Although it probably has not been scientifically proven, it likely is not a controversial assertion to stake the claim that there are basically just two type of people who regularly read or watch murder mysteries. You’ve got those who are trying to figure out whodunnit before the murderer is finally revealed, of course, but certainly at least as many continue to read or watch this type of entertainment for the enjoyment of the process. This type of reader (or viewer) isn’t really interested in outsmarting the detective or whoever is charged with solving the crime, but is invested for the sole purpose of watching how it plays out and enjoying the strategic moves made that crimebuster protagonist to figure things out.
And now comes the potentially controversial assertion: it is for this latter group that The Thursday Murder Club seems to have specifically been written. The typical non-professional fan-centered review of this novel found on countless blogs almost all include an admission that they could not figure out the identity of the killer before it was revealed. Some lay the blame for this on Agatha Christie-type trickery that withholds key information from the reader while others just flat out openly admit they really weren’t all that interested in trying to figure things out themselves in the first place. Like the Jeremy Brett Sherlock Holmes series from the 1980’s or—in a substantially different way, of course—the Columbo TV series, the draw here is not really the murder, but the solving of it. One can certainly feel free to put their deductive reasoning talent in turbo mode and attempt to name the killer before either the amateur senior sleuths or the cops in the book get the job done, but ultimately this may actually decrease enjoyment.
The first-time author of this novel is a popular British television personality whose fame derives, ironically enough, from comedy rather than countless number of brilliant detective series that makes BritBox and Acorn TV must-have streaming channels for murder mystery fans. As a result, what he has done here is not try to replicate the gritty noirish feel of traditional American murder mystery novels, but kind of update the traditional quaint British village mystery tale with a 21st century kick. The novel contains all the best elements of the so-called “cozy British murder” tale, but presented with the unique tweak that everyone involved in trying to figure out whodunnit is Miss Marple rather than limiting it to just one. In fact, there is much in this novel that calls to mind the 1964 Margaret Rutherford comedy-mystery, Murder Most Foul.
It is not easy to pull a compelling murder mystery and be funny. After all, murder is supposed to be serious business. If Margaret Rutherford were working today at the same stage of her life at which she appeared in Murder Most Foul, it is difficult to imagine her not earning herself a plum role among the various retired seniors doing in this novel what she so magically pulled off back when the Beatles were still considered just a passing fad. Like the Fab Four, the cozy British village murder mystery is something that will never just never go out of style.
