Anthony Horowitz is a bit of a madman when it comes to structure. Most people know him from Alex Rider or his Sherlock Holmes continuations, but Magpie Murders season 1 is where he really starts showing off. It’s not just a whodunnit. It is a whodunnit wrapped inside another whodunnit, like some sort of literary Matryoshka doll that actually makes sense by the time the credits roll.
I remember watching the first episode and thinking it felt a bit "cozy." You know the vibe—English villages, bicycles, suspicious vicars. But then the show flips the script.
The story follows Susan Ryeland, played by the always incredible Lesley Manville. She’s a book editor. She gets a manuscript from her most successful (and most obnoxious) author, Alan Conway. The book is the latest in his hit Atticus Pünd series. But there is a massive problem. The final chapter is missing. And then, the author turns up dead.
Suddenly, Susan is playing detective in the real world to find out what happened to Conway, while we, the audience, are also watching the fictional 1950s mystery play out on screen. It’s ambitious. Most shows would trip over their own feet trying to do this, but the way the 1950s "Pünd" world bleeds into the modern "Susan" world is basically seamless.
Why Magpie Murders Season 1 Isn't Your Standard Mystery
If you're tired of the "gritty detective with a drinking problem and a dead wife" trope, this is your antidote. Magpie Murders season 1 works because it respects the genre while simultaneously making fun of it.
Alan Conway, the fictional author within the show, actually hates the mystery genre. He thinks it’s beneath him. He litters his books with hidden insults and anagrams because he’s bored. This adds a layer of snark that you don't usually get in a PBS Masterpiece or BritBox production.
One of the coolest visual tricks the show uses is having the actors play dual roles. You’ll see a character in the modern-day plot, and then that same actor shows up as a completely different person in the 1950s manuscript world. It forces you to pay attention. It’s not "background noise" television. If you check your phone for five minutes, you’re going to be totally lost on whether you’re in the "real" London or the "fictional" Saxby-on-Avon.
The Atticus Pünd Factor
Let's talk about Atticus Pünd. Tim McMullan plays him with this precise, understated grace that feels like a nod to Hercule Poirot but without the cartoonish mustache. Pünd is dying. He knows his time is short, which gives his investigation into the death of a wealthy landowner a sense of urgency and melancholy.
The 1950s segments look gorgeous. The lighting is warm, the costumes are crisp, and the scenery is peak British countryside. It looks like a postcard, which is exactly how a fictional mystery should look.
But then we cut back to Susan Ryeland. Her world is colder. More industrial.
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Lesley Manville brings so much weight to Susan. She isn't a "detective." She's a woman trying to save her publishing house. She’s driving a fast car, smoking, and refusing to settle down with her boyfriend because she likes her life exactly as it is. It's refreshing to see a female lead in a mystery who isn't defined by trauma, but rather by her competence and her stubbornness.
The Plot Holes People Think They Found (But Didn't)
When Magpie Murders season 1 first aired on BritBox and later on PBS, the internet was buzzing with theories. Some people thought the two timelines didn't match up.
"Wait, why is the sister in the book different from the sister in real life?"
That’s the point.
The show is a study on how authors steal from reality. Alan Conway took people he disliked in real life—his neighbors, his sister, his lovers—and twisted them into villains or victims in his books. To solve the mystery of the missing chapter, Susan has to figure out who Conway was insulting.
The mystery isn't just "who killed the author?" It's "which character in the book is a coded version of the killer?"
It’s meta.
If you've ever wondered how much of a writer's real life ends up on the page, this show gives you a pretty cynical, hilarious answer. Conway was a jerk. Almost everyone had a reason to want him dead. His transition from a "respected" author to a corpse at the bottom of a tower is actually quite satisfying.
The Masterful Editing
The transition shots are honestly some of the best I've seen in recent TV. Susan will be driving her red convertible down a modern highway, and as she passes a tree, the camera stays on the road, and suddenly a 1950s vintage car drives past in the opposite direction.
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There is no "magical" portal. It’s just clever editing that suggests the story Susan is reading is coming to life around her. It makes the viewing experience feel active. You aren't just watching a show; you're solving a puzzle alongside the protagonist.
Breaking Down the "Magpie" Rhyme
You probably know the nursery rhyme. "One for sorrow, two for mirth..."
The show uses this as its backbone. Each part of the rhyme relates to a different element of the mystery. It’s a bit of a trope in British mysteries (think Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None), but Horowitz uses it to signpost the plot without being too obvious.
- One for sorrow: The initial death of the housekeeper, Mary Blakiston.
- Two for mirth: The facade of the village life that hides the rot underneath.
- Three for a wedding: The various complicated relationships Conway exploited.
- Four for a birth: New beginnings and the "birth" of a new detective in Susan.
It sounds simple, but the execution is layered. Honestly, the way the rhyme integrates into the episode titles and the overall structure is just smart writing.
Is It Worth the Binge?
Yes. Absolutely.
But don't expect a fast-paced thriller. This is a slow burn. It’s a "sit with a cup of tea and a notepad" kind of show.
The stakes feel real because the publishing world is portrayed with such biting accuracy. The stress of a missing manuscript, the ego of a star author, the desperation of an assistant—it’s all there.
Also, the supporting cast is stacked. You’ve got Michael Maloney, Conleth Hill (who Game of Thrones fans will recognize as Varys), and Alexandros Logothetis. Everyone is playing their roles with a slight wink to the camera. They know they're in a mystery. They know the rules.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Ending
Without spoiling the specifics, some viewers felt the ending was "too simple."
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I’d argue the opposite.
The ending of Magpie Murders season 1 is a commentary on the genre itself. In a book, everything is tied up with a neat little bow. In real life, motives are messier, sadder, and often more pathetic. By giving us two different endings—one for the book and one for the reality—Horowitz highlights the gap between fiction and the truth.
The "real" killer isn't a mastermind. They're just a person pushed to the brink. That’s much more chilling than a theatrical villain.
Final Thoughts on the Saxby-on-Avon Mystery
If you’re looking for a show that treats you like you’re smart, this is it. It doesn't over-explain. It trusts you to keep up with the name changes and the timeline jumps.
The chemistry between Susan and the "imaginary" Atticus Pünd—who she starts seeing and talking to as she gets deeper into the case—is the highlight of the series. It’s a weird, grumpy, beautiful partnership between an editor and the ghost of a character.
How to watch it effectively:
- Watch the background: Horowitz loves Easter eggs. Pay attention to the books on the shelves and the names on the shops.
- Listen to the music: The score by Anthony Alice helps distinguish the eras without needing a "1955" caption on the screen.
- Don't skip the credits: The opening sequence is full of clues that actually mean something once you’ve finished the season.
Your Next Steps
If you've finished the show and are craving more, there are a few things you should do immediately.
First, go read the original novel by Anthony Horowitz. While the show is a very faithful adaptation, the book goes even deeper into the "book within a book" gimmick. The middle of the novel is literally the entire Atticus Pünd manuscript, cover to cover.
Second, check out the sequel series, Moonflower Murders. It brings back Susan Ryeland for another case that involves a missing person and, once again, a hidden message inside one of Alan Conway’s old books.
Third, if you enjoyed the dual-timeline aspect, look into other "meta-mysteries." Shows like Only Murders in the Building have a similar vibe, though they lean much more into the comedy side of things compared to the more traditional British drama style of Magpie.
Lastly, go back and re-watch the first episode of season 1. Now that you know the ending, the clues are glaringly obvious. It’s one of those rare shows that is actually better the second time around because you can see the strings being pulled from the very beginning.