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Thus Was Adonis Murdered (Hilary Tamar) Mass Market Paperback – June 1, 1994

by Sarah Caudwell (Author)

4.2 358 ratings

Book 1 of 4: Hilary Tamar

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A young woman accused of murder while on holiday in Venice enlists a friend to come help her—but once they begin unraveling clues, there’s no telling what else will come to light.

“Sarah Caudwell is one of my very favorite mystery writers.”—A. J. Finn, New York Times bestselling author of The Woman in the Window

His was a body to die for . . .

Set to have a vacation away from her home life and the tax man, young barrister Julia Larwood takes a trip to Italy with her art-loving boyfriend. But when her personal copy of the current Finance Act is found a few meters away from a dead body, Julia finds herself caught up in a complex fight against the Inland Revenue.

Fortunately, she’s able to call on her fellow colleagues who enlist the help of their friend Oxford professor Hilary Tamar. However, all is not what it seems. Could Julia’s boyfriend in fact be an employee of the establishment she has been trying to escape from? And how did her romantic luxurious holiday end in murder?

Don’t miss any of Sarah Caudwell’s riveting Hilary Tamar mysteries:
THUS WAS ADONIS MURDERED • THE SHORTEST WAY TO HADES • THE SIRENS SANG OF MURDER • THE SIBYL IN HER GRAVE

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From the Publisher

Editorial Reviews

Review

“A tour de force . . . a hilarious comedy of manners.”—St. Louis Post-Dispatch

“An absolutely delightful mystery—erudite, witty, believable.”—The Arizona Daily Star

“Witty . . . clever . . . an elaborately plotted, very English and charming story.”—Publishers Weekly

“Caudwell’s light touch and the puzzle she presents make for a diverting tale.”—The Washington Post Book World

“A finely honed, icily witty gem of detective fiction.”—Mystery News

About the Author

Sarah Caudwell, the pipe-smoking author of Thus Was Adonis Murdered and three other novels featuring Oxford Don Hilary Tamar, died in 2000. “Hilary’s voice was in my head before any of the plots,” Caudwell told writer Martin Edwards in an interview for Mystery Scene. “I knew from the outset Hilary must be an Oxford don—but of equivocal sex and even equivocal age, resembling that precise, donnish kind of individual who starts being elderly at the age of twenty-two.”

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter 1

Scholarship asks, thank God, no recompense but Truth. It is not for the sake of material reward that she (Scholarship) pursues her (Truth) through the undergrowth of Ignorance, shining on Obscurity the bright torch of Reason and clearing aside the tangled thorns of Error with the keen secateurs of Intellect. Nor is it for the sake of public glory and the applause of the multitude: the scholar is indifferent to vulgar acclaim. Nor is it even in the hope that those few intimate friends who have observed at first hand the labour of the chase will mark with a word or two of discerning congratulation its eventual achievement. Which is very fortunate, because they don’t.

If the events in which Julia Larwood became involved last September had not been subjected to the penetrating scrutiny of the trained scholar—that is to say, my own—well, I do not say it is certain that Julia would even now be languishing in a Venetian prison. The crime being thought to be one of passion, great lenience might have been shown; the Italian Government might have declared an amnesty; the Foreign Office might have done something. Very possibly. I do say, however, that it was only as a result of my own investigation that Julia’s innocence was conclusively established and that she returned to England without a stain on her character.

As an instance of what the methods of Scholarship may achieve, the affair seems not unworthy of some written record. And you may think, dear reader, that those who had been able—modesty forbids me to say, if others do not choose to, privileged—to observe for themselves the process of my reasoning would have competed in eagerness to undertake the task. How little, if you think so, do you know the Chancery Bar. Timothy Shepherd—additionally inspired by the reverence which ought to be felt for his former tutor—that is to say, myself—Timothy, you might imagine, would have been delighted by the opportunity. But no—Timothy has a case on the Companies Act coming up in the House of Lords; he is weeks behind with his paperwork; he cannot do it. Selena Jardine, who is fond of Julia and would have been distressed by her prolonged incarceration—no, Selena is engaged in a planning enquiry on behalf of certain objectors to a road-widening scheme; she is months behind with her paperwork; she cannot possibly do it. Michael Cantrip and Desmond Ragwort, of the same Chambers—Cantrip is instructed on behalf of a lady who claims by custom immemorial to be entitled to hang her washing across her neighbour’s garden; the neighbour has instructed Ragwort to oppose the claim; they confidently expect the matter to occupy their attention for the best part of term, and that of a High Court Judge for at least a fortnight: no, clearly they cannot do it.

