Status
Available
Series
Genres
Publication
Touchstone, (1996)
Description
Bestselling author Josephine Tey's classic final mystery featuring her best-loved character, Inspector Alan Grant, filled with "all the Tey magic and delight" and now featuring a new introduction by Robert Barnard. On sick leave from Scotland Yard, Inspector Alan Grant is planning a quiet holiday with an old school chum to recover from overwork and mental fatigue. Traveling on the night train to Scotland, however, Grant stumbles upon a dead man and a cryptic poem about "the stones that walk" and "the singing sand," which send him off on a fascinating search into the verse's meaning and the identity of the deceased. Grant needs just this sort of casual inquiry to quiet his jangling nerves, despite his doctor's orders. But what begins as a leisurely pastime eventually turns into a full-blown investigation that leads Grant to discover not only the key to the poem but the truth about a most diabolical murder.… (more)
User reviews
LibraryThing member JonRob
Tey's last book (published posthumously) features Alan Grant on extended leave following a breakdown. Quite accidentally he intervenes in the case of a dead man found in a sleeping-car, and inadvertently walks off with the newspaper in which the deceased had scribbled some lines of poetry.
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Gradually, acting in a completely private capacity, he discovers that the body was travelling under a false name, and that he was murdered, the motive being rather outlandish. As usual the book is as much about Grant himself as it is about the crime, and there are some delightful minor characters (Grant's young cousin Pat is particularly well-written) together with some pungent thoughts on Scottish Nationalism. On the downside (from some viewpoints, anyway) rather a lot of time is spent pursuing a trail which turns out a complete red-herring. This book divides opinions, but it's a favourite of mine. Show Less
LibraryThing member murderbydeath
My second Inspector Grant mystery, and the last one Tey wrote, discovered amongst her papers after her death and published posthumously. My first Grant novel was Daughter of Time and given the uniqueness of that story, I had no idea what to expect of this one.
What I got was one of the most
The police procedural part, oddly enough, is the part that lagged a bit for me. This surprised me, but I suppose on reflection it makes sense; there's only ever one suspect and I grew impatient with wanting the evidence to present itself. It did, of course, eventually, and in an unexpected manner, providing a tidy ending that still worked and managed to be satisfying, even if it wasn't perfect justice.
Knowing this was Tey's final work made the ending a bit bittersweet, as Grant seems ready and raring to go on further adventures that were sadly not destined to happen, but at least there are still 4 others waiting out there for me to enjoy.
What I got was one of the most
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enjoyable mysteries I've read in awhile, even though there's really no mystery to it in the sense of 'whodunnit'. Instead I'd call this a soul searching police procedural; 'soul searching' because, at a guesstimate, fully half the book is about Grant's struggle to recover from exhaustion and anxiety in the highlands of Scotland. What might have felt like a stagnant meandering book in the hands of others, just worked here, although I have to admit to not really understanding Wee Archie's role in the plot beyond an un-needed reference point for vanity.The police procedural part, oddly enough, is the part that lagged a bit for me. This surprised me, but I suppose on reflection it makes sense; there's only ever one suspect and I grew impatient with wanting the evidence to present itself. It did, of course, eventually, and in an unexpected manner, providing a tidy ending that still worked and managed to be satisfying, even if it wasn't perfect justice.
Knowing this was Tey's final work made the ending a bit bittersweet, as Grant seems ready and raring to go on further adventures that were sadly not destined to happen, but at least there are still 4 others waiting out there for me to enjoy.
