P. D. James Delivers Stylish But Shallow Agatha Christie-ish Mystery

There is something wonderfully satisfying about a guilty pleasure. Whether it be a sleazy novel, Ace of Base, the tabloids, St. Elmo's Fire, Melrose Place, a brainless action movie or Baywatch, it's mighty fun to gorge on trashy entertainment.

And yet, there's something even more fulfilling about reading a cheesy novel in the guise of literature. Sure, it may not be Doestoevsky, but it's an "intellectual activity" nonetheless (even if it's done on the beach while sipping iced tea).

P.D. James, the guilty pleasure of the British, tries her hardest to put a cerebral veil over her shamefully entertaining prose. Well-practiced in her deception, James takes typical whodunits and wraps them in eloquent, flowing language. At times, she almost convinces you--gasp!--that a thriller is of literary value.

There certainly is no failure to entertain in A Certain Justice, her fourteenth novel. True, P.D. James rips off Agatha Christie to an appalling degree, but at least she does it well. The novel moves at a lightning pace, keeping the reader guessing with its red herrings and cleverly placed twists.

The stories all adhere to the same, well-oiled formula. First, there is a murder in an unusual setting, followed by categorization of the possible suspects, and detective Adam Dalgliesh's investigation into the mysterious affairs. A Certain Justice follows this recipe--but in this case, there are two murders that must be solved. The novel, strangely enough, begins with a trial--the strong, stubborn Venetia Aldridge is defending Garry Ashe on charges of brutally killing his aunt. Aldrige knows that Ashe is guilty, but she's learned over the years that winning is always the goal. There is no room in Aldrige's mind for even a semblance of a conscience. She lies, grandstands and manipulates in order to get Ashe off--and indeed she does.

Is it any surprise then that she is murdered soon after? James makes the scenario slightly more melodramatic, however, by fooling around with the murder scene. Venetia is found in her office, stabbed through the heart--wearing a judge's wig and covered in blood that is not her own. The initial horror of the murder makes the subsequent investigation all the more fascinating.

Enter Commander Adam Dalgliesh--James' clone of Hercules Poirot--to save the day. We soon are introduced to the many suspects: the housekeepers in the law chambers, Ashe himself, Aldridge's daughter, lawyers in the office, Aldridge's lover, the judges of the court and of course the mysterious men from her past. There is, of course, absolutely no doubt that Dalgliesh will solve the mystery, save all those in distress and manage to be ridiculously heroic at all times. But we don't mind as long as the shameless thrills keep coming.

And James delivers them in buckets. The trickery that she laces within her story often rivals that of Agatha Christie--she provides an extended categorization of the suspects, and slowly begins to make it obvious who the killer really is. Right when you think you've discovered the identity of the murderer, however, your favorite suspect is brutally slayed. And then the game starts over again, and again, and again--until the one suspect that seemed absolutely innocent begins to take on a new light.

Eventually, Dalgliesh emerges victorious, but that certainly isn't a surprise. Nor is it irritating--Dalgliesh is an impressive protagonist in that he doesn't always seem invincible. Hercule poirot and Miss Marple in Christie novels always seemed to transcend the material--solving mysteries was just as nonchalant an activity as having tea every afternoon. Dalgliesh is more caught up in the twists and turns of the story; like the reader, he doesn't have things figured out until the very end. Often, mystery authors cheat by holding back key pieces of evidence and leaving the audience in the dark. James is confident enough to give us all the facts--she knows she'll have us befuddled anyway.

But A Certain Justice is most enjoyable because of its deliciously subversive literary flair. James' prose is eloquent and yet strikingly lucid. The opening line of the novel, "Murders do not usually give their victims notice," is the perfect segway into a haunting exploration of Venetia Aldrige's character. The well-practiced virtuoso quality in A Certain Justice draws you into its foreboding atmosphere: "Has it ever occurred to you that a woman, when she is powerful, is more powerful than a man?" asks one of the suspects. The flowing prose often reaches its own stylistic climaxes, independent of plot events.

There are two major flaws that mar James' effort. First, there is the fact that Aldridge is such an unsympathetic character. She rants and raves, lies and deludes--we feel absolutely no remorse when she is killed. The ensuing investigation is satisfying only because of its many plot twists; finding justice for Aldridge's death seems the least important priority.

Moreover, James creates such a thundering entertainment vehicle through the first 300 pages that the ending inevitably comes as a disappointment. The resolution is one that is certainly surprising, and yet still remarkably dull. There is no shock, no haunting horror that lingers afterwards.

The ending finally awakes you from the trance of guilty pleasure. It is the one part of A Certain Justice that finally makes you realize that P.D. James is not a substitute for Agatha Christie. In the latter's novels, there was a seductive evil that leaped off the page and made each and every novel memorable. James, on the other hand, is more in the market for immediate gratification--she delivers, but there's no lasting impact.