I am obliged, therefore, with some reluctance, to do the thing myself. It means my own work must be laid aside: the day must be deferred to a yet more distant future which sees the publication of Causa in the Early Common Law by Hilary Tamar and the appearance in learned journals of such phrases as ‘Professor Tamar’s masterly exposition’, ‘Professor Tamar’s revolutionary analysis’ and so forth. But I am content to make the sacrifice—if I hesitate, it is for fear that some of my readers will suspect that my motive for publication is mere self-advertisement. The danger of incurring so contemptible an opinion has almost deterred me; but I cannot allow mere personal delicacy to deprive the public of a possibly useful and instructive chronicle. I shall set down what happened, as it happened: and if, in the cause of Truth, I am unable to minimize my own achievement, I hope that the wiser spirits—I refer, in particular, dear reader, to yourself—will not think the worse of me for it.

I had decided to spend September in London—my work on the concept of causa required me to study various original documents in the Public Record Office. And Oxford in September is not at all amusing.

I had at first been uncertain where I should stay. For the occasional night or two, I am sure of a welcome at Timothy’s flat in Middle Temple Lane. I feared, however, that my presence for a whole month might place an excessive strain on his hospitality. Fortune came to my aid: a former colleague of mine, now the owner of a house and two cats in Islington, had arranged to spend the month in the United States of America and had realized, at a late stage, the difficulty of taking the cats with him to that country—he wrote in piteous terms, begging me to come and care for them. Happy to be of assistance to a fellow scholar, I consented.

On my first day in London I made an early start. Reaching the Public Record Office not much after ten, I soon secured the papers needed for my research and settled in my place. I became, as is the way of the scholar, so deeply absorbed as to lose all consciousness of my surroundings or of the passage of time. When at last I came to myself, it was almost eleven and I was quite exhausted: I knew I could not prudently continue without refreshment.

If, at eleven o’clock on a weekday morning, you leave the Public Record Office, turn right down Chancery Lane and continue past the Silver Vaults to the nearest coffee house, you will generally find gathered there (professional obligations and their Clerk permitting) the junior members of 62 New Square. They are a decorative little group—it would be a difficult taste that was pleased by none of them. Between Ragwort and Cantrip there are certain points of resemblance: they are the same age; of similar height; both thin; both very pale. But it is for those whose pleasure lies in the conquest of virtue that Ragwort’s delicate profile and demure autumnal colouring have a most particular charm. Cantrip, in sharp contrast, has eyes and hair of a witchlike blackness, more pleasing to those whose preference is for a savour of iniquity. Selena—I can think of no especially striking feature by which you might distinguish Selena from any other pretty woman in her middle twenties, average in height and roundness of figure, with hair an inconstant shade of blonde; I mean, until she speaks: for her voice is unmistakable, smooth and persuasive, the envy of rival advocates. But until then—well, if you can imagine a Persian cat which has just completed a successful cross-examination, that will give you some idea of her. Timothy, my former pupil, being by some two or three years the senior in call to the Bar, is detained more often than not by the claims of his profession and was absent on the morning of which I write—there is little point, therefore, in my describing him.

They will be debating one of those diverse questions which interest the minds of the Chancery Bar—when to apply by summons rather than by motion, what to do about Ireland, or whose turn it is to pay for coffee.

‘Perfectly scandalous,’ Ragwort was saying as I entered the coffee house. The object of his disapproval might have been almost anything—Ragwort has such high principles. It turned out on this occasion to be the price of coffee. But he is a young man of graceful manners—on seeing me he ordered another cup, almost without hesitation.

I had feared, in the middle of the Long Vacation, to find Lincoln’s Inn deserted. I expressed my surprise and pleasure at finding them.

‘My dear Hilary,’ said Selena, ‘you surely know by now that in the period ironically called the Long Vacation, Henry allows us to be away from Chambers for no more than a fortnight. Cantrip and I have already taken our fortnights—Ragwort is saving his for the end of the month.’

