The Avenging Parrot
The Avenging Parrot was part of a large stack of pre-WW II mystery novels, thrillers and detective novels I bought at a sale at the local library. You can't go very far wrong for 50 eurocents, I thought, and bought the book.
I'm not sure whether it was worth it. I mean — it's not the fifty cents I resent, but the space the volume occupies on my shelves. Because The Avenging Parrot is not a good book. Not at all.
There appears to have been in existence a class of mystery novels set in boarding houses. Boarding house mysteries, so to say. Of course, the premise is interesting. In a boarding house there are collected people from all walks of life, but all passers-by, poor and rich. And when one of the steady boarders is murdered, you might end up with an interesting novel.
The Avenging Parrot is set in a small town in the United States. An Irish boy arrives there to come and work in the police force his uncle commands. He's had some experience in Scotland Yard and is an all-round white boy, very, very white indeed.
In the boarding house there's an old woman who likes to play with peoples feelings by reassigning her inheritance a lot; and a young girl who's so infuriatingly droopy that the new police inspector cannot help but fall in love with her. Instant malus points from me.
From there it gets worse. Stilted, clumsy prose. Stupid people. Silly inventions. A completely unbelievable plot. No, Anne Austin is definitely not a good example of the Great Age of detective story authors. Let's leave it at that...