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LibraryThing member Stewartry
Quite a few murder mysteries begin with their victim alive, just long enough that the reader comes to know and like him. (I hate that.) With The Singing Sands, the victim is dead from the beginning, but I still got to know and like him through the course of the book, even as Alan Grant did. (I hate
Much as with Daughter of Time, Alan is laid up and in need of something to take him outside himself. Here, though, Alan is on medical leave from the Force due to nervous issues and severe claustrophobia – and I quite like that he did not find it easy requesting this leave. Being forced to acknowledge what he sees as a weakness not merely to his no-nonsense Super but to himself was a major hurdle. But it was necessary, and he was intelligent enough to recognize that he had to get away or snap once and for all: since an incident on the job, he has been growing steadily less able to tolerate enclosed spaces, steadily less able to rely on his own reactions to stress. Among other things, travel is a nightmare for him. The setting where the book begins, a train just pulling in to the station, is the least hideous option … which means only that he is, barely, able to keep hold of himself. A car or, worse, airplane, would have been nearly fatal for this trip to his cousin Laura and her family in Scotland: the train car is confining, but pride and sheer stubbornness get him through the long sleepless night. Barely. The journey by car from the station to his cousin's home nearly does him in.
It's a disturbing, absorbing depiction of claustrophobia and its effects on a strong man in his prime who never suffered from any such thing before. He is horrified and not a little put out at its intrusion into his life now. Alan's sensible, though, in dealing with it, determined to push himself, but not beyond the bounds of reason. He approaches the situation much the way he does other problems, and forces himself to proceed logically and – again – sensibly; I think I'm coming back to that quality because it's one that seems to go out the window in so many cases, fictional and non-.
Alan's discovery of a dead man on his train – young, with a highly individual face – is disturbing, though not as disturbing as it would be if a) he were a civilian, and b) he were not so preoccupied with his own misery. Everyone from the police onward takes the situation as it appears: young man went "one over the eight", fell, hit his head on the sink, and sadly died. But there is something which, even in Alan's present state, doesn't sit well. Then he discovers that he accidentally carried away the man's newspaper, and that written in a blank space is an extraordinary attempt at poetry, and the man's life, identity, and death become a puzzle he cannot leave alone. It all leads him on a quest to learn the truth and maybe, just maybe, regain his own self-possession.
As always, the mystery is merely a device to give Alan and his psyche a workout. He just can't let go of the problem, can't accept the official verdict, can't escape the conviction that there's more to it all. His mind is not the usual simple and undemanding sort I'm used to riding along with in a mystery novel. As was established in Daughter of Time, he doesn't handle forced inactivity very well, and forced introspection is not his favorite past-time; it's an unsettling revelation to both him and the reader just how little he enjoys his own company. Even the prospect of all the fishing he can handle doesn't help: he needs something more, and alternates between almost determinedly despairing plans to reinvent his future – and the, for him, much more constructive pursuit of the truth of the matter of the dead man on the train.
The relationships in the book are pure pleasure. Alan and his colleagues – his Super is not a cardboard cutout, however small his role in the book; Alan and his cousin, Laura, who is very much his Might Have Been; Alan and the dead man's shade; Alan and the dead man's friend, and the Lady who is stopping over in the area. Laura's small son is a creature who skews the likeability average for fictional kids drastically upward – he's fabulous.
There is a joy to this novel, an air of finality and farewell as Alan puts himself back together again and returns to his life, that makes it fitting for this to be the end of the series, the last of the Alan Grants (though I do have one more Tey book left, when I find it). It's a solid satisfying ending. I'd love more, which of course is impossible (unless, she said hopefully, there is a cache somewhere of Elizabeth Mackintosh's papers which might yield more Alan Grant – but she doesn't seem to have been the type of person to leave boxes full of uncategorized papers), so this is a good note on which to say goodbye, whether it was intended to be the end or not. Josephine Tey was the second, lesser pseudonym Mackintosh used: Gordon Daviot was the name she used for her serious work, her plays. But I remember being surprised to learn of the popularity of her stage work. Richard II was almost its generation's Cats, with people going back over and over, buying dolls of the characters and mobbing the stars. Yet the plays are, best I can see, out of print (I had to go to eBay for a copy of Richard, and I believe that came from England); it is Alan Grant who lives on. I think he was severely undervalued by his creator. The novels are superb, and it has been a joy to reread them.
