I guessed the killer right off, but that doesn't matter
While on holiday, second-rate actor Charles Paris witnesses the apparently accidental death of up and coming comedian Bill Peaky. However, after speaking with some of Peaky's "friends", Paris comes to suspect that Peaky's death was not an accident, but murder.
If you have read any of the other books in Simon Brett's Charles Paris series of mysteries, you will already know just how easy these mysteries are to solve. It is very unusual for me not to guess the killer in one of these books within the first 50 pages, and this book was no exception (as an aside, this is not the case for all of Brett's novels, and in fact, one of Brett's non-series books, "Dead Romantic", is an excellent example of a mystery, and it kept me guessing right to the end). However, you don't read Charles Paris novels for the mystery elements. The mystery is just there to provide a structure to another story of life in the entertainment industry, and that is where Brett's strength lies. Prior to becoming a novelist, Brett worked in the entertainment industry and his stories of what it is really like are both fascinating and hilarious. In this instalment, Brett writes about stand-up comedy and comedy variety shows. The book was written in 1979, so some of the references are a bit dated, but not so much that it matters. This is one of the better Charles Paris novels.
An inside look at stage life
Charles Paris, amateur detective, sets out to try to unmask a killer. A comedian is electrocuted by an improperly wired microphone. No one else thinks its murder, but Charles Paris knows it. The best thing about this book is the inside look at television and stage acting. It's like being in on the inside ot this fascinating world. The book is actually quite funny as well. I enjoyed it. It is definitely in the cosy genre.
Doesn't measure up to the greats
After a steady diet of Dick Francis, one cannot help but be dissapointed in "A Comediane Dies." Unfair, I know, to always judge one author by another, but Brett's characters are simpler, less sympathetic, and generally less intriguing. Moreover, the plot was more predictable than the best of the mystery genre. Certainly it would be boring to read a mystery in which the detective homed directly in on the guilty party, never wavering in his certainty or following false paths. But at the same time, every mystery author knows this, and therefore their readers intuitively know that neither the first, nor the second or usually even the third will turn out to be whodunnit. Read 5 or 7 of the genre and you start to suspect only the least suspectible. The excellent writer, however, will pepper his plot with enough entirely unsuspectible characters to keep the reader both distracted and guessing. Unfortunately, Brett does not, and neither his characters nor his settings are interesting enough to make up for it. The saving grace of the book, if there is one, is the rather adroit and amusingly barbed commentary on the English theatrical and television scene. The pure British wit displayed in these discourses is almost enough to keep the book going - although not, I'm afraid, enough to tempt me to others in his series.
(3 reviews)
