasai, verso le tre del pomeriggio, dopo una corsa nella City. Tre mesi trascorsi nella terra natale erano bastati a ridurmi così, in una situazione spirituale che superava ogni previsione più nera e che contrastava apertamente con la mia indole. Non mi sembra il caso di indagare le ragioni del mio profondo disgusto, ma credo che dipendesse dal clima ingrato, dalla conversazione monotona dei miei compatrioti e dal mio stile di vita, che non era quello di un uomo d’azione. Anche le attrattive londinesi mi parevano insipide come acqua di soda lasciata al sole per un po’ di tempo.

Dov’erano andati a finire i grandi progetti concepiti durante gli ultimi anni del mio soggiorno a Buluwayo, nel Sudafrica? Non avevo altro sfogo oltre quello di mordermi le dita e di rivolgermi energiche ramanzine, che cominciavano invariabilmente così: «Richard Hannay, amico mio. Ti sei messo sulla strada sbagliata e bisogna che tu ne esca».

Quando stavo costruendo la mia modesta fortuna – altri avrebbero preteso di più, ma io ho saputo rispettare il limite che mi ero imposto – mi ripromettevo di ricavarne tanto piacere, quante erano state le privazioni che avevo sopportato.

Mio padre mi aveva condotto lontano dalla Scozia all’età di sei anni e da allora non era tornato più in patria. L’Inghilterra mi appariva perciò come un sogno da Mille e una notte e contavo di stabilirmici appena possibile per il resto dei miei giorni.

Ma ben presto le illusioni se ne erano andate. In capo a una settimana ero stanco di ammirare le rarità della città e, dopo un mese, mi ritrovai ad averne abbastanza dei ristoranti, dei teatri e delle corse di cavalli. La mia noia dipendeva senza dubbio dal fatto che non avevo un vero amico che mi tenesse compagnia. Molte persone mi invitavano a casa loro, ma non s’interessavano granché ai fatti miei. Mi rivolgevano due o tre domande sul Sudafrica, dopo di che tornavano ai loro affari personali. Grandi dame mi invitavano ai loro ricevimenti ove incontravo istitutori della Nuova Zelanda, direttori di giornali di Vancouver, e mi tediavo terribilmente.

Ed ecco perché io a trentasette anni, sano e robusto, provvisto di tanto denaro da potermi permettere ogni divertimento, sbadigliavo dalla mattina alla sera sino a scardinarmi la mascella, ed ero sul punto, se le cose fossero andate avanti così, di rifare i bagagli per tornare nel Sudafrica, essendo l’uomo più annoiato del Regno Unito.

Quel pomeriggio avevo litigato col mio agente di cambio per certi impieghi di denaro, ma col solo scopo di sollevarmi un po’ lo spirito; prima di ritornare a casa entrai al mio Circolo, una specie di osteria, per essere esatti, che accettava tra i suoi membri i coloniali.

Lì presi un aperitivo mentre davo una scorsa ai giornali della sera. Essi non parlavano che dei conflitti in Oriente e, tra gli altri, c’erano vari articoli su Carolidè, il primo ministro della Grecia. Quel bel tipo mi andava a genio. Egli era, sotto ogni aspetto, il solo uomo di primo piano un po’ interessante; inoltre, era lecito dire che il suo gioco era leale, cosa, questa, che non si poteva affermare di molti altri.

Appresi ch’egli era odiato come un’autentica bestia nera a Berlino e a Vienna, ma che noi eravamo disposti a sostenerlo. Un giornale arrivava ad asserire che si doveva vedere in lui l’ultima barriera tra l’Europa e la catastrofe. Mi venne fatto di chiedermi se non ci fosse una probabilità di impiego per me da quelle parti. L’Albania mi seduceva, come l’unico paese che potesse salvarmi dalla noia.

Verso le sei rientrai in casa e mi cambiai; pranzai al Caffè Reale, dopo di che entrai in una sala da ballo. Lo spettacolo era disgustoso: donne caprioleggianti e uomini che facevano smorfie scimmiesche; non c’era nulla di più attraente; per questo me ne andai subito.

La notte era dolce e limpida; mi avviai a piedi verso l’appartamento che avevo preso in affitto presso Portland Place. Intorno a me la folla camminava lungo i marciapiedi, attiva e rumorosa, e io invidiavo quella gente e le sue occupazioni.

