Per usual, I bought The Moonstone, by Wilkie Collins, during a Barnes and Noble perusal of “the classics.” Hailed on its back cover as one of the world’s first detective novels, I was intrigued and a bit confused why I had never even heard of the title. My interest piqued, I bought it. Of course, the book sat on my TBR pile for longer than I’d like to admit, but finally, I pulled it out last month.

When I was young, I always skipped the introductions to classic lit, deeming the lengthy theses to be tedious and tiresome. However, over the years, I have learned that those dissertation-level introductions are ripe with valuable information on historical context and the personal/professional life of the author—all of which help the reader settle in to devour the book with an enhanced taste for what lies within.

For example, it was very enlightening to know that Wilkie Collins was a contemporary of Charles Dickens. They even collaborated on a play; and Collin’s brother married Dicken’s daughter. It was also rather interesting to know of Collin’s addiction to opium, as the use of the narcotic was a key story point in The Moonstone.

Similar to much European literature of the 19^th century, The Moonstone was a hefty read, ripe with minute details of seeming insignificance and character monologues that dragged on for pages. In some ways, I want to reject and condemn such writing as overindulgent, but again, considering the historical context (no Internet, no moving pictures, no telephones, few photographs, low-literacy levels, etc.), such lavish descriptions were necessary to engage the reader. The Moonstone was serialized, and published in book form, in 1868 at the height of Collins’ career, but the version I read was the author’s 1871 edited. By no means was it the first mystery to be published in the English language, but it was the first to establish the idea of a modern detective.

The story unfolds chronologically, through the unique perspectives of ten key characters, as a historical record regarding the moonstone, an ancient Hindu gem which had been stolen by an eccentric member of the Verinder family during colonial occupation of India. The presence—and then the mysterious disappearance—of the moonstone, wreaks havoc on the prestigious family and their associates, leaving a trail of distrust, heartbreak and discord. According to the introduction, all necessary clues toward solving the mystery are relayed in the first 100 pages, although I think one would have to be a detective indeed to put them together without the greater context which comes much later.

After heartily enjoying the novel, I am still a bit perplexed to why it has not received the same international renown as some of its contemporaries. I was pleased to find a mini-series of the same name on the Brit box supplement to Amazon Prime, but found few other iterations—surprising given the endless adaptations done of Conan Doyle’s work. Perhaps it’s because the revolving narratives in The Moonstone hold the reader slightly at arm’s length from the characters. You suspect everyone, pity everyone, distrust everyone. I found the style to be refreshing and unusual, but maybe that quirky style is what kept The Moonstone from gaining long-lasting notoriety.

I’m not in a habit of giving stars to the books I review, particularly not since reading Virginia Woolf’s treatise on not asserting one’s opinion, but I do highly recommend The Moonstone to anyone who is in the mood for an extended read. I feel as though I uncovered a gem in the world of important literature—pun intended.

This book may be for you if you also like: the anthology of Sherlock Holmes; mysteries; British literature; England; other novels & plays by Wilkie Collins; gemstones; stories told from different vantage points; British humor.

SDG