The Poisoned Chocolates Case

The Poisoned Chocolates Case is a fun trick novel by Anthony Berkeley. The premise is simple: the six members of a club called the Crimes Circle (a bit like the real life Detection Club) decide to investigate a real murder, and each present their theory in turn. Naturally, each member comes to a different conclusion, and each member’s theory seems to disprove the previous member’s. The Poisoned Chocolates Case is a wonderful examination of how shaky detective novel solutions can truly be, in the vein of the Late Queen Problem.

The crime the club takes up is, at first glance, straightforward. One day, Eustace Pennefather receives a package of chocolates in the mail at this club, ostensibly as a sample from the maker (but this is later proved to be a fake). Pennefather does not want the chocolates and so gives them to Graham Bendix, another club member, who takes them home to his wife. As you might have guessed from the title, the chocolates are poisoned; Graham eats only a few and grows temporarily ill, but his wife has many more and perishes. The only physical clues are the chocolates, the card with the box, and the packaging.

The first section of the novel is dedicated to establishing the facts of the case, and then dives into the successive Crime Circle meetings where each member presents their theory. Each member introduces more and more facts that spin an increasingly complex web, but I remember thinking the information we had for the first member was paltry, yet Berkeley manages to whip up fun and meaty solutions off the bat. There are no solutions that feel trivial or half-baked, so there’s a lot of joy in seeing exactly which direction each member takes the crime in.

That’s not to say all solutions are perfect. The third theory is by far the weakest. There they try to find the culprit by giving a list of conditions that they must fulfill until they are able to narrow it down to one person. Which is an entirely reasonable approach (and very [Queensian]), but some of the conditions are downright silly. It makes sense that the culprit would need the scientific knowledge about the poison and the ability to have mailed the parcel, but it’s entirely arbitrary to declare they could not have gone to public school. Considering the book almost reads like a parody of detective stories it feels like this chapter would’ve been a great opportunity to poke fun at “psychological deductions,” but alas, the characters seem to consider this method seriously. (I will admit that the gag for the chapter is fun, though.)

I think one way to approach The Poisoned Chocolates Case is as a short story collection, where each story has the same premise but different conclusion. Each answer would be satisfying in its own right (although some more than others), so why not take them all? It’s true that none have fully decisive evidence, but that’s only because each solution needs to segue into the next. If a solution was intended to be true, I’m sure such evidence would have turned up. Each solution presents a mold for a satisfying solution within the context of a detective story, and it’s pure authorial whim that dictates whether truly incontrovertible evidence shows up or not.

Having multiple solutions makes The Poisoned Chocolates Case sound a bit similar to multiple-solution books like Mystery Arena, but it plays out relatively different. While Mystery Arena had many more solutions, it was structured as a gameshow where contestants were reading a script, and so could employ narrative tricks as potential solutions. Furthermore, solutions were simply accepted or denied, whereas in The Poisoned Chocolates Case each member must find actual evidence to disregard the previous theory. As a result, The Poisoned Chocolates Case feels more intimately plotted.

The other element that sets apart The Poisoned Chocolates Case from other Golden Age books is that Berkeley is a fantastic writer. Even the harshest critique acknowledges the strength of Berkeley’s writing. The vast majority of the novel consists of six people talking in a room, but Berkeley is able to effectively establish and convey the cast’s quirks and personalities, while being humorous and witty to boot. The actual writing is something you often need to simply suffer through with Golden Age detective fiction, but here Berkeley delivers with style and panache.

Newer editions of The Poisoned Chocolates Case contain two additional chapters by other writers, each containing a new solution. The saving grace of the first additional chapter, by Christianna Brand, is its brevity. It feels like a lazy, baseless riff off the last theory that doesn’t actually change anything, and Brand’s writing pales when put directly next to Berkeley’s. The second is by Martin Edwards, and is much better. Edwards’ style is much closer to Berkeley’s (whether that was intentional or not), and, while the pivot away from Brand’s solution is awkward and contrived (although I’m not sure how it could not be), and the sixth solution seems to be disregarded for no particular reason, Edwards’ solution provides an answer from yet another completely new angle, which is exactly what I would look for from a Poisoned Chocolates solution.

The Poisoned Chocolates Case is an excellently written book built around a fun idea that more than delivers on its promise. A sweet treat for any fan of the genre.