Played to Death

Writer, Reviewer and Literary Commentator Mike Ripley is perfectly suited as the author of this affectionate deconstruction of the golden age crime fiction novel. Layered with an observational eye toward the absurdity in the mystery sub-genre, as well as in contemporary British society; Played to Death as a narrative becomes surprisingly more than the sum of its moving parts.

The plot centres on the concerns of local Solicitor Adam Cunningham and his involvement with the Hopewell Players – a local theatre group.  Though a partner at Allenby, Barwick and Cunningham, Adam’s real passion is for amateur dramatics, rather than law. When he reads the script for an upcoming production [a crime fiction play Death for Dessert] allegedly written by the late Othniel Soulby - he seeks assistance from local librarian Roland [‘Roly’] Wilkes. Adam considers Soulby’s play not only shoddily written, but a nonsensical work of plagiarism.  Though nearing retirement, Roly is the library’s expert on crime fiction [due to his former career as an editor at a small publishing house specialising in genre fiction]. Roly agrees to read Death for Dessert, and compile a report for Adam vis-à-vis plagiarism, all for the princely sum of £300.

Mike Ripley manages literary insights and amusing asides using his foil Roly Wilkes. An example being how a detective novel can be differentiated from the thriller using ‘tense’. “With the traditional detective novel, the important thing is what happened in the past – usually a murder. With the thriller, the key thing is what happens next. Some readers like the slow burn puzzle, others prefer blood-and-thunder action” - from which Adam Cunningham replies “I’ve clearly come to the right man,” looking at Wilkes.

The author manages a large cast of flawed characters [from small-town England] and sprinkles mischievous observational humour to keep the pace brisk.

Added to the brew are the machinations of local politics with the pompous Councillor Jemma Soulby, and the hierarchy of English class structures with the wealthy and their side of town, annexing the poor on the opposite side.

There are political issues and small-town grudges festering within the repertory company with sibling actors Harry and Tansy Coombes, university drama student Regina Mammon, Hazel Scott [with her school-girl crush on Adam – much to the irritation of her rough-neck husband Bobby] as well as professional jealousy from Glen Muir, a low level clerical officer who yearns for top billing, not the side lines. While off-stage, the theatre director Fiona Mopp-Groton appears to be principal sycophant to the Councillor, as are the technical team of Stage Manager [and Electrician] Spliffer Bryn Brookes and his assistant Nicolas Smith [aka Theophilius Keene the reviewer/critic from the local newspaper].

When one of the members of the Hopewell [aka ‘Hopeless’] Players is found hanging from a noose inside the theatre – centre stage - in what appears as either a tragic accident or suicide, the local police are called and the game is most definitely afoot.

Enter Detective Inspector Ms Toni Walker who believes that the suicide / accident is concealing a murder. Her superior Superintendent Brennan is initially sceptical due to Walker’s previous investigation into the death of Jacon Archer [a crime-fiction blogger] who she was convinced was murdered, but was ruled a death by misadventure. Superintendent Brennan takes care with DI Walker, in case he becomes accused of sexism by the all-seeing eye of Police HR. He asserts what he terms the ‘four horseman of motivation’ when it comes to a murder investigation, namely Greed, Sex, Revenge or Jealousy.

There are also the questions of racial motivation with And Then There Were None, as well as possible group involvement ala Murder on the Orient Express, and plenty of nods and winks at crime fiction’s Golden Age royalty Agatha Christie, Dorothy L Sayers, Margery Allingham, Ngaio Marsh and Josephine Tey.

The novel [like the play] is structured into acts, with an intermission, epilogue and appendix. There are alternating first person[s] as well as third person viewpoints that make the reading of the short chapters slippery, so the reader is trapped as the pages fly by as if the author is a well-read magician.

The humour is sharp, with the author’s observational wit channelled via Librarian Roly Wilkes “…..and [I was] clearly not doing anything of national importance, other than holding a pile of returned crime fiction and mentally despairing about the lack of imagination in cover design these days, not to mention wishing I had shares in Shutterstock images of young females in red coats walking off into a threatening landscape.”

Rarely have I enjoyed myself as much as I have reading through this piece of narrative metafiction. Though you have to work for your money, because despite its concise size, the novel has significant heft in provoking thought – which it does with a smile.

No crime fiction convention, cliché, hackneyed stereotype, threadbare platitude or old chestnut is left unexamined. Ripley’s alter ego Roly Wilkes bemoans the fact that golden age crime fiction always ties up the conclusion in a bow, allowing the disorder created by the murder[s] to be neatly explained away, with a restoration of order – unlike real life, where there is no fully coherent conclusion, as reality as is messy as it is complex.

In Death for Desert, the conclusion is satisfying, with order appearing to be fully restored; however Ripley allows a couple of loose ends for the reader to ponder upon, and perhaps returning to the beginning, to re-examine the sequence that the narrative cards fell.

The novel is much darker than it appears from the surface, much like life.  

If you enjoyed Rian Johnson’s 2019 film Knives Out, or his 2025’s Wake Up Dead Man which featured Daniel Craig as eccentric private detective Benoit Blanc – you will love Roland Wilkes in Death for Dessert because like the absurdity of life - everyone has a motive, but no one really has a clue.

In a word “Wonderful”.