3.5 I love The Woman in White, but I didn't connect to Rachel or Franklin at all. I wish Collins had convinced me of the moonstone's allure before it was stolen because it was hard to stay invested in the crime over a gem for the length of the novel.

4.5 rounded up . I must admit that I'd completely ruled out the "who" in all of this early on in the story, so at least Collins kept me guessing over 400+ pages and gave me a nice jolt at the end. That's always a good thing. A little farfetched though plausible, and a little on the draggy side in parts, but I had a great time with it and I loved the switching narrative style.

Anyone who has not yet read The Moonstone really ought to pick up a copy, not solely because it is considered by some to be "The first and greatest of English detective novels" (à la T.S. Eliot on the front cover), but more to the point, it is downright fun to read. It's also a novel I read as a teen when I caught a case of Collinsmania and made my way through everything he'd ever written that I could get my hands on at the time. As I said to someone, although I read it as a teen, coming back to it, I realized that I hadn't really read it. Now that I have, I can't recommend it highly enough. Bottom line -- I think it's a brilliant book.

I go into a bit of plot, etc. at the crime page of my reading journal, otherwise, let me just say that there is a LOT happening in this book beyond and underneath the mystery itself, but I won't go into any of that here because The Moonstonehas been studied inside and out, upside and down, picked apart, analyzed, and has provided many scholarly works that can be found on one's own. I can see how it might frustrate a number of modern detective-fiction readers and seem a bit tedious at times, but it had the completely opposite effect on me: every moment of free time I could possibly grab during a day was devoted solely to this novel. And while his The Woman in White will always remain my favorite Collins novel, I loved this book.

The Moonstone, generally recognized as the first detective novel (despite the appearance of The Notting Hill Mystery a few years before), is not only a work of historical importance but also a work that transcends the genre it created, in the artfulness of its plotting, in its compassionate depiction of servants, and in its enlightened resolution of the theme of the British Empire, its crimes and their consequences.

Not that I wish to minimize its historical importance. The Moonstone is the first—certainly the first fully-formed—detective novel, and it contains within that great “first” a number of little “firsts”: the first English country house mystery featuring a large guest list of suspects, the first crew of bumbling local policemen mucking about in the evidence, the first detective genius distinguished by an unlikely hobby, the first small, suggestive physical clue (a smear on the bottom of a newly-painted door), the first effective “red herrings” (I counted at least two), the first attempt at a precise reenactment of the crime at its original scene, and the first pursuit of a disguised criminal through the streets of a major city.

But it is the plot, which uses all these “firsts” to great advantage, that both astonishes and pleases the reader. The Moonstone is at least three times the length of the average detective novel, and yet it sustains interest and maintains credibility throughout its many twists. turns, and asides. Its plot reminds me of the melody line of Bellini's “Casta Diva,” which strikes the ear as a thing of incomparable elegance, but never calls to mind—except upon later reflection—either its own extraordinary length or the expert craftsmanship such seamless length requires.

Also impressive is Collins' sympathetic depiction of the English servant class. Steward and Butler Gabriel Betteredge is a marvelous comic character, memorable for his daily readings of Robinson Crusoe, which he reveres as a source of divination and practical guidance. But Betteredge is also the essentially reliable narrator of half the novel, and, as we learn of the events on the Verinder estate through his eyes and ears, we grow to love and trust him as a good man and an intelligent observer. Also noteworthy is Collins' presentation of Roseanna, the servant girl with a deformed shoulder and a criminal past. Collins treats her with dignity, neither as a comic grotesque nor as an object of simple pity, but as fully human person with a unique, blighted destiny.

But perhaps my favorite thing about the book is Collins' use of “The Moonstone” itself, that great diamond snatched from a Hindu shrine by the villainous Colonel Herncastle during the Siege of Seringapatam—the 1799 climax to the Fourth Anglo-Mysore War which served to institutionalize English theft under the banner of the British East India Company. It is the second theft of this gem from the Verinder estate that precipitates the events of the novel, but memory of the original crime—and its curse—is never far from the reader, for the Brahmins who wish to return “The Moonstone” to the shrine of Chandra are never far away. At first these shadowy figures appear to be exotic villians, but Collins eventually shows us that the real criminals—both past and present—are the “respectable” English, and he grants his Hindu priests a moving coda. Sure, the ending of the novel is romantic, and exotic. But it is dignified and respectful of other cultures too.

The real reason, however, that you should read The Moonstone is that it endures, after all these years, as a diverting and absorbing entertainment. The first detective novel is still as readable as if it were published today.