Minor spoilers here but nothing about the mystery itself

I did not enjoy this book. It's not a typical mystery - the death occurs in the first few pages but it's not for a long time that it's thought of as in any way interesting or suspicious. And until you get to this point you get a very unconvincing story of a holiday in Scotland. That's full of hatred of Scotland and Scottish people - or at least highland ones, ones from Glasgow and god help you if you speak Gaelic. The anti-Scot thing is the biggest thing in the book but later on near the very end she gives us a paragraph where she mentions how horrible it'd be if the French had colonised India - no colour-bar and "so racially intermarried that it had lost its identity" - and says how all Americans "look like Red Indians even if they begun as Saxons". It's vile.

The first half of the book or so is concerned with Inspector Grant travelling to Scotland, staying with old friends, going fishing, and having panic attacks when he's in cars due to claustrophobia. I was genuinely surprised to see a plot point about panic attacks and it's described pretty well but at a certain point in the book he just gets magically cured. So ok. He meets a guy literally called "Wee Archie" who's some kind of Scottish nationalist and described as a "revolutionary" (in what sense is never explained). He's given as nasty a description as the author can manage. Apparently the fact he's from Glasgow and has a Glasgow accent is awful enough, but he apparently taught himself Gaelic and now goes around talking about... Scottish Gaelic culture and stuff? I dunno it's really not explained except the author wants us to know it's *really bad* for some reason. She mentions that he's bad at Gaelic but given her later treatment of Scottish Gaelic culture it seems more the problem that he speaks Gaelic at all.

The story moves along because he gets fascinated by some words written on a newspaper he accidentally stole from the dead guy's compartment. He makes tentative inquiries into them throughout the first half, decides they refer to an island in the Hebrides, goes there. And goes on and on about how stupid people are for talking about how beautiful they are, mocks the literature on them as people "romanticising primitiveness" or something and when he meets the people and they invite him to a ceilidh he mocks them some more. And the reverend or priest or whoever mocks the island people because they use a hall intended for making stuff for dances. Because they're idiots. And who should he meet but "Wee Archie". Who's giving a talk at the ceilidh. For some reason. But the author gets more digs in at him by having people leave while he's talking. Because they want to watch the ballet on TV. Which is presented as more mockery of the people. Oh and there's a load of insults aimed at the dancing style of people and of the way they sing. Oh and the cook at the hotel can't cook and he won't eat what she makes. For some reason all this heals his claustrophobia and although he seems to be enjoying (?) himself kinda by the end he still says he couldn't bear to be there another hour.

So he goes back to his friends' place. And fishes some more. And meets this guy who responded to an ad he put in the newspaper who came all the way to him from London based on Grant putting an ad containing the verses written by the dead guy in the ad. And apparently he's heard the verse before because the dead guy said it randomly a few months before and he remembered. Bit of a stroke of luck. Anyway this kicks off the "mystery" portion of the book, such as it is. It's impossible to solve anything before the ending, except to roll your eyes at the guy for not imagining murder for ages. He has multiple strokes of luck and the help of a certified genius in a remote Scottish town library. There's also a random plot where his friend tries to set him up with a noble lady but he's apparently totally unable to recognise a very obvious attempt to set them up together. And the author uses this to talk about how incredibly good aristocrats are and how class isn't a thing because the grandfather of Elizabeth I was Lord Mayor of London. And how it's terrible how aristocrats have to live in poor quality houses because of death duties and if her house was a prison the House would have condemned it as unfit for human habitation. It's nauseating.

The book moves towards its conclusion but there's not enough time for any real detecting. The ending is abysmal and a cop-out. The guy writes a letter confessing his crimes and kills himself. Because it'd have been hard to pin it on him and you certainly couldn't have got the facts of how it happened from detective work Even then it makes little sense the person who does find this mysterious place apparently found it with help from the dead guy but it's not made clear how on earth this is possible - there's mentions of a plane, which is presumably supposed to be him, but if he was in a plane there why did he need to go to someone to fund an expedition? Also surely he was in the UK at the time so he couldn't be flying a plane. But it's stated directly he helped out somehow so I have no idea. The method of murder is very simple mistaken identity stuff and from the *start of the book* I was thinking "obviously those identity papers are not his. really obviously" but apparently Grant couldn't work that one out. There are no proper clues throughout the whole thing so you just find out right at the end. And it's a pretty poor ending. Oh and it turns out that Wee Archie is working as a spy? or a foreign agent? or something It makes no sense at all. And the ending also has some weird kind o

