Praise for The Big Over Easy
“Pythonesque…Jasper Fforde is able to write diabolically even in a book that has Humpty Dumpty as its central character…. Outrageous satirical agility is his stock in trade…. The treat in reading him is in realizing there’s nothing he won’t try…. Like the Harry Potter and Lemony Snicket books, this one is abundantly playful without being truly geared to children. Anyone who has ever been read a nursery rhyme…can appreciate Mr. Fforde’s outlandish joking.”
—Janet Maslin, The New York Times
“A wonderfully readable riot…[A] cleverly plotted, magically overstuffed yet amazingly digestible book. Mr. Fforde manages to bombard the reader with more bizarre detail than most writers would dare to fit in their entire oeuvre, yet he does so with such light prose and easy, confident wit that, caught up in the suspense, you lose track of the fact that Mother Goose characters, immortal Titans and blue-skinned aliens are not generally found in society…. This summer’s perfect beach read for eggheads—and anyone else who wants the thrill of a good crime novel larded with highly literate humor.”
—The Wall Street Journal
“Over Easy makes egg-celent reading…. It’s as if the Marx brothers were let loose in the children’s section of a strange bookstore…. Fforde is above all funny, his self-styled ‘daft novels’ are not for the lazy brained but for the actively engaged reader, one who knows the secret pleasures of a word puzzle and can draw on a lifetime of literature.”
—USA Today
“Jasper Fforde has exploited childhood story elements and created a gripping, funny, intelligent mystery…. Like the creators of cartoons for adults like The Simpsons and South Park, Mr. Fforde uses fantasy to dissect real life in ways he might not get away with if his characters were grounded in reality…. [R]ollicking good fun. Mr. Fforde writes smooth, flawless prose that makes you feel less guilty for reading something so entertaining. With , he proves once again that he is our best thinking person’s genre writer.”
—The Washington Times
“[A] deliciously silly…witty, satirical murder mystery.”
—O, The Oprah Magazine
“Fforde gleefully takes absurdity to new extremes with relentless, deadpan humor…. Highly entertaining.”
—The Miami Herald
“Wildly imaginative…[A]nother mind-blowing romp.”
—The Seattle Times
“Cheeky inventiveness…appealingly absurd.”
—Ruminator
“Very funny and immensely irreverent.”
—Ft. Worth Star-Telegram
“Good fun.”
—Library Journal
“Hilarious and ingenious.”
—Kirkus Reviews
PENGUIN BOOKS
THE BIG OVER EASY
Jasper Fforde is the author of the bestselling Thursday Next series: The Eyre Affair, Lost in a Good Book, The Well of Lost Plots, and Something Rotten. The Big Over Easy is the first book in the Nursery Crime series. Fforde lives and works in Wales. For more information about both series, visit www.jasperfforde.com.
Briggs waved a hand in the direction of the corpse. “It looks like he died from injuries sustained falling from a wall.”
Jasper Fforde
THE BIG OVER EASY
A Nursery Crime
PENGUIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto,
Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)
Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
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Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published in the United States of America by Viking Penguin, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. 2005
Published in Penguin Books 2006
Copyright © Jasper Fforde, 2005
All rights reserved
Frontispiece by Maggy Roberts
PUBLISHER’S NOTE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE HARDCOVER EDITION AS FOLLOWS:
Fforde, Jasper.
The big over easy: a nursery crime / Jasper Fforde.
p. cm.
ISBN: 1-101-15830-1
1. Nursery rhymes—Adaptations. I. Title.
PR6106.F67B54 2005
823'.914—dc22 2005042284
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall;
All the king’s horses
And all the king’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.
—Traditional
For my brother Mathew,
whose love of the absurd—
and the profound—
enlightened my childhood
Contents
Author’s Note
1. Mary Mary
2. Jack Spratt
3. The Fall Guy
4. Mrs. Hubbard, Dogs and Bones
5. Prometheus
6. Mrs. Laura Dumpty
7. The Nursery Crime Division
8. The Armory
9. Back at the Office
10. Charles Pewter
11. The Sacred Gonga
12. St. Cerebellum’s
13. First on the Right
14. Meeting the Detective
15. Granny Spratt’s Displeasure
16. Mrs. Singh Turns the Story
17. The Inquiry Begins
18. Lord Randolph Spongg IV
19. Solomon Grundy
20. Press Conference
21. RIP, Mrs. Dumpty, and “the Case…Is Closed!”
22. Titans and Beanstalks
23. Mary’s Doubts
24.
