Confessions of a Mystery Novelist....

I'm Movin' Out!*

2011-05-13T09:46:00.000-07:00

Hello, All,

Just wanted to let everyone know that Confessions of A Mystery Novelist… has moved!

I really like my new home, and I hope you will, too!

Come on over!

Visit me at my new home:

http://margotkinberg.wordpress.com/

I’d also really be grateful if you’d update your RSS feed and blogroll.

Thanks!!

*NOTE: The title of this post is the title of a Billy Joel song.

And Different Strokes for Different Folks*

2011-05-11T12:01:00.000-07:00

One of the great things about crime fiction is that it comes in all sorts of forms. Two of the most common written forms of crime fiction are novels and short stories (but of course, there are a lot of other forms, too, such as films, games and plays). This variety gives the genre a lot of versatility and makes it appealing to lots of people who might not otherwise be interested in crime fiction. There are advantages and disadvantages of novels and short stories for readers and authors, and in terms of which one is the better form, it’s probably most productive to think of novels and short stories as complementary.

Short Stories

Short stories have a lot of advantages, both for authors and readers. For the reader, a short story gives one the chance to sample the work of an author one hasn’t “met” before without investing an awful lot of time and effort. For instance, Agatha Christie’s The Labours of Hercules, Partners in Crime and The Tuesday Club Murders are collections of short stories featuring her most famous detectives, respectively Hercule Poirot, Tommy and Tuppence Beresford and Jane Marple. Those collections allow new readers to see what they think of Christie’s sleuths, one story at a time.

Although Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes made his debut in the novel A Study in Scarlet, many people have actually been introduced to Holmes through one of the 56 short stories in which he appears. I know that’s true of me (my introduction to Holmes was The Adventure of The Red-Headed League). And I’m sure you can think of other authors, too, whose work you first read in short story format. That’s one of the benefits of short story anthologies such as 100 Malicious Little Mysteries, edited by Isaac Asimov, Martin Greenberg and Joseph Olander. Since a group of writers contribute their work, the reader gets to sample all sorts of “new” authors.

Short stories also allow the reader to experience a whole crime story – from start to finish – in just a few pages. For example, Dorte Hummelshøj Jakobsen’s Cutbacks, from her collection Liquorice Twists, tells the story of a fateful decision that a man makes when his financial advisor warns him that he’ll have to make drastic cuts in his business expenses. It’s only four pages long, but it provides background, builds up to a dramatic dénouement, and gives closure.

And then there’s one of my personal favourite short stories, Roald Dahl’s Lamb to the Slaughter, which tells the story of Mary Maloney, who’s six months pregnant, and her police-officer husband Patrick. When Patrick comes home from work one day and gives Mary some drastic news, he sets in motion events that he couldn’t have foreseen. This story is less than 4,000 words; yet it gives background, tells the story of a crime and its investigation, and provides a famous plot twist.

For the busy reader or the reader who’s not sure that he or she will enjoy crime fiction, short stories are a very appealing alternative.

Short stories give the author advantages, too. They allow the author to introduce new characters and try them out. They also allow the author to stretch his or her writing and experiment. And they allow new authors to get some name recognition. Many authors who haven’t yet had novels published have been able to have their stories included in magazines and anthologies.

Novels

For all of their advantages, short stories don’t fit the bill all the time. Many readers, for example, prefer the character, setting and plot developments that are sometimes best done through the novel format. For example, Dorothy Sayers’ Gaudy Night tells the story of mystery novelist Harriet Vane’s return to her alma mater, Shrewsbury College, Oxford. When she first receives an invitation to the college’s annual Gaudy Dinner and celebration, Vane is reluctant to attend. She’s gained a certain amount of notoriety because she was on trial for the murder of her former lover (events that are detailed in Strong Poison). So she’s not sure of the welcome she’ll receive. And yet, for the sake of an old friend, she decides to go. When she arrives, Vane is received much more warmly than she’d expected, and all goes well. Then, two months later, Vane receives a letter from the Dean of Shrewsbury College. Some disturbing events, including anonymous “poison pen” letters and vandalism, have been taking place at the college. College authorities don’t want the police involved, so the Dean asks Vane to investigate. Vane agrees and goes back to Shrewsbury, this time under the pretext of doing research for a book. She and, later, Lord Peter Wimsey, look into the matter and find that the upsetting events at the college (which include an attack on Vane herself) are the work of someone who’s holding an old grudge. This story would have been very hard to tell in short story form. There’s too much important backstory, and there are some interesting sub-plots (including Vane’s developing romance with Wimsey) and those couldn’t be told effectively in a short story.

Lots of crime fiction fans like the character evolution that can best take place in a novel or better yet, a series. For example, in the course of Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch and Mickey Haller series, we see how both protagonists grow and change and cope with what life brings them. That’s also true of Henning Mankell’s Kurt Wallander series and Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Millhone series. It’s hard to get the full flavour of a character’s growth and development within the space of one short story, or even several short stories.

Novels also allow the reader to truly get immersed in a story. That can be especially enjoyable when one’s reading stories that take place in different places and times. For example, Ellis Peter’s A Morbid Taste for Bones and Philip Kerr’s If the Dead Rise Not both transport the reader to a different time; the former to 11^th Century England and Wales, the latter to Germany just before the outbreak of World War II. Particularly for readers who aren’t familiar with the times and places mentioned in this sort of novel, it’s very beneficial to have the length of the novel to provide the background needed to enjoy the story.

For the author, novels allow for a variety of characters, plots twists and so on that are more difficult in short stories. Novels also allow the author to build suspense more slowly, take more time with details, and add layers to a story.

There’s a good argument that in order to really get a sense of the crime fiction that’s out there, it’s perhaps best to read both short stories and novels. But what do you think? Do you read both forms of crime fiction? Do you have a preference? If so, what is it? If you’re a writer, do you write both short stories and novels? Which do you prefer writing?

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Jeff Buckley’s Everyday People.

In The Spotlight: Laura Lippman's Baltimore Blues

2011-05-10T12:00:00.000-07:00

Hello, All,

Welcome to another edition of In The Spotlight. Well-written crime fiction series need, of course, to have strong plots and well-developed characters. But a sense of location helps, too, and can actually attract readers. Some series have a very strong and effective sense of place – so strong that readers feel they wouldn’t get lost if they were set down in the series’ location. That’s the kind of series Laura Lippman has created with her Tess Monaghan novels. Let me show you what I mean as we take a closer look today at Baltimore Blues, the first in the Tess Monaghan series.

Tess Monaghan is at what you might call loose ends. She’s a former newspaper reporter whose employer, the Star, has folded. The Star’s only competitor is the Beacon-Light, but that newspaper hasn’t hired her. So Monaghan has had to find other ways to make ends meet. She works part-time in a Baltimore bookshop owned by her Aunt Kitty, and lives in an apartment above the store. She also works part-time for her Uncle Donald, Baltimore’s Director of the Office for Fraud and Waste (a job not nearly as high-profile or important as the title would indicate). Part of Monaghan’s problem is that she hasn’t sorted out what she wants to do with her life, much to the dismay of her parents.

One day, Monaghan gets an unusual request from Darryl “Rock” Paxton, a researcher at Johns Hopkins University and a friend Monaghan met through their common interest in rowing. Paxton’s worried that his fiancée Ava Hill may be in trouble. Ava won’t confide in him, and he wants to know what the trouble is. So he asks Monaghan to try to find out. At first, Monaghan is very reluctant. For one thing, she’s not a licensed private detective nor a police officer, so she doesn’t feel qualified. For another, she doesn’t want to get involved in Paxton’s personal business. As if that weren’t enough, she heartily dislikes Ava Hill, and thinks Paxton would be well rid of her. But, Paxton’s a friend, and Monaghan very much needs the money he’s willing to pay her. So she agrees to find out what she can.

Monaghan soon learns that Ava Hill has been having secret meetings with Michael Abramowitz, her boss at the law office where she works. It’s not long before Monaghan concludes that Hill and Abramowitz are having an affair. When Monaghan confronts Hill about what she’s found out, Hill claims that Abramowitz has been forcing her to sleep with him in exchange for help in passing the Maryland Bar Exam. Upset at this betrayal of her friend, Monaghan tells Paxton what she’s learned. That night, Michael Abramowitz is shot in his law office and it’s not long before Daryl Paxton is arrested for the crime. Paxton claims he isn’t guilty, and Monaghan wants to believe him, although she has her doubts. Before she knows it, Monaghan finds herself working for Paxton’s attorney to try to find out who else would have wanted to kill Michael Abramowitz. It turns out that there are several suspects. Abramowitz had defended some very unpleasant people whose victims resented him. There’s also Ava Hill, who might have killed her boss. And there are some powerful people whose secrets Abramowitz might have found out. In the end, Monaghan finds out the truth about Abramowitz’ murder, but not before there’s another death, and not before Monaghan herself almost becomes a victim.

As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, the Baltimore setting is an extremely important element in this novel. From the city’s Inner Harbor and Camden Yards tourist areas to center city to all sorts of outlying areas, readers are placed unmistakeably in Baltimore:

“It was about eight miles from Joey’s rundown row house to the West Baltimore home of Frank Miles, the custodian who had discovered Abramowitz’ body. Statistically, it was a more dangerous place – a once-middle-class neighborhood undone by white flight, further undone by black flight. But Tess felt comfortable here. She had grown up not far away, a straight shot down Edmondson Avenue.”

All sorts of Baltimore restaurants, customs, politics and even speaking patterns are woven into the novel so that the reader feels the novel wouldn’t easily have taken place anywhere else.

The mystery itself also keeps the reader’s interest. Abramowitz was killed for a believable reason, and the second murder, too, is committed for a reason that makes sense. As Monaghan follows up the clues and puts the pieces together, we follow along and the conclusions that she draws are logical, given what she knows and finds out. We don’t know whodunit right from the start (at least I didn’t), but the clues lead to that person once they’re put together. The pacing and timing also help keep the reader focused on the mystery. The story moves quickly enough to stay engaging, and there are some moments of real suspense. But it doesn’t move at what you’d call breakneck speed, and there are enough quiet moments that we also get to know Tess Monaghan.

And Tess Monaghan (at least in my opinion, so feel free to differ with me if you do) is a likeable character. She’s got plenty of flaws and insecurities, and in many ways she’s at odds with herself. She’s feminine, but hardly dainty; she’s insecure, but not fearful; she’s smart and resourceful, but sometimes acts before she thinks things through. She’s loyal, too, and tries to do the right thing. Another important thing about Tess Monaghan is that she loves her hometown and couldn’t really imagine living and working anywhere but Baltimore. She’s an appealing sleuth whom it’s easy to root for as she tries to do her best for Paxton and straighten out her own life, too.

Teamwork and friendship play a role in this novel, too. Monaghan knows that she can’t find out all of the answers or do all of the work by herself. So she relies on help from people she knows, even though doing so makes her uncomfortable at times. For instance, at one point, she wants to get into Abramowitz’ office to get some information. For more than one reason, she knows she won’t be warmly welcomed there, so she decides to go at night. She reluctantly takes with her E.A. “Crow” Ransome, her aunt’s assistant, and that turns out to be a wise decision. She gets other valuable assistance from Jonathan Ross, star reporter of the Beacon Light, as well as help and important information from her Uncle Donald. This teamwork makes the story more realistic, since in real life, few cases are solved by just one person.

Although the novel is not exactly what you’d call light reading, there is an undertone of humour to it. For instance, at one point, Monaghan decides to pay an unannounced visit to Ava Hill. The only problem is, Hill’s apartment building is secured, and the only way to get onto the elevator to the apartment is to have a key. So Monaghan bluffs her way on to the elevator by telling another resident that she’s new in the building and studying opera. Unfortunately, it turns out that this resident is very knowledgeable about opera, and Monaghan ends up compounding what she thought was a “little white lie.” The other resident actually ends up asking for Monaghan’s autograph and she obliges – by writing a faked name.

Baltimore Blues is an interesting character study and an engaging mystery against a distinctive Baltimore backdrop. But what’s your view? Have you read Baltimore Blues? If you have, what elements do you see in it?

Coming Up On In The Spotlight

Monday 16 May/Tuesday 17 May – Whip Hand – Dick Francis

Monday 23 May/Tuesday 24 May – The Withdrawing Room – Charlotte MacLeod

Tuesday 31 May/Wednesday 1 June – The Stepford Wives – Ira Levin

Come on, Let's Twist Again*: A Guest Post by Dorte Hummelshøj Jakobsen

2011-05-09T03:00:00.000-07:00

Hello, All,

I’m honoured and excited today to be hosting my friend fellow crime fiction writer and fellow blogger Dorte Hummelshøj Jakobsen! Dorte has just released a new collection of deliciously creepy short stories called Liquorice Twists. She’s also published two other collections: Candied Crime, also in English, and Blandede Bolsjer, a collection in her native Danish. She’s also published a standalone short story, Heather Farm. Not only is Dorte a talented author, but she’s also a terrific blogger whose posts are full of excellent reviews, lovely ‘photos and some great flash fiction. She blogs in both English and Danish (which is more than I can say about my own blog) and her blog is one of my absolute must-stops on my daily blog rounds. So please offer a warm Confessions of a Mystery Novelist... welcome to... Dorte Hummelshøj Jakobsen!

First I want to express my gratitude to Margot, not only for your invitation to visit you during my blog tour, but also for your never-wavering support of my writing. Though I have never met you in real life, you have become a highly valued friend!

As this headline and the title of my new collection Liquorice Twists suggest, most of my flash fiction stories could just as well be called twist fiction. Flash fiction stories come in all genres, and most writers have their own ideas about what works; still I´d like to share a few of my tricks of the trade with you today. (Most of the examples are from Candied Crime, published in February, and Liquorice Twists)

1) The all-important ending.

It is not all writers of flash fiction who agree on this, but I am very much in favour of a final twist. That is why I nearly always begin with the ending. Now I won´t spoil any of my stories for you, but if you jump to "Every Day Fiction" for a minute or two and read the first story I ever sold, Lollipop, I can tell you that when I had written the last sentence, around twenty words, it was very easy to set up the scene which lead to that conclusion. In my opinion, this is ´real´ flash because the story wrote itself in less than an hour and was only edited slightly afterwards.

2) Obviously, a good opening sentence is another must. If you have not captured your readers´ attention, they may never read the twist you thought was so clever.

"Poor Betty lost her little dog and her husband on the same night." This is how I open Casualty, and now you may think I have spoiled the ending for you, but there is more than one way of twisting a story.

"She came home a couple of hours earlier than usual, and as soon as she opened the door she knew there was someone in the house." This story is called In a Flash, a story where I practised keeping the narrative pace very slow by adding a wealth of details. The idea was to let the reader experience the creepy feeling of knowing there is a stranger in the house while they move further inside it together with the main character.

3) A good way of saving space is using a context your readers are already familiar with.

Once in a while I have written a flash story inspired by a fairy tale, e.g. The Princess on the Pea. I am sure my English readers will remember Hans Christian Andersen´s tale when they meet my somewhat triumphant girl who has just married her Frederick. No further introduction is needed; we can jump to a few bits and pieces good old Andersen left out.

A similar example is End of Christmas in which the reader meets the corpse, a red-and-grey-clad old man in the first sentence. I think you know who so don´t let innocent little children read this one.

4) You will also need the ability to draw your main characters in a few sentences.

Grammy is both the title of a story and the name of the main character. My inspiration was one of my own German teachers. "During most of fourth form Martha Gramstrup was our German teacher. Grammy was the thin and nervy type, a walking skeleton with rattling necklaces and bracelets." You can all see her now, can´t you?

And here is ´the wife´ of Take-Off: "She flopped down on a chair and kicked her shoes off before she began rummaging for a mirror in her voluminous handbag to check that her curls and the plum-coloured three-piece suit sat where she left them in the morning."

5) Finally, if you are at a loss for ideas, you may use writing prompts - or ask your blog readers what they want in a story.

Once in a while I have posted a picture on my blog, asking my readers what they want to see in the story. I am afraid I tend to take those stories less seriously, probably because I look at my readers´ contributions and think ´no one can ever make a coherent puzzle out of these pieces´, or perhaps it is just because I have so much fun writing them. Nevertheless, they are excellent opportunities to practice your writing skills - and I suspect stories like The Red Shoes and Heather Farm are among my readers´ absolute favourites.

Thanks so much, Dorte, for sharing your insights about writing flash fiction. I must admit that’s a style of writing I haven’t mastered, so I know I learned a lot. Folks, be sure to visit Dorte’s terrific blog, DJ’s Krimiblog, and check out Liquorice Twists on Smashwords!

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Chubby Checker's Let's Twist Again.

The Alphabet in Crime Fiction: Ellery Queen's The French Powder Mystery

2011-05-08T12:25:00.000-07:00

The Alphabet in Crime Fiction community meme has been making admirable progress on our treacherous journey through the letters, thanks to our tour leader Kerrie at Mysteries in Paradise. Today we make our 17^th stop, at the letter “Q.” My contribution for this stop is Ellery Queen’s The French Powder Mystery, first published in 1930. What you see in the ‘photo is a 1942 Pocket Books paperback edition; it was given to me by a friend and I have to confess I’m proud to have it. I admit it; that’s one of the reasons I chose this book for this letter; I wanted to share this with you. Oh, and it’s not that easy to find an author/title beginning with “Q” ;-).

The real action in The French Powder Mystery begins at lunchtime one day in May at French’s Department Store in downtown New York City. A store employee enters the main store window to begin a daily demonstration of some furniture and accessories displayed in the window. One of the pieces of furniture is a wall-bed that can be pulled out for use. To the employee’s horror, and that of the onlookers, when she pulls out that bed to show how it works, she finds the body of a woman on it. Inspector Richard Queen is called in to investigate and he and his son Ellery are soon embroiled in this intriguing case.

The dead woman is identified as Winifred French, wife of Cyrus French, who owns the department store. The evidence is clear that she was shot twice, and it’s not long before Queen is able to show that she was not shot in the department store window. Instead, she was shot in her husband’s private office/apartment on the sixth floor of the department store. As if that weren’t enough, her daughter (and Cyrus French’s step-daughter) Bernice Carmody seems to have disappeared. There’s even evidence that suggests Bernice might have been involved in her mother’s murder. Queen doesn’t quite believe that, though, and begins to look elsewhere for the answers.

What he finds is a web of secrets beneath the surface of this well-to-do, respectable family and this popular, respectable store. For one thing, it turns out that Bernice Carmody is a drug addict who’s been trying to hide her addiction from her step-father, head of the local Anti-Vice Society and outspoken opponent of drug use. It also comes to light that the department store was being used to connect drug suppliers with local users. And then there’s the clandestine relationship that Winifred French had been having with one of the department store’s Board members. Bit by bit, Queen makes sense of the evidence, both physical and psychological, and figures out who killed Winifred French and why Bernice Carmody disappeared. In the end the evidence, if the reader follows it, leads directly to the person responsible.

More than anything else, this novel is an intellectual mystery. The focus is on the clues and on the logical deductions one can draw from them. There are seemingly disparate events and pieces of evidence from which Queen draws conclusions, and the reader follows along as he does. There’s even a secret code that leads Queen to the truth about the drugs gang. So readers who enjoy trying to “outguess the sleuth” will not be disappointed. And as is the case with some of the other Ellery Queen mysteries, there’s a little interlude right before the dénouement where the reader is directly addressed and invited to solve the mystery. The solution to the mystery makes sense and is believable and, even though I have to admit I didn’t guess whodunit when I first read the book, there is a straight path, so to speak, to the killer if one’s been paying attention.

The story takes place in an interesting setting, too. French’s is an old-style fashionable department store. Readers get a real sense of what department stores were like before the days of Tesco, “Marks & Sparks,” Sears and Wal-Mart.

“On the border-line between the more fashionable upper avenue and the office building district further downtown, it catered to a mixed patronage of wealth and penury. At the noon hour its broad aisles and six floors were crowded with shop girls and stenographers; in mid-afternoon the tone of its clientele improved perceptibly. It boasted at once therefore the lowest prices, the most modern models, the widest assortment of salable articles in New York.”

French’s has a leather goods department, a books department, a furniture department and so on, and the atmosphere is much more customer-oriented than the atmosphere of many of today's department stores.