Poor as a mystery, terrible as a general story. It seems to want to be 2 things at once and it's awful at both. A strange vehicle for her own hatred of Scottish Gaelic, Scottish nationalists and the Scottish in general - which is especially baffling because she was Scottish, and her own detective is Scottish! Her writing is generally good but in this book her grasp of characters is weak and nothing fits together to give any satisfaction. Big disappointment. ( )

From my book group, via my TBR shelf. Due to her need for privacy, Tey is not an author (or book) with a heavy internet presence. This is the sixth, and last book in the Grant series.

There is a slight spoiler later in this review, so please bear in mind when reading further.

Having taken sick leave from Scotland Yard for his "nerves" (what would be called stress and anxiety disorder now), Grant travels to Scotland to visit his cousin Laura and her family, and get in some fishing. He is struggling with insomnia and claustrophobia, leading to panic attacks and a desperate need to get outside.

On his way off the train, the carriage porter tries to rouse one of the other passengers, only for Grant to point out he's dead. Doing his best to keep out of it - helped by an unsympathetic superior, the wide openness of the Scottish Lowlands, and the time and silence he needs to relax - it's weeks and some travelling around for Grant to get a handle on who the dead man is, and the significance of the poetry found in the train cabin.

Meanwhile a new visitor in the shape of Lady Zoe, peaks his interest, and he begins to wonder whether he should retire whilst he has the chance to "love and be loved". Grant is unable to leave the death be, especially after meeting the dead man's best friend Tad. He therefore returns to London and works through the issue via unofficial channels.

This is a very internally driven novel - there is a lot of soul searching and working through issues by Grant, with plenty of dialogue between himself and his subconscious.

The final denouement was a little disappointing in that Grant doesnt really identify the murderer - he has taken a dislike to a certain individual and has a suspicion, but nothing to prove it. The reveal comes late in the story after an announcement in the paper, and when the murderer has slipped out of his hands (and his vanity believes that he has died having committed the perfect murder).

This is one of the best mysteries I have downloaded as an audio book, not only because the narration by Karen Cass is so excellent, but also because I admire Josephine Tey's unique plotting in this book. Not all about the whodunit storyline, but about the novel's characters with the detective, Alan Grant, who needs a getaway from work while striving to overcome his claustrophobia. The denouncement of the mystery is presented in the form of a letter, which sort of acts as a murder's manifesto, yet I think in this case it works well. I've read and listened to others of Josephine Tey's book, yet I think this is her best. I highly recommend this to anyone interested in Golden Age detective fiction. ( )

The mystery is subsidiary and unfortunately the solution relies on a letter of exposition from the perpetrator, so that was a bit disappointing... but...
Josephine Tey is simply one of the best writers I've ever come across. I'm sad that I'm almost finished with her books, because they are RICH in imagery and language. One feels merged with Alan Grant as a character, able to explore all the nooks and crannies of his mind.

In this installment, Inspector Alan Grant is ordered by his physician to take some time away. He's dealing with nervous exhaustion that takes the form of very bad claustrophobia. He goes to his friends in rural Scotland (yay! Scotland!) But on the railroad journey, he has a fleeting encounter with an evidently accidental death. He finds himself unable to forget this circumstance, and keeps returning to it in his mind, spurred on by a scrap of poetry found in the dead man's possession.

As I said before, the mystery itself is not an urgent, cliff-hanging puzzle. It's something he turns over and over in his mind while fishing on the river and spending time with his friends during his rest-cure. It moves him to go even further afield to the island of Cladda, the place of singing sands. But the real meat of the book is in Alan's thoughts and the slow process of recovering his nerves and sanity. The characters are beautifully drawn and all interesting. ( )

"the beasts that talk,
the streams that stand,
the stones that walk,
the singing sands,
--------
--------
that guard the way
to Paradise"

These lines are found written on a newspaper near a dead body on a train. Alan grant, taking his doctor's orders for a holiday, is riding the train to his cousin's and her husband's house in a part of Scotland called Clune. Disembarking the train, he comes across the night attendant trying unsuccessfully to wake a passenger in his sleeping compartment.

