Marsh is in her element here – not only are the setting and characters theatrical, but the New Zealand setting could be considered Marsh’s “unique selling point” for this era of crime fiction.
It seems to me from this early stage of my reading (and from the synopses of books I’m yet to read) that Marsh’s murders are very theatrical in themselves. Last time I mentioned the ghoulish sense of humour that shines through when she dispatches her unlucky victims, and that’s very much in evidence here.
The murder appears to be a terrible accident that occurs during a surprise party thrown at the theatre. Since the party is being thrown by actors and backstage crew, it’s carefully rehearsed and constructed, yet it still goes wrong. The surprise party is not a surprise for the reader – we see it being prepared – so the sense of tension and anticipation I got from connecting the title and the planned surprise was immense.
The very moment that’s supposed to be the climax of the event is subverted, as the victim’s head is smashed by a massive bottle of champagne. The way Marsh describes the results is fantastic in its use of colour and imagery; gruesome without quite showing you the corpse. This scene was the most memorable moment of the book, and the rest of it never managed to live up to it.

Another point of interest is the evocative descriptions of the New Zealand landscape. Going for a picnic in a jungle is certainly out of the ordinary for classic detective fiction, and the mountains rising over the town at all times really create a sense of place. The theatre itself also feels like a real, lived-in building. I did have to look at the map to understand the layout, though. Which posed a bit of a problem when trying to understand the events of the murder – I gave myself a headache trying to place the events onto the provided map. It turns out the map in my modern 3-in-1 edition has been scanned and updated from the map in the first edition – scanned and updated wrongly. The key location has had its label moved to the wrong side of the map! Shoddy work, Harper Collins. Anyway, Marsh actually does have things all planned out.

Speaking of plans – at its core, this mystery all comes down to who was where when in the theatre at a crucial moment. Marsh does a decent job at complicating all this, but ultimately it didn’t feel like a substantial enough mystery to sustain the whole book – especially when the case is solved simply by properly questioning an overlooked witness. The only reason Alleyn has to help is because the New Zealand police are portrayed as buffoons.
There is an additional “murder attempt” that happens before the murder, but given it could easily have been an accident, I thought Alleyn’s theorizing about it was weak. Admittedly, Alleyn breaking an alibi by performing a little “magic trick” was entertaining.

I found Alleyn much less annoying here, compared to his appearance in Death at the Bar. Without his partner Fox he’s much more subdued, and his attempts at frivolity are met with the appropriate bafflement, until he gives up. Sadly, since he writes to Fox, I’m still forced to read “‘teckery” on the page. He seems conscious, here, of his effect on others, in particular his New Zealand colleagues. Though he is well out of his jurisdiction, Alleyn is still running the show. Marsh wisely avoids sending the New Zealand inspector too far in the Lestrade direction, and the local police happily work with Alleyn. I also enjoyed Alleyn’s attempts to understand New Zealand slang.

Characterization of the suspects seemed, in Death at the Bar, to be one of Marsh’s strong points; here, results are more mixed. The different theatrical “types” are very colourful, and I suspect they’re drawn from life. Marsh picks one character trait and sticks to it, which makes them easy to tell apart, but leaves them rather flat. Leading lady Caroline Dacres stands out as initially being unbearably annoying, but becomes more interesting as more layers to her character are revealed. The fact that the victim actually was a well-liked and kind person, one whom we got to meet before his death, adds to the effect as well.

One character that Marsh takes particular care and attention depicting Dr. Rangi Te Pokiha, the attending doctor, who happens to be Maori. Marsh – and Alleyn – treat him with respect. Marsh touches on subjects involved in colonialism, and she doesn’t shy away from depicting racism and the damage it causes. And yet… she lets Dr Te Pokiha down at the end, by perpetuating a stereotype; by having his actions stem from his race rather than his character. Despite this disappointing conclusion, I found it refreshing to read an actual Golden Age novel tackling this head on; by modern eyes some of it is painful to read, but I learnt a lot about how race, as an issue, was considered at the time. Marsh shows self awareness, too – mentioning settlers giving their children “Maori Christian names because they sound pretty” – with Ngaio being one such child herself. This aspect of the book is one other unique point in its favour – even if Marsh couldn’t quite put the same enthusiasm into all aspects of the story.

While this was an enjoyable read, the mystery itself is not particlarly memorable. But it definitely has its unique points that make me glad to have read it. Many writers choose theatrical settings – Marsh does it with panache. The New Zealand landscape is an unusual and compelling setting for a murder mystery. Most GAD fiction unintentionally records the attitudes of the time; Vintage Murder is quite intentional about this, mostly to its benefit.

Other opinions:

Golden Age of Detective Fiction
The Grandest Game in the World
In Search of the Classic Mystery
Kiwi Crime
Mystery File
My Reader’s Block