Quei galoppini, quegli impiegati, quei giovani eleganti, quei poliziotti avevano almeno uno scopo che li faceva muovere. Diedi mezza corona a un mendicante che sbadigliava, considerandolo un fratello di dolore. In Oxford Circus chiamai il cielo primaverile a testimone e feci un voto. Accordai un giorno ancora alla mia vecchia patria per procurarmi qualche cosa che facesse per me; se nulla mi fosse accaduto, ero deciso a imbarcarmi sulla prima nave diretta a Città del Capo.

Il mio appartamento occupava il primo piano d’un nuovo palazzo posto dietro Langham Place. C’era una scala comune, con un portinaio e un ragazzo per l’ascensore all’entrata; ma non c’era né ristorante né alcunché di simile, e ogni appartamento poteva essere considerato assolutamente indipendente dagli altri.

Non potendo sopportare i domestici che abitano in casa, avevo preso al mio servizio un giovanotto che giungeva la mattina prima delle otto e, solitamente, se ne andava alle sette di sera, perché io non cenavo mai a domicilio.

Avevo appena introdotto la chiave nella toppa, quando un uomo apparve al mio fianco. Non lo avevo visto avvicinarsi, così che la sua improvvisa apparizione mi fece trasalire. Era uno sparuto individuo, con una barba bruna e due piccoli occhi azzurri e penetranti. Riconobbi in lui l’individuo dell’ultimo piano, col quale avevo già scambiato qualche parola sulle scale.

– Posso parlarvi? – chiese. – Mi permettete d’entrare un minuto?

Faceva uno sforzo per parlare piano, e la sua mano picchiettava rapidamente il mio braccio.

Aprii la porta e lo feci entrare. Aveva appena varcato la soglia che prese lo slancio verso la camera di fondo, dove, abitualmente, m’intrattenevo a fumare e a scrivere la mia corrispondenza. Poi ritornò sui suoi passi rapido come una freccia.

– La porta è ben chiusa? – domandò febbrilmente. E mise la catena con le sue proprie mani.

– Sono veramente umiliato... – aggiunse poi con tono modesto. – Ho l’impressione di prendermi un’eccessiva libertà; ma mi sembra che possiate capire... Non ho cessato un momento di osservarvi da otto giorni, vale a dire da quando le cose si sono guastate. Dite, volete essermi utile?

– Sono disposto ad ascoltarvi – feci io. – Ecco tutto ciò che posso promettervi.

Quel brav’uomo nervoso, con le sue smorfie, mi irritava parecchio.

Egli scorse sulla tavola vicina a lui un vassoio su cui erano alcune bottiglie di liquore, e si versò un whisky e soda forte. Lo inghiottì in tre sorsi, e ruppe il bicchiere deponendolo sulla tavola.

– Scusatemi – disse. – Sono un po’ agitato, questa sera. Mi sta succedendo questo, vedete: che mentre vi sto parlando, in questo stesso momento, sono morto.

Sprofondai in una poltrona e accesi la pipa.

– E che effetto vi fa? – chiesi.

Cominciavo a convincermi d’aver a che fare con un pazzo.

Un sorriso passeggero illuminò il suo viso contratto.

– No, non sono pazzo... per lo meno, non lo sono ancora. Sentite un po’, signore mio: io vi ho osservato e credo che siate un uomo fornito d’un discreto sangue freddo. Credo anche che siate un uomo onesto e che la prospettiva di giocare una partita pericolosa non sia tale da preoccuparvi. Mi confiderò con voi: ho bisogno di essere protetto più di qualunque altra persona al mondo, e voglio sapere se posso contare sul vostro aiuto.

– Suvvia, raccontatemi la vostra storia – risposi. – Dopo, vi saprò dire qualche cosa.

Parve che si raccogliesse per compiere un grande sforzo, dopo di che incominciò un racconto sorprendente. Da principio non ci capii niente e dovetti interromperlo più volte per fargli qualche domanda. Ma ecco sommariamente i fatti.

Era nato in America, nel Kentucky. Terminati gli studi e disponendo d’una discreta fortuna, s’era messo in viaggio per il mondo. Aveva scritto qualche libro, era stato corrispondente di guerra d’un giornale di Chicago e aveva trascorso un anno o due nell’Europa sud-orientale.