Josephine Tey is an alias for Ms MacKintosh, a writer with an unusually original talent. Her work was published in the era known as the Golden age of detective novels. I read this book, the last of the detective Allen Grant series, not knowing the delight I was in for. The Lines written above are Tey's own. They refer to the Dead Man's questing for a paradise that he flew over when blown off his path from a storm. He was a pilot for an air freight company. Once he had glimpsed the shangri-la, it obsessed him, so much so that it caused his death.

Her characters are drawn with great care. Some are entirely charming, while others are comically gross. Wee archie is one example:
Hardback 1952 the MacMillan company
P.34:
"...having looked at the advancing figure with its shoggly body and inappropriate magnificence, he asked who that might be.
'That's wee archie,' said pat. [Alan's young cousin]
wee archie was wielding a shepherd's crook that, as Tommy remarked later, no Shepherd would be found dead with, and he was wearing a kilt that no Highlander would dream of being found alive in. The crook stood nearly 2 ft above his head, and The kilt hung down at the back from his non-existent hips like a draggled petticoat. But it was obvious that the wearer was conscious of no lack. The tartan of his sad little skirt screamed like a peacock, raucous and alien against the moor. His small dark eel's head was crowned by a pale blue Balmoral with a diced band, the Bonnet being pulled down sideways at such a dashing angle that the slack covered his right ear. On the upper side a large piece of vegetation sprouted from the crest on the band. The socks on The hairpin legs were a brilliant blue, and so Hairy in texture that they gave the effect of some unfortunate growth. Round the meagre ankles the thongs of the brogues were cross-gartered with a verve that even malvolio had never achieved."

The "Paradise" that the dead man was looking for is:
P.143:
"It was talking about wabar.
Wabar, it seemed, was the Atlantis of arabia. The fabled city of Ad ibn Kin'ad. somewhere in the time between legend and history it had been destroyed by fire for its sins. For it had been rich and sinful beyond The power of words to express. it's palaces had housed the most beautiful concubines and its stables the most perfect horses in the world, the one no less finely decked than the other. It stood in country so fertile that one had only to reach out a hand to pluck the fruits of the soil. There was infinite leisure to sin old sins and devise new ones. so destruction had come on the city. It had come in a night, with cleansing fire. And now wabar, the fabled city, was a cluster of ruins guarded by the shifting sands, by cliffs of stone that forever changed place and form; and inhabited by a monkey race and by evil jinns. no one could approach the place because the jinns blew dust-storms in the faces of those who sought it.
That was wabar."

Although ordered by his doctor to rest, Inspector Alan Grant is smitten with this case. He feels the need to identify the poor deceased pilot on the train. Police believe that he lost his balance when the train took off, slipped and hit his head against the porcelain sink, which killed him. But grant's not so sure. He tracks down a famous explorer, who he believes the dead man would have contacted, as a hoped-for backer for his expedition to find wabar. "Lloyd," as he is named, denies knowing Kenmore, the dead man.
P.182:
" 'Why do you dislike the guy so much?'
'I didn't say that I disliked him.'
'you don't have to.'
Grant hesitated, analyzing, as always, just exactly what he did feel.
'I find vanity repellent. As a person I loathe it, and as a policeman I distrust it.'
'it's a harmless sort of weakness,' Tad said, with a tolerant lift of a shoulder.
'that is just where you are wrong. It is THE utterly destructive quality. when you say vanity, you are thinking of the kind that admires itself in mirrors and buys things to deck itself out in. But that is merely personal conceit. Real vanity is something quite different. A matter not of person but personality. Vanity says, 'I must have this because I am me.' it is a frightening thing because it is incurable. You can never convince vanity that anyone else is of the slightest importance; he just doesn't understand what you are talking about. he will kill a person rather than be put to the inconvenience of doing a 6 month's stretch.' "

Words don't Express how delightful this author's work is. Sadly, the author died after she wrote this. I will be going back to the first detective Alan Grant book, and reading through the series. ( )