There’s also a feel in this novel for the New York City of the time. We follow the police as they try to locate Bernice Carmody, track down the drugs gang and interview witnesses. There isn’t as much focus on the city itself in this novel as there is in, say, the work of Rex Stout. But one does get the feeling that this story wouldn’t likely have taken place anywhere else.

And then there’s the relationship between the Queens. As with most of the Ellery Queen novels, we see the attachment between father and son. They rely on one another and respect one another, although neither is particularly demonstrative. For his part, Ellery Queen is happy to give his father public credit for solving the mystery, especially since New York’s police commissioner has more than a passing interest in this case and has been following Inspector Queen’s progress. Ellery trusts his father and “steps back” to let his father handle the machinery of police investigation. At the same time, Richard Queen listens carefully to what his son says. He’s by no means stupid himself, but he knows his son has strong deductive skills and he depends on them. The two Queens complement each other and they both know it.

The characters in the novel are not its focus, so readers who prefer novels with a lot of character depth, evolution and development will be disappointed. It’s worth noting one or two things about the Ellery Queen character, though. In this novel, Queen is drawn as an educated intellectual whose interests are chiefly literary. Although he’s not entirely without humour and personality, in my opinion (so no need to agree with me if you don’t), his character is not fully developed. In later novels, he develops a more compassionate side and even finds love, but here he’s rather dispassionate except for his obvious devotion to his father.

This novel was published in 1930, so there are some elements of it that would be quite offensive by today’s standards. There are several racist comments and there’s blatant sexism; even the dialogue reflects these “isms.” There are class issues, too; the French family is clearly well-to-do and well-connected, and there are sharp differences between the way they’re portrayed and the way some of the characters from other backgrounds are portrayed. I admit I found all of that irritating. That said, though, it’s important to remember when the novel was written and what the prevailing attitudes of the day were. One can look at it as a “snapshot” of the way people thought, wrote, spoke and acted at that time.

The French Powder Mystery is an intellectual puzzler in the classic sense that takes place against an intriguing backdrop. And Queen fans will find it interesting to see how both Queens’ characters are portrayed in this early outing (it’s the second of the Ellery Queen mysteries). Although the “isms” are annoying (at least they were to me), the story is believable and the solution makes sense. But what’s your view? Have you read The French Powder Mystery? If you have, what elements do you see in it?

It's Just a Fantasy*

2011-05-07T12:10:00.000-07:00

Most of us have fantasies. They’re actually quite harmless most of the time, and some research even suggests that fantasies are part of healthy human development. Sometimes, though, fantasies, especially about people, can be dangerous, especially when the reality doesn’t turn out to be the same as the fantasy is. A look at crime fiction shows pretty clearly what can happen when someone becomes obsessed with a fantasy.

For example, in Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Adventure of the Crooked Man, Holmes asks Watson to take part in closing the case of the murder of Colonel James Barclay. Barclay’s wife Nancy is suspected of the murder; she and her husband had had a violent quarrel just before the murder, and no-one else seems to have a motive. But prior to that quarrel, the Barclays had seemed to be a happy couple with no resentment on either side. So it’s hard to see at first what led to Barclay’s death, and Holmes is convinced that Nancy Barclay is not guilty. Then, a friend and neighbour of Nancy Barclay’s gives Holmes an important clue. On the night of the murder, Nancy had a chance meeting with someone from her past. From that encounter, Nancy Barclay learned something about her husband that destroyed her fantasy of him. That past event led directly to Barclay’s death.

Fantasies play an interesting and important role in Agatha Christie’s The Hollow. In that novel, Dr. John Christow and his wife Gerda are visiting Sir Henry and Lady Lucy Angkatell at their country home for the week-end. Christow’s former love, famous actress Veronica Cray, has found out that Christow often stays with the Angkatells, and has taken a nearby cottage so she can “accidentally on purpose” meet him again. On the Saturday night, she goes to the Angkatells’ home on a trumped-up excuse and whisks Christow away to see her home. Cray’s fantasy of Christow is that he still loves her, although he’s married to someone else, and that they should plan a future together. In fact, the next day, she asks Christow to come over to her cottage so they can talk about their future. Christow shocks her, though, and tells that he once loved her very much, but doesn’t any longer. In fact, he says,

“I’m a man fifteen years older. A man you don’t even know – and whom, I daresay, you wouldn’t like much if you did know.”

When Cray finally accepts that her “fantasy future” isn’t going to happen, she becomes furious and threatens Christow. Those threats come back to haunt her when Christow is shot later that day and she becomes a suspect.

In an interesting sub-plot of this novel, also staying at the Angkatell home that week-end is Edward Angkatell, a family cousin. He’s had fantasies for years of marrying famous sculptor Henrietta Savernake, and finds it hard to see her for who she really is. In the meantime, Midge Hardcastle who’s also a houseguest that week-end, has loved Edward Angkatell for a long time, but he hasn’t noticed it because in his fantasies, she’s remained “Little Midge,” a young teenager. It’s not until he sees both women clearly that he can find any happiness.

Fantasies also play an important role in Ruth Rendell’s 13 Steps Down. That’s the story of Mix Cellini, a phobic young man whose job is repairing exercise equipment. That’s how he meets supermodel Merissa Nash. Mix’s real life is not particularly remarkable; in fact, he’s fairly neurotic. Once he’s met Merissa Nash, though, Cellini begins to have fantasies about her and becomes obsessed with those fantasies. In the meantime, Cellini also begins to have fantasies about his own life and sense of power and becomes obsessed with the life of notorious serial killer Dr. Richard Christie. As Cellini’s fantasies become more and more real to him, his life comes closer and closer to resembling Christie’s – with tragic results.

Shoemaker’s son Sigmundo Salvatrio, whom we meet in Pablo De Santis’ The Paris Enigma, has fantasies about what it would be like to be a famous detective, just like world-renowned Renato Craig. So he’s overjoyed when he is accepted into Craig’s Academy for Detectives. At first, Salvatrio maintains his fantasies about the “thrilling” life of a detective. Then, one of the other students is killed. And then, Renato Craig becomes seriously ill. His illness means that Craig can’t attend the Paris World’s Fair, at which he was to make a presentation along with other members of a world-famous society of detectives known as The Twelve. So he sends Salvatrio in his place. When Salvatrio arrives in Paris, he soon learns quite a lot about the real men behind the “fantasy detectives” he’d always read about. And then one of The Twelve is murdered. And then there’s another death. Salvatrio works with Viktor Arkazy, one of the founders of the group, to find out who the murderer is. In the process, he has to get rid of many of his fantasies about what it’s like to be a detective.

We also see the effect of fantasies in Teresa Solana’s A Shortcut to Paradise. In that novel, noted Catalán novelist Marina Dolç has just received a prestigious award: the Gold Apple Fiction Prize. She returns to her hotel room after the awards ceremony and dinner, only to be brutally murdered. Barcelona brothers Eduard and Josep “Borja” Martínez get involved in the investigation when Borja, who was at the dinner, makes up a story about having been hired to find the killer. The most likely suspect is Amadeu Cabestany, runner-up for the award, and a bitter rival of Dolç’s, for whom he has nothing but contempt. Cabestany’s literary agent is sure that he’s not guilty, and asks the Martínez brothers to find out who the killer really is. Before they know it, the brothers are looking for a murderer, despite not being “official.” In the end, they discover that Marina Dolç was murdered because of the killer’s fantasy life. In fact, at the end of the novel, readers get to see just how powerful that fantasy world is.

In my own B-Very Flat, university student and photographer Tony Ferguson has become smitten with gifted violinist Serena Brinkman. In his fantasies, she’s fallen for him too, and he begins to invent reasons for them to meet. Despite Serena’s honesty that she’s involved with someone else, and not interested in Tony, he persists in believing that they’re meant to be together. Then, on the night of an important musical competition, Serena suddenly dies of anaphylactic shock. At first, her death is thought to be a horrible accident. Soon enough, though, it’s proven that she was murdered and Ferguson finds himself a suspect in her death.

Fantasies are normal and probably even healthy. They can help us deal with stress, push us on to achieve and add colour to our lives. But like anything else they can get out of control. When that happens, the results can be disastrous. You could even say they make good servants, but very bad masters…

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Billy Joel's Sometimes a Fantasy.

This Magic Moment*

2011-05-06T12:08:00.001-07:00

Let’s be honest; life is not always easy. It can be annoying, difficult, even tragic. Even days where only little things go wrong (like having to drive behind a slow truck when one’s in a hurry) can be truly irritating. And when things are going seriously wrong, things can get even bleaker. That’s when little moments of happiness can mean even more. You know what I mean, I’ll bet: the first rain after a terrible dry spell; the smell of fresh coffee; an Email from a friend you haven’t heard from in a long time; a terrific book or movie; a rich conversation. Those little things give us the reserves we need to deal with life’s large and small blows. It works that way in real life, and it works that way in crime fiction, too. Well-written crime fiction can get quite bleak; after all, people die, usually by other people’s hands. That’s shattering for the people involved, and difficult for the investigating sleuth, too. Not to portray that would be unrealistic. On the other hand, those “magic moments” can add a welcome “lift” to an otherwise depressing novel. And even when a novel isn’t overly depressing, those moments can help us get to know a character better, develop sympathy for a character, and simply enjoy a good moment vicariously.

For example, in Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot’s Christmas (AKA A Holiday For Murder and Murder For Christmas), Simeon Lee invites all of the members of his family to spend the Christmas holiday at Gorston Hall, the family home. Simeon Lee is an unpleasant man who’s treated many of his family members badly; but, he’s also a very wealthy man with a strong personality, so no-one dares refuse his invitation. Everyone gathers at Gorston Hall, but tragedy strikes on Christmas Eve when Simeon Lee is brutally murdered. Hercule Poirot is spending Christmas with a friend nearby, and gets involved in the investigation. All of the guests come in for their share of suspicion, and not all of the family members get along. So the atmosphere is tense and uncomfortable. But in the midst of this atmosphere, two of the guests have one of those “magic moments.” Simeon Lee’s grand-daughter Pilar Estravados, and Stephen Farr, son of Lee’s old business partner, discover a storage closet where they find all sorts of Christmas decorations and treats that weren’t brought out because of the tragedy. One of the things they find is balloons. Like two children, they blow up balloons and start tossing them back and forth to each other up and down a long hall. It’s a fun little moment in the midst of an ugly murder investigation.

In Dorothy Sayers’ Gaudy Night, mystery novelist Harriet Vane has been invited back to her alma mater, Shrewsbury College, Oxford, to participate in its annual Gaudy Dinner celebration She’s not at all sure she should accept the invitation. She’s recently achieved a certain amount of notoriety after being on trial for murder (Strong Poison tells this story) and is not sure of her welcome. On the way to Oxford, though, Harriet has one of those “magic moments.” She’s very glad she’s got her own car, instead of having to go to Oxford by train as she did when she was a student:

“For a few hours more she could ignore the whimpering ghost of her dead youth and tell herself that she was a stranger and a sojourner, a well-to-do-woman with a position in the world.”

That drive to Oxford lifts Harriet’s spirits, and when she gets there, she finds herself much more warmly welcomed than she’d feared. After the celebration, Harriet returns home, only to go back to Shrewsbury a few months later when the Dean of the College asks her to help get to the bottom of a disturbing series of events at the school. In the end, with help from Lord Peter Wimsey, Harriet finds out who’s responsible for the vandalism and other occurrences (including an attack on Harriet herself) that have upset everyone at the school.

Caroline Graham’s Inspector Barnaby has one of those special moments in A Place of Safety. In that novel, Charlie Leathers is out late one night walking his dog when he sees what looks like a murder. Curate’s wife Ann Lawrence is struggling on a bridge with Carlotta Ryan, a troubled teen who’s been living with the Lawrences. Carlotta goes over the bridge and apparently drowns. All is not as it seems, though and very soon afterwards, Leathers himself is garroted. Inspector Tom Barnaby and Sergeant Gavin Troy investigate both incidents, and find that they’re related to each other and that there’s more to Carlotta Ryan’s disappearance than it seems. In an interesting sub-plot, Barnaby and his wife Joyce are about to celebrate their silver wedding anniversary. There’s much discussion of gifts and so on, and at the end of the novel, the Barnaby family goes out to dinner. They arrive home when Barnaby discovers to his delight that his gift is a new lawn mower. He and Joyce are out in the yard when they hear that Barnaby’s daughter Cully and her husband Nicolas have put music on and are playing it for them. The very last words of the novel really show a special side of Tom and Joyce Barnaby:

“They stood quietly as more and more stars gathered, holding fast against the relentless movement of time that changes all things. And then they began to dance.”

In Lillian Jackson Braun’s The Cat Who Smelled a Rat, newspaper columnist Jim Qwilleran investigates a series of suspicious fires at old mines. What’s making matters worse is that the area is suffering a terrible drought, so there’s an even greater than usual risk that the fires will spread and wreak havoc. In fact, everyone’s hoping for the arrival of the first major snowstorm of the year. Then a fire brigade volunteer is shot dead in one of the mine shafts. Qwilleran is sure that the murder and the arson fires are connected, and so they are. At the end of the novel, after the case is solved, the weather finally begins to co-operate and when the first lazy flakes of the coming storm fall, there’s an appealing “magic moment” scene when the usually-cynical Qwilleran, entranced by the scene, goes outside and sticks out his tongue to catch snowflakes.

Martin Edwards’ DCI Hannah Scarlett has a “magic moment” in The Serpent Pool, in which she and her Cold Case Review team investigate the six-year-old drowning death of Bethany Friend. It turns out that this case is related to two more recent murders – the deaths of book collector George Saffell and attorney Stuart Wagg. Those two murders are being investigated by Scarlett’s friend and co-worker Fern Larter. The two agree to have breakfast one morning at the Beast Banks Breakfast Bar to discuss the cases and indulge in deliciously unhealthy food. The scene gives the reader some important information about the cases, but we can also see that that visit to the restaurant gives both women a needed lift. It’s a warm conversation between friends, and Fern, especially, lightens the mood of the story at that point.

Alexander McCall Smith’s Mma. Precious Ramotswe has learned a great deal about savouring those “magic moments.” In many of the novels in the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series, we see how Mma Ramotswe takes the time to relish a walk, a cup of bush tea, the view from a window or the taste of a meal. It’s an interesting perspective on life, and awfully appealing.

But what do you think? Do you reach out for those “magic moments?” Do you think they have a place in crime fiction, or do you think they take away from the story? Which are your favourite “magic moments” in the novels you’ve read?

*NOTE: The title of this post is the title of a song by Doc Pomus and Mort Shuman.

It's Too Late to Apologise*

2011-05-05T12:11:00.001-07:00

A well-written post by fellow author Patricia Stoltey has me thinking (again) about why it is that some people feel the need – or the right – to feel stronger by bullying. Not being a psychologist, I’m not really qualified to answer the question of exactly why one or another person bullies. And if you ask people whether bullying is acceptable, most of them will tell you that it’s not. And yet bullying has been a part of many cultures for a long time, and continues to be a part of life for too many people. One reason this happens is likely that cultures and societies accept it – even condone it. But whatever else is at the core of why bullying happens, one thing seems clear: bullying can have frightening outcomes. A quick look at crime fiction is enough to show what I mean.

In Agatha Christie’s Appointment with Death, for instance, we meet Mrs. Boynton, an American widow who’s brought her three step-children and her daughter on a tour of the Middle East. Mrs. Boynton is a bully and a tyrant who delights in enforcing her will through fear. She’s got her family so cowed that not one of them would dream of crossing her. Matters come to a head during the family’s trip to Petra. Late one afternoon, Mrs. Boynton suddenly dies of what looks at first like heart failure. But Colonel Carbury, who’s in charge of the investigation, isn’t so sure. So he asks Hercule Poirot, who’s traveling in the area, to look into the matter and Poirot agrees. He finds that Mrs. Boynton was poisoned, and sets about finding out who the murderer is. As it turns out, Mrs. Boynton was killed because she had taken her bullying too far.

Bullying also plays a role in Ellery Queen’s Calamity Town. In that novel, Queen goes to the quiet New England town of Wrightsville to get some peace and quiet to write. While there, he stays in a guest house on the property of wealthy bank president John F. Wright and his wife Hermione, the undisputed social leaders of the town. Queen isn’t there very long before he’s drawn into the Wright family’s personal drama. The Wrights’ eldest daughter Lola no longer lives in Wrightsville because she dared to get divorced at a time when “nice girls,” especially from “nice” families, just simply didn’t do that. In fact, it’s the bullying of the town’s opinion, as it were, that’s driven Lola away. Then, youngest daughter Nora Wright faces a personal drama of her own. Three years ago, she got engaged to up-and-coming banker Jim Haight. Then, Haight mysteriously disappeared. The family never quite forgave him for breaking Nora’s heart, but life went on. Suddenly, Jim turns up again and soon, he and Nora re-kindle their relationship. In fact, they marry, although several people predict doom. Sure enough, a few months later, disaster strikes when Jim’s obnoxious sister Rosemary comes to visit and ends up staying. On New Year’s Eve, she’s poisoned at a party at the Wright home, and Jim is blamed for the crime. He’s under even more suspicion when it turns out that the poisoned cocktail might have been meant for Nora. Now, the whole town turns against Jim Haight and later, against Queen when it becomes known that Queen believes Jim Haight is innocent. It’s an interesting but troubling picture of what happens even among “the best families” when bullying is condoned. In the end, Queen finds out who the real killer is, but more in spite of the town than because of anyone in it.

Peter Robinson’s Gallows View features bully Mick Webster. Like many bullies, he relies on brute strength and others’ fear to get what he wants. When Trevor Sharp, who doesn’t seem to really “fit in” at his school, begins to spend time with Mick, it’s enough to concern Trevor’s father Graham, who warns his son to stay away from Webster. Trevor doesn’t listen, though, and the boys’ friendship ends in tragedy. DI Alan Banks and his team get involved when they investigate complaints of a voyeur who’s been making life miserable for several local women, as well as a series of housebreakings and a murder. Bit by bit, Banks puts the pieces of these puzzles together and finds out how Trevor Sharp and Mick Webster fit it. Bullying, and what it’s done to Trevor, plays an important role in the novel.

Bullying plays a crucial role in the life of Sabine Kroese, who tells her story in Simone van der Vlugt’s The Reunion. Sabine and her friend Isabel were always close, until they got into their teens and Isabel joined the “cool crowd.” When that happened, she and her friends began to make Sabine the butt of their jokes, and to bully her. One night, when Sabine was fifteen, Isabel disappeared and no-one knows exactly what happened to her, including Sabine. In fact, Sabine has very few memories of that night. Now, nine years later, she’s just returned to work after recovering from a nervous breakdown. She finds that her new workplace environment is stirring up old feelings, especially when Renée, a co-worker whom she herself recruited and who’s since been promoted, starts to make Sabine’s work life increasingly difficult. This new kind of bullying, plus a newspaper announcement of an upcoming school reunion, stir up the past, and Sabine decides to actively find out what exactly happened to Isabel on the night she disappeared. The more she explores her own past, and her gradually recovering memory, the more Sabine comes to believe that she may know the truth about Isabel’s disappearance, and the more she learns about herself.

Adrian Hyland’s Emily Tempest is bullied when she decides to investigate the murder of Albert “Doc” Ozolins in Gunshot Road. She’s a newly-appointed Aboriginal Community Police officer (ACPO), and is expected to fall into line, so to speak, and do as she’s told. That’s not Tempest’s way, though, so she soon runs up against her new boss Bruce Cockburn when she suspects that Ozolins’ murder wasn’t the result of a drunken quarrel, as the “official story” claims. It doesn’t help matters that Tempest is neither white nor male. Still, Tempest decides to investigate in spite of the pressure on her not to do so. The closer she gets to the truth, the more danger she finds herself in, and more than once, she’s bullied. In fact at one point, she’s brutally attacked. Still, Tempest persists, and in the end, she finds that Ozolins had discovered something that some very powerful and dangerous people didn’t want anyone to find out.

