murder is a collector’s item

For the last few months, I’ve been in a reading drought.

Nothing I’ve picked up since Tress Of The Emerald Sea really hit home in the same way as Tress, her quest, and her collection of teacups. This immediate attention grab, for which Brandon Sanderson is adept at creating, rendered other books pale and uninteresting by comparison…or I’m tired of having to wear reading glasses every time I pick up a book these days.

It could be two things, I suppose.

In any case, when writing about a Golden Age Gals, I always secure at least one book by said author in order to form my own opinion on their writing.

And let me tell you, this book — finally — burst my funk!

Murder is a Collector’s Item is an outstanding read! Not only does it hold up well against today’s eye, the humorous (though not screwball) mystery is engaging and believable.

What I appreciate, above and beyond the well-placed zingers, dry humor, and a mystery that Plays Fair, is Elizabeth Dean’s conscious effort to put Emma Marsh front and center. The majority of the mystery is told from Emma’s perspective. Even better, Dean doesn’t gloss over the foibles of a twenty-something female living on her own. The science experiments growing in the back of the icebox, clothes strewn across the bedroom floor, a habitually unmade bed, and dusty dishes sitting in a cupboard — are all things I understand. (And grown out of. Mostly. Though, that fridge science is a tough one to beat.) However, with my twenty-sixth birthday well and truly in the review mirror, this glimpse back into the past made me laugh.

I delighted in watching three separate investigation threads, whose ultimate goals varied slightly from one another, all propelled the mystery forward. Emma’s pure logic and luck (both bad and good) balanced well against her boyfriend’s application of the psychology angle, which was tempered by the Boston cop’s practical and pragmatic approach to the crimes.

Moreover, I enjoyed watching Emma balance the stresses of her job. The battle of wits when trying to pitch the possible perfect (for them) item to a dithering customer, dealing with the foibles of a temperamental boss who you love (platonically) to bits but occasionally want to strangle with your bare hands, and the competative thrill of unearthing a gem from a rubbish heap you can sell for an order of magnitude more than what you paid for it. These are just some of the things I miss about my time at the book and record shops I once worked in. Plus, it’s fun to imagine how I’d balance my job duties against trying to suss out a murderer — something I never found myself needing to do.

I would happily recommend reading Murder is a Collector’s Item to anyone looking for a mystery on the lighter side. It’s not a cozy, but the murder(s) do take place off-stage, and the dry wit is precisely measured, so it only adds to the story without distracting.

Seriously, it is worth the few extra clicks to find a used copy hanging out in the corners of the interwebs — I don’t think you’ll be sorry!

“Alcohol is a poor adhesive for a broken heart.” – Murder is a Collector’s Item

B: 1901 New York City, NY D: 1985 Council Bluffs, Iowa

Life:

Born Elizabeth Harriet Baker, Liz (as she preferred to be called) graduated from Pembroke College (now part of Brown University) and obtained her masters from Radcliffe College in Cambridge, Massachusetts. After which, I believe, she worked in George McMahon’s antique shop.

In July of 1923, Liz married Abbot Dean and moved to his hometown of Council Bluffs, Iowa.

Six-ish years after giving birth to a son, Abbott Wilson Dean, Liz’s first book was published. She’d go on to write two more, plus short stories and essays, whilst living in Council Bluffs. However, sometime after Liz’s third book was written but before it was published, around 1943 or 1944 — Liz’s husband, Dr. Abbott Dean (now a trained ophthalmologist), was called back into the Navy (or was a career Navy man, it’s unclear) and was stationed near Pensacola, Florida, for the duration of WWII.

According to her son, in the Rue Morgue Press edition of Murder is a Collector’s Item, this massive change of home addresses disrupted Liz’s writing to the point where she could no longer capture the bright spark of Emma Marsh, ending the series after three novels.

Interestingly enough, Liz used the royalties of her first book to fill her home in Council Bluffs with antiques, which she later showed to the community during tours given via the Historical Society — of which she was a member. Liz’s other investment with her book royalties was in purebred Aberdeen Angus cattle, which she kept at her (and her husband’s) ranch in Colorado. Where, to escape some (apparently) awful seasonal allergies, Liz spent several sunny months at each year.

After Abbott left the Navy, he and Liz settled back in Council Bluffs, where she worked tirelessly for the Historical Society until her death in 1985.

Writing:

Liz’s first book, Murder is a Collector’s Item, started life as a piece of foolishness amongst friends. Apparently, one of Liz’s circle proposed they all write a work of fiction around 20,000 words in length and bring it around to the group one month later. Liz was the only one who finished by deadline day, and all her friends enjoyed it so much that they encouraged her to expand it to 80,000 words and submit it to a publisher.

It took a year to finish, but once it was, Doubleday’s Doran Crime Club happily printed it in 1939.

Liz drew on her own experiences working at an antique shop in Boston to aid in the realism of the setting in Murder is a Collector’s Item and based her fictional character, Jeff Graham, on her former boss, George McMahon. Liz’s third novel, one of the first to explicitly use Colorado as its setting, was based on Dean’s summers spent on the ranch she’d named “Buckshot”.

As for her writing method, Liz’s a woman after my own heart — knowing only the setting, the culprit, and the inciting incident that sets the mystery in motion, Liz would sit down at her typewriter “…and stare at the blank paper until I write something just to relive the monotony.”

Books: