In his essay Decline of the English Murder, the writer George Orwell evokes the pleasure to be had in reading about killing. After a good meal (including pudding), you are in the mood to read: “the sofa cushions are soft underneath you, the fire is well alight, the air is warm.” And what is it, in “these blissful circumstances”, that you want to read about? “Naturally,” says Orwell, “a murder”.
Substitute Orwell’s fires for contemporary radiators, and he might be describing the millions of readers in our own moment who have turned contentedly to stories of killing in the Thursday Murder Club books by Richard Osman. Comprising 2020’s title novel and three follow-ups (a fourth, The Impossible Fortune, is due in late September), these murder mysteries set in an idyllic retirement village in Kent have proved phenomenally successful.
Why have so many people, including some not previously invested in crime fiction, been drawn to these novels? It is not as if the series has been scrubbed free of potentially off-putting material. The Thursday Murder Club itself, for example, features not only two new killings for the quartet of older investigators to unravel, but memories of brutal gangland executions and a tragic suicide.