For a powerful and unflinching look at what bullying does to its victims and its perpetrators, I recommend Simon Lelic’s Rupture (AKA A Thousand Cuts). In that novel, newly-hired history teacher Simon Szajkowski walks into a crowded auditorium at the school where he works and shoots three students and a fellow teacher before turning the gun on himself. DI Lucia May is assigned to take statements from everyone. It’s assumed that May’s work will just give a “rubber stamp” to the theory that Szajkowski was a troubled individual who simply “snapped.” The frightening truth is deeper than that, though, as May discovers. It turns out that the school’s culture has tolerated – even condoned – bullying, and that this has quite a lot to do with the tragic events May is investigating. May also comes to realise that the school’s culture is very much like her own workplace culture, where she’s the regular target of bullying and harassment because of her status as the only woman on the team.

Most of us would be quick to say that bullying is wrong. And yet as long as a culture or a society condones bullying, however subtly, it will continue. And as crime fiction novels (and real life) show us, it can have tragic consequences.

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from OneRepublic’s Apologise.

If I Only Had the Words to Tell You*

2011-05-04T12:05:00.000-07:00

High-quality crime fiction novels are memorable mostly because of their plots and characters. That’s what crime fiction fans look for when they read. But sometimes, we remember a book because of a particular phrase, sentence or bit of dialogue. When a book has an especially well-turned phrase, haunting sentence or witty bit of dialogue, we may or may not remember all of the details of the story, but we do remember that bit of writing. Some sentences, phrases and pieces of dialogue just stay with the reader.

Sometimes, that happens because what’s written is especially haunting, even eerie. For instance, in Agatha Christie’s Lord Edgware Dies, Hercule Poirot and Captain Hastings investigate the stabbing death of George Alfred St. Vincent Marsh, 4^th Baron Edgware. His wife, American actress Jane Wilkinson, is the most likely suspect; she wants to be free of her husband so she can marry the Duke of Merton, and besides, she’s even threatened to kill Lord Edgware. But on the night of Edgware’s death, Jane Wilkinson was at a dinner party in another part of London, and her presence there is verified by a dozen people. So Poirot, Hastings and Inspector James “Jimmy” Japp have to look elsewhere for the criminal. In the end, and after two more deaths, they discover who the killer is. At the end of the novel, the murderer sends a letter to Poirot which Hastings says reveals how “completely conscienceless” the murderer is. In the letter, the killer outlines what happened, and we get a very interesting portrait of that person. The very last line of the letter is particularly haunting:

“p.s. Do you think they will put me in Madame Tussaud’s?”

One of the most haunting and eerie lines (at least in my opinion) in crime fiction is the first sentence of Ruth Rendell’s A Judgement in Stone:

“Eunice Parchman killed the Coverdale family because she could not read or write.”

In that one sentence, Rendell conveys the desperation, fear and anger that lead a housekeeper to plan and carry out the tragic shooting of four people. Eunice Parchman is employed as housekeeper by the upper-class, educated Coverdale family, who have no idea of a secret that she desperately tries to keep. From that first sentence, we know who the killer is, and we know who the victims are; the novel builds on that fact as we find out, as the saying goes, how it all began and what exactly leads up to the murders.

Sometimes, a piece of writing is memorable because it’s funny. Witty dialogue, in particular, can stay with us for a long time and make us laugh to ourselves even when no-one else gets the joke. I don’t recommend that, though ;-). For instance, in Dorothy Sayers’ Strong Poison, Lord Peter Wimsey attends the murder trial of mystery novelist Harriet Vane, who is accused of having poisoned her former lover Philip Boyes. She has both motive and opportunity, so things don’t look good for her, but when the jury can’t agree on a verdict, she gets another chance to clear her name. Wimsey’s fallen in love with Vane and determines to prove her innocence. As he’s investigating, he gets help from several people, including a reformed thief-turned-evangelist called Bill. One evening, Wimsey and friend are on their way to visit Bill:

“By the way….this person we are going to see – has he a name?”

“I believe he has, but he’s never called by it. It’s Rumm.” [Wimsey]

“Not very, perhaps, if he – er – gives lessons in lockpicking.”

“I mean, his name’s Rumm.”

“Oh: what is it then?”

"Dash it! I mean, Rumm is his name.”

“Oh! I beg your pardon.”

“But he doesn’t care to use it, now that he is a total abstainer.”

“Then what does one call him?”

“I call him Bill,” said Wimsey…

I admit it; I chuckle, at least to myself, every time I read that exchange.

There’s an equally funny bit of writing in Håkan Nesser’s Mind’s Eye, in which Inspector Van Veeteren and his team investigate the murder of Eva Ringmar and later, her husband Jurgen Mitter. When Ringmar is found dead in her bathtub, her husband is accused of the murder. He protests his innocence, but he’s got no alibi and on the night of the murder, he was so drunk that he doesn’t even remember exactly what happened. So he’s arrested, tried and convicted of the crime. During his trial, an officious prosecuting attorney asks Mitter how he knows he didn’t kill his wife, since he doesn’t remember the events of the evening. Here is Mitter’s response:

“I know I didn’t kill her; because I didn’t kill her. Just as I’m sure that you know you are not wearing frilly knickers today, because you aren’t. Not today.”

The courtroom erupts at that remark, and it endears Mitter to Van Veeteren, who begins to think that maybe Mitter is telling the truth when he claims that he’s innocent. Mitter is found guilty, and is remanded to a mental institution instead of prison, because he has no memory of what happened on the night of his wife’s murder. Shortly afterwards, Mitter himself is brutally murdered and now, Van Veeteren is convinced that Mitter was innocent. So he and his team launch a thorough investigation and in the end, they discover who the murderer really was.

Pieces of writing can also be unforgettable because of their eloquence, even if the prose isn’t particularly “flowery.” For example, in Hugh Pentecost’s The Fourteen Dilemma, the lucky Watson family wins an all-expenses-paid trip to New York City, where they will stay at the exclusive Hotel Beaumont. Arrangements have been made for them to stay on the ultra-posh 14^th floor, and all sorts of special events have been planned. Then one day, beautiful twelve-year-old Marilyn Watson wanders off and doesn’t return. When her body is later found stuffed into a trash can, the hotel’s manager Pierre Chambrun and its public-relations director Mark Haskell work with the police to find out who the killer is. Together, they find out who murdered Marilyn Watson and why, and plans are laid to catch the killer. Things go awry, though, and in the end, Chambrun has to violate his own strong sense of what is right in order to make sure the murderer is brought to justice:

“Chambrun was pounding his fist against the office wall, like a man suffering some agony. He turned, and his face was the color of ashes.

‘In the end, they force us to tar ourselves with the same brush,’ he said, his voice ragged.”

Just those few lines paint an eloquent portrait of the ethical dilemmas a sleuth can face.

And then there’s Colin Dexter’s The Daughters of Cain. In that novel, Inspector Morse and Sergeant Lewis investigate the murders of Dr. Felix McClure and later, his former scout Ted Brooks. One of the people concerned in the case is Ellie Smith, a prostitute who counted McClure among her clients. Morse and Smith are attracted to each other although each of them is painfully aware that he’s investigating her as a possible murder suspect. Morse and Lewis find out who the murderer is, and what connects the two deaths. Then, Ellie Smith disappears. These lines show just what effect she and her disappearance have had on Morse:

“And above all in Morse’s life there remains the searching out of Ellie Smith, since as a police officer that is his professional duty and as a man, his necessary purpose.”

Powerful lines can make a novel unforgettable, even if we don’t remember exactly what happened in the plot. You’ve just read some of my favourite memorable lines. What are some of yours?

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Billy Joel’s If I Only Had the Words.

Do You Have What it Takes?

2011-05-03T12:00:00.000-07:00

You know, you really ought to know by now that it's always risky to visit my blog ;-)...

Yes, it's time for another quiz. Ever thought you'd make a good sleuth? Are you observant? Do you pay attention to detail? You do, I'm sure. Or do you? Take this handy quiz and find out.

Here's how to do it:

1. Give yourself two minutes (no cheating!) to carefully look at this blog. Check out the tabs, the sidebar, anything you like.

2. At the end of two minutes, click on the magnifying glass you see below and take the quiz to see how much you noticed about the blog. No fair toggling back and forth as you go along ;-).

3. At the end of the quiz, check your score to see how you have done. Don't forget to go all the way to the end of the quiz, so you can see which items you got correct.

Ready? Click the magnifying glass to begin... if you dare ;-).

In The Spotlight: Kel Robertson's Smoke and Mirrors

2011-05-02T12:10:00.000-07:00

G’day, All,

Welcome to another edition of In The Spotlight. Australian crime fiction is a force to be reckoned with in the genre, and has contributed quite a lot to it. One of the nice things about crime fiction from Down Under is that it’s as diverse as the country is. Want to find out more of what I’m talking about? Visit Fair Dinkum Crime, a blog site devoted to reviews of Australian crime fiction, interviews with Aussie authors and a lot more. For today, though, let’s have a taste of fair dinkum Aussie crime fiction with a closer look at Kel Robertson’s Smoke and Mirrors.

As the novel begins, Australian Federal Police (AFP) officer Bradman “Brad” Chen is lured back to police work after a leave of absence. In fact, he’s decided to go back to university and work on his Ph.D. He’s only now putting his life back together after being seriously wounded both physically and mentally while investigating another case (detailed in Robertson’s first novel Dead Set), and is not in a hurry to come back to the police. But this particular double murder is intriguing. Alec Dennet, a member of Australia’s 1972-1975 Gough Whitlam government, has been working on his memoirs at Uriarra, a writer’s retreat near Canberra. Also staying at Uriarra is Dennet’s editor Lorraine Starke. One night, both are murdered and their bodies found in Dennet’s cottage at the retreat. As it happens, Chen’s thesis has to do with Australia’s political history, and he’s met Dennet a few times. So he becomes interested in the case.

One of the first things Chen discovers as he begins to investigate is that Dennet’s manuscript is missing. It looks very much as though Dennet and Starke might have been killed for the manuscript, and that would make sense. It was said that in his memoirs, Dennet was going to reveal some secrets that would embarrass some important people and would reveal the truth about the alleged conspiracy that overthrew the Whitlam government.

Chen soon discovers that he’s not the only one interested in finding the missing manuscript. An unpleasant group of Russian mobsters, who may or may not once have been involved with the KGB, pay him a very threatening visit. Then Chen’s friend and fellow Ph.D. candidate Anna Malenkova disappears and it looks possible that she’s being held hostage in exchange for the manuscript. There’s also a group of South African gangsters after both Chen and the manuscript. As Chen tries to save his friend, solve the murders and avoid getting killed himself, he finds himself caught in the proverbial crossfire of international espionage and some very nasty criminals. In the end, Chen and his team get to the truth about the Dennet and Starke murders, but not before Chen nearly becomes another victim. And not before some surprising plot twists.

As with most well-written crime fiction, the main element in this story is the mystery. Although this isn’t a police procedural in the usual sense of that term, we do follow along as Chen and his team visit the murder scene, gather evidence and statements and track down clues. The killer isn’t obvious, but Robertson does “play fair” with the reader in that the clues and the background to the murders are there. The plot is focused on the murders and as the different pieces of the puzzle fall into place, we see how the threads of the story come together.

Another very important element in this novel is the teamwork and camaraderie among Brad Chen and his team-mates. They rely on each other and their friendship adds a layer of richness to the novel. We see that friendship from the very beginning as the team tries to support Chen’s return to work after his trauma, and it’s woven throughout the story as he faces more than one personal demon. It also adds some realism to the plot. In real life, few cases are solved by only one person, and a case like this one, with international implications, would almost surely not be solved by one person working alone. It’s interesting, too, because we see the connections among the team members not just in the way they help one another, but also in the banter among them. For instance, at one point, Chen and his new assistant Filipowski have spent a long night drinking. The next morning, they’re due to meet a team-mate, nicknamed “Talkative,” at Dennet’s home. When they arrive, Talkative is already there reading a newspaper:

“‘I thought I was going to have to read the finance section,’ he [Talkative] said, getting to his feet. ‘Your face is looking pretty ordinary.’

‘You ought to experience it from my side. What happened to Turner?’ [Chen]

‘He called in sick. Reckons he had a restless night.’

‘That’s not good,’ I said. ‘He’s a bloke who needs all the beauty sleep he can get.’…

‘The two of you aren’t in any position to throw stones….’

‘Filipowski fell in with a bad crowd after work and I felt honour bound to keep a fatherly eye on him. He drank. I watched. He drank for a long time. I watched for a long time. We are both very tired.’”

That conversation also shows another important element in this novel: a sense of humour. The team takes the investigation seriously, but there’s wit throughout the novel. For example, when Chen agrees to start working on the murder case, Talkative asks him,

“‘Do you want someone to collect you in the morning?’

‘No, if I get lost I’ll ask a policeman for directions.’”

The novel takes place in and near Canberra, and there is a strong sense of place in it. In fact, Smoke and Mirrors was a 2009 winner of the Ned Kelly Award for best Australian Crime Fiction. Throughout the novel, Robertson places the reader in Canberra through descriptions of the various places in the city (e.g. the University, the Belconnon Mall, etc). But it’s more than that. A major theme of the novel is Dennet’s manuscript, which discusses Australian political history. So we get a sense of the inner workings of Australian politics as Chen learns what was in the manuscript and why anyone would want it. Even some of the humour is distinctly Australian. For instance, just after Chen hears about the case, Talkative asks him to begin work:

“‘Welcome back,’ said Talkative. “let’s go and talk post-mortems.’

‘Nah, I’ll come back tomorrow,’ I said, ‘to read my way through things.’

‘Dr. Nick will be shattered, not seeing you.’

‘He’s a South Sydney supporter,’ I said. ‘They’re used to heartbreak.’”

The novel is told in the first person, from Chen’s perspective. Readers who prefer the third-person point of view may find this distracting, but to be honest, I didn’t. That perspective helps the reader understand Chen’s battle to return to mental and physical health, and builds the suspense as Chen investigates.

An intriguing mystery in a distinctly Australian context, Smoke and Mirrors combines humour and solid police work with politics and history. But what’s your view? Have you read Smoke and Mirrors? If you have, what elements do you see in it?

Coming Up On In The Spotlight

Tuesday 10 May/Wednesday 11 May – Baltimore Blues – Laura Lippman

Monday 16 May/Tuesday 17 May – Whip Hand – Dick Francis

Monday 23 May/Tuesday 24 May – The Withdrawing Room – Charlotte MacLeod

The Alphabet in Crime Fiction: Agatha Christie's Poirot Loses a Client

2011-05-01T12:20:00.001-07:00

After a restful holiday break, the Alphabet in Crime Fiction community meme has moved on to the 16^th stop on our perilous tour of the alphabet – the letter “P.” Thanks, as always, to our tour guide Kerrie at Mysteries in Paradise for a safe and pleasant journey thus far. While everyone’s looking at local sightseeing guides, I’ll make my contribution for this week, Agatha Christie’s Poirot Loses A Client (AKA Dumb Witness), published in 1937.

One Easter holiday, Miss Emily Arundell invites her relations to visit her in the town of Market Basing for the week-end. Her family is fond enough of her, but they’re also quite well aware that she has a very large fortune to leave, so everyone is quick to accept the invitation. The house party includes Miss Arundell’s niece Bella Tanios and her husband, Dr. Jacob Tanios, as well as Miss Arundell’s other niece Theresa Arundell and her brother Charles. Late one night, Miss Arundell, who sometimes has insomnia, gets up to go downstairs. She trips and falls down the stairs, coming close to very serious injury. At first, everyone thinks Miss Arundell’s fall was an accident. Miss Arundell herself, though, begins to suspect that the accident was staged and that her life is in danger. So she writes a letter to Hercule Poirot, asking for his help in a delicate matter which she doesn’t specify.

Poirot receives the letter two months after Miss Arundell wrote it, and he and Captain Hastings travel to Market Basing. By the time they arrive, though, it’s too late. Miss Arundell has since died of what looks like liver failure. The diagnosis isn’t so surprising, since she had liver trouble, but Poirot begins to suspect that Miss Arundell may have been poisoned. So he and Hastings begin to investigate. They soon find that more than one person had a motive to kill Miss Arundell. There are, of course, Miss Arundell’s relations, all of whom are eager for her fortune. There’s also Miss Arundell’s companion Wilhelmina “Minnie” Lawson, to whom Miss Arundell has unexpectedly left her considerable wealth. And then there’s Dr. Rex Donaldson, who’s engaged to Theresa Arundell, and who would benefit immensely if his research were to be funded. In this investigation, interestingly enough, everyone has more or less the same motive for murder – money. No-one hated the victim, and she didn’t have any secrets to hide. Nor did she know anyone else’s secret. So Poirot and Hastings have to focus instead on the kind of murder it was, and the sort of person who would use that method. In the end, Poirot uses that approach to tie in the murderer with the method and finds out who the killer is.

As with most of Christie’s work, one of the very important elements in this novel is the mystery itself. All of the suspects had the opportunity to commit both the attempted murder and the actual murder. Each suspect has an equally strong motive, too. So Poirot and Hastings (and the reader) have to rely on clues and on what the suspects and witnesses say (and lie about), as well as the psychology involved in the murder, to find out who the killer is. There are some interesting plot twists and of course, “red herrings,” and I know the first time I read this novel, I didn’t guess whodunit.

The main characters in the novel are an interesting element, too. For example, Theresa Arundell is a young jet-setter whose picture is often seen in the papers. She runs with what used to be called a “fast crowd,” and is willing to do things not strictly within the law to get her share of her aunt’s fortune. And yet, for all that, she’s likeable. She’s vivacious, has a true flair for style and is very much alive. A lot of people don’t trust Jacob Tanios, most especially because he’s not English, and he is as eager as anyone for a share of Miss Arundell’s fortune. But he is warm and friendly and proves himself an able and compassionate professional when Miss Arundell has her fall. And of course, there’s Miss Arundell’s dog, Bob the terrier. He’s got a distinct personality, too, and in fact, he provides an important clue to the mystery.

There are some interesting and eccentric minor characters in the novel as well. For instance, there’s Caroline Peabody, a holdover, you might say, from the Victorian Era, who’s a friend of Miss Arundell’s. She has a sense of humour (more on that in a moment) and a rich, flavourful personality. She’s known the Arundell family for sixty years, so she’s able to give Poirot and Hastings some interesting and useful background information on the Arundell family history. And then there are Julia and Isabel Tripp, who are friends of Miss Lawton. They share, among other things, an interest in spiritualism and séances.

In part, it’s those eccentric characters who add a touch of humour to the novel. For example, Poirot and Hastings arrange to meet with the Tripp sisters, whom Christie describes as

“…vegetarians, theosophists, British Israelites, Christian Scientists, spiritualists and enthusiastic amateur photographers.”

The two ladies are very pleased to meet Poirot, who’s led them to believe he is also an old friend of Minnie Lawson. He and Poirot have an odd sort of interview with the sisters, and at one point, Isabel says to the epicurean Poirot,

“‘Would you, that is, stay and share our evening meal? A very simple one – some shredded, raw vegetables, brown bread and butter, fruit.’

‘It sounds delicious,’ Poirot said hastily. ‘But alas! My friend and I have to return to London.’…

‘Thank goodness, Poirot,’ I said with fervour. ‘you got us out of those raw carrots! What awful women!’

‘Pour nous, un bon bifteck – with the fried potatoes – and a good bottle of wine. What should we have had to drink there, I wonder?’

‘Well water, I should think,’ I said with a shudder.”

Poirot and Hastings also have a meeting with Miss Peabody, during which he says that he’s writing a book about Miss Arundell’s family. As we find out later, she doesn’t really believe him, but she tells him what she knows of the Arundell family. At one point, Miss Arundell addresses Hastings:

“‘You are his secretary, I suppose?’

‘Er – yes,’ I said doubtfully.’

‘Can you write decent English?’

‘I hope so.’

‘H’m – where’d you go to school?’

‘Eton.’

‘Then you can’t.’

I was forced to let this sweeping charge against an old and venerable centre of education pass unchallenged as Miss Peabody turned her attention once more to Poirot.”

Miss Peabody is clever, witty and provides some useful information.

All of these characters fit quite well in the market village setting, which is another interesting element in the novel. Because it’s a small village, gossip spreads quickly, as we find when it’s discovered that Miss Arundell has left her fortune away from her family. Opinion’s sharply divided on the topic, and it’s interesting to see how people take sides. Poirot Loses a Client is a solid mystery in the classic English village setting, with interesting characters and Christie’s trademark twists and “red herrings.” But what’s your view? Have you read Poirot Loses a Client? If you have, what elements do you see in it?

