The Widows of Malabar Hill by Sujata Massey

Always looking for a good murder, that’s me. Throw in a strong female lead, an unusual setting, respectful cultural detail, history by the bucketful, and impressive writing chops, and well, I’m happy as a pig in a midden. Sujata Massey’s The Widows of Malabar Hill (Soho Crime, 2018) is set in 1920s Bombay, and features a Zoroastrian (Parsi) female lawyer tracking a murderer, battling bigotry, and fighting for her female clients’ rights. Call me Porky.

It’s 1921, and Perveen Mistry, Bombay’s first woman solicitor, is finishing up a property contract in her office in Mistry House. But oh, her path to success has been rocky. Her father’s a lawyer too, which enabled her become the first woman to attend law school at Elphinstone College. But when she becomes the second-highest -scoring student after the first year, she’s made the target of terrible harassment and academic sabotage by the male students, who are resentful she’s showing them up. After many twists and turns, Perveen completes her law studies in Oxford, and returns to Bombay to help her father.

While many refuse to deal with a woman, Perveen’s gender finally becomes an asset when dealing with a particular set of clients–Muslim ladies who are purdahnashins (followers of strict Purdah laws), who live in a zenana and must avoid men who aren’t close family. A rich Muslim man Mr. Farid, with a valuable house in ultra-posh Malabar Hill, has just died, and his three widows (the titular ladies) have just signed away their monies to be donated to the family’s wakf. (Acc. to Wiki, a wakf is “an inalienable charitable endowment under Islamic law, which typically involves donating a building, plot of land or other assets for Muslim  religious or charitable purposes with no intention of reclaiming the assets. The donated assets may be held by a charitable trust.”)

Perveen suspects that the paperwork, handled by the household agent Mukhri, isn’t quite aboveboard, and decides to meet the Farid widows to ensure they haven’t been coerced into signing away their property. Mukhri turns out to be a sleazeball, and Perveen is justly worried for the wives’ fate. Even as she’s figuring out the best way to confront him, Mukhri turns up dead, stabbed in a particularly vicious manner. Whodunit? And will there be a real push by the (British) police to figure it out?

It’s a juicy mystery, but the real lure of this novel for me lies in Massey’s adept detailing of the socio-cultural context of the murder.  Here be Hindu, Muslims, Zoroastrians, Armenians, Anglo-Indians, Jews, and the British, all boiling away furiously in the cauldron that is pre-independence Bombay. (Massey herself is German-Indian, was raised in Minnesota, and lives in Baltimore.) Each community has its own hierarchy, and its own markers of worth and respectability, but beware of making quick assumptions about liberation and progressiveness. The characters are complex individuals who are impossible to stereotype; while they are very much part of their religious and ethnic identities, they are much more than single stories. The British are colonizing India, but Perveen’s best friend is a queer English girl who is very willing to help Perveen. Parsis pride themselves on their progressiveness, but some rigidly sequester women during their menstrual cycles, to the extent of denying them the right to even clean themselves.  Muslim women might live in seclusion (voluntary or involuntary), but Muslim law allows widows to claim their dower against the husband’s estate even before the legacy distribution…

And oh, Massey’s research, and her attention to detail, are simply glorious.  For instance, we’re told Perveen has a golden-brown Swaine Adeney bridle leather briefcase, with her initials stamped in gold (it’s the case depicted on the book cover). Who can resist such specificity? I googled it, and yes, for a mere £1795 you can get Perveen’s case at Swaine Adeney Brigg, “individually created in [their] Cambridge workshop by a single craftsman”.  rac99tay_mediumAnd Perveen’s grandfather’s portrait hanging in Mistry House was done by one Samuel Fyzee-Rahamin, who studied under Sargent. And indeed, this Poona-born Jewish painter, known for his portraits, married a Muslim lady, adopted Islam, and moved to Pakistan; check out for more about him. And did you know that under Parsi law back then, adultery was defined as “a married man’s act with a married lady who is not a prostitute?” It wasn’t adultery, but mere fornication if the man had sex with a prostitute–and not considered to be sufficient cause for divorce, or even legal separation.  I could go on and on, but seriously: read the book.