Now if only some "angel" would back a production of Richard, preferably either in New York or on film...
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that too, but at least there's a requiem feeling about it here.) Much as with Daughter of Time, Alan is laid up and in need of something to take him outside himself. Here, though, Alan is on medical leave from the Force due to nervous issues and severe claustrophobia – and I quite like that he did not find it easy requesting this leave. Being forced to acknowledge what he sees as a weakness not merely to his no-nonsense Super but to himself was a major hurdle. But it was necessary, and he was intelligent enough to recognize that he had to get away or snap once and for all: since an incident on the job, he has been growing steadily less able to tolerate enclosed spaces, steadily less able to rely on his own reactions to stress. Among other things, travel is a nightmare for him. The setting where the book begins, a train just pulling in to the station, is the least hideous option … which means only that he is, barely, able to keep hold of himself. A car or, worse, airplane, would have been nearly fatal for this trip to his cousin Laura and her family in Scotland: the train car is confining, but pride and sheer stubbornness get him through the long sleepless night. Barely. The journey by car from the station to his cousin's home nearly does him in.
It's a disturbing, absorbing depiction of claustrophobia and its effects on a strong man in his prime who never suffered from any such thing before. He is horrified and not a little put out at its intrusion into his life now. Alan's sensible, though, in dealing with it, determined to push himself, but not beyond the bounds of reason. He approaches the situation much the way he does other problems, and forces himself to proceed logically and – again – sensibly; I think I'm coming back to that quality because it's one that seems to go out the window in so many cases, fictional and non-.
Alan's discovery of a dead man on his train – young, with a highly individual face – is disturbing, though not as disturbing as it would be if a) he were a civilian, and b) he were not so preoccupied with his own misery. Everyone from the police onward takes the situation as it appears: young man went "one over the eight", fell, hit his head on the sink, and sadly died. But there is something which, even in Alan's present state, doesn't sit well. Then he discovers that he accidentally carried away the man's newspaper, and that written in a blank space is an extraordinary attempt at poetry, and the man's life, identity, and death become a puzzle he cannot leave alone. It all leads him on a quest to learn the truth and maybe, just maybe, regain his own self-possession.
As always, the mystery is merely a device to give Alan and his psyche a workout. He just can't let go of the problem, can't accept the official verdict, can't escape the conviction that there's more to it all. His mind is not the usual simple and undemanding sort I'm used to riding along with in a mystery novel. As was established in Daughter of Time, he doesn't handle forced inactivity very well, and forced introspection is not his favorite past-time; it's an unsettling revelation to both him and the reader just how little he enjoys his own company. Even the prospect of all the fishing he can handle doesn't help: he needs something more, and alternates between almost determinedly despairing plans to reinvent his future – and the, for him, much more constructive pursuit of the truth of the matter of the dead man on the train.
The relationships in the book are pure pleasure. Alan and his colleagues – his Super is not a cardboard cutout, however small his role in the book; Alan and his cousin, Laura, who is very much his Might Have Been; Alan and the dead man's shade; Alan and the dead man's friend, and the Lady who is stopping over in the area. Laura's small son is a creature who skews the likeability average for fictional kids drastically upward – he's fabulous.
There is a joy to this novel, an air of finality and farewell as Alan puts himself back together again and returns to his life, that makes it fitting for this to be the end of the series, the last of the Alan Grants (though I do have one more Tey book left, when I find it). It's a solid satisfying ending. I'd love more, which of course is impossible (unless, she said hopefully, there is a cache somewhere of Elizabeth Mackintosh's papers which might yield more Alan Grant – but she doesn't seem to have been the type of person to leave boxes full of uncategorized papers), so this is a good note on which to say goodbye, whether it was intended to be the end or not. Josephine Tey was the second, lesser pseudonym Mackintosh used: Gordon Daviot was the name she used for her serious work, her plays. But I remember being surprised to learn of the popularity of her stage work. Richard II was almost its generation's Cats, with people going back over and over, buying dolls of the characters and mobbing the stars. Yet the plays are, best I can see, out of print (I had to go to eBay for a copy of Richard, and I believe that came from England); it is Alan Grant who lives on. I think he was severely undervalued by his creator. The novels are superb, and it has been a joy to reread them.