M’accorsi che era un discreto poliglotta e che doveva aver frequentato molto l’alta società di quei paesi. Infatti citava familiarmente molti nomi che ricordavo di aver letto sui giornali. In seguito s’era invischiato nella politica, prima di tutto perché essa lo interessava e, in secondo luogo, per un’invincibile attrazione. Mentre parlava, io indovinavo in lui un uomo vivace, di spirito inquieto e desideroso d’andare sempre fino in fondo alle cose. Era difatti andato un po’ più in là di quanto avesse desiderato.

Riporto qui quello ch’egli mi raccontò, pressappoco, per quel tanto che mi riuscì di capirne. Secondo lui, oltre e dietro i governi e gli eserciti esisteva un potente movimento occulto, organizzato in un ambiente temibilissimo. Quel tanto che incidentalmente egli ne aveva scoperto lo aveva appassionato; si era spinto più innanzi e aveva finito col lasciarsi afferrare.

La sua opinione era che l’associazione contasse nelle sue file molti di quegli anarchici istruiti che hanno la mania delle rivoluzioni; che a fianco di questi c’erano poi certi finanzieri, i quali non miravano che al denaro; e che un uomo abile può realizzare guadagni notevoli su un mercato in ribasso. Perciò, egli diceva, le due categorie se la intendevano per diffondere la discordia in Europa.

Lo sconosciuto mi rivelò parecchi fatti strani che spiegavano bene una quantità di cose che mi avevano lasciato perplesso; fatti che s’erano prodotti durante la guerra balcanica, e cioè come uno Stato avesse preso improvvisamente una posizione di preminenza rispetto agli altri, perché alleanze si fossero annodate e spezzate, per quale ragione taluni uomini fossero scomparsi e come e da chi veniva preparata la guerra. Lo scopo finale di tutta la macchinazione era di mettere alle corde la Russia e la Germania.

Gliene chiesi la ragione. Mi rispose che gli anarchici erano convinti di trionfare grazie alla guerra; essi speravano di approfittare del caos. Quanto ai capitalisti, essi avrebbero accumulato denaro acquistando i rottami. E poi, diceva, dietro il capitale c’era il giudaismo, e il giudaismo detestava la Russia come il diavolo.

– Niente di strano! – esclamò. – Da trecento anni sono perseguitati! Gli ebrei sono dappertutto, ma è necessario scendere sino in fondo alla scala di servizio per scoprirli. Per esempio, prendete una grande casa commerciale tedesca. Se vi trovate a trattare con essa, la prima persona che vi si parerà dinanzi sarà il principe von’’ e zu’’ tale dei tali, un giovanotto elegante che parla l’inglese più universitario, ma senza alcuna ostentazione. Se il vostro affare è importante, dietro questo primo personaggio incontrerete un westfaliano con la fronte sfuggente. Questo è il classico uomo d’affari tedesco che fa tanta paura ai vostri giornali. Ma se si tratta, per voi, d’un affare serissimo per il quale siete obbligato a vedere il vero padrone, si può giocare dieci contro uno che vi troverete in presenza d’un piccolo ebreo pallido, con occhi da serpente a sonagli, affondato in una poltrona di vimini. Sì, signore, questo è l’uomo che dirige il mondo in questo momento; e quest’uomo sogna di pugnalare l’impero degli zar, perché sua zia è stata violentata e suo padre percosso con lo knut in una casa qualsiasi sulle rive del Volga.

Non potei fare a meno di dirgli come mi sembrasse che i suoi ebrei e i suoi anarchici avessero guadagnato assai poco terreno.

– Sì e no. Essi sono avanzati sino a un certo punto, ma sono andati a cozzare contro qualche cosa di più forte della finanza, contro qualche cosa che non si può comperare, e cioè contro i vecchi istinti combattivi essenziali dell’umanità. I soldati balcanici hanno preso la cosa a cuore, e questo ha buttato all’aria il bel piano elaborato a Berlino e a Vienna. A onta di ciò, i miei buoni amici sono ancora ben lontani dall’avere giocato l’ultima carta. Posso garantirvi che tengono nascosto l’asso nella manica, e, a meno che io non riesca a rimanere vivo ancora per un mese, giocheranno e vinceranno.

– Ma credevo che voi foste morto! – interruppi io.

