Bookish, on PBS

Believe it or not, you can find a lot of helpful information in books. This wasn’t such a shocking statement in 1946, back when people were smarter. Gabriel Book would have been considered intelligent during any era, but being a second-hand bookseller sounds like an unlikely background for an amateur detective to many post-War observers. However, Book has connections that help him investigate unusual cases, whether the police like it or not (spoiler alert: they usually don’t). It all seems particularly strange to his new assistant, especially since he has no idea why Book hired him in creator-star Mark Gatiss’s six-episode Bookish, which premieres tomorrow on PBS.

Jack Blunt doesn’t know anything about bookselling. However, he knows a little about crime, having just been released from prison. Regardless, he does not know Book from Adam, so he has no idea why he was hired sight-unseen. Clearly, the Books (Gabriel and Trottie) have some kind of connection to the moody (but essentially decent) young man. Of course, Gatiss takes his time revealing their secret histories, until around the end of episode four.

In the meantime, there will be mysteries to solve, like the suicide of Harkup, the grouchy old pharmacist, which isn’t really a suicide in the first two-parter, “Slightly Foxed.” Arguably, these episodes best capitalize on the post-War setting, because the murder somehow also involves the discovery of an ancient plague pit, unearthed beneath the rubble of a London Blitz bomb-site.

“Deadly Nitrate” evokes the spirit of vintage 1940s-Cecil Beaton British movie glamor, without actually depicting any real-life stars. Instead, a fan dies from poisoned chocolates intended for either Stewart Howard or Sandra Dare, the fictional reigning sweethearts of the screen. Part one starts strong, but part two bogs down in a frustrating preoccupation with Book’s sexuality, which starts to sabotage the cozy mystery vibe.

Unfortunately, both parts of “Such Devoted Sisters” take these identity themes even further. Having temporarily fallen out with Book, Blunt accepts a position as a bodyguard for expatriate Balkan princesses dispossessed by the Communist regime. It seems their persons really did need guarding, when a caddish playboy war vet suddenly croaks after drinking a cocktail mixed for one of the princesses. However, Gatiss and co-writers Matthew Sweet and Tim Morris have far less sympathy for the refugee royals then they do for Eadie Rattle, a stridently Marxist hotel maid—even though by this time, the Soviet horrors were already coming to light.

A show like Bookish is at its best when it is light and frothy. Generally, that is how Gatiss plays Book too, emphasizing his erudition. Yet, he and the series are undermined by the intrusive class warfare and sexual orientation politics. Indeed, the concluding two-parter gets downright lectury, whereas the only social issue Bookish should fixate on is literacy.

The Mezzotint, on PBS

The mezzotint print-making process might seem old-fashioned, but one of its leading practitioners was M.C. Esher, whom M.R. James might have appreciated, at least for his use of initials. Typically, mezzotints never change, but not the one in this M.R. James short story. Understandably, that rather bedevils its new custodian in Mark Gatiss’s The Mezzotint (part of the A Ghost Story for Christmas annual series in the UK), which airs on participating PBS stations.

Edward Williams definitely stays true to his school. He curates the traditional Ox-bridge-ish university’s decorative arts museum and spends most of personal time at the U club with his old college mates. Each day is largely the same, but that is how he likes it, until a mysterious mezzotint arrives for his appraisal.

Williams had not thought much of it, but his golfing friend Binks sees more in it. In fact, he describes a rather different picture, with a moon rising above the country house and a shadowy figure just starting to enter the frame. Weirdly, those elements had not been in the picture before, because, as Williams soon deduces, it changes slightly every time he looks at it. That sounds crazy, but Williams’s old school chums Garwood and Nisbet confirm it, much to their own surprise. It confuses all the three alumni, but Williams also feels an uneasy suspicion that the dark figure will do something horrible when he finally enters the house.

Of course, the mezzotint surely must represent events that occurred when it was printed in the 1800s, right? Yet, to Williams, it feels like a tragedy slowly unfolding before his eyes, especially when he learns he might have a personal connection to its town of origin. That last bit is all Gatiss, but it is a nice macabre little wrinkle. Regardless, it is strange no previous anthology series has taken a shot adapting it, especially considering it requires no special effects—just a quality print-maker.

In fact, this is one of Gatiss’s best “Ghost Stories for Christmas,” or just plain “Ghost Stories,” if you are watching on PBS. The mezzotint is a clever gimmick and Gatiss maximizes its full Twilight Zone-ish potential.

Ghost Stories: The Tractate Middoth, on PBS

For many [stupid] people, books are sort of like ghosts. They relics from the past, bearing witness to the folly we might have prevented, had we only read more of them. However, a part-time librarian might have a legitimately haunted book on his shelves, which is bizarrely in-demand throughout Mark Gatiss’s The Tractate Middoth, based on the classic M.R. James story, which airs on participating PBS stations over the coming month.

Although originally produced by the BBC as part of their annual Ghost Story for Christmas, PBS apparently believed the productions they licensed better fit Halloween season. Neither is wrong per se, because James is timeless—and hopefully so are books.

Intellectually gifted but financially challenged William Garrett rather enjoys working part-time in the library, while pursuing his advanced studies, even though “Sniffer” Hodgson, the supervising librarian, is a pompous blowhard. At least he did, until John Eldred requests the Tractate Middoth, an ancient Hebrew text.

The first time Garrett tries to pull it, he believes a mysterious shrouded figure coincidentally retrieved it before him. The next time Eldred calls to request it, Garrett passes out on the way to its shelf, overcome by the supernatural pollen suddenly swirling about. Clearly, that volume holds sinister secrets, involving its former owner, the nasty Dr. Rant, who maybe orchestrated all this weirdness while expiring on his deathbed, as we partially saw during the prologue.

Tractate Middoth is a particularly British ghost story. Indeed, it is easy to imagine how James’s tale might have inspired some of the early library business in A Discovery of Witches. If the story sounds familiar, maybe it is because Leslie Nielsen also portrayed the intrepid librarian on the early-1950s Lights Out anthology show.