Time Passages*

2011-04-30T12:00:00.000-07:00

Rites of passage are important ways for us to mark the major changes in our lives. I don’t have a deep background in psychology, so I can’t say for sure why we depend on rites of passage, but if I had to guess, I’d say it’s because they help us organise our lives. In just about every culture, births, marriages, deaths and other rites of passage help people make sense of their development and give people a sense of order. They also allow others to mark those rites of passage with us, and that gives a sense of belonging. It’s no surprise, then, that rites of passage play important roles in crime fiction, too.

There’s a very eerie example of the role that rites of passage play in our lives in Ruth Rendell’s The Bridesmaid. Philip Wardman is a fastidious interior designer with a horror of brutality or violence of any kind and a particular attraction to the beautiful. This fascination proves disastrous for Wardman when his sister Fee gets married. Fee’s chosen as one of her bridesmaids the beautiful and seductive Santa Pelham. Wardman is instantly smitten and before long, he and Pelham are romantically involved. At first, all is well, but then, Pelham tells her lover that in order to prove their love for each other, each must commit a murder. Although Wardman is horrified at the thought, he doesn’t think she’s serious, and besides, he’s too much in love to make much of a fuss. So he lies about having committed a murder. Then, Pelham tells him about a murder she’s committed. Wardman thinks she’s made up her story, too, until he finds out too late that he’s been drawn into a nightmare.

Weddings also feature in Alexander McCall Smith’s The Full Cupboard of Life. In that novel, Mma. Precious Ramotswe gets an interesting commission from Mma. Holonga, a very successful owner of several hair-braiding salons. Mma. Holonga is ready to get married, and she has four admirers, each of whom she could imagine herself marrying. She wants Mma. Ramotswe to investigate each of her admirers and help her make the right choice. Mma. Ramotswe agrees, and begins her task. She soon finds out that two of Mma. Holonga’s suitors are likely interested only in her money. Mma. Ramotswe tries to tell her client about what she’s learned, but by that time, Mma. Holonga has already made her choice, and won’t listen to what Mma. Ramotswe has to say. It’s an interesting reminder that we don’t easily listen to advice that we don’t want to hear. Meanwhile, in an interesting sub-plot, Mma. Ramotswe has concerns of her own. She is engaged to Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, owner of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, and is happy with him. However, she wants to be married; she wants a wedding. That rite of passage is important to a traditional lady like Mma. Ramotswe, but her fiancé seems in no hurry to go through with a wedding. On one hand, Mma. Ramotswe would like to hurry things along. On the other, she’s not unhappy with Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, and she’s afraid that if she pushes matters, he’ll break off the engagement. In the end, Mma. Ramotswe and her friend Mma. Sylvia Potokwane hatch a plan, and the novel ends with (in my opinion, anyway), a delightful wedding under a tree.

Crime fiction often involves murders, so funerals also figure in lots of crime fiction novels. For instance, Agatha Christie’s After the Funeral (AKA Funerals are Fatal) begins with the funeral of wealthy patriarch Richard Abernethie. When his family returns to the Abernethie home of Enderby Hall after the funeral, everyone gathers for the reading of his will. During that gathering, Abernethie’s younger sister Cora Lansquenet says that her brother was murdered. Everyone hushes her up and even Cora herself makes an apology. But privately, everyone begins to wonder whether Abernethie was murdered. Cora has a habit of blurting out things better left unsaid, and everyone suspects that she made have done so this time, too. Then, the next day, Cora herself is brutally murdered. Now it looks as though she may have been right about her brother. So family solicitor Mr. Entwhistle visits Hercule Poirot and asks him to investigate. Poirot agrees and looks into the case. In classic Christie fashion, we find that the motive for murder was there if one pays attention, but not at all what one would have thought.

In Alan Orloff’s Diamonds for the Dead, Josh Handleman returns from San Francisco to his native Northern Virginia for the funeral of his father Abe, who suddenly died from a fall down a flight of stairs. Handleman and his family observe the Jewish mourning ritual of shivah, and one of the attendees is Abe Handleman’s best friend Lev Yurishenko. Yurishenko takes Josh aside and tells him that his father was murdered, and that the killer is Abe Handleman’s lodger Yassian. Josh doesn’t believe his father’s friend at first. Everyone loved “Honest Abe” Handleman, and no-one can imagine a reason for murdering him. But then, Josh finds out that his father had a cache of valuable diamonds – and that the diamonds are now missing. He begins a search for the diamonds and as he gets closer to the truth about them, Josh also gets closer to finding out who killed his father and why.

Donna Leon’s Commissario Guido Brunetti gets an important clue at a funeral in A Question of Belief. He’s investigating the brutal bludgeoning death of courthouse usher Araldo Fontana in the courtyard of Fontana’s apartment building. One possible motive for this murder is that Fontana was going to reveal what he knew about corruption and payoffs in the local court system. But Brunetti knows that things aren’t always what they seem. So although he and Ispettore Lorenzo Vianello explore that possibility, they also look into Fontana’s private life. In the end, Brunetti slowly gets to the truth about the murder, and one of the clues he gets is someone’s presence and behaviour at Fontana’s funeral.

Of course, not all rites of passage are weddings and funerals. For example, Adrian Hyland’s Gunshot Road begins with Young Men’s Time, a rite of passage in which boys leave and come back as men. Emily Tempest is participating in the ritual when it’s interrupted by an argument. The argument’s settled, but Tempest realises that she has to leave the ritual to start her first day as an Aboriginal Community Police Officer (ACPO). Little does Tempest know that as an ACPO, she’ll be drawn into a murder mystery when the body of Albert “Doc” Ozolins is found in his cabin near the Green Swamp Well Roadhouse. At first, Ozolins’ murder looks like the tragic result of a quarrel gone wrong. Tempest isn’t sure of this, though, and begins to investigate. She finds that Ozolins was murdered because of some important discoveries he’d made.

Rites of passage are important parts of many people’s lives. They serve as “mileposts” and organisers, among other things, and for lots of us, they have very special meaning. Which novels have you enjoyed that feature rites of passage?

*NOTE: The title of this post is the title of an Al Stewart song.

"Unwritten Rules"

2011-04-29T12:10:00.000-07:00

Every social group, whether it’s a company, an organization, a club, or even an informal group of friends, has a set of “unwritten rules” that members generally follow. They aren’t “official” rules, but they are socially enforced. Some of those rules make good sense. For instance, without “unwritten rules” about forming queues, there’d be a lot of chaos when more than one person wants the same thing at the same time. And most “unwritten rules” have a certain amount of sense to them. The problem is, of course, that they can be carried too far when they’re blindly followed. There are times when “unwritten rules” end up causing a lot of harm. A quick look at crime fiction shows the kind of thing I mean.

For instance, one “unwritten rule” has traditionally been that people in certain social positions, or in positions of power, should be given special treatment; hence the stereotypical, “Do you know who I am?” And yet, as we all know, privilege, position and power are often used as “masks” for all sorts of illegal activity – including murder. That’s why Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot is no respecter of position. For example, in Death in the Clouds (AKA Death in the Air), Poirot is on a flight from Paris to London when one of his fellow passengers, French moneylender Madame Giselle, suddenly dies of what looks like heart failure. It’s soon proven that she was murdered, though, and the police and Poirot begin to investigate. Some of the other passengers have a very high social position, but Poirot doesn’t let that stop him. Neither does Inspector James “Jimmy” Japp, who’s assigned to the case. In fact, when the passengers on the ill-fated flight arrive in London, they’re asked to remain on board until the police arrive. Japp arrives and immediately, Lady Cecily Horbury tries to use her social position:

“I am Lady Horbury. I consider it absolutely outrageous that I should be detained in this manner!”

Her protest isn’t successful, though, and she soon becomes as much of a suspect as everyone else on the plane. In the end, Poirot unearths several secrets that the passengers are keeping (including one of Lady Horbury’s) and finds out which passenger is hiding the fact of murder.

In Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express, Poirot is on the world famous Orient Express train on his way to London. On the second night of the journey, fellow passenger Samuel Ratchett is stabbed to death. Poirot works with a doctor who’s also on the train, and with M. Bouc, a director of the travel company that owns the train, to find out who the killer is. Several of the passengers are of very high social position; two of them, in fact, are entitled to diplomatic immunity. But that doesn’t stop Poirot (although it does make M. Bouc a little hesitant). Poirot is willing to “bend” that “unwritten rule” about social position, and finds out who murdered Ratchett and why.

Among police, one of the strongest of the “unwritten rules” is that fellow officers stick together and protect each other. That rule makes a lot of sense; police officers depend on one another, sometimes for their lives. So it’s very important that they know they can trust each other. The problem comes, of course, when “sticking together” means covering up crimes. For example, in Stephen J. Cannell’s The Tin Collectors, L.A.P.D. homicide officer Shane Scully runs up against that “unwritten rule” when he gets a frantic call from Barbara Molar, wife of Scully’s former partner Ray Molar. Molar’s been beating his wife and she calls Scully for help. Scully arrives to try to help, and Molar shoots at him. Molar’s bullet misses; Scully’s self-defense bullet does not. At first, Scully thinks that he’ll be subjected to an I.A.D. (Internal Affairs Division) hearing to be sure that his was a “clean hit,” and that he didn’t act illegally. Before he knows it, though, Scully’s accused of murder and theft and is treated as a pariah. He soon sees that he’s being set up by some “higher-ups” in the L.A.P.D. who are covering for each other. Now Scully has to find a killer and clear his own name before he becomes the next victim.

Fans of Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch and Ian Rankin’s John Rebus know that those two characters often have to go up against that “unwritten rule” that police officers stick together, no matter what. In several of their novels, Connelly and Rankin treat the topic of what happens when being able to trust another officer is taken too far.

And then there’s the FBI. One of its “unwritten rules” is “Don’t embarrass the Bureau.” Every agent quickly learns that nothing that could potentially hurt the Bureau is to be made public, no matter what the scandal might be. In Margaret Truman’s Murder at the FBI, Special Agent Christine Saksis learns how far some people will go to follow that rule. She and her partner and lover Ross Lizenby are assigned to investigate the death of fellow agent George Pritchard when his body is discovered one day at the FBI’s shooting range. At first, Saksis and Lizenby get the message that the agency wants a thorough investigation so that there is no appearance of a cover-up. The more Saksis learns about Pritchard, though, the more convinced she is that a cover-up is exactly what the FBI does want. That’s made especially clear when the FBI announces that Pritchard was murdered by terrorists – something Saksis knows is not true. Gradually, and at the risk of her reputation, and later her life, Saksis learns the truth about what happened to Pritchard and how his murder relates to that “unwritten rule. “

Truman’s Murder in the House looks at another “unwritten rule” – quid pro quo. U.S. Congressman Paul Latham is about to be named Secretary of State when he’s murdered. Georgetown School of Law professor Mackensie “Mac” Smith had agreed to represent Latham at his confirmation hearings, so he gets involved in the investigation of Latham’s murder. As he learns more about Latham, he finds that Latham had been friends for years with successful businessman Warren Brazier. Brazier’s made a name for himself in breaking open new Russian markets and in pushing hard in Washington for favourable legislation. As Smith explores Latham’s and Brazier’s dealings, we learn a lot about how politicians and business executives do favours for each other, how influence is peddled and what happens when people try to break the “unwritten rule” of “you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours.”

In Pablo De Santis' The Paris Enigma, Sigmundo Salvatrio learns a lot about “unwritten rules.” He’s a shoemaker’s son who is accepted, much to his delight, into Buenos Aires’ Academy for Detectives, run by world-famous sleuth Renato Craig. Craig is a co-founder of an international group of renowned detectives, known as The Twelve, who will be exhibiting at the Paris World’s Fair. When Craig is taken ill, he sends Salvatrio to Paris in his place. Salvatrio is one of several assistants to the illustrious detectives, and a series of “unwritten rules” governs their behaviour. One, for instance, is that assistants do not speak at meetings of the detectives unless they are addressed. Another is that assistants do not speak ill of their mentors, nor reveal anything they have learned. Salvatrio finds that he has to break many of these “unwritten rules” when one of The Twelve is murdered. Then there’s another murder. Now, Salvatrio works with the other co-founder of The Twelve, Viktor Arkazy, to find out who the killer is, and in the process, he learns about the power of “unwritten rules.”

Most of us follow a lot of “unwritten rules” without even thinking about it. And that’s usually a good thing. But sometimes, following those “rules” can lead to disaster.

Multi-Tasking? Or "Tunnel Vision?"

2011-04-28T12:05:00.000-07:00

It’s pretty much a fact of modern adult life that we have lists of things to do, and lots of bids for our attention. Some people get through their lists by multi-tasking; they’re able to do a lot at once, so they make very efficient use of their time. Other people have what you might call “tunnel vision.” They focus on one task at a time, almost as though shining a laser light on it, and then move to the next. Both ways of getting it all done can be very effective, and each has advantages and disadvantages. In crime fiction, there are certainly plenty of multi-tasking sleuths. That makes sense, because in real life, most detectives work on more than one case at a time. One or another case may have priority, but that doesn’t mean that real-life detectives ignore everything else. There are also, though, plenty of crime-fiction sleuths who concentrate all of their energies on only one case at a time. That’s believable, too; we can imagine a sleuth being caught up in a case and putting aside other things until the case is done.

Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot sometimes has to multi-task. For example, in Murder on the Orient Express, he’s called to London to follow up a lead on a case he’s investigating. We’re not told anything, really, about the case except that it’s “the Kassner case,” but it occupies Poirot during the first part of his journey to London on the famous Orient Express. In fact he’s a bit late to breakfast on the second morning of the trip because he’s spent the early part of the day working on his notes for that case. He’s soon drawn into another case, though, when one of his fellow passengers, American businessman Samuel Ratchett, is stabbed. M. Bouc, a friend of Poirot’s who’s also director of the travel company that owns the train, asks Poirot to investigate so as to have the solution to the murder ready when the border police enter the train. Poirot agrees and begins to interview the passengers and work with Bouc and the doctor who examines Ratchett’s body to find out who the murderer is. Although the novel focuses on the Ratchett murder, it’s interesting to see how Poirot manages his time and resources to “get it all done.”

In Christie’s Lord Edgware Dies (AKA Thirteen at Dinner), Poirot and Hastings investigate the stabbing murder of George Alfred St. Vincent Marsh, 4^th Baron Edgware. The prime suspect is Edgware’s wife, American actress Jane Wilkinson. A woman matching her description and giving her name appeared at the Edgware home on the night of the murder and left just around the time that Edgware probably died. Moreover, Jane Wilkinson has made it clear that she wants to get rid of her current husband so that she can marry the Duke of Merton. In fact, she’s even said that if she can’t find some other way to get rid of Edgware, she’ll “bump him off” herself. The only problem with Jane Wilkinson as a suspect is that she’s got an ironclad alibi. She was invited to a dinner party in another part of London on the night of the murder and the host and all of the other guests vouch for her presence there. Poirot and Hastings untangle the mystery of Edgware’s death, but this isn’t Poirot’s only case. He’s also searching for the truth behind the disappearance of a pair of boots belonging to an Ambassador, and in fact, leaves an important luncheon early because he has a meeting with someone about that case. His need to leave the luncheon early means that he doesn’t get to hear first-hand an vital clue that’s hidden in a remark someone at the luncheon makes. In the end, though, Poirot finds out who Edgware’s killer is.

Yrsa Sigurðardóttir’s sleuth, Reykjavík attorney Thóra Gudmundsdóttir, often has to multi-task. Not only is she trying to build and keep her law practice, but also, she’s a single mother. And sometimes, she has to try to do both things at once. For example, in My Soul to Take, Thóra is hired by Jónas Júlíusson to help him press a lawsuit against the former owners of the land on which he’s built his upscale spa and resort. His claim is that the land is haunted, but the owners never informed him. Thóra doesn’t believe in ghosts or hauntings, but she’s interested in the fee and in a getaway to the spa, so she takes the case. She arranges with her ex-husband Hannes to look after their two children, but she’s no sooner at the resort than she discovers that her sixteen-year-old son Gylfi has had an argument with Hannes and has left, taking his younger sister Sóley and his pregnant girlfriend Sigga with him. It’s half nerve-wracking, half-comical as Thóra desperately tries to track down her children while she’s also assisting her client. Matters only get more complicated when the body of Birna Hálldorsdóttir, a successful architect and fellow spa guest, is discovered on the beach not far from the resort. Thóra’s client is accused of the murder, and now she has to juggle that investigation, the original lawsuit and finding out where her children are. In the end, Thóra finds out who’s behind the murder and how it is connected to her client’s claims that the land is haunted. She also manages to find out what’s happened to Gylfi, Sóley and Sigga, but it takes real multi-tasking to do so.

Donna Leon’s Commissario Guido Brunetti multi-tasks in more than one of the novels featuring him. For instance, in A Question of Belief, Ispettore Lorenzo Vianello asks Brunetti’s help with a personal issue. Vianello’s aunt Zia Anita has been taking money from the family business without reporting what she does with it. Although she’s legally entitled to the money and isn’t stealing, the family is concerned that she’s being duped by a charlatan. Brunetti agrees to look into the matter and soon tracks down Zia Anita’s money to Stefano Gorini, a man with a very shady reputation. In the meantime, Brunetti’s been assigned to investigate the murder of local courthouse usher Araldo Fontana, who’s been bludgeoned to death in the courtyard of his apartment building. As Brunetti gets closer to the truth in both cases he’s looking into, we see how he multi-tasks himself, and how his staff does the same when they are working on more than one case at once.

Not all fictional sleuths multi-task, though. And that makes sense from the standpoint of the plot. A plot that’s too linear can be too thin but at the same time, readers want their plots to be focused. And fictional sleuths who are passionate about their cases can be very interesting characters. For instance, Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch is a focused sleuth. He puts all of his energies into the case he’s working on. For example, in The Black Ice, he gets caught up in the death of fellow L.A.P.D. officer Calexico “Cal” Moore. Bosch isn’t even officially assigned to the case, but he hears news of it on his police-band radio, so he shows up at the scene of what looks to be Moore’s suicide. Bosch doesn’t believe it’s a suicide for very long, but he’s summarily removed from that case and assigned to close eight other murder cases left open by a fellow officer who’s on stress leave. Bosch stays “tunneled” on the Moore case, though, and finds out that one of the other open cases he’s looking into is actually tied in with the Moore case. In the end, Bosch’s “tunnel vision” takes him to Mexico and to the solution of the murders.

Colin Dexter’s Inspector Morse also has what you might call “tunnel vision.” For example, in The Jewel That Was Ours, he and Sergeant Lewis are assigned to a case of theft when a group of American tourists comes to Oxford. Among the tourists are Laura Stratton and her husband Eddie. While in Oxford, Laura intends to donate The Wolvercote Tongue, part of a valuable Anglo-Saxon belt buckle, to Oxford’s Ashmolean Museum, which has the other part of the belt buckle. On the afternoon of their arrival, though, Laura suddenly dies and the belt buckle disappears. Morse and Lewis are investigating this theft when the next day, Theodore Kemp, curator of the Ashmolean, is murdered. In part because of his “tunnel vision,” Morse becomes convinced that the two events are related, and so they are. So he and Lewis continue to focus on the people closely related to the theft and the murder and that focus helps Morse to solve the crimes.

And then there’s FBI special agent Christine Saksis, whom we meet in Margaret Truman’s Murder at the FBI. When FBI agent George Pritchard’s body is found one day at the rifle range of the FBI’s headquarters, Saksis and her partner and lover Ross Lizenby are assigned to investigate, while causing as little public stir as possible. When a possible connection between Pritchard and a terrorist group is found, the FBI “higher-ups” want to call the case solved. In fact, at one point, Saksis is removed from the Pritchard case and assigned to another FBI office. Saksis doesn’t believe the FBI’s official story, though, and continues to search for answers. Her “tunnel vision” keeps her focused on the Pritchard case and leads her to the solution of the murder.

What about you? Are you a multi-tasker or do you do one focused thing at a time? Which kind of sleuth do you prefer, if you have a preference? If you’re a writer, does your major character multi-task or have “tunnel vision?”

