Some crime books are all about the psychological insights into both evil and good minds (and all the grey areas in between); some address current issues in society (Ian Rankin springs to mind); some are just romances dressed up as crime novels - most of the tension in the will-they-won't-they scenarios. Then there are the Whodunnits.

I don't read Whodunnits very often - they're out of fashion, and possibly something you grow out of. But reading Dead Water by Ngaio Marsh, I felt like I was back to being a 13-year-old discovering Agatha Christie - consequently a comforting read. I'd forgotten what it was like to have a fixed number of suspects, and to be playing a guessing game: chapter 6 - it was definitely the Major who done it. Chapter 8 - why does no-one suspect Patrick? Is the author throwing us off the scent? Chapter 9 - got it! Mrs Barrimore! Chapter 10 - oh I don't know...

An old-fashioned read, with a lot of the mechanisms of the plot showing through, but nevertheless I found it a good antidote to all the technology, relentless realism and psychological profiling of modern crime novels (to say nothing of the gore and violence, also spared us here). There's some good characterisation - Emily Pride and Miss Cost in particular - and even, to my delight, the obligatory Poirot-style ending where all prime suspects are gathered in a room and forced to listen to the smug detective spin them a tale, before revealing he knows exactly Whodunnit.

And best of all, not a gimmick in sight (hence the title of this review, in case you were wondering).