Now if only some "angel" would back a production of Richard, preferably either in New York or on film...
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LibraryThing member janerawoof
The beasts that talk,
The streams that stand,
The stones that walk,
The singing sands,
That guard the way to Paradise
This cryptic verse sends him on a hunt for the murderer of a fellow passenger on a train he is taking to Scotland. He is travelling there to recover from a nervous breakdown, where he
Most highly recommended.
The streams that stand,
The stones that walk,
The singing sands,
That guard the way to Paradise
This cryptic verse sends him on a hunt for the murderer of a fellow passenger on a train he is taking to Scotland. He is travelling there to recover from a nervous breakdown, where he
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will stay with friends. This verse takes him to the Hebrides, to France, and to London. A classic of the genre. I've read only one other of Tey's mysteries, but consider this the better of the two--unexpected twists and turns galore.Most highly recommended.
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LibraryThing member ben_a
The beasts that talk
The streams that stand
The beasts that talk
The singing sands
Tey writes mysteries, but her excellences are those of a novelist. She fashions unforgettable characters. She describes the natural world precisely and beautifully. She is very funny. Her puzzle mechanics are less
The streams that stand
The beasts that talk
The singing sands
Tey writes mysteries, but her excellences are those of a novelist. She fashions unforgettable characters. She describes the natural world precisely and beautifully. She is very funny. Her puzzle mechanics are less
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central. As they should be. 3.2.08 Show Less
LibraryThing member Smiley
Interesting mystery. More novel than mystery..
LibraryThing member lsh63
Taking a rest from being overworked at Scotland Yard, Inspector Alan Grant plans a quiet vacation with an old school friend. On the night train to Scotland, he comes across a dead body (we're not sure if it is in fact a murder) and the scribblings "stones that walk" and "singing sand". Curious not
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only about the death but also about the phrases, it becomes impossible for Grant to get the rest that he needs. He does not stop until he figures out both mysteries. This is a delightful puzzle which is unveiled in a perfect manner. Unfortunately this is Ms. Tey's last book. Show Less
LibraryThing member jjmcgaffey
Huh. Now I've read The Singing Sands - and I have no idea whether I had read it before. I certainly had no idea what would happen next, and yet it all feels familiar - very strange. Good story, too - is this the first Grant? If so, he's neatly presented. No, actually it's the last! Poor Zoe. The
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chance way Grant got involved in the death was very elegant, and the depictions of the various places he goes, from the Hebrides to Marseilles to London, are beautifully done. It's a little odd, though, when I know Grant from Daughter of Time - in that he's laid up with a broken leg, in this he's recovering from a nervous breakdown. Does he always do his interesting work when he's ill? Show Less
LibraryThing member LisaMaria_C
Sadly Tey wrote only eight mysteries, and this is her last, published posthumously. I don't think it's among her best. I'd rate it perhaps sixth out of the eight, but it's still a great read, and stands out as a character study of her detective, Inspector Alan Grant of Scotland Yard.
When he first
At the beginning of The Singing Sands we see a mentally fragile Grant. Suffering from overwork, he's subject to a crippling claustrophobia. Taking leave to visit his cousin Laura in the Scottish Highlands, he encounters a dead body in one of the sleeping berths, seemingly the result of an accident. On a newspaper is scribbled some verse:
The beasts that talk,
The streams that stand,
The stones that walk,
The singing sands,
That guard the way to Paradise.
He finds that verse teasing his mind, and it pushes him to solve the mystery of the meaning of the verses and the young man's death, taking him to the Hebrides and to Marsaille.