– Mors janua vitae, la morte è la porta della vita – disse lui sorridendo. – Arriverò anche a questo, ma debbo prima informarmi d’una quantità di cose. Se

Recensioni su I trentanove scalini

[theokester · Valutazione: 4 su 5 stelle]

Having recently re-read a bit of Agatha Christie's work and also recently watched movie and TV adaptations of her things, I was intrigued when I heard of Mary Roberts Rinehart referred to as the "American Agatha Christie." I had never heard of her but figured I'd give her writing a try. A general consensus suggested that The Circular Staircase is her most well-known and lauded work so I started there.The book began (and continued) with a style and pattern that felt rather familiar when compared with other 19th and early 20th century writing. In this novel we are introduced to a wealth spinster named Miss Rachel Innes. Miss Innes has decided, in a moment of uncharacteristic impulsiveness, to rent a summer home with her niece and nephew. We are quickly drawn in by her idiosyncrasies and those of the people around her, particularly her servant Liddy.Almost immediately upon arriving in the home, Miss Innes encounters strange happenings. That first night she's there, she encounters a number of strange noises from an unknown trespasser and a tumble down the circular staircase in the middle of the night. Then, the night her niece and nephew arrive, a man is mysteriously murdered at the foot of the staircase with no apparent witnesses or suspects.With a balance of pride and curiosity, Miss Innes refuses to leave the summer home and instead decides to try and unravel the mystery on her own. She doesn't seem to have a history of crime solving or any particular talents or penchant towards that profession but she lets her enthusiasm be her drive.After the excitement of the first few chapters, I felt the book settle into a bit of a dry spell. It worked its way through methodical plot and character development, keeping the reader (and Miss Innes) an arm's length (or farther) from the actual facts while presenting small glimpses of the motives of the various characters. I sometimes find it infuriating when authors hold back this sort of information, but the way it was presented here felt natural to me. Because Miss Innes is largely a stranger in the area, we are introduced to plenty of new characters and plot developments throughout the story and it makes sense that she is not privy to the information ahead of time and thus it is acceptable that the reader is similarly ignorant.Some of the mishaps and coincidences through the story felt a little predictable though I had to remind myself that this story is over 100 years old and these concepts may have been entirely unique at the time. There were also a couple of moments where I was genuinely and happily surprised by the outcome of a situation. Towards the end of the book, the pacing picked up steam again and put many of the central characters into some degree of peril which added to the suspense and engagement of the reading. The final unraveling was interesting and satisfying.I found the writing to be crisp, clean and enjoyable. It had a nice balance of 19th century English formality and early 20th century American whimsy. It was both elegant and playful. At the same time, it wasn't so engaging that I wanted to rush right out and read the rest of Rinehart's work. In some ways, it felt too similar to a lot of other things I've read and not compelling enough to differentiate it and make me yearn for more. So while I've made a mental note to keep an eye out for more writing by Rinehart, I won't be actively putting her at the top of my list.***3.5 out of 5 stars

[sturlington_1 · Valutazione: 1 su 5 stelle]

Abandoned before finishing (2014).This book was simply too dated for me to enjoy reading it. The casual racism and the "dialect" that the only black character used were particularly egregious.

[meredy_1 · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

Six-word review: Adequate but unexceptional country house mystery.Extended review:Here's an author whose work I'd never read before and was very unlikely ever to read. Her name was associated in my mind with frothy, shallow popular fiction of the sort that would be no challenge to semiliterate middle schoolers looking for an easy read for a mandatory book report. (No, I don't know where such prejudices come from. But who doesn't have them, in one flavor or another?)As it happened, I found myself waiting in my car while someone did an errand, and I needed something to read. I'd had the foresight to grab my Kindle on the way out the door. From a recently downloaded bargain collection of mysteries, I picked this one at random without even noticing the author's name.My verdict: better than expected. It read like a low-grade case of Hill House as visited by a middle-aged spinster channeling Holmes while on Victorian holiday in (I think) upstate New York. (It sounded so British that I had trouble remembering it was set in the U.S.) Wikipedia tells me that this crime melodrama is credited with being the first of the "had I but known" genre of mystery novels.It was duly creepy, with ghostly nocturnal activity, unexplained disappearances, a shocking corpse, false identities, and much, much more, not to mention a spunky heroine who forgets to tell anyone when she goes off in search of things that go bump in the night. I was sufficiently entertained to return to it over the next couple of weeks, in short bursts, and finish it up.I'm not in any hurry for more Rinehart, but in case I feel the need, there seems to be an ample assortment in the anthology. At least I know there's something mildly diverting on tap for some other waiting room stay.(Kindle edition)

[casualfriday_1 · Valutazione: 2 su 5 stelle]

I found this classic mystery about murder in a country home mildly enjoyable, but I wouldn't read another Rinehart title. I enjoyed the protagonist's tart humor and her plucky attitude. The story included just about every mystery cliche you can think of. Perhaps they were not cliches in their time, but I couldn't help rolling my eyes. Oh, and the casual racism didn't help matters, either.

