There is something oddly comforting about Victorian-era detective fiction. Perhaps it’s the archetypical setting, the home of once fresh but now clichéd themes brought forth by writers like Arthur Conan Doyle, Edgar Allan Poe, Wilkie Collins and others. We cut our mystery-reading teeth on superheroic private detectives, blessed with superior deductive abilities, strong limbs and bizarre quirks that make us love them all the more. They are constantly battling very insidious criminals, most of whom possess a gentlemanly bearing that prevents their evil from developing into mass slaughter. Our do-gooders also have to contend with a hidebound and bureaucratic police force, which is always dismissive of the methods, but pleased to take credit for the results that the private agent manages to wring.

And when the stories have a certain sheltered atmosphere to the crimes, concentrating more on simple murder or article theft, as opposed to the serial rapes, pedophilia and killings of more contemporary mysteries, we are pleasantly refreshed as we read. Evil rarely, if ever, wins; good, in the persona of our chosen detective, always triumphs. Theory-spouting literary critics may have trouble with this, but avid readers never do. And it’s a mark of how popular the genre and the time is, that we still have Victorian-era detective fiction with us, such as Boris Akunin’s recent THE DEATH OF ACHILLES, or Will Thomas’ THE LIMEHOUSE TEXT.

THE LIMEHOUSE TEXT is the third installment in Thomas’ series detailing the adventures of private enquiry agent Cyrus Barker and his faithful, but slightly naïve, sidekick Thomas Llewelyn. Yes, you’ve seen this dynamic before, but it’s skillfully wrought here and fun to read as well. It’s written from Llewelyn’s perspective, which allows his hero worship of Barker to show through. Barker is an odd, but likable, duck alright. He constantly wears dark glasses which gives him greater anonymity than one would think. He’s also an expert in multiple languages (of course) and Asian martial arts (also par for the course).

It’s this latter specialty that comes into play. The titular “Limehouse Text” is an ancient Chinese book stolen from a monastery, and surreptitiously brought to the notorious Limehouse district of London. The book was meant to be secret, and having it in one’s possession or even learning its secrets of Chinese boxing arts, means a sentence of death passed on to any Westerner who dares to crack its cover. And enough people have already died as the forbidden tome passes through their hands, until Barker runs across it in the course of solving his former assistant’s murder.

The plot is thrilling with great set pieces and action vignettes. The dialogue is believable. The characters fit the mold of Victorian-era detectives. And the Victorian atmosphere is evoked but thankfully not constantly rammed down our throats. But while the book overall is quite entertaining, there’s nothing that makes it leap into the realm of sheer storytelling prowess like Doyle or H.G. Wells. The detection isn’t up to Holmesian standards, and the gosh-darn naivety of Llewelyn wears thin quickly. Still, it’s a very serviceable detective story, a rock in a sea of modern-day victim’s tales, an old-style story that takes the trappings and limitations of its style, and makes a damn readable book out of them. For those who still believe in the private detective genre. –Mark Rose

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