And Then There Was No One, by Gilbert Adair
And Then There Was No One is a metaphysical murder mystery, a deconstructionist detective story, a post-modern puzzle — all of which could, very, very easily, become as arch and wearisome as persistent alliteration. But Gilbert Adair — though fantastically clever-clever, and horribly addicted not only to alliteration but also to puns and to literary in-jokes so self-referential that he is perpetually disappearing up his own recto (oh dear, his style is catching) — has created a hugely enjoyable entertainment.
And Then There Was No One is billed as the third in Gilbert Adair’s ‘Evadne Mount Trilogy’. Evadne Mount was the booming and betweeded crime-writer-turned- detective who stomped onto the stage, in shoes ‘so sensible you felt like consulting them on whether you should cash in your shares in Amalgamated Copper’, in Adair’s spoof Agatha Christie novels, The Act of Roger Murgatroyd and A Mysterious Affair of Style.
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