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Author Robert Thorogood talks to us about his latest novel Death Comes to Marlow and gives us a sneak peek at his upcoming project, inspired by the infamous Jackie Weaver of Handforth Parish Council.
Robert Thorogood was born in Colchester. He is a screenwriter and novelist. He will be well known to Suffolk readers as the creator of the BBC mystery series Death in Paradise. More recently he has written The Marlow Murder Club and Death Comes to Marlow which is published by HQ on 5 January. You can also find Death Comes to Marlow and Robert's other titles on our catalogue.
All my heroes were funny. I adored the writing of Wodehouse, Austen, Waugh, Mitford, Saki, Adams – all the great comic writers of the twentieth century. But it was the same with the television I watched (and comedy LPs and annuals I bought). I hoovered up The Young Ones, Not The Nine O’Clock News, Monty Python, Peter Cook and Dudley Moore and on and on. It was a big reason why I set my heart on going to Cambridge University. I wanted to go to the place where a lot of these people had come from.
The short answer is reading. I spent my entire childhood reading, whether it was Hardy Boy adventures by torchlight under the covers, or Agatha Christie’s Peril At End House that I snuck onto my lap during a Geography lesson (sorry, Mr Huggins). And the more I read, the more I wanted to try and do it for myself. (I also wanted to play football for Ipswich Town, but I had to give up on that dream really quite quickly).
At the time, none of them were Oscar or BAFTA winners (I also remain neither of those things), so they were just super-talented friends who I really wanted to be in a play with. So, when I was directing a touring production of Moliere’s The Miser, I made sure that the cast were those three plus me. But the key point about them is that they were always that charismatic and brilliant – they seemed to be cut from a different cloth to the rest of us mortals – and it was no surprise to any of us when they went on to be so successful.
I am ashamed to say that Richard Poole is based on the worst traits that I have. (That’s not the whole story, as I also channelled the pompousness of Hercules Poirot as well). But all of Richard’s failings – his grumpiness, his lack of wanting to join in, his dislike of leaving the UK – are all failings that I have, I’m afraid.
Funnily enough, I think that the fact that we’ve had to change lead actors every few years has really helped the show. After all, the genre means we’ve got to kill someone and then catch their killer every episode – we can’t ever change that and would never want to – but when we change our main actors, we really get to change the sorts of stories we can tell. So if Richard was a curmudgeon who was uptight
about everything, Humphrey could be overly-friendly and shambolic. At the very least, it’s kept us on our toes.
This is a locked room mystery, where a local grandee is found murdered in his study – and the only key to the room is in his pocket, so how was he killed? I love a good mystery, and the ‘locked room’ mystery is one of the most enjoyable there is. Not only do our heroes have to work out who the killer is, they’ve also got to work out how on earth the killer carried out the murder.
During lockdown, we all saw the fireworks that could happen during a local council meeting (remember Jackie Weaver from the Handforth Parish Council?), so the new Marlow Murder Club novel kicks off during a council meeting where the Mayor is poisoned and dies. Beyond that, I wouldn’t like to say too much as it would be a spoiler!
Christmas is a wonderful chance either to host all the extended family, which my wife Katie and I love doing, or to go to the extended family, which is even more enjoyable because you don’t have to put the turkey on at some ungodly time in the morning. This year we’re all descending on my mother’s house in Bures (the Suffolk side not the Essex side!), and I plan to take off as much time as possible between Christmas Eve and New Year.
It would be a book: Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons, one of the funniest books ever written in the English language.
When I first left university and was struggling to get my career off the ground, I worked for a few years as a magician in the toy departments of Hamley’s and Harrods.