Thursday Murder Club: Seniors Rule

 

THE THURSDAY MURDER CLUB (2020)

By Richard Osman

Viking Press, 400 pages

★★★★ ½ 

 

 

 

Richard Osman is a game show host in Britain. I assume he’s an amusing one because his novel The Thursday Murder Club is witty, wicked fun. We are told never to judge a book by its cover and the same applies to people. It’s mostly set at Coopers Chase, a rest home filled with folks in their 60s, 70s, and above who gather weekly to discuss murders, be they real or imaginary cases.  

 

A bunch of old codgers wiling away their days before the Reaper calls? Don’t be so sure. Coopers Chase also has residents who were once smart cookies and haven’t yet gone to crumb. They make sure unwanted interlopers don’t wander into their discussions by reserving a room as a gathering to appreciate Japanese opera! When not debating the fine art of homicide, several of them like to drink gin and tonics—from a can—or discuss the silliness of vegetarianism at a restaurant called Anything with a Pulse. In the best tradition of British eccentrics, they seldom resist whinging or judging. Joyce, a retired nurse, narrates much of the book and wears her opinions on her sleeve. When her Murder Club compatriot Bernard, a former petrochemical professor, is on his way to breakfast, she writes in her diary: “What he has for breakfast I don’t know, but who really knows what anyone has for breakfast? I usually have tea and toast with the local radio. I know some people have fruit, don’t they? I don’t know when that came into being, but it’s not for me.”

 

You know you’re in for a funny book when a character is more shocked by fruit for breakfast than gory crime. As you might anticipate, the club will get its chance to help solve an actual murder, something that prompts another member, Elizabeth, to remark, “So we were all witnesses to a murder. Which, needless to say, is wonderful.” She’s the most mysterious member of the senior set, one who knows so much about all things dodgy that we suspect she may have worked with British intelligence in her salad days. There’s also Ron, once a tough labor union boss, and Ibrahim, a former psychiatrist. Spouses and children also appear, the latter prone to wondering why their parents can’t act their age. Short answer: When you live in a place where people become senile or die on a regular basis, they are of an enjoy-it-while-you-still-have-it mindset.

 

They share the belief that the home’s director, Tony, is oily and untrustworthy. None shed a tear when he’s bludgeoned to death, but they thrill to an opportunity to solve the crime. Another delight of the novel is how able-bodied professionals underestimate their elders. This includes local law enforcement, though the geezers find a reluctant ally in Donna DeFreitas, a police officer whom they met when she gave a talk at Coopers Chase.

 

The novel’s humor is supplemented by a twisty plot in which all manner of suspicious and odd people drop in: a priest (or maybe not), a Polish builder, a reckless SUV driver, an ex-boxer/perhaps violent criminal (Ron’s son), a Cypriot gym owner, a thug-turned-florist, and a land developer so sleazy he makes Tony seem like a saint. (He’s reading a Richard Branson book titled Screw It, Let’s Do It, Lessons in Business and Life. That’s not a real title, but it could be.)

 

Like most mystery novels, this one has a barrelful of red herrings and long-buried secrets that leak from the barrel’s bottom. Osman strikes a nice balance in presenting his senescent investigators as a charming mix of being well-connected, logical, and perceptive, yet also out of touch with recent developments. When told that some of the answers she seeks might be lurking on the dark web Elizabeth asks, “And how would I go about getting on the dark web?” Ibrahim replies, “Well, I’m guessing, but if it were me, the first thing I would do would be buy a computer. Perhaps go from there.”

 

Will the elders and the young ‘uns solve the local crime wave? Of course, it’s a mystery novel. But I loved how Osman reminded us not to assume things about seniors, yet also interjected their feelings of loss and mortality. Maybe the only sensible recourse is to laugh your way to life’s final chapter.

 

Rob Weir