Henry is the Clerk at 62 New Square. From references which will from time to time be made to him some of my readers, unfamiliar with the system, may infer that Selena and the rest are employed by Henry under a contract more or less equivalent to one of personal servitude. I should explain that this is not the case: they employ Henry. It is Henry’s function, in exchange for ten per cent of their earnings, to deal on their behalf with the outside world: to administer, manage and negotiate; to extol their merits, gloss over their failings, justify their fees and extenuate their delays; to flatter those clients whose patronage is most lucrative; to write reproachfully to those who delay payment for more than two years or so; to promise with equal conviction in the same morning that six separate sets of papers will be the first to receive attention. By the outside world, I mean, of course, solicitors: nothing could be more improper than for a member of the English Bar to have dealings, without the intervention of a solicitor, with a member of the general public.

I asked if Timothy’s absence, at least, was attributable to pleasure. Selena and Ragwort shook their heads.

‘Got nobbled,’ said Cantrip.

‘Nobbled?’ I repeated, a little perplexed by the expression. Cantrip is a Cambridge man—it is not always easy to understand what he says. ‘Nobbled? By whom, Cantrip? Or, to adopt the Cambridge idiom, who by?’

‘Henry, of course,’ said Cantrip. ‘Spotted old Tim trying to make a break for it and sent out the guards to head him off. Had him hauled back to the stalag.’

Product details

Publisher ‏ : ‎ Dell; First Edition (June 1, 1994)
Language ‏ : ‎ English
Mass Market Paperback ‏ : ‎ 320 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 0440212316
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0440212317
Item Weight ‏ : ‎ 5.1 ounces
Dimensions ‏ : ‎ 4.24 x 0.7 x 6.8 inches

Best Sellers Rank: #324,242 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #1,848 in International Mystery & Crime (Books)
- #2,617 in Traditional Detective Mysteries (Books)
- #4,178 in Family Saga Fiction

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4.2 358 ratings

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John Bonavia

How not to take life, death, sex or taxes too seriously

Reviewed in the United States on February 22, 2009

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Well, I was never a barrister or law student, but I did go to Cambridge and did work in a large British company in London at a time before this wonderful tale was published, and I find the atmosphere of Caudwell's coterie at 62 New Square completely convincing! I remember Friday afternoons spent in the Group Head's office watching the Tests (that's cricket, for unenlightened souls) and the frequent leisurely lunches accompanied by ample wine. But our conversation was never quite as droll and crisp as that of Sarah Caudwell's characters, though we had our moments.

In other words, those who find the characters unconvincing are mistaken. They are indeed a world away from Boston or Texas, and this can either attract or repel according to your temperament. Another difference from an American mindset is the acknowledgment of sex as a pleasant pastime that can be pursued with equal zest by both sides - the friends at New Square happily follow Julia's ever-growing list of conquests (which have indeed previously included one of the group) with no sense of moral opprobrium.

Ah, Julia - what a wonderful portrait of a charming person quite unfitted to deal with the complexities of the modern age (Or perhaps of any age.) Her friends are concerned - from long experience - that she will be travelling to Venice alone, but one of them points out that the tours of the city will be made with a guide. Professor Tamar responds:

"..the qualities for a guide are not those of a nursemaid or a guardian of the mentally infirm. The poor fellow will take his eye off her for a moment and she will wander off. What then?"
"She will ask the way back to her hotel."
"She will have forgotten the name of her hotel."
"We have made her write it down on a piece of paper."
"She will have lost the piece of paper. She will find herself alone in a strange city. She will not know where she is or what she ought to do."
"The same thing," said Selena, "happens in London at least once a fortnight."

Another amusement - Caudwell, as an Oxford graduate, can't resist having her first-person narrator, also an Oxonian, poking fun at the ancient rival, Cambridge. One of the group, Cantrip - ah, suitable name - is a Cantabridgian and Caudwell has made him speak with lots of general British down-market slang, which the Professor believes must be the typical dialect of Cambridge, not recognizing it among his set of academic and legal acquaintances!

Others have outlined the plot, but the difference between this and the "typical" murder mystery is that the plot - though neat and suitably surprising at the end- is really the peg on which to hang the marvellous comedy of manners. Your enjoyment may vary, but Caudwell did her part, to perfection.

19 people found this helpful

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Durendal

Hilarious and a good read even for non-fans of mystery.

Reviewed in the United States on January 16, 2016

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Loved it! Like other readers, the main source of enjoyment for me was not the mystery itself, but the hilariously understated narrative style of Professor Tamar and the letters from Venice. This is the finest example of what I guess people call "comedy of manners" that I've ever read.