Briggs v. Spratt
25. Good Night, Wee Willie Winkie
26. Meet the Grundys
27. Perplexity, Complexity
28. Castle Spongg
29. Lola Vavoom
30. Another Press Conference
31. Home, Sweet Home
32. Giorgio Porgia
33. What Bessie Brooks Had to Say for Herself
34. Investigated
35. Summing Up
36. Refilling the Jar
37. The Man from the Guild
38. Lola Vavoom Returns
39. The Red Ford Zephyr
40. The Goring Foot Museum
41. Dr. Horatio Carbuncle
42
. Return to Castle Spongg
43. Loose Ends
44. The End of the Story
Author’s Note
The Nursery Crime Division, the Reading Police Department and the Oxford & Berkshire Constabulary in this book are entirely fictitious, and any similarities to authentic police procedures, protocol or forensic techniques are entirely coincidental.
All Nursery Crime books have been designated as Character Exchange Program Safe Havens, and all characters are protected by the Council of Genres Directive GBSD/211950.
The Big Over Easy has been bundled with Special Features including: the “Making of” documentary, deleted scenes from all Fforde’s novels, outtakes and much more. To access all these free bonus features, log on to www.nurserycrime.co.uk/special/js1.html and enter the code word as directed.
1. Mary Mary
If Queen Anne hadn’t suffered so badly from gout and dropsy, Reading might never have developed at all. In 1702 the unhealthy Queen Anne, looking for a place to ease her royal infirmities, chanced upon Bath; and where royalty goes, so too does society. In consequence, Reading, up until that time a small town on a smaller tributary of the Thames, became a busy staging post on the Bath road, later to become the A4, and ultimately the M4. The town was enriched by the wool trade and later played host to several large firms that were to become household names. By the time Huntley & Palmers biscuits began here in 1822, Simonds brewery was already well established; and when Suttons Seeds began in 1835 and Spongg’s footcare in 1853, the town’s prosperity was assured.
—Excerpt from A History of Reading
It was the week following Easter in Reading, and no one could remember the last sunny day. Gray clouds swept across the sky, borne on a chill wind that cut like a knife. It seemed that spring had forsaken the town. The drab winter weather had clung to the town like a heavy smog, refusing to relinquish the season. Even the early bloomers were in denial. Only the bravest crocuses had graced the municipal park, and the daffodils, usually a welcome splash of color after a winter of grayness, had taken one sniff at the cold, damp air and postponed blooming for another year.
A police officer was gazing with mixed emotions at the dreary cityscape from the seventh floor of Reading Central Police Station. She was thirty and attractive, dressed up and dated down, worked hard and felt awkward near anyone she didn’t know. Her name was Mary. Mary Mary. And she was from Basingstoke, which is nothing to be ashamed of.
“Mary?” said an officer who was carrying a large potted plant in the manner of someone who thinks it is well outside his job description. “Superintendent Briggs will see you now. How often do you water these things?”
“That one?” replied Mary without emotion. “Never. It’s plastic.”
“I’m a policeman,” he said unhappily, “not a sodding gardener.”
And he walked off, mumbling darkly to himself.
She turned from the window, approached Briggs’s closed door and paused. She gathered her thoughts, took a deep breath and stood up straight. Reading wouldn’t have been everyone’s choice for a transfer, but for Mary, Reading had one thing that no other city possessed: DCI Friedland Chymes. He was a veritable powerhouse of a sleuth whose career was a catalog of inspired police work, and his unparalleled detection skills had filled the newspaper columns for over two decades. Chymes was the reason Mary had joined the police force in the first place. Ever since her father had bought her a subscription to Amazing Crime Stories when she was nine, she’d been hooked. She had thrilled at “The Mystery of the Wrong Nose,” been galvanized by “The Poisoned Shoe” and inspired by “The Sign of Three and a Half.” Twenty-one years further on, Chymes was still a serious international player in the world of competitive detecting, and Mary had never missed an issue. Chymes was currently ranked by Amazing Crime second in their annual league rating, just behind Oxford’s ever-popular Inspector Moose.
“Hmm,” murmured Superintendent Briggs, eyeing Mary’s job application carefully as she sat uncomfortably on a plastic chair in an office that was empty apart from a desk, two chairs, them—and a trombone lying on a tattered chaise longue.
“Your application is mostly very good, Mary,” he said approvingly. “I see you were with Detective Inspector Hebden Flowwe. How did that go?”