The introduction to the newest editions of the Tey books by Robert Barnard don't hold up Tey to a flattering light. I don't think Barnard really likes Tey. I came across on the internet at one point a list by Barnard of favorite works of crime fiction--notably Tey wasn't on his list. In his introduction he accuses Tey of "anti-Semitism, contempt for the working class, a deep uneasiness about any enthusiasm (for example Scottish Nationalism) that, to her, smacks of crankiness."
Having recently reread all the books, there are definitely ethnic stereotypes expressed by characters, especially Grant. However, notably the only identifiably Jewish character, in A Shilling for Candles, is a positive one who rightly twits Grant about his class prejudices--Grant is entirely wrong about him. I also can't see anything but respect for working people in Tey's books. What she does express contempt for are self-styled radical champions of the working class--quite a different thing. Her attitude there is especially evident in The Franchise Affair.
The Singing Sands is the book where the digs against Scottish Nationalism are primarily made. They don't strike me as cranky though. If anything they strike me as refreshing and relevant, as a slap at those who try to flare back to life age-old historical grievances. And I can certainly see Wee Archie in a lot of current political activists. Tey definitely shows a conservative sensibility that might offend the politically correct, and this is definitely one of her novels where that attitude is to the fore. And actually the tic I find most disconcerting throughout the novels isn't one Barnard picked up on. Tey has a tendency to judge people on their looks--not on whether they're attractive or not. But Grant believes someone is adventurous because of the shape of his eyebrows and in The Franchise Affair a woman is believed promiscuous because of the shade of blue of her eyes. As often is the case with Tey, this book also isn't the strongest of mysteries in a puzzle box sense. I found the way the mystery is resolved by a confession in a letter particularly weak. This definitely wouldn't be the Tey work I'd recommend as an introduction--I'd choose either The Daughter of Time or Brat Farrar if you haven't yet tried her before. But as with all Tey's books, this is strong in prose style, humor and unforgettable characters. And it's somehow fitting her last book is one where we get to delve a bit deeper into the psyche of her detective hero.
When he first
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appeared in The Man in the Queue he struck me as rather bland especially compared to such sleuths as Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot and Lord Peter Wimsey. With the possible exception of The Daughter of Time, he also strikes me in the books he appears in as the most fallible detective protagonist I've ever read. He's not notable for brilliant logical deductions like Holmes or Poirot. What he has is what he calls "flair"--intuition, instinct, imagination--and that doesn't always steer him the right way. At the beginning of The Singing Sands we see a mentally fragile Grant. Suffering from overwork, he's subject to a crippling claustrophobia. Taking leave to visit his cousin Laura in the Scottish Highlands, he encounters a dead body in one of the sleeping berths, seemingly the result of an accident. On a newspaper is scribbled some verse:
The beasts that talk,
The streams that stand,
The stones that walk,
The singing sands,
That guard the way to Paradise.
He finds that verse teasing his mind, and it pushes him to solve the mystery of the meaning of the verses and the young man's death, taking him to the Hebrides and to Marsaille.
The introduction to the newest editions of the Tey books by Robert Barnard don't hold up Tey to a flattering light. I don't think Barnard really likes Tey. I came across on the internet at one point a list by Barnard of favorite works of crime fiction--notably Tey wasn't on his list. In his introduction he accuses Tey of "anti-Semitism, contempt for the working class, a deep uneasiness about any enthusiasm (for example Scottish Nationalism) that, to her, smacks of crankiness."
Having recently reread all the books, there are definitely ethnic stereotypes expressed by characters, especially Grant. However, notably the only identifiably Jewish character, in A Shilling for Candles, is a positive one who rightly twits Grant about his class prejudices--Grant is entirely wrong about him. I also can't see anything but respect for working people in Tey's books. What she does express contempt for are self-styled radical champions of the working class--quite a different thing. Her attitude there is especially evident in The Franchise Affair.