Truth in Blurbing ;-)

2011-04-27T12:00:00.000-07:00

How do you decide whether to read a particular novel or not? Lots of us, myself included, have a group of fellow crime fiction fans whose judgement we trust. That’s often a very helpful source of information. I know that I rely heavily on it. But no-one can read everything, so sometimes, we have to rely on other sources such as professional reviews, publishers’ blurbs and so on. Sometimes that information is quite useful, but sometimes….. well, let’s just say it can be a case of caveat emptor. Blurbs and professional reviews don’t always tell everything the reader needs to know. So I thought it might be helpful to offer a handy guide to help you interpret “blurb-speak.” Here are just a few phrases you’re likely to see in blurbs, and what they often really mean.

“Edge-of-your-seat suspense!”

Now, for some books, this phrase accurately describes a story where the events pull the reader in and the plot has very satisfying and well-timed twists and turns. For example, Jo Nesbø’s The Snowman and The Redbreast are books that are truly suspenseful. We don’t know what’s going to happen and each event moves the reader along through the story. There are other examples, too.

Too often, though, “Edge-of-your-seat suspense” really means “A series of car chases, gun battles and showdowns having little to do with an actual plot.” So when you read that phrase, be sure you’re getting what you think you’re paying to get. Otherwise, you could be so breathless by the end of the story that you aren’t aware there was no actual story.

“From the best-selling author of ____”

Writers such as Michael Connelly and Alexander McCall Smith have become world-famous and very successful. Their work is consistently of high quality, and readers know that the next instalment is probably going to be well-written. These are the sorts of authors whose work one pre-orders almost by reflex. I’m glad they’re out there, and I have my own list of authors whose work I’m willing to order almost before I know what the next novel is about.

Too often, though, “best-selling” means “commercially successful,” which is not the same as “well-written.” When you see a blurb phrase like this one, it could very well mean that the publisher’s banking (quite literally) on the fact that you recognise the author’s name and will buy for that reason. So before you slide your credit card or “click here,” be sure the author you’ve chosen is a best-seller for the best reason – because her or his work is well-written. Otherwise, you could end up with a book with no redeeming virtues except perhaps for the cover artwork – if that part of the book is even good.

“The next [name of wildly successful author]”

There are certainly some similarities among authors. Authors themselves will tell you they’ve been inspired by one or another author. For instance, Henning Mankell’s work has been inspired by the work of Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö. If you read Mankell’s Kurt Wallander series and Sjöwall and Wahlöö’s Marin Beck series, you can see some resemblances. I’ve been inspired quite a lot by Agatha Christie’s work. So if you are kind enough to read my work, you’ll see (well, at least I hope so!) that her work has influenced me.

But that’s the thing. My work is not the same as Christie’s. Oh, trust me on that one! We are different writers. All too often, “The next……” really means something like, “These two authors are from the same country,” or “These two authors both write thrillers,” or “____ is a very successful author and we want ____’s books to sell, too.” In reality, the two authors may not be very similar at all.

Even if two authors do write on similar themes, or write within the same sub-genre, or have another commonality, the truth is, each author has a distinct voice. That’s a good thing, too, because variety is part of what makes reading so enjoyable. So if you want to read that wildly successful author’s work, please do. But if you expect that less-well known author’s work to be exactly the same, you’ll be disappointed. It’s much better to let that new-to-you author surprise you with her or his own talent.

“……serial killer….”

I will be the first to admit that there have been some truly fine, compelling novels that involve serial killers. Thomas Harris’ Red Dragon, which introduces us to the now-famous brilliant-but-twisted psychiatrist Hannibal Lecter is one example. I’ve also enjoyed Simon Beckett’s Whispers of the Dead, which also features a serial killer. There are others, too, and I’m sure you could think of them.

The problem (and this is my opinion only, so feel free not to agree with me if you don’t) is that too often, “serial killer” has come to be shorthand for “brutal, gratuitous and unspeakable violence that’s depicted in every awful detail.” Violence is a part of just about every murder mystery. After all, murder is a violent and awful thing to happen. But you may want to be very careful if you get tempted by a novel with “serial killer” in the blurb; you could end up washing the proverbial gore off before you even realise that that was the only thing holding the novel together.

“Sweeping”

There’s a certain amount of background and detail that make a story “come alive.” A novel without enough detail and backstory can end up flat, with “cardboard characters” and a thin plot. So it often adds to a novel when there’s interesting information. For instance, Yrsa Sigurðardóttir’s novels of Iceland include really interesting details about that country’s culture, lifestyle, history, mythology and more. Kathleen O’Neal Gear and W. Michael Gear have included lots of fascinating background information about the history of ancient Native Americans in their novels. I’m sure you could think of other novels, too, that are long because of that fascinating information. In those cases, the length doesn’t prove wearisome because the story stays taut and the background is both important and interesting.

All too often, though, “Sweeping” means, simply, “long.” Sometimes “very, very… long.” The problem with this is not just that there’s too much detail. It’s that by the time you get to the end of the story, you’re so exhausted that you don’t even remember what the story was about, if there even was a plot. So be careful to choose longer books because they need that extra length to tell a good story. Unless you’ve found yourself in need of extra doorstops, that is ;-).

So there you have it. Just a few things to look out for as you read those blurbs and professional reviews. Don’t say you haven’t been warned ;-).

Do you have any phrases you’d like to share, for the good of us all?

I'm Underground, I Fell Down*

2011-04-26T12:10:00.000-07:00

A murder can occur just about anywhere, and that fact gives crime fiction writers a lot of latitude when they’re choosing settings. A well-chosen setting can add a layer of interest and quite a lot of suspense to a story, especially if the setting is a little eerie itself. Perhaps it’s that sense of eeriness that makes underground settings like caves, mines and tunnels such deliciously creepy places for a fictional murder. If you add to that the fact that caves, mines and tunnels often have interesting histories, it’s no wonder that there are several crime fiction stories that take place in those settings.

For example, in Agatha Christie’s Evil Under the Sun, Hercule Poirot is taking a holiday at the Jolly Roger Hotel on Leathercombe Bay. Also staying at the hotel are Captain Kenneth Marshall, his wife Arlena Stuart Marshall and his daughter Linda Marshall. Shortly after the Marshall family’s arrival, gossip begins to circulate about Arlena’s budding friendship with fellow guest Patrick Redfern. Then one day, Arlena is found strangled on the beach at Pixy’s Cove, not far from the hotel. Poirot was quite possibly the last person to see Arlena Marshall alive, other than her murderer, so he helps in the investigation. The most likely suspect seems to be the victim’s husband. Soon enough, though, he’s able to prove an alibi, so Poirot and the police have to look elsewhere for the killer. As they look into the case, they learn about Pixy’s Cave, located on the cove where Arlena Marshall’s body was found. Most people don’t know about the cave, and the entrance isn’t easy to find. When Poirot and the police explore the cave, they find a secret that someone at the hotel has been keeping. They also find a clue to Arlena Marshall’s murder.

In Tony Hillerman’s Hunting Badger, coal and uranium mines play an important role in an old Ute Nation story about a Ute named Ironhand, who always seemed able to get away without being caught after looting on Navajo lands. The story was that Ironhand could fly, because he was never seen running or riding away. Over one hundred years later, that myth figures into the disappearance of one of Ironhand’s descendents who’s apparently guilty of taking part in the robbery of a Reservation casino. Navajo Tribal Police officer Jim Chee gets involved in this case when fellow officer Bernadette Manuelito asks him to investigate the theft. Hillerman’s other sleuth, Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn, also gets involved in the case when an old friend says that he knows who the thieves are. Leaphorn and Chee look into the case and find out that the thieves may be connected to an anti-government group that’s raising money for their cause. The sleuths also make a connection between the casino robbery, the old Ute story and the abandoned mines.

Giles Blunt’s Forty Words for Sorrow also features an abandoned mine. Detective John Cardinal was removed from a haunting case six months ago. Thirteen-year-old Katie Pine, a member of the Chippewa Nation, disappeared. It was officially believed that she’d run away, but Cardinal was convinced otherwise and searched desperately for her. He never found her. Now, her body has been discovered in an abandoned mine shaft in rural Windigo, Ontario. Seemingly vindicated, Cardinal returns to the investigation. It’s not long, though, before Cardinal connects Katie Pine’s death to two other murders. Then another boy disappears. It seems very much as though a serial killer has targeted the area. At the same time as Cardinal is trying to catch a murderer before that person strikes again, he’s being investigated himself. His partner Lise Delorme has been recruited by the RCMP to find out if Cardinal has been taking bribes from drug dealer Kyle Corbett to protect his drug operations from the Mounties. Now Cardinal has to clear his name and reputation as well as solve the murders.

In Rita Mae Brown’s Wish You Were Here, an old railroad tunnel proves to be crucial in solving a series of murders. Mary Minor “Harry” Haristeen is the postmistress of tiny Crozet, Virginia, where everyone knows everyone else. Like everyone else in town, Harry is shaken when wealthy contractor Kelly Craycroft is murdered. Then, there’s another murder. And another. Before each murder, the victim gets a postcard with the picture of a tombstone and the words “Wish You Were Here” written on it. Harry is curious about the postcards, especially since she’s the one who puts them in everyone’s mailbox. Bit by bit, Harry puts the mystery together and finds out what the victims had in common. She discovers that the secret to the murders can be found in the old abandoned Greenwood railroad tunnel that was built by one of her own ancestors. It turns out that all of the murders are tied together by greed.

Patricia Stoltey’s The Desert Hedge Murders also features a creepy underground setting. Retired Florida judge Sylvia Thorn accompanies her mother Kristina Grisseljon, and her mother’s travel group, the Florida Flippers, on a gambling-and-sightseeing visit to Laughlin, Nevada. Shortly after their arrival in Nevada, the travel group discovers the body of an unknown dead man in the hotel room shared by two members of the group. The police are called in and are in the process of identifying the man when one of the Florida Flippers disappears. Her body is later discovered when the group takes a tour of the Lone Cactus Gold Mine. Sylvia begins to investigate both deaths and, with help from her brother Willie Grisseljon, figures out how they are connected. The gold mine proves to be very important in the case, and when Sylvia discovers that, she returns to the mine to follow up on an important lead, and risks her life in the process. In the end she discovers what’s hidden in the mine that was worth two lives.

And then there's Martin Edwards' The Arsenic Labyrinth. Ten years ago, Emma Bestwick disappeared from the Lake District village of Coniston. Journalist Tony di Venuto writes a retrospective article about the case that attracts the attention of Guy Koenig, a grafter who’s recently been released from prison and returned to the area. He tells di Venuto that Emma won’t be coming back. Acting on Koenig’s information, DCI Hannah Scarlett and her team re-open the Bestwick case. They discover her body in the Arsenic Labyrinth, an old series of tunnels that were originally constructed to remove arsenic from ore. Along with Bestwick’s body, the team discovers another body that’s been in the abandoned tunnel for over fifty years. In the meantime, Oxford historian Daniel Kind is researching the life of poet, art critic and philosopher John Ruskin, who spent his later years in the Coniston area. In fact, Ruskin’s neighbours built the Arsenic Labyrinth. Gradually, Kind’s research and Scarlett’s investigation lead to the same place: the Labyrinth. In the end, we see how this series of underground tunnels is connected to local family histories, hidden secrets and several deaths.

Underground places like mines, railroad tunnels and caves can make for deliciously suspenseful settings for novels. They also provide good hiding places for bodies, weapons and other secrets. I didn’t even think of how many novels feature this kind of setting until I was getting this post ready, but there are lots of “underground novels” – more, it turns out, than I had space to mention. Which “underground novels” have you enjoyed?

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Avril Lavigne’s Alice (Underground).

In The Spotlight: Martha Grimes' The Anodyne Necklace

2011-04-25T12:10:00.000-07:00

Hello, All,

Welcome to another edition of In The Spotlight. Martha Grimes’ detecting duo of Scotland Yard’s Richard Jury and his friend, the aristocratic Melrose Plant, have won fans all over the world since 1981. This feature wouldn’t be complete without spotlighting at least one of their adventures so today, let’s take a closer look at their third pairing, The Anodyne Necklace.

Jury is pulled away from weekend plans to visit Melrose Plant in Long Piddlington when a dog discovers a human finger bone in the village of Littlebourne. He’s none too pleased about it, but DCS Racer tells him no-one else is available to take the case. So Jury tells Plant what’s happened and goes to Littlebourne. Then a local bird-watching fanatic, Ernestine Craigie, discovers the body of a young woman in a wood near Littlebourne. Jury and his team begin a full-scale investigation and discover that the dead woman was Cora Binns, who worked for a London temporary secretarial agency. Jury learns that Cora had traveled to Littlebourne for a job interview, but never made it to that interview.

Jury also discovers another connection between Littlebourne and the part of London where Cora lived. Sixteen-year-old Littlebourne resident Katie O’Brien has been in a coma since the day she was brutally attacked in a London underground station in the neighbourhood where Cora Binns lived. Katie has a great deal of musical talent, and her mother was paying for her to travel to London to study violin. It seems that she was on her way home from her lesson one afternoon when she was attacked.

While Jury and his team are working on the investigations into what happened to Katie O’Brien and Cora Binns, Melrose Plant is busy, too. He’s traveled to Littlebourne to help in the investigation and, under the guise of looking for a house there, is following up on something interesting that he learned from Jury. About a year previously, Littlebourne had also been the scene of a robbery and not long afterwards, a death. Lord Kennington owned some valuable jewelry, including an emerald necklace, that was stolen by his secretary Trevor Tree. Tree escaped but was run down by a car and killed a few days after the robbery. A few months later, Kennington himself died. Not much has been done about the investigation into the robbery since Tree was killed, so the jewelry has never been recovered.

Jury and Plant are soon convinced that the events in Littlebourne are all related, and so they prove to be. In the end, we find that Cora Binns’ death, the attack on Katie O’Brien and the jewelry theft are all tied together. The clue to everything turns out to be an unusual treasure map and a seedy East End pub.

One of the most important elements in this novel is the set of characters. Of course there are the “regulars:” Inspector Jury himself; the sarcastic, aristocratic and ever-curious Melrose Plant; Plant’s exasperating Aunt Agatha; and the hypochondriac Sergeant Wiggins. Beyond that, though, there are some very interesting village characters. For example, there’s local mystery novelist Polly Praed. She’s fascinated by real-life detection and when real murder comes to Littlebourne, she’s only too happy to get involved. She’s especially intrigued by Melrose Plant, whom she sees as a romantic prospect. One of Praed’s favourite pastimes is inventing different kinds of deaths for Sir Miles Bodenheim, the local squire, and the members of his family. All of them are heartily disliked locally, and their characters, too, add to the “local colour.” So does the character of tearoom owner Celia Pettigrew. And then there’s ten-year-old Emily Louise Perk, who knows more about horses than most of the adults in the village, and who knows more about the mystery than she wants to tell. There are also plenty of East End characters who add texture to the story.

Settings also play an important role in this novel. The village setting is carefully crafted, and it’s an effective backdrop for the story:

“The village had its one street, called the High, which divided halfway along so that it flowed round an irregular patch of carefully tended grass called Littlebourne Green. The High had its sufficiency of shops, just enough so that the villagers weren’t forced to go into the market town of Hertfield, four miles away…As some wags liked to put it, the High contained, among other things, Littlebourne’s four P’s: one pastor, one post office, one pub and one police station.”

Plenty of the action also takes place in London’s East End, and we get a strong sense of that setting, too:

“It was clear how Catchcoach Street had come by its name: it was a daggerlike, blind alley, far removed from the fashionable cul-de-sacs of Belgravia and Mayfair. Narrow, run-down houses huddled together, closer at the blade-tip end. The air smelled of fish and brackish Thames water.”

The two very different settings and sets of characters offer an interesting contrast as the story goes on.

One of the other elements in this novel is the sense of humour that we see in several places. For example, at the beginning of the novel, when Plant finds out about what’s happened at Littlebourne, he plans immediately to go there to get involved in the investigation. He doesn’t want Aunt Agatha to know, though:

“Beneath his dressing gown, Melrose was wearing his traveling clothes. He had meant to get off around nine, but he had to spend quite a bit of time stalling her [Aunt Agatha], putting her, indeed, off the scent. If she knew he was going to be meeting Superintendent Jury, she would hiding out in the trunk of the Rolls.”

When Plant gets to Littlebourne, he and Jury discover that Emily Louise Perk may know quite a bit about the village and its inhabitants. So they both try to befriend her to get her to talk. It’s amusing, though, because Plant isn’t much of a one for children, and Emily Louise isn’t easily taken in. She does, indeed, know some important information about the case, but she’s a match for both men and doesn’t part with anything unless she gets food:

“‘Murder? What happened?’ [Plant]

She [Emily Louise] had finished the crisps already and was now folding the greasy little packet into small squares. ‘I don’t know. Want some more crisps?’

‘I didn’t want those. What about this murder?’

She shrugged. Now the heels were drumming more quickly against the wood.

‘Well who was murdered?’ As he watched her noncommittal face, he decided he’d sooner open oysters with a matchstick….

Melrose plunked another fifty pence on the table and said, ‘Let’s have some more crisps.’

She was up, over and back in a flash with another packet. ‘It was horrid, the murder.’”

Although there are doses of humour in the story, it isn’t what you would call light. We do find out who the murderer is, and that is satisfying and brings closure. At the same time, life in the village will not be the same, and we don’t get a sense that all is now going to be well. Still, there’s hope and a sense that life will go on.

The mystery itself is an interesting puzzle, but it’s the characters and setting, with a dash of humour, that tie this novel together. But what’s your view? Have you read The Anodyne Necklace? If you have, what elements do you see in it?

Coming Up On In The Spotlight

Monday 2 May/Tuesday 3 May – Smoke and Mirrors – Kel Robertson

Monday 9 May/Tuesday 10 May – Baltimore Blues – Laura Lippman

Monday 16 May/Tuesday 17 May – Whip Hand – Dick Francis

Gratitude...

2011-04-24T11:34:00.001-07:00

One of the things that makes both real and fictional sleuthing difficult is that it is often a thankless task. Murder victims can’t, of course, thank the sleuth for finding out who killed them. And rarely do killers thank the sleuth. Even innocent people who’ve been cleared or saved by a fictional sleuth don’t always thank that sleuth. For example, in Lindy Cameron’s Redback, Bryn Gideon is the leader of a crack team of retrieval specialists whose stock in trade, so to speak, is rescuing people from dangerous situations. Gideon’s team, known as Redback, is called into action when a group of attendees at a conference is taken hostage by rebels on the Pacific island of Laui. Redback frees the hostages, and soon gets caught up in international drama when a series of brutal murders and terrorist attacks begins to occur. The events are all related to the use of a video war game as a terrorist recruitment effort, and Team Redback plays a crucial role in the solution of the mystery and the foiling of an international plot. And yet, the team gets no public thanks and not much private accolade. That’s not why they do what they do.

Australian Federal Police officer Bradman “Brad” Chen doesn’t do what he does for the thanks or accolade, either. In Kel Robertson’s Smoke and Mirrors, Chen and his team find out who killed former Minister Alec Dennet and his editor Lorraine Starke. The two were brutally murdered during a stay at Uriarra, a writer’s retreat near Canberra. At first, the murder seems related to the memoirs that Dennet was finishing. Those memoirs were said to reveal quite a few secrets that could embarrass some important people, so it makes sense that someone would kill to prevent their publication. Chen and his team face off against political “stonewalling,” two groups of thugs and Chen’s personal demons as they work to solve the mystery. It turns out that Dennet and Starke were killed for another reason, but when Chen and his team solve the crime, they aren’t really smothered in thanks or praise, not even by people whose lives they’ve saved.

Adrian Hyland’s Emily Tempest isn’t thanked, either, when she finds out who killed Albert “Doc” Ozolins in Gunshot Road. In fact, she gets into a great deal of trouble as she goes against specific orders not to involve herself in Ozolins’ murder. And yet, although the evidence points to John “Wireless” Petherbridge as the killer, Tempest doesn’t believe he’s guilty. So she risks her life and in fact, is brutally attacked as she searches for the truth. She finds out that Ozolins’ murder had to do with a discovery he had made that was damaging to some powerful people. Tempest identifies the murderer and is able to get Ozolins’ discovery publicised, although it’s at great personal cost.