[aliceanna-1 · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

An oldie but a goodie. The story is nothing really to write home about, but the plot was clever and the protagonist was a particularly strong female so I enjoyed that.

[smik_3 · Valutazione: 4 su 5 stelle]

I think I may have bought this quite cheaply, seeing an opportunity to do a bit of "vintage" reading. It has been on my kindle for a few months only.At the beginning of this e-book version of THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE there is a biographical introduction to the life and works of Mary Roberts Rinehart. Here is an extract: This book is credited with having been the first mystery to use the "Had I But Known" formula. This style of mystery centers around the protagonist withholding important details until it is too late. Often this variety of tale is narrated as a flashback from the protagonist's point of view. They will withhold the special damning piece of information from the reader as well, only revealing it after the climactic moment involving the secret clue. When done well, the technique can create real suspense for the reader.I found myself remembering the phrase "Had I But Known " because once you know this was a feature of Rinehart's style, then it is certainly there.There is an almost Gothic quality to the plot lines and setting of THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE. The story is narrated by Rachel Innes, who doesn't always understand the implications of what she has observed. There are two deaths, ghostly rappings emanating from the walls and ceilings, and as the novel progresses the plot strands get increasingly complex, as if the characters have got away from the author. In fact one part of the plot resolution gives the impression of having been plucked from the air. The central plot appears to relate to the stock market crash of 1903.

[kasthu_1 · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

The plot of The Circular Staircase is, like the staircase of the title, rather roundabout. There are a lot of elements in this novel—murder, embezzlement, robbery, and arson, just t name a few of the crimes perpetrated by the characters in this book. Rachel Innes is a rather prickly middle-aged spinster and the aunt of Gertrude and Halsey. After renting a house in the countryside one summer, in which ghosts are said to live, a man is shot dead at the foot of the house’s circular staircase. The dead man is the son of the owner of the house, and he and Jack Bailey (a friend of Halsey’s who also happens to be engaged to Getrude) may or may not have been involved in a bank scandal.Rachel, who claims that the detecting gene is in her blood, spends the course of the novel pursuing clues, most of which are red herrings. It turns out that every person involved in this story has a piece of the puzzle; and Rachel spends most of the story saying “if only I had known…” The “Had I But Known” plot is apparently pretty characteristic of Rinehart’s novels, but in this book I kept feeling that Rachel as just moving in circles, never really solving any part of the mystery until the very last minute. Also, I didn’t particularly care for the narrator of the story: Rachel is so sharp-tongued that she’s actually rude to pretty much everybody at one point or another. Mr. Jamieson, the detective, is much more likeable, but he sometimes allows Rachel to walk all over him.Mary Roberts Rinehart has been credited with coining the phrase “the butler did it”—though the phrase never appeared in any of her mystery novels. Her books were bestsellers in the United States for a long while in the early 20th century, probably because they were so readable; certainly not “high literature” in an sense of the word. The Circular Staircase is a prime example of this; but nonetheless it works well as a suspense novel.

[tjsjohanna_1 · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

I enjoyed this Victorian "cozy". The most interesting thing is how none of the characters complied with the police - and that seemed to be o.k. The main character takes the murder weapon and then loses it and admits it all to the detective who finds it nothing more than inconvenient! Still a fun read.

[paradiseporch · Valutazione: 4 su 5 stelle]

by Mary Roberts Rinehart (Fiction, Mystery, Vintage) Mary Roberts Rinehart was considered the American Agatha Christie and for many years reigned as queen of the American mystery genre. The Circular Staircase was her second published book (1908) and featured the second, and last, outing of the tart-tongued middle-aged Miss Cornelia Van Gorder. Miss Van Gorder has invited her niece and nephew to accompany her to a country house for a relaxing summer. But instead of rural quiet they found murder and hijinks.Roberts Rinehart wrote with humour and a great sense of place and time, but I found it just a little too madcap.3½ stars

[tchesney_1 · Valutazione: 1 su 5 stelle]

Very confusing! A book can have sub-plots. A mystery can have sub-mysteries. This book carried it to an extreme. I was way too confused.It was about 90 pages before I realized that the relationship of the second main character was that of maid.The author treats servants as if they are more furniture than human.One main male character was unacceptable when he was thought to be part of the working class. Once he was identified as actually being part of the upper class, he was totally acceptable.