The Singing Sands is the book where the digs against Scottish Nationalism are primarily made. They don't strike me as cranky though. If anything they strike me as refreshing and relevant, as a slap at those who try to flare back to life age-old historical grievances. And I can certainly see Wee Archie in a lot of current political activists. Tey definitely shows a conservative sensibility that might offend the politically correct, and this is definitely one of her novels where that attitude is to the fore. And actually the tic I find most disconcerting throughout the novels isn't one Barnard picked up on. Tey has a tendency to judge people on their looks--not on whether they're attractive or not. But Grant believes someone is adventurous because of the shape of his eyebrows and in The Franchise Affair a woman is believed promiscuous because of the shade of blue of her eyes. As often is the case with Tey, this book also isn't the strongest of mysteries in a puzzle box sense. I found the way the mystery is resolved by a confession in a letter particularly weak. This definitely wouldn't be the Tey work I'd recommend as an introduction--I'd choose either The Daughter of Time or Brat Farrar if you haven't yet tried her before. But as with all Tey's books, this is strong in prose style, humor and unforgettable characters. And it's somehow fitting her last book is one where we get to delve a bit deeper into the psyche of her detective hero.
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LibraryThing member MusicMom41
This was Tey’s last Alan Grant mystery. I always enjoy her books and this one was very satisfying. Tey's books tend to be novels instead of just a puzzle to solve. This one was a good novel and an intriguing puzzle.
As Grant leaves the train in Scotland where he has gone for an extended rest
The beasts that talk,
The streams that stand,
The stones that walk,
The singing sand.
........................
........................
That guard the way
To Paradise
He becomes engrossed in trying to discover who this dead man is and why he wrote the poem. His answer is surprising.
As Grant leaves the train in Scotland where he has gone for an extended rest
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because of work stress he passes a compartment where there is a dead body. He absent mindedly picks up a newspaper from the scene on which is written an unusual “poem”. The beasts that talk,
The streams that stand,
The stones that walk,
The singing sand.
........................
........................
That guard the way
To Paradise
He becomes engrossed in trying to discover who this dead man is and why he wrote the poem. His answer is surprising.
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LibraryThing member MrsLee
Inspector Grant is on the verge of a mental breakdown, his doctor sends him to spend some time in Scotland fishing and relaxing. Not thinking about or working on any murders. However, fate has a different plan in mind, and possibly a better route of healing than anyone could have prescribed.
This
This
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was an amusing book to read, I did feel the author copped out at the end, but the path there was a good one. She is very good at her characters, they are vivid and easily seen. Show Less
LibraryThing member pdgromnic
If such a thing is possible, this is a pastoral mystery. Her sentence structure and use of language make The Singing Sand flow as if it were a conversation. A true Great Read. This author deserves much more
readership than I suspect she has .As to being unkind to marginalized groups, it's not
readership than I suspect she has .As to being unkind to marginalized groups, it's not
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always possible to sympathize with all things. I suppose that's why we eat trout. Thanks, Mrs. Tey! Show Less
LibraryThing member selkins
Inspector Alan Grant runs into a little mystery on the train to Scotland (for a health break), and can't quite let go of it while visiting a friend, and fishing. Likeable and unlikeable characters keep showing up, some helping and some hindering his investigation. Grant is likeable too, although he
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doesn't always realize just how annoyingly complacent and dismissive he can be. Grant's recovery struggles, the poetry and "hidden worlds", and flashes of dry humor in this contemplative book make it a satisfying read. Show Less
LibraryThing member overthemoon
Inspector Grant takes a break for health reasons; on his train to Scotland he sees a body, is intrigued by some lines he sees written on a newspaper, lets them niggle at his brain, carries out an investigation while struggling with claustrophobia, does some fishing, makes peace with himself, solves
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the mystery - which is totally mystifying. Very enjoyable, remarkably well written. Show Less
LibraryThing member MargaretPinardAuthor
What a great read! Apparently this was her last in the Inspector Grant series, so I'll have to go back in time to read the rest! Great language, great dialect and setting detail. Perfect individual plot beside the larger murder mystery. Recommended without reservation- a quick read.
