just finished this collection, here is my verdict.
the sleeping prince 2.5/5 decent story, really nasty ending, yuck!
dengue fever 3.5/5 interesting story, effective, sad ending.
you can't be too careful 3/5 effective thriller.
a rhyme 1.5/5 a bit lame, not that good.
fat old women who wear fur coats 2/5 not scary, not badly written.
daughter of the house 2/5 interesting, but not that scary, could have had a stronger resolution
dr dichter and the terminal cosmetic 2/5 darkly comic, had the potential to be more grotesque.
foster parents 2.5/5 interesting story, not bad.
a backwards shadow 3/5 effective story, ghost rather than horror.
chance governs all 2.5/5 another tale of the supernatural, not bad.
the dogs 3.5 gruesome but fun, entertaining.rightfully mine 4/5 nasty nazi meets a grisly end, a gruesome winner!
rightfully mine 4/5 nasty nazi meets a grisly end, a gruesome winner!
kowlongo plaything 5/5 awesome, gut-wrenching, utterly bleak. best of the collection.
Overall: 2.75/5 mixed selection, entertaining, some effective, one unforgettable. kowlongo plaything is the best entry, quite liked rightfully mine as he deserved his fate. dengue fever and the dogs also quite good, hated the poem. might try volume 15 next, also have volume 12 and may get more. alan temperley is an author to check out, norman p. kaufman is also quite good.
I still haven't finished this volume after owning it for about 27 years, but, I seem to remember DAUGHTER OF THE HOUSE, A BACKWARDS SHADOW and CHANCE GOVERNS ALL all being very subtle and atmospheric, contrasting with the sheer onslaught of filth that was KOWLONGO PLAYTHING and the vomit-inducing splatter of THE SLEEPING PRINCE, RIGHTFULLY MINE and THE DOGS. Elsewhere A RHYME is just plain daft, FAT OLD WOMEN WHO WEAR FUR COATS is Harry Turner at his most ridiculous, and FOSTER PARENTS possibly the most surreal entry since WALLY some seven books earlier.
Two things I've always wondered: 1) just what IS that 'thing' on the cover, and 2) just how did already-extremely-elderly Bertie feel when faced, year after year, with such obscenities? Surely a man of his gentlemanly upbringing wouldn't, despite presumably having undergone national service at some point, been able to embrace profane language, gore, splatter, and in some cases what amounted to primitive torture porn in literary form, without the slightest tinge of reticence? I mean, it didn't bother my Dad, but he was born in 1942, not 1903..