And then there’s Roberta Grey, whom we meet in Ngaio Marsh’s A Surfeit of Lampreys (AKA Death of a Peer). She’s a young New Zealander who meets the eccentric but charming Lamprey family while they are visiting New Zealand. When Grey is orphaned, she travels to England where she’s warmly welcomed by the Lamprey family. She becomes quite fond of the family so she is shaken when the family gets embroiled in murder. Lord Charles Lamprey’s older brother Gabriel “Uncle G” is murdered shortly after refusing to come to the Lampreys’ financial rescue. Uncle G is tired of the Lampreys’ fiscal irresponsibility and has decided not to help them. Sir Roderick Alleyn investigates the case and finds more than one suspect. Roberta Grey is loyal to the family and works hard to protect them from suspicion and in the end we find that her loyalty pays off.

Vanda Symon’s sleuth DC Sam Shepherd doesn’t always get a lot of accolades either for what she does. In Containment, for instance, she tries to intervene when a ship runs aground near Dunedin and spills containers everywhere. Looters begin to pillage the ship’s cargo and when Shepherd tries to settle a fight between two looters, she’s attacked herself. That doesn’t stop her from saving her attacker’s life, though, when he almost dies on the way to the hospital. And in Overkill, Sam solves the murder of Gabriella Knowes, whose body is found on the on the banks of the Maturana River. At first, it looks as though Gabriella has committed suicide. However, the suicide note she’s supposed to have written turns out to be forged, and it’s not long before it is clear that she was murdered. Shepherd begins an investigation only to be suspended when it’s discovered that she herself had a live-in relationship with Gabriella’s husband. Sam doesn’t give up, though, and doesn’t let her personal difficulties get in the way of doing what she has to do. In the end, she discovers the truth about Gabriella Knowes’ murder. It turns out that Knowes was a journalist who’d uncovered a very damaging secret and was killed to keep her quiet. Instead of being thanked for finding Knowes’ killer and discovering the truth Knowes had found out, Sam Shepherd is expected to keep things quiet. But getting thanked isn’t why Sam does what she does.

Shepherd and Grey, Tempest, Chen and Gideon are like a lot of other fine sleuths. They do what they do because it’s the right thing to do. They do what they do because the job needs to be done. They risk their lives doing the job, too, even though they aren’t often thanked for what they do.

So why am I going on about being thanked? These sleuths I've mentioned are a lot like another group of people: the heroic members of the ANZAC (Australia and New Zealand Army Corps) forces who risked and lost their lives in two world wars. Without great fanfare, without a lot of laurels, these brave men and women fought and died for people like me whom they never met. Today, the proud members of both countries’ military forces still risk their lives (and sometimes lose them) for people they will never meet.

Today (or tomorrow, depending on when you read this) is ANZAC Day, a day of remembrance and thanks for those members of the ANZAC forces who gave (and give) their lives for others. They didn’t grab glory, they didn’t always make headlines, and they didn’t do what they did for the thanks. They did what they did because it was the right thing to do. They do the same thing today. And because of what they did and do, I am able to do what I do. They deserve far more than thanks, but that’s really all I can give. So today…..

Thank you, ANZAC forces.

Kia ora, ANZAC.

All the Stories Have Been Told*

2011-04-23T12:10:00.000-07:00

This week and week-end, millions of people are re-telling the stories of Easter and Passover as they celebrate those holidays. Stories like those that are passed on from person to person are important parts of our culture. In fact, there are many cultures in which those stories are the stuff of history, and those oral traditions have sustained those cultures for millennia. Passed-along stories sometimes contain very important and useful information and wise sleuths pay attention to them. Passed-along stories can put people at their ease as they tell them, and as any sleuth will tell you, people who are not on their guards reveal quite a lot. Besides, sometimes the stories themselves provide very valuable clues.

For example, in Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Musgrave Ritual, Sherlock Holmes uses a passed-down family story to solve the mystery of some perplexing events at Hurlstone, the home of his university friend Reginald Musgrave. Musgrave had caught his butler Brunton looking through some family papers, in particular a paper on which were written some seemingly meaningless questions and answers. The story had been passed along in the Musgrave family for generations, and Musgrave can’t understand Brunton’s interest in it. Then, the next day, Brunton disappears. So does Rachel Howell, one of the housemaids. Nothing’s been stolen, so Musgrave can’t understand why the two would disappear that way if theft wasn’t the goal. Holmes travels to Hurlstone and uses that passed-along family story to get to the truth about the strange occurrences. The story contains important clues and once Holmes figures out the clues, he is able to trace both Brunton and Howell.

Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot uses passed-along stories in more than one of his cases. For example, in Evil Under the Sun, he’s taking a holiday at the Jolly Roger Hotel on Leathercombe Bay. One tragic day, fellow guest Arlena Stuart Marshall is strangled on the beach at Pixy’s Cove, not far from the hotel. The most likely suspect is her husband Captain Kenneth Marshall. Arlena was not a faithful wife and her latest “conquest” is another hotel guest, Patrick Redfern. Soon enough, though, Marshall is able to prove an alibi, so Poirot and the police have to look elsewhere for a suspect. In the course of his investigation, Poirot learns stories about Pixy’s Cave, a hidden but accessible cave near Pixy’s Cove. Only people from the area who know the old stories know where Pixy’s Cave is, and not many people think it matters. But Poirot pays attention to those stories and when he discovers the cave, he also discovers an important clue as to who killed Arlena Marshall and how the murder was accomplished.

In Dorothy Sayers’ The Nine Tailors, Lord Peter Wimsey makes very effective use of a story that he hears. He and his valet Mervyn Bunter are stranded one New Year’s Eve in Fenchurch St. Paul when they have a car accident. They’re rescued by the Reverend Theodore Venables and his wife Agnes, and soon settle in. Wimsey is able to return the kindness by taking part in the church’s traditional New Year’s Day change-ringing when one of the regular ringers falls ill. On New Year’s Day, Lady Thorpe, wife of the local squire, dies of influenza, and is duly buried. Wimsey and Bunter remain in Fenchurch St. Paul for the funeral while they are waiting for the car to be repaired. During their stay, Wimsey hears a twenty-year-old passed-along story. When Lady Thorpe and her husband Sir Henry Thorpe were married, one of the guests had an emerald necklace stolen. The culprits were caught and imprisoned, but the emeralds themselves were never found. Wimsey pays attention to the story and remembers it after he and Bunter have left the town to go on their way. A few months later, Sir Henry himself dies and preparations are made to follow his instructions and bury him in his wife’s grave. But when that grave is opened, everyone is shocked to find the body of an unknown man already in the grave. Reverend Venables writes to Wimsey to ask him to help find out who the man is, how and why he died and how his body got in the grave. Wimsey agrees and he and Bunter return to Fenchurch St. Paul. The passed-along story about the emeralds proves to be the key to the identity of the dead man and the reason he’s buried in the grave.

There’s also an interesting passed-along story in Tony Hillerman’s Hunting Badger. Navajo Tribal Police officer Bernadette Manuelito asks fellow officer Jim Chee for help with a difficult case. A casino on the Ute reservation has been robbed, and two security officers have been shot; one of them has died. The suspects in the robbery seem to have escaped by plane, and Manuelito asks Chee’s help in tracking down the thieves. Meanwhile, retired Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn is approached by an old friend Roy Gershwin, who tells Leaphorn that he knows who the thieves are. According to Gershwin, the thieves are members of an anti-government militia group who want to finance their cause. Leaphorn and Chee look into the case and find out that it ties in with an old passed-along story from the Ute nation. Generations ago, a Ute named Ironhand was said to be able to escape after raids on Navajo lands by flying. The elderly members of the Ute Nation know this story, and they’ve heard stories of how Ironhand really escaped, but they are not interested in co-operating with Navajos in solving the casino robbery and murders. But Leaphorn’s love interest Professor Louisa Bourbonette is not a Navajo, and she’s able to be very helpful in sharing the story with the police officers and helping them find out what happened to the killers.

Val McDermid’s The Grave Tattoo focuses on another passed-along story, this one about Fletcher Christian of H.M.S. Bounty fame. The story has gone round for years that Christian did not die on Pitcairn Island, but returned to his native Lakes District. It’s said that he was hidden there by family and loyal friends who didn’t want to see him prosecuted for mutiny. When a centuries-old body is pulled from a Lakes District bog, talk begins to circulate that the old stories might be true. This is enough to pique the interest of Lakes District native Jane Gresham. She’s a Wordsworth scholar who believes that Wordsworth might have left behind an as yet undiscovered manuscript. When the stories begin to re-surface about Fletcher Christian, Gresham begins to think that she might be right about the manuscript. Wordsworth and Fletcher Christian were known to be good friends, and what would be more natural than that Christian might have told the story of his escape from Pitcairn Island to his friend? If so, what would be more natural than that Wordsworth would use that story as the basis for some of his writing? Gresham returns from London to the Lakes District to try to find out if she’s right about the manuscript. With some help from fiends and colleagues, she slowly begins to trace its possible whereabouts. Then, someone who may know something about it dies. Then there’s another death. Soon, the police begin to wonder whether Jane Gresham knows all too well how those deaths occurred. Now, Gresham has to work even harder and faster both to clear her name and to find the manuscript before some other very shady people who are also after that manuscript get there first.

In In Yrsa Sigurðardóttir’s My Soul to Take, is Reykjavík attorney Thóra Gudmundsdóttir is told of a passed-along story that a long-dead child is haunting a piece of land owned by one of Thóra’s clients Jónas Júlíusson. In fact, he’s hired Thóra to help him sue the land’s former owners, whom he claims didn’t inform him that the land was haunted. Thóra doesn’t believe the old story but she is interested in the fee, and the thought of a getaway at the upscale spa and resort that her client owns is appealing. So she takes the case and travels to the spa. Then, the body of architect Birna Hálldorsdóttir is found on the beach not far from the spa. She was also staying at the spa and in fact, was having a relationship with Jónas Júlíusson. Soon, he’s accused of her murder and Thóra agrees to defend him. As she looks into the case, Thóra finds the connection between the old story that’s been passed along, and Birna’s murder. She also finds out who really committed the murder and why.

Stories that are passed through the generations are not just interesting reflections on a culture. They can be the stuff of history, and they can be very useful when sleuths are on the case. But what’s your view? Do you enjoy novels that hinge on those old stories? Which ones have you enjoyed?

On Another Note….

If you’re celebrating Easter, or if you’ve been celebrating Passover, I wish you a wonderful holiday with family and friends! I hope the stories of the season give you a sense of renewal and of connection with each other and with history.

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from The Kinks' Living On a Thin Line.

Can We Still Be Friends*

2011-04-22T12:05:00.000-07:00

So, you’ve just finished a novel by a favourite author, and you found yourself a bit disappointed. Maybe this novel just didn’t live up to the high quality you’ve come to expect from that author. What do you do? Do you continue to read that author’s work, or do you give up? An interesting comment exchange with Norman at Crime Scraps and Maxine at Petrona has got me thinking about why it is that with some series and authors, we’re willing to forgive the occasional less-than-best work and we still eagerly await the author’s next release. With other series and authors, though, we stop reading after the first weak effort and never really go back to that author. To some extent, of course, the answer to that question depends on the reader and the author. But there are qualities that just seem to keep us faithful to an author or a series, even after we’ve had a not-so-good experience with one of her or his books.

Characters

If you’re kind enough to read this blog, then you know that I’ve mentioned the importance of characters more than once. Without interesting and authentic characters who evolve over time, a series gets stale anyway. With those characters, readers come back time and again, even after a not-so-good experience.

For example, Jo Nesbø ‘s Harry Hole is a compelling character. He’s far from perfect (and for many people, that’s part of his appeal), and sometimes he’s his own worst enemy. But he is smart, complex enough to be interesting, and dedicated. He’s determined to do the right thing, even when it’s not clear what that right thing is. Because of Harry Hole’s fascinating and likeable character, readers queue up, even though some of the Harry Hole novels are quite violent, and some of them are longer than readers typically would choose. It doesn’t matter; we love Harry.

Another very popular set of characters appear in Donna Leon’s Commissario Guido Brunetti series. Guido Brunetti and his family are real, likeable people. Their fans love the “window” into the Brunetti family that they get in Leon’s novels, and they admire Brunetti’s dedication, his devotion to his family, and determination to do his job as well as he can. The other “regular” characters are also appealing, and fans love “visiting” them, too. Signorina Elettra Zorzi, Ispettore Lorenzo Vianello, and even the man we love to hate, Vice-Questore Patta, are all quite real to their fans. So devoted readers forgive the occasional Brunetti mystery that doesn’t live up to their expectations; they sill love “visiting” with their favourite characters.

Alexander McCall Smith’s No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series has also won worldwide fans of his characters. Mma. Precious Ramotswe is a wise, interesting, smart and sometimes humourous sleuth. Her associate, Mma. Grace Makutsi, is equally interesting and so is Mma. Ramotswe’s husband Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. He’s got his own quiet wisdom and his own appeal. Devotees of this series are always eager to catch up with their favourite “regulars,” and they are willing to forgive the occasional story that’s a bit disjointed or in some other way falls short of expectations. Why? They can’t wait to catch up with their “friends” in the next instalment.

Freshness

I’ve mentioned this quality before, too, and it’s really important. Michael Connelly, for instance, has of course created memorable characters in his Harry Bosch and now his Mickey Haller. But even more, he’s not afraid to innovate, to try something different and to see where it takes him. Fans of his series know that even if they are a little disappointed in one or another of his titles, that he’ll come back with something new and fresh the next time round. That plus his terrific characters makes a new Connelly title irresistible to those who’ve come to love his writing.

Agatha Christie also wasn’t afraid to try new kinds of plots and to experiment. Her most famous sleuths, Hercule Poirot, Jane Marple and Tommy and Tuppence Beresford have all sorts of different kinds of adventures, and Christie’s plot twists, new ideas and innovations are legendary. Even Christie’s most ardent fans wouldn’t say that everything she wrote was of the same quality. But even her weaker work shows her willingness not to be bound by whatever story had come before.

Focus on the Story

Perhaps it seems blatantly obvious to say that a good series has well-told stories. But I think the point bears a few comments here. Crime fiction fans want a taut, interesting story that keeps them wondering what’ll happen next. The answer to that question has to be believable, too. That’s part of what’s won so many fans to Philip Margolin’s legal thrillers, Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Millhone stories and Håkan Nesser’s Inspector Van Veeteren stories, among many others. These authors write novels that are focused around the main plot. Yes, of course we get to know the characters and they evolve over time. So these plots aren’t what you would call too linear. But the novels are focused more than anything else on the story.

Authors who craft their plots carefully and well don’t have to rely on too many co-incidences, “recycled” plots or too much blood and graphic violence. The plot carries the story and readers follow along eagerly. And readers are willing to forgive the occasional less-than-deep character or less-than-evocative setting if they know that in general, the author works hard to plot well.

Consistency

I haven’t seen the research on this, so I can’t say with absolute certainty, but my guess is that readers are quicker to forgive a weak effort from an author whose work is usually strong than they are the same weakness in an author whose work is more uneven. I’m sure that all of you can think of at least as many crime fiction authors as I can whose work is consistently strong and has stayed that way. When those authors write a less-then-fine book, it’s easy to think, “Well, anyone can have an off-time. I’ll bet the next one will be much better.”

No author can be at his or her best all of the time. All authors stumble at least a little. Trust me. But what is your view on all of this? How easily do you forgive a beloved author for the occasional stumble? How many stumbles before you give up on that author? What pushes you in one direction or the other?

*NOTE: The title of this post is the title of song from Philadelphia’s own Todd Rundgren.

They Paved Paradise and Put Up a Parking Lot*

2011-04-21T12:00:00.000-07:00

Today (or tomorrow, depending on when you read this) is Earth Day, originally established in 1970 as part of an environmental movement. It’s a very good thing to be respectful of the earth and of nature for many reasons. As crime fiction shows us, nature is a force to be reckoned with; those who don’t respect it and try to bend nature to their wills often find out that the earth and nature are much stronger than they imagined. In the end, those who ignore the power of natural forces often end up regretting it.

In Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express, for instance, Hercule Poirot travels to London on the world famous Orient Express. One of his fellow passengers is Samuel Ratchett, a wealthy American businessman. On the second night of the journey, a sudden snowstorm strands the train. Then, Ratchett is stabbed to death. M. Bouc, a director of the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons Lits and a friend of Poirot’s, asks Poirot to investigate the murder and Poirot agrees. He begins to ask questions and it’s not long before he uncovers Ratchett’s background and in doing so, finds out the motive for the murder. Once Poirot discovers that motive, he’s able to figure out which of Ratchett’s fellow travellers murdered him. One of the advantages that Poirot has is that the murderer didn’t take the bitter Eastern European winter weather into account. There were no plans for what to do if there was a snowstorm and that fact makes it easier for Poirot to sort out the real clues from the “red herrings” in this case.

In Dorothy Sayers’ The Nine Tailors, Lord Peter Wimsey and his valet Mervyn Bunter unexpectedly spend New Year’s Eve in the village of Fenchurch St. Paul. While they’re there, Wimsey uses his skills as a bell-ringer to help when one of the church’s regular change-ringers is too ill to ring his bell. The next day, Lady Thorpe, wife of the local squire, dies of influenza and is duly buried. A few months later, her husband dies, too. When the gravediggers open Lady Thorpe’s grave to bury her husband beside her, they find another corpse is already there. Reverend Theodore Venables, Vicar of St. Paul, writes to Wimsey, asking him to investigate, and Wimsey returns to the village to help find out who the dead man is and how his body got into Lady Thorpe’s grave. He discovers that this death is related to a long-ago theft, a missing emerald necklace and a case of hidden identity. In an interesting sub-plot to this novel, a new Wash Cut has been planned to manage the water and drainage system in the area. There’s nothing really wrong with the current system of water management, but the goal is bring a steadier supply of water to the area. So, despite warnings that the new Wash Cut is neither necessary nor desirable, the project is carried out. That attempt to re-balance nature backfires tragically towards the end of the novel when a terrible spring storm breaks the local sluice gates and floods the region.

In Robert Pollock’s Loophole, a group of thieves led by Mike Daniels makes elaborate plans to rob the City Savings Deposit Bank. Their scheme is to dig a tunnel using the local sewer system which, in turn, will give them underground access to the bank. To put their plan into action, Daniels knows the team will need some expertise, so he enlists Stephen Booker, an out-of-work architect who’s desperate for money, to join the group. Booker agrees and the plans are laid in place. The day of the bank robbery dawns bright and clear and the men think that their scheme will go smoothly and it does at first. Then, a sudden storm springs up and floods the tunnel and sewers, with tragic results. What’s interesting about this is that Daniels even considers that possibility, but in the end decides to go through with the robbery. It’s a clear reminder that nature follows its own rules.

The balance of nature is also an important theme in Kathleen O’Neal Gear and W. Michael Gear’s Anasazi trilogy. Beginning with The Visitant, the series is the story of archaeologist William “Dusty” Stewart and forensic anthropologist Dr. Maureen Cole. The two begin working together when Stewart and his team find eight sets of ancient remains in an unexpected place. Cole is called in to help get to the truth about what happened to the victims and how their bodies got to the site where they’re found. Parts of the series take place during a modern-day timeline, and we follow Stewart, Cole and their team as they use forensic and archaeological evidence to piece together what happened. Parts of the series take place during the 13^th Century; during those parts of the series, we follow Anisazi war chief Browser and his deputy and friend Catkin as they investigate the same mysteries. In time, other remains are found and both the modern-day research team and the 13^th Century team discover that the Anisazi people have made tragic mistakes in the way they manage their resources. Those mistakes have cascading effects, including some of the deaths that both teams investigate.