LibraryThing member DeltaQueen50
The Singing Sands by Josephine Tey is the last book in her Alan Grant series, and strangely, this book tells us more about the personal side of her main character than any other volume in the series. Alan is off on a fishing holiday to Scotland, he is taking a doctor prescribed break as the
As in many of Josephine Tey’s books, the mystery is almost secondary, what shines through is the author’s love of Scotland, it’s people and landscapes. The details she includes about fishing lead me to believe she , like Alan Grant, was probably an avid follower of that sport. I am a fan of books that are written during the Golden Age of Detective Novels and Josephine Tey was among the best of these writers.
I enjoyed this last book of the series and will miss these stories.
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pressures of the job have caused him to recently develop claustrophobia. When a dead body turns up on the train to Scotland and is dismissed as a accidental death. Alan finds himself thinking about this death and becomes convinced that there is more to it than has yet been revealed. By working through this case as well as getting in some fishing time, and meeting a very attractive woman, Alan is able to face his phobia and let it go. As in many of Josephine Tey’s books, the mystery is almost secondary, what shines through is the author’s love of Scotland, it’s people and landscapes. The details she includes about fishing lead me to believe she , like Alan Grant, was probably an avid follower of that sport. I am a fan of books that are written during the Golden Age of Detective Novels and Josephine Tey was among the best of these writers.
I enjoyed this last book of the series and will miss these stories.
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LibraryThing member raizel
I first read this as a paperback in the 1960s. It had a magical feeling that i didn't feel so much the last couple of times that I've read it, but it's still a warm cozy with interesting and likeable characters. (Unfortunately, the first thing I read was the back cover: it give away the big
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surprise disclosed a few pages before the end of the story! Harrumph!) Show Less
LibraryThing member kylenapoli
Clearly written by an author at the height of her powers, this is a perceptive portrait of a smart person wrestling with his own mind (in more ways than one). And a satisfying mystery to boot.
LibraryThing member antiquary
Alan Grant has developed claustrophobia from overwork and takes a fishing holiday in Scotland, but when the train from London arrives in Scotland,one of the passengers is dead. The death is apparently an accident, and the dead man is identified as a French mechanic, but Grant finds the victim had
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been writing an odd poem before he died about singing sands and other strange things that guard the way to Paradise. At first this leads him to the Hebrides,but then his advertisement about the poem brings a response from a man who identifies the dead man as a British commercial pilot flying in Arabia who might have discovered the legendary city of Wabar, supposedly guarded by the strange things in the poem. (NB another of these legendary Arabian cities has in fact been discovered, long after Tey wrote this book.) The Scottish sequence seems to be of little use beyond praising aspects of Scotland Tey liked and satirizing aspects she didn't like, notably an egregious Scottish Nationalist phony Gael from Glasgow, (I hate to think how she would react to the present success of the Scots Nats) Show Less
LibraryThing member jkdavies
a deceptively slow tale...At the beginning Inspector Alan Grant is in some sort of recuperation, needing rest and relaxation, and you get wrapped up in the details of his Highland break - the cold cold hotel in Cladda, the fear of flying, the only woman who looks good in waders... and then his mind
And beautifully, understatedly written too.
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kicks back in and he picks up the threads of the mysterious man with the reckless eyebrows who died on the train Alan was travelling on. I love the "Aha" moment when he recognises the vanity of the murderer, and how he picks and puzzles until the clues come together.And beautifully, understatedly written too.