And if you have the remotest connection to Bombay or Mumbai, you’ll loooove this book. The Widows… is an object lesson on how to perfectly balance a novel’s appeal between plot and setting.  “[The area called] Fort’s twenty square miles were once the East India Company’s original fortified settlement. Now the district was known for the High Court and the many law offices around it. Nestled alongside the British and Hindu and Muslim law offices were a significant number owned by […] Zoroastrians. Although Parsis accounted for just 6% of Bombay’s total inhabitants, they constituted one-third of its lawyers.” Here’s Perveen, buying sweets from Yazdani’s, an Irani bakery, before hailing a sunbonnetted rickshaw to Ballard Pier to greet the SS London. Here’s a mention of Lord Tata’s proposal for the development of Back Bay. One of the Farid widows was dowered with some not-so-useful swampland in Girangaon, where they’ve now built a mill or two or ten. There’s talk of Bombay’s Gothic architecture, and hey, Mistry House was designed by James Fuller, the  English architect who built the High Court. Queen’s Necklace, Chowpatty Beach…they’re all there, and how.

Perveen is based on the real-life Cornelia Sorabji, who was “the first female graduate from Bombay University, the first woman [of any race, I think!] to study law at Oxford University, the first female advocate in India, and the first woman to practice law in India and Britain.”  Wow. “Sorabji got involved in social and advisory work on behalf of the purdahnashins, women who were forbidden to communicate with the outside male world. In many cases, these women owned considerable property, yet had no access to the necessary legal expertise to defend it. Sorabji was given special permission to enter pleas on their behalf before British agents of Kathiawar and Indore principalities, but she was unable to defend them in court since, as a woman, she did not hold professional standing in the Indian legal system. Hoping to remedy this situation, Sorabji presented herself for the LLB examination of Bombay University in 1897 and the pleader’s examination of Allahabad High Court in 1899. Yet, despite her successes, Sorabji would not be recognised as a barrister until the law which barred women from practising was changed in 1923.”

I’ve blogged about Massey’s excellent Rei Shimura mysteries earlier, but I have to say, she’s really upped her game with Perveen Mistry, and I’ll be HUGELY upset if after creating such a magnificent set-up, Massey isn’t slogging away at a sequel. And while I’m dreaming, maybe Netflix could make it a series too? Subaltern Phryne Fisher FTW!



Zen Attitude by Sujata Massey

Few thrills equal the pleasure of finding that an enjoyable crime novel is one of a decad.  Sujata Massey’s  Zen Attitude is the second book in the  Rei Shimura series, and it’s a fine caper indeed.  Rei is a half-Japanese, half-American (white) woman  who has an unerring instinct for finding and creating trouble.  When the beautiful chest for which Rei spent a bomb turns out to be fake–no, not that kind of chest, this one is an antique tansu cabinet–Rei is in serious financial trouble. But Rei’s troubles really take off when the dealer who sold her the chest is murdered; she’d better figure out what’s going on before she becomes the next victim.  Meanwhile, Rei must deal with the disintegration of her love-life due to her boyfriend’s blind affection for his layabout young brother–who seems to have moved in permanently.

Rei is the sort of person who couldn’t sneeze without a masked figure handing her a blood-stained handkerchief.  With embroidery that hides a message. Made from special cotton that grows in just one valley in Egypt… yes, the plot occasionally feels slightly forced and formulaic, but on the whole,  I enjoyed the book very much.  I was especially taken with Massey’s depiction of Japan, and, in particular, Rei’s position in this country–as an insider who can never quite become part of the system, Rei is excellently located as an observer of Japanese customs and culture. Massey’s writing is keen and fresh when describing the interior of a local police station, or the social and legal conventions of a fender-bender.

Together we surveyed the results of our collision. The truck’s damage appeared minimal: a bit of the Windom’s shiny black paint had rubbed onto his fender. But my left taillight was smashed. The driver picked delicately at the remaining glass chips, wrapped them up in a tissue and handed them to me.

“Domo sumimasen deshita.” The man’s formal apology startled me before I remembered that under Japanese law, the vehicle hitting the other is automatically at fault.

“I’m sorry, too. I was distracted.”

“It is solely my fault. And look at what I’ve done to your beautiful car.” The man’s voice cracked. I realized then that he was probably worried about getting into an accident while driving a company vehicle. I was going to reassure him that I wouldn’t sue, but he already had his hand in his wallet.

“What about the paint on your truck? Are you sure you won’t have trouble at work?”

He looked at his fender and shook his head. “It is ordinary depreciation they will not notice. But I must reimburse you. I will not leave until I do so!”

