The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins

The Moonstone is considered the first detective novel that established the ground rules of modern detective novels. Though I agree with this statement, I think Agatha Christie is still the reigning queen of the genre.

Published in 1868, it is an epistolary novel about the missing of a yellow diamond called Moonstone, which was originally placed on the forehead of the Hindu god of the moon statue, located at a Hindu temple in India. The diamond protected by three hereditary guardians from Brahmin caste, who do not hesitate to perform crime, even murder if needed, in order to save it. One day a British army officer - a rogue named Colonel Herncastle - stole it from the temple in a looting during the Siege of Seringapatam, and brought it to England. His life has never been in peace ever since.

Colonel Herncastle's sister is a Lady Verinder, who disliked her notorious brother. Furious with his sister's rudeness and humiliation, he took an unusual way of revenge, by bequeathing the Moonstone to his niece, Rachel Verinder, when she turns eighteen. Several days before the birthday party, three Indian jugglers come to the town, and even ask permission to perform at the Verinders' on the night of the birthday party. They get to see Rachel, who, excited by the inheritance, pins the Moonstone on her blouse. That night Rachel keeps the diamond in an Indian cabinet in her parlour. The next day they finds the cabinet empty, the diamond is missing. They hire the best detective to investigate the case, but, despite of the progresses Sergeant Cuff has made, Lady Verinder stops the investigation altogether, as it has somewhat bothered Rachel. And so the mystery is left unsolved.

Two years from the unfortunate event, Franklin Blake - Rachel's cousin - who was tasked of bringing the Moonstone to Rachel at her birthday night, takes initiative to keep a neat record of everything that had happened from the moment they got the Moonstone, to the moment when the mystery is eventually solved. He compiles narrative of persons involved, reports, letters, and diary, to create a complete and true history of the Moonstone mystery. And so, that is what we read as this novel.

I was in love with the novel from the first chapter, which is Gabriel Betteredge's narrative. Betteredge is the Verinders' chief steward (butler and housekeeper), a pleasant, humorous, warm hearted old man who loves Defoe's Robinson Crusoe so much, that the book becomes his 'bible' and sole consolation in life. He is the sole reason why I kept reading this book. I loved his narrative, it shows his wittiness, loving nature, and loyalty towards the Verinders. How I've wished that he'd keep the pen to himself for the rest of the book, and I might have automatically granted it five stars, no matter how the story unfolds. However, Collins didn't agree with me. He chose, instead, to trust the next narration to a hypocrite girl (a Pharisee of modern world) who I despised! After that, several other persons alternately took over the pen, and that, I think, was when I took first of the five stars I've stored for the book. I love continuity in a book. Two narration is still okay, but NOT more than that, please!!

The other half star I reluctantly took away is from the opium experiment. I don't know much about the side effect of opium, but I think the opium plot involving Franklin Blake is quite lame and absurd.

Apart from those two objections of mine, The Moonstone promised to be an enjoyable Victorian story, with the oriental superstition, the mysterious swamp, the social injustice leading to tragedy, the romance - though it would be better if the heroine isn't that spoilt, selfish, insensible as Rachel. But yeah... Collins isn't Dickens.

All in all, I must say that I'm quite disappointed. It started very nicely, but ended disappointingly. I don't know how it supposed to "establish the ground rules of modern detective novels" if the detective was shunned before he could do his job, and the amateur who took over is head over heels in love, which means he's not clearheaded, and thus, unfit for the task. It is a good Victorian novel, but not as a detective novel. Trust that to Agatha Christie only!

Final rating: 3,5 / 5

The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins

This is the first time I read detective novel with Victorian background. Here I can hear you yelling: ‘What about Holmes?’ Well, Holmes is Holmes. I mean, he is a real detective, and his stories were focused mostly on the crime-solving. While The Woman in White depicted ordinary persons who were forced to perform detective tasks to solve their own problem.

In this post, I will not trying to summarize the story, but only jotting down my random thoughts while reading this awesome book.

What I realized immediately after finishing this story is the difference between Dickens’ and Collins’ style. I naturally compared them because they were close friends—Dickens published Collins’ short stories in the periodicals he founded: Household Words—and I assumed Collins style would be closely similar to Dickens. I was not completely wrong, they had a similarity, but I think I like Collins better.

Collins’ characters—at least in The Woman in White; I have not read his other books—are as strong as Dickens’ but more plausible. I felt like knowing Walter Hartright or Marian Halcombe as real persons in real life, not just characters in some tales. Hartright is a drawing master; if he was in Dickens’ novel, he would probably be portrayed as romantic and melancholic person. But Collins made him an intelligent young man with strong will and courage. Laura Fairlie, though not as strong and brave as Marian, still found, now and then, courage to resist under her tyrannical husband.

