I began reading this series at the beginning, intending to work my way straight through to the end. It started out okay, and I enjoyed the characters the author developed -- not only Detective Superintendent Richard Jury and his wealthy, once-titled buddy, Melrose Plant, but also the recurring villagers of Plant's acquaintance and Jury's apartment house neighbors and colleagues at work. Often they were better done than the actual plot, which are mostly getting sloppier and less thoughtful. This time, Jury is prevailed upon to undertake the investigation of an odd murder in Philadelphia -- at the same time Plant decides to journey to Baltimore to visit a young novelist in whom he developed a semi-romantic interest in the last book (. . . and who has now suddenly morphed into a full-fledged faculty member at Johns Hopkins), so it's off to America for both of them, plus the hypochondriac Sgt. Wiggins. And there, the book begins to fall apart. Both of the mysteries, naturally, coincidentally, turn out to be involved with each other and both are connected to a newly-discovered manuscript which might turn out to be an unknown Edgar Allan Poe story -- or it might be a fake. But Grimes appears driven, for some reason, to churn out pages and pages and pages of truly dreadful pseudo-Poe. And even though Grimes is an American, her account of the Brits' experiences reads like an insular British mystery writer's conception of what America is like.

Also, time passes at the normal rate in this series, so the main characters, who were in their 40s at the beginning, are now nearly sixty years old. And yet they behave like guys in their late twenties. (It's been fifteen years since this book was published, and Grimes is still cranking them out, so I hate to think what her seventy-year-old cop is getting up to.) Anyway, I found I couldn't make myself finish this one, and I won't be hunting out the next one.

Martha Grimes' mysteries, all of them, stand in an ordered rank on my bedroom shelves. She's a writer whose stories are worth reading and then re-reading. The puzzle is nearly always interesting and satisfactorily worked out. But that's not the real delight of the novels, only the entertaining excuse for two other more compelling reasons to read her. First, there's her Pickwickian cast of characters. They're a collection of perpetually and ruefully unattached men and women of indeterminate early middle age, who meet in a variety of colorfully named pubs and solve murders with more or less tragicomic flair, while they repeatedly fail to resolve the mysteries of their own inner lives. Second, there's the speculative and philosophical line of thought that often crops up as a secondary theme. Grimes gives this metaphysical aspect full play as a depth and dimension of counterpoint to her vivid characters and solid plot lines. The Horse You Came In On plots an intriguing mystery, but it is about writing, and specifically about plot invention in writing. Let me count the ways--a purported diary from Italy; a minimalist novel; the plagiarized version of the minimalist novel; a holograph manuscript that may or may not have been penned by Edgar Allen Poe; a Russian romance tale made up on the spot to amuse a child; a fabricated family history; a book of poetry; a work in progress (whose writer, to maintain focus, chains herself to her Johns Hopkins University desk--and thereby hangs the crisis of the plot); a hobbyist's attempt at a Dashiell Hammett-style mystery. All these literary productions are embedded in Grimes' own marvelous inventions, carrying us from the Tate Gallery in London to Baltimore, to Philadelphia, to the village of Long Piddleton in Northhamptonshire--just to name the more important locations. It's not often that one encounters a writer who can present thoroughly serious thinking in the form of comedy and at the same time stay competently in the mystery genre. Her novels are pleasing at every level. Her first mystery in this series is called The Man with a Load of Mischief. Start there and enjoy the wandering, speculative, humane, whimsical series of stories. You won't be disappointed.

As a devoted Martha Grimes fan, I can find something to like about every one of her books - with this one I relied on the tried and true characters of Jury, Plant, and Wiggins to pull me through the morass of plot twists, mediocre supporting characters, and the downright dismal portrayal of Baltimorians (can anyone possibly be that pathetic? I guess so.) One refreshing twist in this one - Richard Jury is nearly upbeat! It's often painful to follow him into the vat of depression that he absolutely must slog through in order to solve a case. Melrose is brilliant, as usual, and Wiggins is Wiggins. Gotta love him.

I COULD NOT FINISH THIS BOOK. I HAVE GREATLY ENJOYED THE OTHER INSPECTOR JURY MYSTERIES AND WAS REALLY DISAPPOINTED.. MY THEORY IS THAT THE FAULT LAY IN TRYING TO SET AN ENGLISH MYSTERY IN THE US. THE INTERIORITY AND SENSE OF PLACE THAT SO CHARACTERIZES ENGLISH MYSTERY DOES NOT WORK IN A SETTING LIKE THE US. FROM THAT
STEM ALL THE OTHER DIFFICULTIES WITH THIS BOOK-- FLOUNDERING AND LOST - BECAUSE THE CHARACTERS ARE NOT AT "HOME". AGATHA CHRISTIE COULD PULL IT OFF BUT WHEN POIROT WAS IN EGYPT, FOR INSTANCE, HE WAS SURROUNDED BY ENGLISHMEN WHO HAD IN EFFECT "BROUGHT' THEIR PORTABLE WC'S ( LIKE THE ENGLISH DID IN AFRICA) ON THEIR "SAFARIS". (sorry about the capitals - just noticed it)

A riddle: What could be more pathetic than Grimes' character Alejandro Vlasic? Grimes pours out the scorn, portraying this ridiculous figure in his ostentatious dress and preening, and laughable jealousy of his commercially successful genre fiction colleague. He sniffs arrogantly at her merely populist work, embarrassingly thrusting copies of his own justifiably ignored tiny single volume of pretentious poetry at anyone passing - all the while eating his liver in envy. We're left in no doubt that, unlike his colleague, he's a complete loser.

More pathetic than petty little Professor Vlasic? Well, how about a commercially successful genre fiction writer going to the trouble of carefully creating such a character? Really for Grimes to spend so much time glorifying a character, ahem, much like herself, and pillorying those who, it seems, she fears criticism from, is at best embarrassing for the reader.

Maybe I've started at the wrong end of her career - an amazon reviewer elsewhere recommended her `Man with a load of Mischief', but I found this later `Horse' at my local library instead. It felt really indulgent - many of the characters are writers, and Grimes just seems unaware that it's bad form for her to so unsubtly laud ones like herself. Moreover it feels like Jury and Melrose are supposed to be old friends - perhaps back for a last time reunion and we're just supposed to relish their presence. I don't even know if I would have, however, even if I had enjoyed them in previous books. It feels like those awful 'On Tour' TV episodes - you know, the Happy Days cast goes to Australia or something.

The detective story, at least, is engaging enough while it's there, but it's hardly central and driving. This is usually for me an attraction of a crime novel: I particularly enjoy ones that have enough going in character, humour and observation that they don't stand or fall on the plot - much as we can enjoy some of the ride when it's driving things. However Grimes' diversions generally don't grab me - particularly (did you get this) when she seems to be blowing her own trumpet (cf. Asimov's appallingly arrogant drivel in the last of his Foundation novels).