I had been drifting. He had been nosing into my lane. I supposed we both were at fault. I took the money without looking at it, still feeling guilty. “If you give me your address, I can send you a copy of the bill, and any change if you need it.”

“Please don’t trouble yourself!” He had jumped back into the truck again. Since no names or document information had been exchanged, he could rest securely and believe that the matter had ended.

Interesting secondary characters including a failed judo champion and a handsome monk further energize Rei’s adventures. While these characterizations are sometimes skimpy, Rei is really well done. I like her mix of brashness and wisdom.  I like her pride and her niceness and her energy.  I like  the judgement she shows in accepting some of the constraints  Japanese society places upon her and bucking others. No, I don’t want to be friends with Rei–I’d probably be coshed and kidnapped (and then saved and rewarded, but much later) because of our association. But I do want to read about her.  My library houses nine of the ten Shimura books; huzzah!

Miss Marple’s cleverer sister

A sad, sad, day six years ago, I finished reading everything Agatha Christie had published. Yes, even the Mary Westmacott weepies. Just as I resigned myself to  hanging around her grave waiting for a miracle, I discovered Patricia Wentworth’s Miss Silver mysteries.

book cover of   The Case of William Smith    (Miss Silver)  by  Patricia Wentworth

The Case of William Smith

It’s soon after WWII when we meet William Smith, second-in-command at Tattlecombe’s Toy Bazaar in London. Although William seems perfectly ordinary, down to his commonplace name, he suffers from amnesia. Life before 1942, when he woke up in a German hospital with a head wound, is a blank. William has, however, managed to pull it together. He carves quirky wooden animals for the toy shop, has scraped together the funds to buy a car, and is now in love with the new shop assistant, Katherine, who is beautiful and gentle and willing.

Then, an attempt is made on William’s life, and the only reason can be William’s missing past. Katherine decides to consult Miss Silver.


A retired governess turned private investigator, Miss Maud Silver  is first a lady, at least by her own definition, and then a detective. More British than a Beefeater’s elevenses, Miss Silver dresses drably, believes in breeding and restraint and God and King and good old-fashioned classism. She is clever, oh, preternaturally so, to the extent some police friends believe she hides her broomstick in the hall closet.

Miss Silver is most often compared to Christie’s Miss Marple–both are elderly unmarried British women whose innocuous appearance helps them gather information when more flamboyant characters might fail. But unlike Miss Marple, Miss Silver is a professional.  And while Miss Marple is shrewd, Miss Silver possesses a profound intelligence that her clients often find unsettling; Katherine, for instance, “feels the kind of panic which comes in dreams when you find yourself naked among the clothed.” Yes, Miss Silver could probably rotate a 3X3 matrix in her head while casting off stitches for a woolly jumper.

Tempering Miss Silver’s acuity is her sympathy for her clients. It’s a tad strained, reserved for those fulfilling Miss Silver’s ideas of morality and good behavior, but it’s there, and thank goodness for it, for I wouldn’t like these books as much otherwise.

Furthermore, while Miss Marple plays a lone hand, keeping everyone (including the reader) guessing till the end, Miss Silver works with her protagonists to solve the mystery, and we follow her thought process and actions through the story. Miss Marple’s modus operandi, in essence, is to draw a parallel with some village event—a murdered cabinet minister reminds her of the ne’er-do-well nephew of the fishmonger, and presto! she deduces the identity of the killer. Miss Silver relies on inductive reasoning; presented with a set of facts, she can isolate the possible outcomes with great precision. The suspense in a Wentworth isn’t as much to do with the crime already committed as with the one yet to take place–it’s important to find William Smith’s identity (and that of his would-be assassin) so as to prevent the next attempt on William’s life from succeeding. And to make sure William and Katherine live happily ever after. Every Miss Silver mystery has at its heart a romantic couple (not a romance necessarily). This couple must and will unite; under no circumstances will either party die or prove to be a villain, and if a crime was committed by either, it will have been in ignorance, and with no lasting ill-effects. (Such foreknowledge about the end has never diminished my enjoyment of the books–the romance triumphant is as much part of the series as Miss Silver’s velvet coatee, or the creepy brooch with the hair of her grandparents).