In Carl Hiaasen’s Skinny Dip, marine biologist Chaz Perrone gets an object lesson in what happens when nature is not respected. He’s a shady operator who actually dislikes nature and has little respect for natural forces. In fact, he only became a marine biologist through a series of ironic events and is stuck in a job he dislikes. Then, Perrone discovers a way to alter water testing records so that water samples drawn from the Florida Everglades test “clean,” even when they are not. This proves to be very beneficial to Perrone’s new employer Samuel Johnson “Red” Hammernut. Hammernut owns, among other things, a successful commercial agricultural business that is responsible for a lot of toxic waste being poured into the Everglades. Perrone’s strategy “covers” Hammernut’s pollution, and for a while, all’s well. Then, Perrone begins to fear that his wife Joey has tumbled onto his scheme. So he arranges a cruise for the two of them, telling Joey that it’s an anniversary gift. One night, he pushes Joey overboard, assuming that she’ll drown and his secret will be safe. That’s not what happens, though; Joey is a former champion swimmer and manages to stay alive long enough to be rescued by Mick Stranahan, a former investigator for the Florida Attorney General’s office. Together, the two of them concoct a plan to make Chaz Perrone believe that someone saw him push his wife overboard and is now going to blackmail him. Their strategy makes Perrone increasingly nervous, and Hammernut increasingly concerned about Perrone’s dependability. Now, Perrone up against threats from Hammernut, the person he thinks is blackmailing him, and the police, who suspect him of Joey’s murder. In a fitting end, though, you could say that really, Mother Nature has the final say in what happens to Chaz Perrone.

Adrian Hyland’s Gunshot Road also raises issues of natural forces and their balance. Emily Tempest has just accepted a job as an Aboriginal Community Police officer. On her first day on the job, she and her team are called to the scene of a murder at the Green Swamp Well Roadhouse. Albert “Doc” Ozolins has been killed and his body found in his shack. Also found in Ozolins’ shack is a very drunk John “Wireless” Petherbridge. The two had had a terrible public argument hours before, so Wireless is immediately the most likely suspect. Tempest isn’t so sure of that, but her new boss Bruce Cockburn tells her to stay aw ay from the case. That doesn’t stop Tempest, though, and she begins to investigate. What she discovers is that Doc had been conducting research on a groundbreaking theory about geologic evolution. In the process, he made another discovery that someone does not want made public. He was killed because of his discovery about what has happened and is happening to the earth, and when Tempest finds that out, she starts on the path that leads her to the killer. Along the way, she gets valuable guidance from several people who are very “tuned in” to the earth’s balance.

As we can see just from a quick look at some crime fiction, nature is a powerful force. So be kind to the planet; you never know what could happen if you aren’t….. After all, to use the words of an old U.S. television ad, “It’s not nice to fool Mother Nature!”

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Joni Mitchell's Big Yellow Taxi.

In Spite of Your Rules, You've Got a Memory*

2011-04-20T12:10:00.000-07:00

Our memories are a critical part of our identities. They have a lot to do with who we are, how we see the world and our senses of self. That’s one reason why memory studies – what triggers our memories, how they are associated with each other and so on – can be so very interesting. It’s also why memories are so important in crime fiction. Whether it’s memories of a crime, childhood memories or other aspects of memory, a lot of crime fiction is focused on what people remember and do not remember.

One of the things about memories is that all sorts of things can trigger them. For instance, in Agatha Christie’s Five Little Pigs (AKA Murder in Retrospect), Hercule Poirot has to rely on the memory of five important witnesses as he investigates a “cold case.” Carla Lemarchant has come to Poirot to ask him to find out who killed her father, famous painter Amyas Crale. Crale was poisoned sixteen years earlier, and all of the evidence pointed to his wife Caroline. In fact, she was arrested, tried and convicted. A year after the trial, Caroline Crale died in prison, but Carla believes that her mother was innocent. Poirot agrees to find out the truth and asks each of the five people who were “on the scene” that day to write out her or his recollection of the crime. He also interviews each of those people. At one point he’s interviewing Meredith Blake, owner of Handcross Manor, the house next to the Crale’s home at Alderbury, where the crime took place. Blake was one of Crale’s close friends, and was there on the day of the crime. In fact, the day before the murder, everyone had been over at Handcross Manor for tea. That tea, and other events that took place that day at Handcross Manor turn out to be important in the solution of the mystery, but Blake doesn’t remember things as clearly as he could. He’s mentioned jasmine in some of his comments, so Poirot uses the scent of jasmine to awaken Blake’s memories. That scent of jasmine triggers some very accurate memories that help Poirot solve the case.

In Third Girl, Poirot has a lot more difficulty triggering exact memories. In that novel, he gets a visit from Norma Restarick, a young woman who thinks she may have committed a murder. At first, she thinks Poirot may be too old to help her and leaves without giving her name. But with help from his friend detective novelist Ariadne Oliver, Poirot finds out who the young woman is and begins to investigate to find out if there was a murder and if so, whether Norma Restarick could have been involved. Then Norma disappears. As Poirot and Oliver search for Norma and for the truth about what she has told Poirot, they learn about her past. That past has a lot to do with Norma’s disappearance and the murder she thinks she may have committed. Now Poirot realises that Norma may be in very great danger, and he and Oliver have to work fast to catch a killer before the killer finds Norma. As it turns out, it was Norma’s memory that first put her at risk. She had a memory from long ago that someone did not want her to have.

Memories also play an important role in Elizabeth George’s A Traitor to Memory. Gideon Davies is a twenty-eight-year-old violin virtuoso. One frightening day, though, he tries to play and can’t; he simply doesn’t seem to remember how. Desperate for help, he goes to a psychiatrist to find out what is blocking his ability to play. Meanwhile, one night, his mother Eugenie Davies is struck and killed by a car in what looks like a hit-and-run accident. Inspector Thomas “Tommy” Lynley and Sergeant Barbara Havers are assigned to investigate Eugenie Davies’ death, and it’s not long before they conclude that it might not have been an accident. As Gideon Davies works with his psychoanalyst, he slowly realises that his musical block stems from memories associated with the long-ago drowning death of his baby sister Sonia. At the time, her nanny Katja Wolff was blamed for the death and imprisoned. She’s recently been released, though, and that event, coupled with Gideon’s increasingly clear memories of the past, paints a picture of long-hidden family secrets. When Lynley and Havers get to the truth about Eugenie Davis’ death and her son’s inability to play, they find that it’s all related to those secrets and to Sonia’s death.

Schoolteacher Jurgen Mitter’s memory, or more precisely, lack thereof, is an important part of Håkan Nesser’s Mind’s Eye. Mitter wakes up one morning with a terrible hangover. As he slowly gets up and moves around, he discovers to his shock that his wife Eva Ringmar has been murdered and her body is in the bathtub. He calls the police and they begin to investigate. In short order he himself is arrested for the murder. Mitter recalls nearly nothing about the night of his wife’s death because he was extremely drunk. He is sure, though, that he is innocent. The prosecutor and jurors don’t see it that way, though, and Mitter is soon convicted of the crime. Because he has no memory of the murder, Mitter is remanded to a mental institution instead of a regular prison. Inspector Van Veeteren attended Mitter’s trial and based on some points of Mitter’s testimony, and some of the evidence, he wonders whether Mitter might be innocent. Meanwhile, Mitter is beginning to recover his memory. Bits and pieces of the night that Eva died come back to Mitter, mostly in dreams. Then, he remembers that someone else was at their home that night. When Mitter remembers who it was, he writes that person’s name in a Bible that’s been left in his room. He also writes a letter to that person, telling the killer that he’s remembered what happened. Those memories cost Mitter his life when the killer receives the letter and kills Mitter before he can tell anyone about Eva’s murder. When Van Veeteren and his team find out that Mitter has been killed, they launch a full-scale investigation his death and that of his wife. Once they find out about the letter, and track it down, they are able to collect the evidence they need to catch the killer.

Michael Robotham’s Lost also focuses on how much we remember – or don’t – and how our memories are triggered. Inspector Vincent Ruiz wakes up in a hospital bed with little memory of how he got there. It turns out that he was rescued from the Thames after nearly drowning there. He’s also got a bullet wound in his leg. In order to try to find out what happened to him, Ruiz asks his friend psychiatrist Joe O’Loughlin to help him put the pieces of his memory together. Bit by bit, with help from O’Loughlin, Ruiz begins to recall what happened. At the time of his injury, Ruiz was working a three-year-old “cold case.” Seven-year-old Mickey Carlyle has disappeared and everyone thinks that she was killed by Howard Wavell. Wavell is a known paedophile, and there is other evidence against him. In fact, he was arrested and imprisoned for the crime. Ruiz, though, thinks that Wavell might be innocent and that Mickey Carlyle might still be alive. As his memories continue to be triggered, Ruiz returns to the case and pursues the truth, despite a great deal of pressure to leave it alone. In the end, he finds out the real truth about Mickey Carlyle.

Nancy Bush’s Unseen also treats the way memories can be repressed and triggered and how they affect us. Paedophile Edward Letton is about to target a new victim when he is struck and fatally wounded by a hit-and-run driver. A few days later, Gemma LaPorte wakes up in the same hospital where Letton is being treated. She’s injured, herself, although not as severely, and has no memory of the last few days. Detective Will Tanninger, who’s been investigating the hit-and-run incident, thinks that Gemma may be responsible for killing Letton. Gemma can’t account for herself for the last few days, and her injuries are consistent with the kinds of injuries one would expect Letton’s killer to have. Will and Gemma try to piece together what happened, but it turns out that this isn’t Gemma’s first episode of memory loss. As she gradually recovers, Gemma also begins to remember the day of the accident and some other long-buried memories. But the closer she gets to really remembering what happened, the more danger she is in from her past and from the real killer.

Lots of different things can trigger memories; a sound, a scent, an image, any one of those can bring back recollection. Memories hold the key to a lot of who we are, and to a lot of crime fiction. Which novels have you enjoyed that focus on people’s memories?

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Billy Joel’s Code of Silence.

From a Whisper to a Scream*

2011-04-19T12:40:00.001-07:00

There are some murders, both real and fictional, that make headlines. Either they’re particularly brutal, or there are multiple murders, or there’s something bizarre about either the victim(s) or the murderer(s), or something else captures the public’s attention. A lot of murders, though, are not dramatic and don’t cause a media frenzy. They are quiet murders that may not make the news, but are none the less devastating for that. In crime fiction, quiet murder stories generally don’t move at a very fast pace, but they can be compelling as we look into the lives of ordinary people who live in what seems like ordinary circumstances – but who kill or are killed.

For example, Agatha Christie’s Dumb Witness (AKA Poirot Loses a Client) is what you might call a quiet murder. Miss Emily Arundell is a wealthy elderly lady who’s all too well-aware that her relations are eager for whatever they will inherit from her. And yet, they’re fond of her and she herself has a strong sense of family loyalty. But then, Miss Arundell has a fall down the stairs during a week-end when all of her relations are visiting. At first it seems like an accident, but Miss Arundell is not so sure. So she writes a letter to Hercule Poirot, asking for his help on a very delicate matter. She doesn’t specify what the matter is, but the letter intrigues Poirot. So does the fact that he doesn’t receive it until two months after Miss Arundell wrote it. Poirot and Captain Hastings visit Miss Arundell’s home in the village of Market Basing, but by the time they get there, it’s too late. Miss Arundell has died of liver failure. Poirot isn’t deterred by this, and begins to ask questions about Miss Arundell’s life and death. What he soon discovers is that Miss Arundell was murdered, and that more than one person had good reason for wanting her dead. In the end, this turns out to be a quiet murder that doesn’t really cause a media sensation, but is still devastating.

Marian Babson’s Untimely Guest is also the story of what you’d call a quiet murder. That novel tells the story of a large, dysfunctional Irish Catholic family headed by a matriarch known only as Mam. Mam’s son Kevin and his wife Eleanor are getting ready for the return of Mam’s eldest daughter Bridget “Bridie” who’s been living in a convent for the last ten years. Also returning to the family home is Kevin’s sister DeeDee, who’s bringing along her fiancé James. And then there’s Kevin’s brother Patrick and his wife Carmel who, like Eleanor, is Protestant and therefore, somewhat of an “outsider.” Rounding out the family is Kevin’s sister Veronica, who has never married and stays in the family home to take care of Mam. When everyone returns to the family home, all of the ingredients are there for serious family strife. First, Dee Dee’s ex-husband Terence still believes he and DeeDee are lawfully married – and Mam agrees with him. It doesn’t help matters that no-one has told Mam that Bridie has come home to stay; Mam had her heart set on Bridie’s becoming a nun, and wouldn’t accept her daughter’s leaving the convent. One night while the family has gathered at Mam’s home, there’s a serious argument between James and Terence. Everyone rushes upstairs to see what’s going on and before anyone really realises what’s happened, DeeDee has fallen down the stairs to her death. James is convinced she was murdered, but no-one else will admit the possibility. Soon enough, though, both Eleanor and Kevin begin to suspect that James is right. Dee-Dee’s murder is also a quiet murder that doesn’t call a lot of attention to itself but still wreaks personal havoc.

So does the murder in Barbara Vine/Ruth Rendell’s A Dark-Adapted Eye. In that novel, journalist Daniel Stewart has uncovered a very dark chapter in the history of the ultra-respectable Longley family. The Longley family has always worked hard to maintain its image as a loving, caring, middle-class family. And yet, years earlier, Vera Longley Hilliard was arrested, tried and hung for murder, and now Stewart wants to do a story on the terrible sequence of events. So he asks Vera Hilliard’s niece Faith Longley Severn, to help him do the story. She agrees and as she works with Stewart to piece together the past, she also has to face some dark truths about her family. This murder isn’t a case of a serial killer blazing a trail through the national headlines. Instead, it’s murder committed out of quiet, desperate motives.

The same thing is true of To Fear a Painted Devil, also by Ruth Rendell. Tamsin and Patrick Selby play hosts at an outdoor party to celebrate Tamsin’s twenty-seventh birthday. Several local friends and neighbours from the small community of Linchester are invited and the party is going well. Then, a group of wasps begins to annoy the partygoers. Patrick climbs up a ladder to get rid of the nests and is badly stung. He’s soon very ill and a few days later, he dies. At first, Dr. Max Greenleaf, who attended the party and has been caring for Patrick Selby, thinks his patient died of a severe allergic reaction to the stings. Soon, though, Greenleaf begins to suspect that Patrick Selby was murdered. Very reluctantly, he begins to ask questions about Selby’s death and soon, it becomes clear that more than one person might have wanted to kill the victim. All is not as it seems between Patrick and Tamsin Selby; nor is all as it seems in their tiny, quiet community.

In Peter Robinson’s Past Reason Hated, DC Susan Gay is the only member of Eastvale’s CID on duty one evening just before Christmas when a call comes in that there’s been a murder at Oakwood Mews. Anxious to prove herself, Gay decides to begin the investigation herself rather than disturb her boss, DI Alan Banks, who’s at a Christmas party. The victim is Caroline Hartley, a young woman with a mysterious past who’s an eager member of the local dramatic society. She’s been brutally stabbed to death in her own home, and Banks and Gay begin the work of finding out who had a motive for murder. As they learn more about the victim, Banks and Gay discover that she had several secrets. For one thing, she’d run away as a teenager from an unpleasant home life and it’s discovered that she had a child that no-one knew about. And then there’s her reputation as a flirt amongst her fellow thespians. There’s also her relationship with her housemate and partner Veronica Shildon, which may or may not be all that it seems. In this novel, the more we get to know about Caroline Hartley, the more suspects there seem to be. In the end, Banks and Gay discover that this murder is also a quiet, desperate murder rather than a murder committed, say, for gain or out of fear.

And then there’s Ann Cleeves’ The Crow Trap. In that novel, three young women, Rachael, Anne and Grace, are using Baikie's Cottage in the North Pennines as the base for an environmental study they are conducting. When Rachael, the team’s leader, arrives at the cottage, though, she makes a horrifying discovery: the body of her friend and the cottage’s owner Bella Furness, who has apparently committed suicide. Rachael doesn’t believe that Bella could have committed suicide though, and when there’s another death, it’s clear that much more is going on. DI Vera Stanhope, who debuts in this novel, investigates and finds that in order to get to the truth behind these quiet murders, she’s going to have to penetrate a number of hidden secrets.

Quiet murders may not generate a lot of headlines, and the novels describing them don’t always move at a fast pace. But they can be utterly absorbing and the slow buildup of tension as the murders are investigated can be very suspenseful. But what’s your view? Do you enjoy quiet murders, or do you prefer faster-paced murder mysteries?

*NOTE: The title of this post is the title of an Elvis Costello song.

In The Spotlight: K.C. Constantine's The Blank Page

2011-04-18T12:15:00.000-07:00

Hello, All,

Welcome to another edition of In The Spotlight. K.C. Constantine (a pseudonym for author Karl Constantine Kosak) is one of crime fiction’s most private authors. Very little is known about him and that’s how he prefers it. I respect that. It’s a refreshing alternative to blatant self-promotion. His Mario Balzic series features real (mostly working-class) people in the Western Pennsylvania mining town of Rocksburg. Although this series isn’t as well-known as some others, it’s contributed an everyday perspective on “people like the rest of us” to the genre. And besides, I’m quite homesick right now and wanted to take a look at a book that takes place in my home state of Pennsylvania (I went to university about an hour from fictional Rocksburg). And it’s my blog ;-). So today, let’s take a closer look at the first of the Balzic series, The Blank Page.

The novel begins when Rocksburg Chief of Police Mario Balzic gets a telephone call from Cynthia Sumner, who owns a rooming house for students who attend Conemaugh County Community College. She’s concerned because she hasn’t seen Janet Pisula, one of the residents, for a few days, and thinks something might be wrong. Balzic agrees to check into the matter and finds out that his caller’s instincts were right. The strangled, mostly-nude body of Janet Pisula is found on the floor of her bedroom in the rooming house. On her stomach is a blank sheet of paper.

Almost immediately, Balzic and his team run into difficulties as they try to investigate the murder. Very few people knew Janet Pisula, and no-one can think of a reason she would have been killed. She was an orphan without a lot of money, so there’s no immediately-obvious family or financial motive. Although she had no friends, she also was quiet, modest and pleasant – not the sort of young woman to stir up jealousy, anger or one of the other stereotypical motives for murder. Balzic begins to ask around among the victim’s acquaintances and teachers and slowly a picture of Janet Pisula begins to emerge. She didn’t get high grades and had a great deal of difficulty even speaking up in class. And yet, according to one of her English teachers, she had a bright and original mind. Her other English teacher Malcolm Keenan, though, thought otherwise.

When Balzic and his team interview Janet’s uncle Michael Pisula, they finally begin to get some answers. Janet’s been deeply affected by a terrible car accident that killed her parents. Specifically, she’s been traumatized by the behaviour of the other driver in the accident. That trauma plays an important role in the way she interacts and what she thinks, and it’s key in a fatal decision that she makes. When Balzic finally gets to the truth about Janet Pisula’s death, he and his team find that she was killed because of the way that trauma has affected her life.

This novel is a police procedural. So we follow along as Bazic and his team interview witnesses, make use of forensic and other reports and collect evidence about the murder. We learn about the victim as Balzic does, and the solution to the murder comes from careful police work as well as some good deductions.

The Blank Page is also in many ways a psychological novel. Balzic himself is no psychologist. He’s a “regular guy” who likes his favourite bar Muscotti’s and likes his beer. But he does respect the fact that there may be some psychological reason for Janet Pisula’s withdrawn behaviour – and for her murder. So he’s open to what he learns from Janet’s Uncle Michael and her best friend Frances Milocky. Between the two, they tell Balzic a great deal about Janet’s past and how it’s affected her life. And what they both tell Balzic turns out to have a great deal with her murder, too.

The novel is set in the small mining town of Rocksburg, and Constantine places the reader there. Here’s a snapshot of what Rocksburg is like:

“Lightning flashed vaguely on the horizon as Balzic got into his cruiser…He turned the cruiser around in the lot and then headed north on Main…At the last intersection on Main Street serviced by traffic lights, Balzic turned onto North Hagen Avenue…”

There are all sorts of “Rocksburgs” in Western Pennsylvania. Trust me. And Constantine has done an effective job of evoking that atmosphere. Balzic has lived in Rocksburg for a long time, and he knows just about everyone. Muscotti’s is the most popular hangout for the locals and Balzic spends his share of time there. In this novel and in the rest of the Rocksburg series, we meet and get to know many of the town’s residents. And yet, despite the small-town setting and some of the eccentric characters in the story, this isn’t really a cosy novel. It’s got a bit more of an edge to it than most cosies have.