It hadn’t gone very well at all, but she didn’t think she’d say so.
“We had a fairly good clear-up rate, sir.”
“I’ve no doubt you did. But more important, anything published?”
It was a question that was asked more and more in front of promotion boards and transfer interviews and listed in performance reports. It wasn’t enough to be a conscientious and invaluable assistant to one’s allotted inspector—you had to be able to write up a readable account for the magazines that the public loved to read. Preferably Amazing Crime Stories, but, failing that, Sleuth Illustrated.
“Only one story in print, sir. But I was the youngest officer at Basingstoke to make detective sergeant and have two commendations for brav—”
“The thing is,” interrupted Briggs, “is that the Oxford and Berkshire Constabulary prides itself on producing some of the most readable detectives in the country.” He walked over to the window and looked out at the rain striking the glass. “Modern policing isn’t just about catching criminals, Mary. It’s about good copy and ensuring that cases can be made into top-notch documentaries on the telly. Public approval is the all-important currency these days, and police budgets ebb and flow on the back of circulation and viewing figures.”
“Yes, sir.”
“DS Flotsam’s work penning Friedland Chymes’s adventures is the benchmark to which you should try to aspire, Mary. Selling the movie rights to Friedland Chymes—the Smell of Fear was a glory moment for everyone at Reading Central, and rightly so. Just one published work, you say? With Flowwe?”
“Yes, sir. A two-parter in Amazing Crime. Jan./Feb. 1999 and adapted for TV.”
He nodded his approval.
“Well, that’s impressive. Prime-time dramatization?”
“No, sir. Documentary on MoleCable-62.”
His face fell. Clearly, at Reading they expected better things. Briggs sat down and looked at her record again.
“Now, it says here one reprimand: You struck Detective Inspector Flowwe with an onyx ashtray. Why was that?”
“The table lamp was too heavy,” she replied, truthfully enough, “and if I’d used a chair, it might have killed him.”
“Which is illegal, of course,” added Briggs, glad for an opportunity to show off his legal knowledge. “What happened? Personal entanglements?”
“Equal blame on both sides, sir,” she replied, thinking it would be better to be impartial over the whole affair. “I was foolish. He was emotionally…dishonest.”
Briggs closed the file.
“Well, I don’t blame you. Hebden was always a bit of a bounder. He pinged my partner’s bra strap at an office party once, you know. She wasn’t wearing it at the time,” he added after a moment’s reflection, “but the intention was clear.”
“That sounds like DI Flowwe,” replied Mary.
Briggs drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment.
“Do you want to hear me play the trombone?”
“Might it be prejudicial to my career if I were to refuse?”
“It’s a distinct possibility.”
“Then I’d be delighted.”
So Briggs walked over to the chaise longue, picked up the trom-bone, worked the slide a couple of times and blew a few notes, much to the annoyance of whoever had the office next door, who started to thump angrily on the wall.
“Drug squad,” explained Briggs unhappily, putting the instrument down, “complete heathens. Never appreciate a good tune.”
“I was wondering,” said Mary before he had a chance to start playing again. “This detective sergeant’s job I’m applying for. Who is it with?”
He looked at his watch.
“An excellent questi
on. In ten minutes we’re holding a press conference. I’ve a detective in urgent need of a new sergeant, and I think you’ll fit the bill perfectly. Shall we?”
The pressroom was five floors below, and an expectant journalistic hubbub greeted their ears while they were still walking down the corridor. They stepped inside and stood as unobtrusively as possible at the back of the large and airy room. Mary could see from the “Oxford & Berkshire Constabulary”–bedecked lectern and high turnout that press conferences here were taken with a great deal more seriousness than she had known, which probably reflected this city’s preeminence over Basingstoke when it came to serious crime. It wasn’t that Reading had any more murders than Basingstoke—it just had better ones. Reading and the Thames Valley area was more of a “fairy cakes laced with strychnine” or “strangulation with a silk handkerchief” sort of place, where there were always bags of interesting suspects, convoluted motives and seemingly insignificant clues hidden in an inquiry of incalculable complexity yet solved within a week or two. By contrast, murders in Basingstoke were strictly blunt instruments, drunkenly wielded, solved within the hour—or not at all. Mary had worked on six murder investigations and, to her great disappointment, hadn’t once discovered one of those wonderful clues that seem to have little significance but later, in an epiphanic moment, turn the case on its head and throw the guilty light on someone previously eliminated from the inquiries.
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