[bzedan_2 · Valutazione: 1 su 5 stelle]

Our detective is a crochety old lady who doesn't care much when her nephew runs over dogs with his motor-car. She gets all tangled up in a mystery, which is inevitable because of her stubbornness and whatnot. Standard old-lady mystery stuff. Secret romances, false identities, etc.

[fernemysteryreader · Valutazione: 5 su 5 stelle]

After reading Man in the Lower Ten I researched the life of Mary Roberts Rinehart as I thought I had read some of her novels when I was in high school but couldn't remember any of the titles and wanted to know more about the author. Learning Rinehart was "an American writer, often called the American Agatha Christie, although her first mystery novel was published 14 years before Christie's first novel in 1920" was extraordinary. "Rinehart is also considered to have invented the 'Had-I-But-Known' school of mystery writing, with the publication of The Circular Staircase (1908)" so that had to be my next selection to read by this author.

The edition of The Circular Staircase that I read was Number 7 of the Dell Great Mystery Library published by Dell in June, 1957 with copyright by Mary Roberts Rinehart in 1908 and 1935. The cover design for this edition was by Push-Pin Studios. In the upper left-hand corner of the cover is the price of 35 cents. What a treasure.

With book width of 4 1/2" and book length just over 6 1/4" it feels like holding a vertical 4" x 6" index card in hand that is slightly thicker. Measurements aside it is 224 action-packed pages of suspense. As I closed the novel, it brings wonder to mind if Agatha Christie ever read any novels by Mary Roberts Rinehart. I can't wait to read another of her novels.

[thorold_1 · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

Amusing as an early example of the classic type of detective story that would reach its most finished form with Christie and Sayers a couple of decades later. But rather slow-moving, even ponderous, by later standards, not only in its jokes but also in the technical development of the plot, both of which the experienced mystery reader will see coming several chapters ahead of where the author is trying to reveal them. Surprisingly, I found that the thing that interested me about it more than anything else was the use of the wealthy spinster, Miss Innes, as the viewpoint character. She's the sort of lady who would appear as a minor figure in inter-war novels, endlessly sparring with her elderly lady's-maid and fretting about the Servant Problem and mocked as a quaint survival of an earlier age. But here we see the world through her social attitudes, in which doctors, policemen and public officials are all treated as slightly superior sorts of tradesmen, who might exceptionally be permitted to use the front door...

[booksandscones · Valutazione: 4 su 5 stelle]

How I loved this old mystery when I read it first at age 13. It was one of the first adult mysteries I read, along with Agatha Christie and Daphne duMaurier's Rebecca. It was a natural progression from Nancy Drew and the girl detectives I loved when younger.All these years later, there are things you just can't ignore, like an uncritical young reader can. The casual racism can't be overlooked, although sadly, the author was undoubtedly just voicing the attitudes of the time. After Miss Innes's nephew buys a car, she learns to "never stop to look at the dogs one has run down. People are apt to be so unpleasant about their dogs." The implication is that if you are rich enough to buy a car in 1908, you have the right to run down anything you damn well please. These people are wealthy enough to rent a house for the summer with "22 rooms and 5 baths", which seemingly makes them unaccountable for anything they do.All that aside, I'll always have a place in my heart and on my bookshelf for The Circular Staircase, despite its faults, as it was one of the first books that started me on 50 years of reading murder mysteries.As for the Had I But Known school of detective fiction, Ogden Nash parodied that old writer's trick in his poem Don't Guess, Let Me Tell You. "Had I But Known then what I know now, I could have saved at least three lives by revealing to the Inspector the conversation I heard through that fortuitous hole in the floor."