That said, there are a few nagging issues that prevent me from giving it five stars. At no point in the book, even the point where Hilary literally states that we have all the information required to know the identity of the killer, did I feel that there was enough for the reader to have any inkling of what happened. My reaction to the reveal was not "Aha!" but more like "whatever". Granted, I'm not necessarily the sharpest fork in the soup, but I was trying.

The letters from Julia and Timothy are so incredibly long as to stretch credulity. If you're from my generation or younger (the book was written before I was born) maybe that is an ill informed reaction. But Julia seems to recall the precise dialogue of everyone that she interacted with on that day as well. I realize that the letters are forming a necessary story element of exposition, and plot advancement, since Hilary himself never ventures to Venice. Yet I've read similar epistolary fiction where the letters come off much more genuine.

One last thing, a number of professional reviews talk about the mystery of the professor's gender. Do you concur? If not for the first name Hilary, it is hard for me to attribute any mystery to this. The professors internal reactions seem eminently male to me, especially in regard to things like the lack of thought of being a burden. "I'm sorry to miss breakfast at Ragworts....I assumed I would spend the day with you Selene, cooking for me will be no imposition for you, you only need to make me an omelette for lunch and sole with caper sauce for dinner...etc." Yes, this was all paraphrased.

Let me reiterate. Funny, funny book. Definitely get your hands on it somehow.

7 people found this helpful

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Carolien S

Very British legal mystery

Reviewed in the United States on November 21, 2021

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Completely over the top in language and characters, I loved this legal mystery. A young lawyer goes to Venice on holiday and finds herself the main suspect in a murder. In London, her colleagues with the help of Professor Hilary Tamar set out to solve the crime. The Venice part of the story is told through a series of letters and phone calls, we never meet Julia in person. Such absolute fun!

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Allison M.

Good author but book not so much.

Reviewed in the United States on August 13, 2023

Overdone.

Reviewed in the United States on February 26, 2019

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I've read these books in print for years and I've always agreed that Hilary's gender was carefully concealed. However, this reading has changed my mind. Check on the trip in Selena's car to the airport. Initially Hilary is in the front passenger seat, but after collecting the male passengers Hilary shares the rear seat with Cantrip and Ragwort. No Englishmen of this class would allow a lady to move to the rear seat. To make identification even stronger, at one point the two young men have a friendly tussle. Again, they would certainly not have done this if they were sharing the seat
with a lady! Other views will be welcomed. David

One person found this helpful

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RW

Hilarious

Reviewed in the United States on August 19, 2016

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If you have the right sense of humor, this book is hilarious. Do you find Jane Austen funny? You will find this funny too. It has the same kind of sophisticated, understated but ultimately skewering wit.

By the way, the summary Amazon gives bears NO relationship to the plot. Julia is not on holiday with her boyfriend, she is on holiday looking for sexual adventure. She finds it: then the young man is found dead with Julia's copy of the Tax Act (she is a tax lawyer) found by the bed. It looks as if she is the only person who could have killed him. But Hilary Tamar, an Oxford don of ambiguous sex but unambiguous scholarship, unravels the mystery and saves her reputation.

8 people found this helpful

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Karen

English murder remains a myystery

Reviewed in the United States on May 24, 2014

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Very English-speaking tale of murder in Venice. I found the rhetoric confusing at times. I did smile at times as the story unfolded. I can see it as a PBS mystery hour.

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FictionFan

Death in Venice…

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on March 30, 2024

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Young barrister Julia Larwood, highly intelligent but with zero common sense, has gone off on a trip to Venice. Her friends and colleagues would be concerned about her ability to stay out of trouble, but she’s signed up for a guided Art Lovers tour so they feel she’ll be looked after. Imagine their dismay, then, when they discover that she’s being held by the Venice police on suspicion of murder! The victim is a fellow Art Lover, a beautiful young man called Ned whom Julia has spent her holiday attempting to seduce, not without some success. Unluckily for her, this meant she had been in his bed just a few hours before his body was discovered in it, stabbed through the heart. Hilary Tamar is an academic, friend to the young barristers of 62 New Square, and it’s he who tells the tale of how he worked out who the murderer was and had Julia freed without a stain on her character.

