I read this, along with a few other novels by the same author (now, it seems, largely forgotten) a long time ago and recently came across it while clearing out (rather unsuccessfully) boxes of books in my loft. Unsuccessfully because, rather than throwing them out as intended, I keep going “ooh, forgot all about that one” and sticking them back on my bookshelves to reread. Anyway I knew I’d read The Twelfth Juror away back in ye olden times, but although I had a feeling I’d enjoyed it at the time, I couldn’t remember anything else about it. A quick reread seemed appropriate.
Published in 1984, it won the Crime Writers’ Association Gold Dagger Award for that year (beating, incidentally, The Tree of Hands by the mighty Ruth Rendell). So, that seemed promising. And anything courtroomy appeals to me.
Former newsreader, now distinguished TV presenter, Edward Carne stands in the dock, accused of murdering his wife, Jocelyn. His fate will be decided by a jury of twelve supposedly unbiased men and women. But one of those people, at least, has a closer connection to Carne than he is willing to disclose...
The story is interesting and well written but some things made me glad the book is now out of print. The characterisation of Blossom - “the Chinese girl” as Quinn describes her - feels uncomfortable and more than a bit racist. (Apparently, she glides about in green silk exuding “oriental calm” and dispensing sexual favours.) And the references (no spoilers) to “sexual deviancy” are horribly jarring. I know it was 35 years ago but it was 1984, not 1954, for goodness sake.
I did guess - more or less - the truth, though I can’t congratulate myself too much on that as I have read it before and though I didn’t consciously remember it, it was no doubt lodged in my subconscious somewhere. That said, I suspect I may have guessed anyway.
As courtroom dramas go it isn’t the best I’ve ever read (there are few surprises in court and I would perhaps have liked more of the interplay between the jurors) but it is an enjoyable read and, as I said, well written. The ending is quite powerful. However some things really don’t sit well with me (and I’m sure didn’t in 1984, either) so on that basis I can’t necessarily recommend it - but it’s definitely an interesting curiosity.
B. M. Gill - real name Barbara Trimble - wrote over 20 crime, thriller and romance novels under the various names of B. M. Gill, Margaret Blake and Barbara Gilmour. She died in 1995.
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