[samantha71020 · Valutazione: 5 su 5 stelle]

How had I never heard of the awesomeness that is Mary Roberts Rinehart?? The Circular Staircase was one of the first books I downloaded for free onto my Kindle, and I only grabbed it because the author was compared to Anna Katherine Green whom wrote The Leavenworth Case (a book that I enjoyed when I read it last year). After reading The Circular Staircase I've downloaded every single book by this author that I can get my hands on. I want more! The Circular Staircase begins with Rachel Innes deciding to spend the summer in the country with her nephew and niece. Little does she know that renting Sunnyside for the summer will mean murder, mystery, and intrigue. For mysterious happenings are going on at Sunnyside and Rachel instantly finds herself a part of them. Rachel is a great main character to be narrating the story because of her dry sense of humor. I found myself laughing out loud at various points in the story thanks to her opinions and musings on everything that was happening. In fact, being able to laugh at the story while still being intrigued by the mystery was one of my favorite parts of the book! I find more and more that I love classic mysteries like this because the authors know how to spin a good tale without lots of blood and gore. Instead Rinehart created a mystery filled with atmosphere and tension as the reader wondered what could possibly be going on at the house. It made for a great read that left me wanting more! My only issue with this book is something that goes more along with the time period that the book was written. The book does have some racial undertones in it but if you take in consideration when it was written then it makes more sense as to why the author included these viewpoint into the story. I didn't care for it but obviously I wasn't born in this time period either. Anyways....Overall a really, really good read and a book that I enjoyed WAY more than I expected to. Just writing up my thoughts on this book makes me want to try more by her or grab up something by Agatha Christie. If you are ever looking for a gothic mystery novel then I think you should give this one a try. Just don't expect to be surprised by the ending. That part I could see coming from a mile away but luckily it didn't matter because I was enjoying the book too much. Highly recommended especially to mystery fans!Bottom Line: One of those books that instantly makes you add the author to your must read list!Disclosure: This was a book I downloaded for free onto my Kindle thru Amazon.

[bookmarque · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

Vintage and Retro are all the rage for some stuff like clothes and photography (Instagram?? I don’t get it, but whatever) and so I said ‘what the hell’ and downloaded this 100-year-old mystery novel onto the iPad. A review especially praised the stalwart spinster protagonist and the quaint setting and characters so I felt pretty confident I’d like it. Unfortunately, our stalwart spinster is also a raging racist and the supporting characters were pretty much there to be ordered about, worried over and despised by her in turn. I believe the correct term for her is battleaxe. I was bummed because at first her character reminded me a bit of Amelia Peabody.Some of the things about the period charmed me; like the summer house rental. An estate really, with wings, stables and a gate house, complete with servants most of whom vamoosed when things started to get hairy. The old-fashioned conveyances; a mix at this time of history (1909) of trains, horse-drawn and motorized vehicles. Not sure what a Dragon Fly is, but I suspect it’s the author’s fancy since I found nothing on the web. When women fainted (as they invariably do in novels of this sort) someone ran for some ‘stimulants’. Aunt Rachel sports ‘wrinkle eradicators’ - mysterious and painful sounding. The lights went off at midnight because the electric company shuts down at that time. Funny stuff, but try as I might, the casual racism just took the shine off things for me. I know it’s how people thought and behaved back then, but it’s jarring to read about now. While I did finish it, I didn’t race through it because it was quite put-downable. In the end I just made myself finish the silly thing. It reminded me a lot of the way Nancy Drew mysteries unfolded. We’ve got a stock bunch of characters and they end up in a place where strange things start to happen to them. Not because of them, but because of their proximity to whatever else is going on. The events that occur happen to them, but they’re not of them if you know what I mean. There’s a subplot that must be discovered. Even the clues are funny compared to how things are written these days. In this one they’re basically all physical - a pistol, a cufflink, a golf stick (not club, stick). Oh and there are funny noises inside the house and mysterious intruders no one sees or is able to capture. The antics of not just the amateurs, but also of the cops to catch these unseen villains, were hilarious. They bumbled around and tripped over one another and never so much as caught the hem of a garment, much less an actual person. Obviously there was a secret room involved, but once again no one could find it; not the good guys or the bad guys. There had to be 5 holes carved into walls before someone found it and then it was on the second try. Dopes. Nancy Drew could have totally schooled these people.In the end, while I didn’t guess the solution (I wasn’t giving it any thought actually, the story didn’t really grab me enough), I found it a bit tired. I suppose since it’s a relatively early mystery, it wasn’t a cliche when it was written, but it certainly is now. It makes Agatha Christie’s work even more astounding because in my opinion it does hold its appeal. Yes, she wrote the bulk of her novels later than this one, but the earliest ones are pretty close to this time and they hold up much better. Alas, some vintage stories just don’t maintain their appeal into the 21st century.