I call Hilary ‘he’ because that’s how he seemed to me throughout. I’d been aware from other reviews that his gender is left ambiguous so it’s basically up to the reader to decide, though for the purposes of the story it doesn’t much matter. Part of the reason it’s so unclear is that, intriguingly for a book first published in 1981, Caudwell plays a lot with gender expectations and none of her younger characters are wholly manly men or girlie women, though the couple of older characters fall more into typical gender stereotypes. There is also a lot of sex or desire in the book, not graphic and all fun, and many of the characters are either gay or bi, though those terms are never mentioned. It’s all quite stylised, and dripping with references to Shakespeare, classic mythology and so on, and while this is quite fun it can get a bit wearing after a while.

The story is told by Hilary, but a major part of the book is taken up with letters from Julia describing her holiday experiences. These are highly entertaining, especially her lustful pursuit of the standoffish Ned. Her attempts at seduction are regularly interrupted by other Art Lovers at all the wrong moments, especially middle-aged Major Bob, formally colonial soldier, now a dealer in dodgy antiques, who seems to have got the idea into his head that Julia is his ideal “pure” woman and is indulging in his own amorous pursuit of her. Then there’s Ken, Ned’s friend – or are they more than friends? - who seems to wear a forbidding frown as standard. He’s apparently a famous sculptor, as Julia learns from Eleanor Frostfield, owner of the famous Frostfield’s fine arts dealership. Last among the English-speaking contingent of the Art Lovers are a rich young American couple, the lovely Marylou and her rather jealous husband Stanford. Shepherding them all around Venice and its environs is Graziella, the tour guide. It’s up to Hilary to work out which of these might have had a reason to kill Ned, or if some outsider had snuck into the hotel to do the deed.

The basic plot beneath the froth is actually very good. Is it fair play? Hmm, strictly speaking yes, in that when Hilary explains his reasoning the clues he refers to had indeed all been given to the reader. But it would have taken a far more perceptive reader than I to spot them! I found the solution satisfying – not entirely credible, but that was in line with the whole rather tongue in cheek tone.

An entertaining read. Apparently Caudwell only wrote four in the series and I’ll happily read the couple that are still easily available, though I’ll leave a little gap first – the highly stylised prose means these will probably be better appreciated in small doses. 4½ stars for me, so rounded up.

knitter

Five Stars

Reviewed in Canada on May 28, 2016

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Caudwell is one of my favourite mystery authors, combining humour with suspense.

Roman Clodia

Death in Venice

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on January 17, 2013

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This is a wonderfully funny and articulate read set amongst a group of young lawyers practising at Lincoln's Inn. Julia goes on a trip to Venice - but when a fellow traveller is found stabbed in his bed she's soon `helping the police with their enquiries'... while her colleagues back in London try to find the real murderer.

This was first published in 1981 but I think written earlier and does depict a far more innocent world where people can joke about `extremists' hijacking planes, and where people write each other long letters on a daily basis.

It is set in an elite environment of Oxford-educated lawyers and academics (poor Cantrip is pitied for his deficient education - he only went to Cambridge!), and is full of effete, beautiful young men, and ambiguous sexualities.

What makes this book are the narrative voices: sly, witty and slightly malicious. Like Wodehouse and Nancy Mitford, the humour and enjoyment of the book is as much, perhaps more, in the style of telling as in what is told. Hugely enjoyable!

10 people found this helpful

Catherine Carter

Annoying piffle

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on January 8, 2014

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Maybe I was just being grumpy, but I found the cast of over-educated, plum-in-the-mouth insiders deeply annoying. If you like books almost entirely filled with "bright young thing" repartee, you'll love it. It's intelligent, and well-written of its type, just not for me.

One person found this helpful

Gill Kent

The First in a Wonderful Series of Books

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on April 26, 2013

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I discovered this book when Amazon offered it for 99 pence as a Kindle download. At that price I thought it was worth a go, especially after reading the reviews given it was an author I had never heard of.

I am so glad I did. I thoroughly enjoyed the book, and have gone on to read the other three titles in the series. Sarah Caudwell's stories are based around a group of lawyers and their mentor Professor Hilary Tamar who get involved with and solve 'legal' mysteries. Each story has a financial/legal/tax background and so there are many mantions of the law relating to those areas. Don't let this put you off, as in my view Sarah Caudwell makes it understandable.

The books are witty, sophisticated, and funny and the crimes themselves are well thought out with many twists and turns. They are not the sort of book you can skim through, you do have to concentrate on the story in order to avoid missing anything important but in my view this makes them a very satisfying read.

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