12 Books Like The G-String Murders

Golden Age mystery aficionados know Phoebe Atwood Taylor’s humorous Cape Cod mysteries, but they may not be familiar with the even more hilarious—in my opinion, anyway—mysteries she wrote as Alice Tilton.

A friend lent me Tillton’s The Left Leg. As soon as I’d read its last page, I was on the hunt for the rest of them.

Beginning with a Bash is the first in Tilton’s series starring Leonidas Witherall, a boys’ school headmaster, radio detective story writer, and dead ringer for William Shakespeare.

These mysteries read more like capers, with Witherall ricocheting around Boston as he stumbles over corpses, eludes gangsters, dons disguises, and deals with impudent children and persistent dogs. Guaranteed to make you laugh out loud.

Constance and Gwenyth Little—sometimes listed under the portmanteau Conyth Little—wrote 21 screwball mysteries in the 1930s and 1940s, starting with The Grey Mist Murders.

I’m recommending their second book, The Black-Headed Pins, because I think it’s where the Little sisters really begin to show their storytelling chops. Constance Little generally thought up the plots and clues, and Gwenyth fleshed out the books, both of them reportedly writing in bed each morning.

The Littles’ mysteries aren’t a series, but they have several items in common. They feature smarty-pants heroines, snappy dialogue worthy of a Frank Capra movie, and romantic disaster—until it all turns out right. The Black-Headed Pins ticks all these boxes.

It takes place over Christmas and involves a moving corpse, a family curse, and a miserly hostess that makes Scrooge look positively benevolent.

If screwball detective fiction intrigues you, you must read Craig Rice. Why not start with Eight Faces of Three, the mystery introducing the wacky, rye-soaked team of Jake Justus, Helene Brand, and John Joseph Malone?

Justus is a good-looking press agent and the book’s moral center; Brand is a gorgeous heiress and non-stop partier; and Malone is a stumpy lawyer-slash-PI with good instincts and better luck. Imagine Philip Marlowe meets the Marx Brothers.

In Eight Faces of Three, a young woman awakes to find her aunt murdered, all the house’s clocks set to 3 am, and herself the prime suspect.

Craig Rice was the first mystery writer to grace the cover of Time magazine. Her private life was strewn with ex-husbands and empty booze bottles, and she died way too young at 49.

However, her literary legacy—one critic dubbed her the “Dorothy Parker of detective fiction”—will keep her… show more.

Besides Nick and Nora, it’s not easy to find compelling sleuthing couples. Jane and Dagobert Brown are an exception. She Shall Have Murder introduces the duo.

Dagobert is a charming genius with an inability to settle down to a job, or, indeed, even a meaningful hobby for more than a few months. The novel is told from Jane’s point of view. She’s our Watson and is alternately frustrated and entranced by Dagobert. She’s also a crime novelist.

In She Shall Have Murder, Jane and Dagobert aren’t yet married. Dagobert is disentangling from his estranged wife, and Jane hasn’t yet established herself as a writer. With Dagobert’s encouragement, Jane drafts a mystery novel that takes place in the law office where she works. To their shock, the elderly client Jane has pegged as the book’s murder victim actually dies.

The coroner rules it an accidental death, but Dagobert is sure… show more.

The murder taking place at a comic con, of all places, really drew me in as a reader. I thought it did a great job capturing the essence of a comic con too, from enthusiastic fans to cosplayers and vendors!

Combining the chaos of the con with investigating the actual murder mystery going on throughout the book made for some really funny and unexpected scenes. I thought that the mystery and the complications of investigating it, thanks to its comic con setting and the people involved, make this book really engaging and fun. 

I enjoy stories about unsolved crimes, and Emma Donoghue starts with a murder in 1876 San Francisco and builds a story around a character trying to solve the crime.

The main characters, Burlesque dancer Blanche and frog catcher Jenny, quickly drew me into the story. When Jenny is murdered, Blanche believes she knows who murdered Jenny—and thinks she is responsible. I loved how Donoghue captured the rough and gritty San Francisco of the times.

I’m a great fan of author’s notes at the end of historical novels, and Donoghue’s lengthy afterword reveals much about what parts of the novel are based on fact and which imagined—and how she went about researching the story.

Alan R. Young’s close focus on an individual play over nearly two centuries shows how far images can shape our ideas of what a play is about. He looks at paintings, illustrations, prints, photographs, and comic burlesques, demonstrating the incredible variety of images which have been inspired by Hamlet. I find Young’s chronological approach incredibly helpful, since it shows how one image influences another, and how representations of a single scene can change over time in line with fashions in the art world. 

A collection of essays by leading scholars in the field exploring various aspects of the minstrel show in the 1800s, including its portrayal of women, social commentary, its music, and the prominent participation of African-Americans who staged their own minstrel shows. Good, concise treatment of many elements of the genre.

Oh, man… I love this book so much! Donnelly writes the kind of prose that makes me jealous. I frequently stop and go back, rereading her words just to savor the imagery and effortless flow. Characterizations are rich and full, not only for the leads but also for the background characters. Now, I need to point out that there is no magic in this book, so if you’re looking for dragons and lightning bolts, it won’t scratch that itch. But Amberlough feels like a proper fantasy world, and that earns it a place on this list. if you enjoy the encroaching global conflict of Lord of the Rings, but also love John LeCarre and Cabaret, Amberlough is the perfectly-blended cocktail you’ve been looking for.

I suspect that I was led to take The Malady of Death from my shelf by a subconscious directive. I admit that I am afraid of this book, its relentless probing, afraid I will never understand it however much I struggle. Confounded by it twenty-five years ago, I put it aside until my consciousness could mature. (Ha!) The fault must be mine, since her style, language, and structure are as limpid as Ernaux’s or Davis’s, although Duras’s prose carries a poetical charge deliberately absent in the other two writers. I begin to think that the trouble lies in my sex, that as a man, an Other to women, I can’t possibly know what Duras’s narrator is being made to gradually reveal not with the leer of a striptease artist but with the solemnity of a priestess presiding over ancient feminine mysteries.

Would feminists accuse me of being obtuse and,… show more.