[kmmt48 · Valutazione: 5 su 5 stelle]

Mary Roberts Rinehart is one of my favorite writers from the early women writers of the early 20th century. This is a fun mystery with interesting charcters portraying the very, very wealthy class and their staff involved in a murder mystery. Rinehart was a unique legend in her time when women, especially the upper class woman, did not work and certainly did not write murder mysteries. Her books are always enjoyable, the characters sympathetic yet interesting and there is always a strong woman character to love. This is one of the better choices but my very favortie is The Yellow Room followed by the Swimming Pool. For a taste of early women mystery writers, Rinehart cannot be missed.

[richardderus · Valutazione: 4 su 5 stelle]

Rating: 3.75* of fiveThe Book Report: Miss Rachel Innes, spinster of circa-1908 Pittsburgh, inheritrix of two children now relatively safely launched into adulthood, and possessor of a large automobile, determines that her town residence needs significant tarting up and, to avoid the attendant chaos and disarray, moves herself, her ladies' maid, and her now-adult charges to Sunnyside, the large and vulgar country home of a local banker. As he, his wife, and his step-daughter (note old-fashioned spelling, it is relevant) are traveling to the almost foreign climes of California, Miss Innes and entourage are left in possession of Sunnyside (a more dramatic misnomer is hard to envision) for the entire summer that renovating Miss Innes's home will require. Perfect!Not so much.Miss Innes's maid begins the descent into spookyworld. Noises, disappearing people, mysterious presences, all cause her to think Sunnyside is haunted. Hah, says the commonsensical Miss Innes, there's a rational explanation for it all. And there is. Sadly enough.When people start dying, as in "no longer sucking air," Miss Innes gets a wee tidge tense. When the homeowner's step-daughter shows up, in a state of complete collapse and her ward's evident amour for the girl makes it impossible to turf her out, Miss Innes begins a logical and determined effort to explain the bizarre happenings at Sunnyside. Amid this tough-enough assignment comes the local banker's reported death from far-off California, the revelation that he embezzled A MILLION DOLLARS!! (a Madoff-sized payday in 1908), and the disappearance of the embezzled bank's head cashier (also the amour of Miss Innes's female ward), and the impossibility of keeping good staff conspire to give good Miss Innes many a sleepless night. In the end, all is well, and the redoubtable Miss Rachel Innes possesses all the facts.My Review: God bless her cotton socks, this lady is just a blast to read about! I like formidable old dowagers. (Lady Grantham aside.) They are so *certain* of their Rightness that it's fun to watch them screw up and fail. This being fiction, the formidable old dowager in question doesn't fail, and manages not to be any more overbearing, opinionated, and adamantine than is absolutely necessary.Rinehart was a decent writer, and a decent plotter, and so the book offers pleasures in both those measures. It's not going to make the Louise Pennyites abandon the Mistress to read only Rinehart. It's over a century old, and thrills and chills come at a dramatically different pace and price in our time. But frills and furbelows aside, a good figure is a good figure, and this book has a good figure.Visit your great-grandmother's world for a while. You might surprise yourself with how much you enjoy it.

[keathpatterson · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

Competent old school mystery. A few extra plot threads over the run of the mill title but not enough that I'd consider it exceptional.

[sandylee_1 · Valutazione: 3 su 5 stelle]

Rachel Innis along with her niece and nephew rent a 20-room home for the summer. It doesn’t take long for things to go bump in the night. There are creaks and groans and footsteps and the hired help start fleeing like bats at dawn. A body is found at the foot of the staircase. The deceased is the son of the owner of the house. How did he get in? Why didn’t he knock or use his own key? Who shot him in the back? This book is one of those classics written in 1908. Reinhart wrote all stand-alone mysteries which is a shame because I found Rachel and her maid, Liddy, quite entertaining. The mystery had the slow cadence of that time period which was a bit of a struggle for a mystery fan who is used to today’s rapid fire slice and dice thrillers. There were some interesting things to learn about that time period, like how the electric company turns off the power at midnight. Reinhart has a surprising resume, having written 45 short stories in addition to her novels. THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE was her first mystery.