Book Review: Dark Corners, by Ruth Rendell

– reviewed by Virginia Watson-Rouslin –

Lovers of Rendell will be saddened to know that this master of crime fiction died last May, shortly before the publication of this, her 66th book. There will be no more of Inspector Wexford’s wise and thoughtful solutions to ordinary crimes or the brilliant insight Rendell showed in unravelling the psychology of those who commit crimes.

That’s true of her last featured performer, a hapless fellow named Carl Martin. Carl’s father has died, and his mother has left him the house in London’s Falcon Mews where he can live and rent out the upstairs to supplement his non-existent income. Until royalties pour in from his first novel Death’s Door, Carl will take in a lodger. Too lazy to interview candidates, he takes the first on offer, an apparent milquetoast named Dermot McKinnon, he of the “toothy yellow smile.” They agree that Dermot will simply hand over the month’s rent in cash on the due date instead of putting it in the mail or direct deposit. Carl’s indolence also means that he doesn’t bother getting rid of his dad’s horde of vitamins, including controversial diet pills, in the bathroom’s medicine cabinet. Carl’s friend – though most “friends” in this novel are nothing but self-serving acquaintances – Stacey’s acting career is in the toilet because she’s become fat. She pays Carl a visit, accidentally sees the pills and demands Carl hand them over if he wants to help her get her career back on track. Carl does and charges her.

Someone has to die in a Rendell mystery, and that would be Stacey. She expires from an overdose, the repellent Dermot finds out and blackmails Carl. No more rent from Dermot, who plays a wicked game of psychological warfare on Carl. You can’t cheer for either character or really, few elsewhere in the book. Even Carl’s pleasant girlfriend deserts him, failing to take a strong stand against Dermot. But Rendell weaves an irresistible tale, one you can’t stop reading, wondering about everyone’s fate. You’ll be surprised. As crime novelist Ian Rankin has written: “you never feel cheated by a glib conclusion or some deus ex machina” in Rendell’s novels.

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