Dickens’ characters are also mostly typical. Most of his villains, especially, can be detected almost at once. But with Collins, I found that several of the characters are in grey area. Count Fosco is one example. Everybody tends to like him. Interestingly, it was Laura who first detected something artificial in him. And how he adored Marian, and acted gentlemanly towards his “enemies”. Beyond his lack of moral conscience, nobody would disagree that he is a kind gentleman. Another ambiguous character is Hartright’s Italian friend: Professor Pesca. Who would ever suspect that behind this funny and simple man with extra warm heart, laid a dark secret of being member of a secret organization (by the way, what organization can it be, indeed?)? And how very often do we, too, wrongly judge our friends or close relatives?

To summarize, I did really enjoy The Woman in White. I loved the uniqueness and originality of the characters; loved the neat and smooth plot; loved how Collins built it slowly—neither too surprising nor too predictable. And I also loved the mature love story; and enjoyed the little—just a little—twist of the plot. It is a detective story, but the highest aim is not to punish the villains, or to reveal the truth, or to excite our adventurer side; it is just what one must do for the loved ones—it is the act of love, honor, and humanity. Oh, I just love it!

[Short Story] A Terribly Strange Bed by Wilkie Collins

When I first found this short story, I was wondering whether I am going to like it. The title is not really promising—‘A Terribly Strange Bed’? What would that be about? However, being determined to read short stories from authors whom I have never read before for A Victorian Project, I decided to download the ebook, and then read it right away. After finishing it in two days—I read it at office ours, as it is in Words file—I have already fell in love with Wilkie Collins!

The story was set up in Paris. Two English men were travelling to the city of light, and in the search for a night amusement, they went to a small gambling house in a rather slum area of Paris. The narrator—Mr. Faulkner (Collins revealed the name only at the end of the story)—was not a genuine gambler, he did gambling occasionally just as a mean of amusement. However, that certain night appeared to be his lucky night, for he kept winning hugely at the ‘Rouge et Noir’ game. Left alone in the gambling house, an old soldier persuaded him to drink champagne, and got him drunk. Afraid of his security, the old soldier advised him to spend the night at the inn in the upstairs of the gambling house, which he fully agreed.

After securing the money bag under his pillow, locking and bolting the door and checking on piece of furniture to make sure everything was safe, Faulkner was trying to sleep, but failed. And suddenly—this was where the thriller began—something strange happened. The man in painting—which he had contemplated in his desperate effort to sleep—suddenly “lost” his hat. What has happened? And did he felt that the bed was moving?..... 

This is the first time I read Wilkie Collins, and although this is only a short story, I can get a feel of his writing style. The story theme itself reminds me of Poe’s thriller—although Poe’s are much more gripping. **spoiler** In particular, this reminds me a little of Poe’s The Pit and The Pendulum, both are about a murdering machine, but Pit is much darker and terrorizing, while Collins wrote it more as a mystery thriller or crime. **spoiler ends**

I like how Collins described the state of Faulkner’s mind wonderfully, especially because it is written from his own point of view. The scene on the bed where Faulkner could not get asleep, for example; inexperienced author might describe it in few words only to say that the man has tried but he can’t get to sleep. But Collins took us to be in Faulkner’s place, we can feel ourselves how desperately it might be for him.

“…Every nerve in my body trembled—every one of my senses seemed to be preternaturally sharpened. I tossed and rolled, and tried every kind of position, and perseveringly sought out the cold corners of the bed, and all to no purpose. Now I thrust my arms over the clothes; now I poked them under the clothes; now I violently shot my legs straight out down to the bottom of the bed; now I convulsively coiled them up as near my chin as they would go; now I shook out my crumpled pillow, changed it to the cool side, patted it flat, and lay down quietly on my back; now I fiercely doubled it in two, set it up on end, thrust it against the board of the bed, and tried a sitting posture. Every effort was in vain; I groaned with vexation as I felt that I was in for a sleepless night.”

The way Collins led his readers to the terror scene also deserves two thumbs up. The gloomy room, the dark old picture hung on the wall (of a Spanish desperado waited to be hanged), and the moonlight that was shining into the room through the window, they all brought us to a dark gothic scene, as if those are where the exact terror would come from, which in fact they're not. However, without those aspects, this story would certainly lose its grip. 

Five stars for Wilkie Collins! And after this I’d like to read more of his books.

[I read ebook version from world-english.org]

This post is included in Short Stories on Wednesday