The chief issue I have with Wentworth is her all-too-evident dislike of ambitious women. Her heroines aren’t weak—most exhibit immense strength of character, toil without complaint, and show great loyalty to their loved ones—but they do not prize independence or success. A woman who deliberately plots  to advance her social/financial position through marriage or professional achievement is considered a dangerous unsettling force in Wentworth’s universe, for her ambition usually twists her femininity into something unwholesome.  While Miss Silver is indeed a professional, she is in it to serve Truth and Justice, and definitely not for the money, and you know she’s rather go hatless than advertise.  Modern-day readers who are impatient with such biases may find Wentworth’s heroines hard to digest. And the heroes are of course all tall dominating providers, but you’ve guessed that by now.

Wentworth’s prose, while lacking the depth and beauty of say, a late Sayers, is unfussy and clean, and does the job satisfactorily. Her plots aren’t as ingenious as Christie at her peak, and are sometimes overburdened with tedious detail, but keep me turning the pages.  I’ll stop the faint praise here to assert that the appeal of a Miss Silver mystery chiefly lies in Miss Silver. To watch that mind at work, to savor her critics’ reaction turn from scorn to fear, to smile over the small details of her physical appearance, to startle at and then appreciate her rare wit—these are the reasons I read these books over and over. Miss Silver is an institution, and somewhat to my own surprise, one I’ve grown fond of. And, if I might presume to guess, so might you.


Note: Patricia Wentworth wrote 32 Miss Silver mysteries, starting with Grey Mask (1928). There is very little information about her on the net;  a rather threadbare account of her life may be found at Wikipedia.

This post is my contribution to The Golden Age of Detective Fiction blog tour.

Random Bookish Stuff

You know how you visit IMDB intending to look up that guy in the Gap commercial because he was in Six Feet Under, or maybe it was LOTR, and it’s sort of bugging you, and then two hours of your life are gone?  Well, here’s another timesink–TV Tropes, a site exploring  “the tricks of the trade for writing fiction. ” Don’t be put off by that so-dry-it’s-flaking description, or by the dreadful layout that forces you to scroll way past a series of ads to reach the menu (in tiny font, of course).

TV Tropes identifies common tropes in television, film, and literature,  and presents them in a unified framework solely for the reader’s edification delight. An example:  if you read Calvin and Hobbes, you’re probably familiar with the noodle incident. Here it is anyway.

So, the Noodle Incident trope refers to a past incident that is often mentioned but never actually explained (the underlying assumption is that the said incident is too complicated or outrageous to elaborate upon).  The noodle incident in the Sherlock Holmes series, for instance, refers to a case featuring the giant rat of Sumatra, which Watson claims “the world is not ready to hear about”.  In Wodehouse:  “repeated references are made to the never-actually-recounted “Story of the Prawns” which relates a humiliatingly hilarious incident in the youth of stuffed shirt Sir Gregory Parsloe-Parsloe.” I only looked at the noodle incidents in literature, but there are tons of examples in all genres, all spellbinding.

Another useful trope is the Woobie,  “that character you want to give a big hug, wrap in a blanket and feed soup to when he or she suffers so very beautifully.” Examples of the Woobie on the site include Tom Robinson (To Kill a Mockingbird) and Velutha (GoST).  And to end, a tiny sample of  some (self-explanatory) tropes. There’s  “Normally I Would be Dead by Now” (where you might see  a “My Name is Inigo Montoya” sequence), “Did Not Do the Research”, “Important Haircut”, and “Forgets to Eat”.  You know you won’t sleep tonight.

Hat tip: The Morning News


Bloggers everywhere are reviewing their favorite works featuring murder and mayhem, for The Golden Age of Detective Fiction is touring the blogosphere over the next four weeks. The Golden Age refers to the period spanning the 1920s and 30s  when detective fiction reached its high watermark; the best known writer of the era is probably Agatha Christie.

I have a insatiable craving for the cozy mystery, totally getting off on sleepy English villages filled with homicidal maniacs dabbling in untraceable alkaloids. So I’m very glad to participate in this challenge, and I’ll be reviewing the work of a writer who, in my very humble opinion,  deserves to be up there with Christie and Co.  Patricia Wentworth is the creator of Miss Silver, a retired governess turned private eye. Miss Silver is often compared to Christie’s Miss Marple, but she’s quite unique, and I’ll be elaborating on that next week, in my review of The Case of William Smith. (Btw, Miss Silver has her own noodle incident: the case of the poisoned caterpillars. Yes, TV Tropes does that to you.)

Other authors reviewed in the challenge include Allingham, Tey, Chandler, Hammett, Chesterton and Ngaio Marsh, to name a few, so do visit this challenge if you like classic mysteries. The tour schedule can be found here.