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LibraryThing member neurodrew
The Singing Sands
Josephine Tey
May 8, 2016
Inspector Alan Grant is burnt out, and takes a leave to visit family in Scotland. He is troubled by claustrophobia. When he awakens on the train, he observes the porter trying to awaken a dead man. He absent-mindedly grabs the newspaper the dead man had in
Josephine Tey
May 8, 2016
Inspector Alan Grant is burnt out, and takes a leave to visit family in Scotland. He is troubled by claustrophobia. When he awakens on the train, he observes the porter trying to awaken a dead man. He absent-mindedly grabs the newspaper the dead man had in
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his compartment, and finds a scribbled fragment "The beasts that talk/The streams that stand/The stones that walk/The singing sands/ ... /That guard the way to paradise". A dead man writing cryptic poems, what more could a police inspector ask for? The rest of the book is about finding the identity of the dead man and unraveling the mystery of the poem. There is a long mislead visit to the Hebrides, and finally a confession from an Orientalist. Enjoyable for the atmosphere and misdirection. Show Less
LibraryThing member PaperDollLady
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
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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. Show Less
LibraryThing member burritapal
"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
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.
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
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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.
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LibraryThing member Matke
I’m very glad I reread this Alan Grant mystery. I like it much better than I did years ago.
Inspector Grant is taking a necessary leave of absence from his job because he’s suffered a breakdown of nerves, with overwhelming claustrophobia as the main symptom. As he travels north to enjoy some
As with all of Tey’s mysteries, the characters are the strongest point. The descriptions of Scotland are wonderful as well.
A very enjoyable read with dead ends and blind alleys. I did manage to figure out the puzzle, but that didn’t at all spoil my enjoyment of a great Golden Age mystery.
Inspector Grant is taking a necessary leave of absence from his job because he’s suffered a breakdown of nerves, with overwhelming claustrophobia as the main symptom. As he travels north to enjoy some
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quiet fishing, of course he encounters a dead man on the train. He can’t get the man out of his mind, and pursues an unofficial investigation into the death. As with all of Tey’s mysteries, the characters are the strongest point. The descriptions of Scotland are wonderful as well.
A very enjoyable read with dead ends and blind alleys. I did manage to figure out the puzzle, but that didn’t at all spoil my enjoyment of a great Golden Age mystery.
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LibraryThing member murderbydeath
My second Inspector Grant mystery, and the last one Tey wrote, discovered amongst her papers after her death and published posthumously. My first Grant novel was Daughter of Time and given the uniqueness of that story, I had no idea what to expect of this one.
What I got was one of the most
The police procedural part, oddly enough, is the part that lagged a bit for me. This surprised me, but I suppose on reflection it makes sense; there’s only ever one suspect and I grew impatient with wanting the evidence to present itself. It did, of course, eventually, and in an unexpected manner, providing a tidy ending that still worked and managed to be satisfying, even if it wasn’t perfect justice.
Knowing this was Tey’s final work made the ending a bit bittersweet, as Grant seems ready and raring to go on further adventures that were sadly not destined to happen, but at least there are still 4 others waiting out there for me to enjoy.
What I got was one of the most
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enjoyable mysteries I’ve read in awhile, even though there’s really no mystery to it in the sense of ‘whodunnit’. Instead I’d call this a soul searching police procedural; ‘soul searching’ because, at a guesstimate, fully half the book is about Grant’s struggle to recover from exhaustion and anxiety in the highlands of Scotland. What might have felt like a stagnant meandering book in the hands of others, just worked here, although I have to admit to not really understanding Wee Archie’s role in the plot beyond an un-needed reference point for vanity.The police procedural part, oddly enough, is the part that lagged a bit for me. This surprised me, but I suppose on reflection it makes sense; there’s only ever one suspect and I grew impatient with wanting the evidence to present itself. It did, of course, eventually, and in an unexpected manner, providing a tidy ending that still worked and managed to be satisfying, even if it wasn’t perfect justice.
Knowing this was Tey’s final work made the ending a bit bittersweet, as Grant seems ready and raring to go on further adventures that were sadly not destined to happen, but at least there are still 4 others waiting out there for me to enjoy.
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English