The Poisoned Chocolates Case by Anthony Berkeley

It is staggeringly ahead of its time in all manner of ways, and in re-reading the new version from the British Library I’ve come to hold it in an even higher regard than I did about 12 years ago when it first (and last) crossed my path. It deserves to be famous for more than simply its core idea, though - for reasons no less than the fact that is it superbly written, full of the kind of vim, snark, weightless insight, and effortless thrust-and-parry that shows the detective novel at its very best, as well as the brilliance of the insight Berkeley is bringing in deconstructing a genre which was only just establishing itself (this being coming out before Agatha Christie had enjoyed arguably her finest decade - the 1930s - and before even the greatest proponent of detective fiction ever to take up the craft - c’mon, you know who I mean - had even published a novel). For this conceit alone, and the genius way Berkeley uses his different sleuths to unpick the sparse and simple known facts, this book has passed into near-legend in detective fiction circles. The police, with no culprit in sight, allow six amateurs with a fascination for real life crimes to theorise and present their own solutions, each one appearing watertight until someone finds a flaw that brings the edifice down.

The setup of The Poisoned Chocolates Case is rightly very famous: a lady is killed when a box of chocolates given to her husband by another member of his gentlemen’s club - who himself received them unsolicited through the mail - turns out to have been laced with poison.

The Poisoned Chocolates Case by Anthony Berkeley