The Murder Room

Title: The Murder Room

Author: PD James

ISBN: 0 141 01553 5

Published: Penguin Books

Date: 2003

The reviews snippets on the cover-jacket of this book promise that its:

“Genuinely chilling, a delight”
“Wholly engrossing, scintillates from the start”
“A totally absorbing read, a detective thriller of superb quality.”

Don’t be fooled.

I can’t remember a more soporific read. By comparison my school geography textbook was thrilling. I did make it though to the zimmer-frame supported end, but only after a limp of a read during which Hubby exclaimed many times he’d never seen me take so long over a book.


This was the first honest-to-goodness plain murder mystery I’d read, and I was expecting… well, a few murders, and a bit of detection. Was that wrong? The first victim doesn’t even come along until page 151. Almost the whole bulk of the book is made up of characterisation. There is some slight movement, but really the barest minimum possible. Some would say, far less than would be sensible. Particularly under the circumstances – that is, that of it being a supposed thriller.

There’s nothing wrong with characterisation. I’m all for it. It’s when its characterisation at the exclusion of absolutely everything else that it may be a problem. The plot… well as there’s precious little of it I won’t give anything away but suffice it to say it’s an investigation around murders connected to the Dupayne Museum, an establishment dedicated to the history of the inter-war years in the UK.


To give it its due, the book was extremely useful to me at the time, as I had to write a piece on the theme of “creating a detective” - and indeed it’s a great model of construction and well worth studying in that context. However, I don’t expect this particular aspect will be of much use to most readers.

While reading the novel, I couldn’t help reflecting how much of it is geared towards the television series. I may be mistaken but it felt more like a background character guide for the actors than anything else. Indeed, were the action sliced down to that which is actually there, it could make for a reasonably choppy bit of text. Sieved down to a screenplay of less than a quarter of the length, with the novel as background reading, it might start to make sense. I’ve never read a PD James before (outlook’s pretty bleak for future readings, too) and barely glanced at the TV series but even so it all strikes me as the only reason anyone would want to tackle ‘thriller’ writing in this way. Some passages in particular ring little alarm bells. When the pathologist enters the scene, there’s an in-depth passage about how he’s aged, looking different. Different from what? He’s only just appeared. Of course, the novels too are part of a series, but even so it reaches out like a slap in the face. Was it geared towards the actor’s changing characteristics, or perhaps a change of cast?

Also surprising was the fact that some of the descriptive passages are very evocative, not to mention almost lyric. Once again I don’t know the background, but in the absence of such knowledge I’d guess the writer was primarily a poet, who’s had to change tack for practical reasons. Again, not something I was expecting, but at least a pleasurable surprise this time.

If you’re a PD James fan, you’ll probably think this review is heresy, utter a few exclamations of disgust and move on. If however you’re not, and are looking for a thrilling read, this is not a book I’d recommend.