The Cinderella Killer

I am wondering how I’ve gone for 20-something years reviewing crime fiction without reading anything (or not that I can recall!) by the very prolific Simon Brett. My best guess is that it’s because his books are on the cosy side of the genre, where I rarely venture.

I fancied something a bit lighter recently, and given I’m a big theatre fan, the latest adventures of struggling actor Charles Paris seemed tempting. And it turned out to be a very pleasant choice for a lazy weekend.

You won’t be seeing Charles at any glitzy first nights – his latest job is one of the broker’s men in panto in the not so bright lights of Eastbourne.  An American sitcom star has been shipped in to lead the cast. He seems a jovial sort and happy to fit in, but he’s also got demons in his past. So when a body fetches up under the pier, Charles is promoted to the heady heights of Baron Hardup – and also sets out to track down a killer and find a missing dancer.

Brett has a relaxed tone to his storytelling – I loved the running gag of Charles’s less than memorable reviews from an undistinguished career. And the supporting cast is inked in strongly, including a panto veteran who is somewhat less than impressed with the way the industry is going, and a director who doesn’t appear to want to do much directing.

I’m intrigued to know how formulaic the rest of the series is, as I suspect Brett has found an ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ groove for Charles. It didn’t feel much of a disadvantage not to have read the earlier books, as there are smoothly slotted-in mentions of Charles’s rocky private life which make it clear that he’s not in the line for sainthood.

The Cinderella Killer isn’t knock-about farce with people falling over a lot and dropping their trousers. It’s a very pleasant, understated, very English sort of book which benefits from dry humour, bitchy asides, dingy pubs and down-at-heel lodgings. Maybe it’s not A-list, but it’s certainly a B-list contender.