Book Review – Mr Bowling Buys A Newspaper by Donald Henderson

William Bowling is a thoroughly unpleasant customer. He is an insurance agent living with his wife in London during the Blitz. After one air raid he and his wife, Ivy, find themselves partly buried under masonry. Ivy won’t stop screaming. As Mr Bowling frees himself he silences his wife permanently. Thanks to the life-assurance pay off he is able to give up work, but killing has become an addiction, and anyone who crosses his path is likely to go the same way.

Unlike other murderers, but like many hooked to a habit, and only too aware of his addiction, he is desperate to get caught – until, that is, he meets the woman of his dreams, and suddenly has something to live for, and so is desperate not to get caught. But, in an outstanding scene, he has a problem, a body in his own flat he needs to get rid of.

Published in 1943, this was highly thought of at the time, not least by Raymond Chandler and George Orwell, the latter at the time, a BBC producer. It’s easy to see why. Murder, stirred in with black humour, so the blend is just perfect, is something many have tried to imitate, but few with such entertaining results. Very much ahead of its time, it also has a really good twist in its last pages.

Here’s a clip..

<blockquote> First he must spend a few very gloomy minutes washing up the blood, it was on Mr Farthing’s ugly mouth and had dried all over his broad nose, and it was on his hands, backs and fronts. Mr Bowling went and got his flannel and some hot water and a basin and some soap. He returned with it to the bathroom. When he had completed this singularly unpleasant task to his satisfaction, and brushed Mr Farthing’s clammy hair, he proceeded to pare Mr Farthing’s nails. They were sure to be full of bits of his murderer’s skin, or clothes, and would betray him under the microscope. Mr Farthing’s frightened eyes were wide open the whole time, watching him, and looking as if it was rather painful, having your nails carefully pared after you were dead. When he had finished, Mr Bowling shoved Mr Farthing’s dead head to and fro, rather fascinated by his broken neck, you could get it back an incredibly long way.

Then he lugged Mr Farthing up and sat him into the low chair in the bedroom, by the dressing table. He wanted to test his weight, and to see how he sagged. He sagged very badly when he tried to hold him upright, his toes hanging down, and his great head flopping forward. Mr Bowling got his own brown felt hat and shoved it on Mr Farthing’s head. It was a little too big, and Mr Farthing looked extremely grotesque in the deep chair there, with his knees all cock-eyed, and his shoulders sagging forward, and the brown hat bent in prayer. Mr Bowling looked at his watch again and hurried out. </blockquote>

and,

<blockquote> On an impulse he opened the front door and peeped out. There was nobody about, ‘No’, he thought, ‘but the moment I ruddy we’ll start my act, the bally passage will be alive with people!’. </blockquote>