Another element in this novel is a dry, slightly dark and cynical sense of humour. For instance, Balzic is uncomfortable working with the Pennsylvania State Police, especially Lt. Harry Minyon. When Balzic puts the machinery of the law into motion after he discovers Janet Pisula’s body, though, he gets what for him is a pleasant surprise:

“The state police Criminal Investigation Division squad, under the temporary command of Lt. Walker Johnson, arrived first. Much to Balzic’s spiteful pleasure Johnson had been transferred from Erie to replace Lt. Harry Minyon while Minyon rode out a bout with his ulcers in Conemaugh General Hospital. Any replacement for Minyon would have pleased Balzic, but Johnson was especially welcome to him as their friendship went back to days when Balzic had first made chief and Johnson was a sergeant on the narcotics squad.”

And then there’s the character of Mario Balzic himself. Half Polish/half Italian, Balzic is a working-class Western Pennsylvanian who is painfully aware of how the justice system isn’t always what you’d call just. He feels a strong sense of compassion for the everyday people he lives and works with – the “regular guys.” Here’s a bit of what Balzic says about the criminal justice system:

“I can see me running a gas station or a grocery and some junkie comes in, cleans out my register, and then blows it all on three fixes before he gets grabbed. Then I go give my testimony against him and watch him get one to three and five years pro. I keep on paying taxes to support the whole goddamn system, meantime I don’t get my money back, the money the junkie copped in the first place. There’s no provision for it….You’d be surprised how little the squares want to hear how the criminal justice system works. What they really want to know is what a good job I’m doing keeping the dopers…out of their neighborhood.”

Although Balzic doesn’t have a lot of formal education, he’s thoughtful and reflective. He’s happily married and a proud father of grown children. He’s also a dutiful son. Although the novel isn’t long, Constantine weaves an interesting picture of an interesting cop.

The Blank Page weaves together a solid police story with a psychological undertone. The characters, especially that of Balzic himself, are interesting and well suited for the Western Pennsylvania backdrop. Constantine has been quoted as saying

“I hope nobody reads The Blank Page because I screwed up large in that one.”

and he’s of course entitled to that view. To me, though (and this is just my opinion, so no need to agree with me if you don’t) it’s a compelling read and a solid introduction to the series. But what’s your view? Have you read The Blank Page? If you have, what elements do you see in it?

Coming Up On In The Spotlight

Monday 25 April/Tuesday 26 April – The Anodyne Necklace – Martha Grimes

Monday 2 May/Tuesday 3 May – Smoke and Mirrors – Kel Robertson

Monday 9 May/Tuesday 10 May – Baltimore Blues – Laura Lippman

The Alphabet in Crime Fiction: Robin Cook's Outbreak

2011-04-17T12:04:00.001-07:00

“O,” my! The Alphabet in Crime Fiction community meme has reached Stop #15 on our treacherous tour through the alphabet. Thanks, as always, to our most capable tour guide Kerrie at Mysteries in Paradise, for leading us around all of the obstacles in our path as we travel along. Thus far, we are all out of harm’s way : - ). My contribution for this week’s stop is Robin Cook’s Outbreak, published in 1987.

The main action in the novel begins when Dr. Rudolph Richter, the Los Angeles-based co-owner of the Richter Clinic, is mugged on his way home from his office one evening. The attack is frightening, but Richter isn’t badly hurt and he tries to put it behind him. The next day, though, he becomes seriously ill and shortly thereafter, he suddenly dies. Then, seven of the clinic’s patients die. Now it looks as though there is an outbreak of a very serious illness, and Los Angeles authorities ask for help from Atlanta’s Centers for Disease Control (CDC). The CDC sends Dr. Marissa Blumenthal from its Department of Virology, Special Pathogens Divisions, to Los Angeles to help isolate the pathogen that’s responsible for the outbreak. Blumenthal is looking forward to the chance to prove herself, especially to her boss Dr. Cyrill Dubchek. The CDC team begins its investigation and it’s soon clear that the victims have died from the highly contagious Ebola virus. Blumenthal and the team contain the disease and return to Atlanta. Then, five weeks later, there’s another outbreak, this time in St. Louis. Then there’s an outbreak in Phoenix. The more Blumenthal investigates, the more certain she becomes that the Ebola virus is being deliberately spread. All of the outbreaks begin at medical clinics, and the only fatalities seem to be clinic doctors and their patients.

Blumenthal investigates the connections among the medical clinics and the victims and discovers a dangerous conspiracy that involves politics, medicine – and a great deal of money. She tries to alert her bosses and colleagues at the CDC, but no-one wants to cause a public panic. Besides, she has very little evidence that the deaths were deliberately planned. Now Blumenthal is up against a highly toxic virus, her bosses, and an extremely dangerous group of people who are not afraid to kill. As she slowly finds the evidence she needs to save lives and salvage her own reputation, Blumenthal discovers that the closer she gets to the truth, the more danger she’s in, especially when she finds out that her own employer was likely the source of the deadly virus.

Since this is a medical thriller, one of the important and interesting elements in it is the information we learn about the way that pathogens are spread and how the medical community reacts to it. Readers go “behind the scenes” beginning with the prologue, in which the Ebola virus passes from its animal host to humans. We follow as the doctors at the various clinics and hospitals struggle to cope with a virulent illness and keep it from spreading, too. Several parts of the action take place in hospitals and clinics and this, too, gives the reader an “inside look” at medicine. And yet, the reader isn’t overburdened with medical minutiae or terminology.

Just as interesting is the “inside look” we get at one of the U.S.A.’s less-well-known federal agencies, the CDC. Admittedly, this book was published 24 years ago, and times and procedures have changed drastically. The availability of information on pathogens is ever more instant, and the CDC has kept pace. Modern technology and communication have also changed the CDC’s response protocol. Still, it’s clear that Cook “did his homework” while writing this novel and the story provides a fascinating look at the way the CDC responds to, isolates and combats pathogens and how important an agency focused on the public health really is. We also get a look at how the CDC works with local medical and civic authorities when there is a dangerous risk to public health. This insight into the CDC also gives a sobering perspective on how easily a highly contagious pathogen can wreak havoc on a community.

Although this is a medical thriller, the focus is really on the crimes taking place. So there are clues, suspects and plot twists and turns. There is a discussion of medical ethics, particularly as it relates to the effects of money and political power in the medical community. However, the ethical questions really take second place to Marissa Blumenthal’s search for the solution to the mystery. This is one of Cook’s earlier novels, and you could argue that there is a stark difference in this respect between his earlier work and more recent novels. This is not a novel created to explore a question of medical ethics. It’s a crime fiction novel in which medical ethics plays a role.

Outbreak is also a thriller. So the pacing and timing are fast and there is little break in the action. There’s also solid suspense, which Cook heightens in several ways. For example, there’s the matter of point of view. Most of the story is told from the point of view of Marissa Blumenthal, and we feel her growing fear as she gets closer to the truth. But some of the story is told from the point of view of the killer. This gives the effect of a game of “cat and mouse” without making the story melodramatic. And as Blumenthal realises just what she’s up against, there’s even more suspense as it becomes clear that someone in the CDC is involved in the murders. Although we know who “the enemy” is well before the end of the novel, there’s a strong thread of suspense as Blumenthal tries to convince her bosses of what’s going on and as she tries to stay one step ahead of the “bad guys.” The plot is plausible; we can imagine an outbreak starting in the way that this one does, and that adds to the suspense. So does the fact that there is a believable motive for the murders, rather than just a group of evil people who just, well, want to be evil.

This isn’t a character-driven novel; it’s a plot-and-suspense-driven novel. That said, though, the character of Marissa Blumenthal is appealing. She’s bright, clever and skilled. Yet, she’s also human. She’s not always right, and she makes some mistakes in judgement. She’s up against a dangerous enemy and she’s quite naturally afraid. She doesn’t take comic-book-hero-type risks, and she feels the panic anyone might feel being so close to such a deadly murder weapon. And although Blumenthal ends up risking her own life, the novel doesn’t come overly close to the “persecuted heroine” trap into which so many recent novels have fallen (at least, in my own personal opinion it doesn’t). It’s not hard to cheer for her as she searches for the truth.

The story’s plausibility, combined with a likeable main character and solid pacing and time make this mystery a solid example of the medical thriller. But what’s your view? Have you read Outbreak? If you have, what elements do you see in it?

ps I have to admit I like this cover – there’s something “retro” about it…

An Interesting Factoid…

Don’t confuse this novel with the 1995 film of the same name starring Dustin Hoffman and Rene Russo. The film is (very, very) loosely based on the novel, and bears some similarities, but it’s a different story altogether. If you experience the novel and movie as separate stories, it’s certainly possible to enjoy both. But if you expect the two to tell the same story, you’ll be disappointed.

I'll Get Right Back On My Feet Again*

2011-04-16T11:50:00.000-07:00

Crime fiction often deals with sadness and tragedy; after all, murder and other crimes are tragic things. Some people fall apart in the face of that tragedy, but others have a great deal of strength and resilience. They suffer as anyone would, but they aren’t defeated. Those characters are often quite likeable; we find it easy to cheer them on as they struggle to cope with what’s happened to them. Of course, creating such characters takes a deft hand. It’s hard to believe a character who isn’t affected at all by life’s blows, and a character who isn’t believable also doesn’t tend to be as likeable. The key is creating a character human enough to be knocked down once in a while, so to speak, but strong enough to stand back up again.

For example, in Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Adventure of the Dancing Men, we meet Elsie Cubitt. Originally from America, she has a rather mysterious past, although she swears to her husband Hilton that she has done

“…nothing she need be personally ashamed of…”

Still, she refuses to tell her husband about her past associations, which have been with some very shady characters. One day, Elsie receives a letter that changes everything. She’s terrified by the letter but won’t confide in her husband. When Hilton Cubitt sees the letter, all he sees is a series of drawings of stick figures. Then, the same sort of stick figures begin to show up as chalked drawings on the window ledges of the Cubitt home. This is when Hilton Cubitt visits Sherlock Holmes to ask his advice. Holmes takes the case and figures out that the drawings are a cipher and that Elsie is being stalked. Then one night, Hilton Cubitt is murdered. Holmes uses the cipher to lure the killer into a confession. In this story, Elsie Cubitt is devastated first by being stalked and then by the death of her husband. Yet she remains resilient and in the end,

“Of Mrs. Hilton Cubitt I only know that I have heard she recovered entirely, and that she still remains a widow, devoting her whole life to the care of the poor and to the administration of her husband’s estate.”

We see the same kind of sturdiness in the character of Honoria Bulstrode, who features in Agatha Christie’s Cat Among the Pigeons. Miss Bulstrode is headmistress of Meadowbank, an exclusive girls’ school that she co-founded. Shortly after the summer term begins at Meadowbank, newly-hired games mistress Grace Springer is shot one night in the Sports Pavilion. The police begin an investigation but they haven’t gotten very far when there’s a kidnapping. Then there’s another murder. Now Miss Bulstrode begins to see her life’s work falling in ruins around her as student after student is pulled from the school. And yet, she remains strong – rocked by the tragedies, but resilient. One of the students, Julia Upjohn, puts together an important piece of the puzzle and visits Hercule Poirot to ask him to investigate. Poirot agrees and ties together the murders and kidnapping with a cache of missing jewels and a revolution in the Middle Eastern country of Ramat. In the end, we see Honoria Bulstrode pick up the pieces of her school and begin the work of rebuilding it.

Tony Hillerman’s Jim Chee and Joe Leaphorn also show quite a lot of personal resilience. In Coyote Waits, they are both devastated when Delbert Nez, a fellow Navajo Tribal Police officer and a close friend of Chee’s, is murdered. As if that weren’t enough, they are also rocked by personal loss. Leaphorn’s beloved wife Emma has recently died and Chee’s lover Mary Landon has left the Reservation and returned to her home in Wisconsin. Both men are strongly tempted to accept superficial evidence when Ashie Pinto is arrested for Nez’ murder. First, Chee saw him near the scene of the crime with the murder weapon. Second, Pinto refuses to deny that he had anything to do with the murder. He also gives no explanation for his presence at the murder scene. But then, Janet Pete, a half-Navajo attorney, is sent by the Navajo Nation’s People’s Legal Services, the Dinébe’iiná Náhiiłna be Agha’diit’ahii (DNA), to defend Pinto and see that he gets a fair trial. Pete believes that Pinto is innocent and insists that the case be carefully investigated so that her client will not be “railroaded.” Both Chee and Leaphorn have been “knocked down” by Dez’ murder and their own personal losses, but they both also know that Pete is right and that Pinto deserves to be treated fairly. So they stand back up, so to speak, and work together to find out who really killed Delbert Nez and why.

And then there’s Martin Clark’s Mason Hunt, whom we meet in The Legal Limit. Mason and his brother Gates have come from a background of abuse and alcoholism, but they’ve made it to adulthood. Mason has taken advantage of every opportunity offered him and is now in law school. His brother, a high school star athlete, has squandered his talent and his own opportunities and now lives on drug dealing profits, his girlfriend’s Welfare money and money he gets from his mother. One afternoon, Gates Hunt has an argument with Wayne Thompson, a rival for his girlfriend. Thompson leaves, but the Hunt brothers encounter him later that night. More words are exchanged and before anyone really knows what’s happened, Gates Hunt has shot Thompson. Out of a sense of duty and filial loyalty, Mason Hunt helps his brother cover up the crime, and life goes on for both brothers. Then, years later, Gates Hunt is arrested for cocaine trafficking. He’s sentenced to prison and begs his brother, who’s now a successful prosecuting attorney, to get him out. When Mason refuses, Gates accuses his brother of the Thompson murder and agrees to help authorities convict his brother if they get him out of prison. He’s so convincing that a grand jury indicts Mason Hunt for a crime he didn’t commit. In the meantime, Mason Hunt has also faced sad personal tragedy. His beloved wife has died, leaving him to raise their daughter Grace. Then, when she’s fifteen, Grace tells her father that she’s pregnant. Mason Hunt is badly wounded by all that’s happened to him, but he gathers his strength and shows real resilience as he fights the charges against him and slowly puts together the pieces of his family life.

Alex Scarrow’s Last Light and Afterlight focus on Andy and Jenny Sutherland and their children Leona and Jake. In Last Light, the family is called on to tap reserves of strength they never knew they had when the world’s oil supply is cut off. Each of the family members is stranded in a different place, and they struggle against all sorts of odds to get back together. We see even more resilience, especially in the character of Jenny Sutherland, in Afterlight, which takes place ten years later. In that second novel, Jenny leads a small group of survivors who live on an oil rig. We see how strong she has to be when the group’s cohesiveness is threatened after everyone agrees to take in a wounded man who’s been found in a nearby town. The wounded man begins to sow seeds of dissent in the group and now Jenny has to do her best to hold the group together. She also has to cope with the consequences when her son Jake and his friend Nathan decide to go to London, where they’ve heard that another group of survivors has electricity. That journey and the internal threats to Jenny’s group force her to be more resilient than she ever thought she would have to be.

Carl Hiaasen introduces us to Joey Perrone in Skinny Dip. Joey is an in increasingly loveless marriage with Chaz Perrone, a shady manipulator who’s working as a marine biologist for a commercial farm owned by Samuel Johnson “Red” Hammernut. Chaz has discovered a way to manipulate water testing so that Hammernut’s company can pollute the Everglades waters without getting caught. When Chaz begins to fear that his wife has figured out his scheme, he decides to kill her. He takes her on cruise that he says is to celebrate their anniversary and late one night, throws her overboard. The only problem for Chaz is that Joey is a former champion swimmer, so she doesn’t die. Exhausted and wounded by her battle with the water, Joey is rescued by Mick Stranahan, a former investigator for the Florida Attorney General’s office. Joey is physically ill at first and distraught at this attempt to kill her, especially since she can’t figure out the motive at first. She’s also deeply hurt because Chaz has been regularly unfaithful to her. And yet, Joey doesn’t “stay down” for long. She and Stranahan plot to take revenge on Chaz. Together, they concoct a plan to make Chaz think that someone saw him throw his wife overboard and now wants to blackmail him. Chaz soon finds that his plan to kill his wife has backfired badly.

There are lots of other examples of characters who are human enough to get “knocked down” by life’s blows – and strong enough to stand back up. Which are your favourites?

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Pat Benatar’s Hit Me With Your Best Shot.

I Will Protect You From All Around You*

2011-04-15T12:33:00.000-07:00

The instinct to protect others, especially (but not always) friends and loved ones, is an important part of human nature. In a way, it’s a reminder that we are a social species. At some level, we seem to know that the loss of one person is a loss to all of us, and we want to prevent that. It’s as though vulnerability in a person brings out the altruistic side of many people’s natures. We hear all sorts of stories of this protectiveness in real life, and it’s there in crime fiction, too. Sometimes, that protectiveness saves someone’s life.

Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes is not much of a one for emotional ties, even with Dr. Watson, whom he considers a friend. However, in The Adventure of the Copper Beeches, Holmes has a feeling of protectiveness towards Violet Hunter, a governess who comes to him for advice. Violet’s been looking for a position and has been offered a very lucrative job by Jephro Rucastle, who lives with his wife and six-year-old son in a rather isolated country home. Violet isn’t sure whether she should accept the job and comes to Holmes for advice. Holmes has serious doubts about the Rucastles, especially when he learns that Rucastle has some rather odd things of his new governess. Holmes counsels his client not to take the position, and she listens to what he has to say. But when Rucastle increases his salary offer, Violet Hunter can no longer resist the offer, and takes the position. Holmes tells his client that if she needs him for anything, to let him know. It’s not long before she takes him up on his offer. The Rucastle home is a strange and unhappy one, and Violet things some eerie things must be going on. Holmes goes right away to see what he can do to help – just in time to save his client’s life.

We also see that streak of protectiveness in Agatha Christie’s Cards on the Table. Hercule Poirot has been invited to a very strange dinner party by the very eccentric Mr. Shaitana. Also invited to the dinner are three other sleuths: Ariadne Oliver, Superintendent Battle and Colonel Race. Shaitana has also invited four other guests, each of whom he hints has committed a murder but never been suspected of it. After dinner, everyone but Shaitana settles down to play bridge. The four sleuths are in one room, and the four other guests in another. At some point in the evening, someone stabs Shaitana while the other guests aren’t looking. There are only four suspects; each has a motive and each had an equal opportunity to commit the murder. So the four sleuths have to look into each suspect’s background and psychology to find out who committed the crime. At one point, one of the suspects confesses to the murder. Poirot knows that suspect is not guilty and has the wrong sort of psychology for the kind of crime it was. He’s quite right and when he brings that point up, the suspect admits to lying and claims to have been an eyewitness when another suspect actually committed the crime. It turns out that the confession was made out of a desire to protect the other suspect.

Lord Peter Wimsey’s protective instinct is brought out in Dorothy Sayers’ Strong Posion. Mystery novelist Harriet Vane has been arrested for the poisoning murder of her former lover Philip Boyes. The case looks very bad for her, too; not only did she have a supply of arsenic, which has been identified as the weapon, but also, she was the last person known to have given Boyes anything to eat or drink. Wimsey attends the trial and becomes smitten with Vane. He determines to clear her name and when the jury can’t reach a verdict, he gets his chance. With help from some friends and his valet Mervyn Bunter, Wimsey finds out who really killed Philip Boyes. Wimsey feels a strong sense of protectiveness towards Vane, and she’s grateful for his help. However, she doesn’t think that that sort of protectiveness/gratitude is the right basis for a relationship. So although Wimsey tells her right away that he means to marry her, Vane doesn’t accept his proposal until the end of Gaudy Night. In that novel, in which Vane is asked to find out who’s behind some disturbing events at her alma mater, she gets into serious danger and Wimsey’s sense of protection is aroused again. For Vane, it’s an interesting emotional dilemma between making herself vulnerable to Wimsey and denying the fact that she loves him.

There’s a really appealing theme of protectiveness in James W. Fuerst’s Huge. Twelve-year-old Eugene “Huge” Smalls has his share of difficulties fitting in, both at school and in his neighbourhood. He’s small for his age, has problems controlling his anger, and has a lot of difficulty making friends. But Huge is brilliant. And he wants to be a detective, just like Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe and Dashiell Hammett’s Sam Spade. He gets the opportunity to try his skills when his grandmother offers to pay him to find out who defaced the sign at the nursing home where she lives. Huge agrees and begins to investigate. One of his suspects is a boy Huge suspects of taking advantage of his older sister Eunice “Neecey.” Huge tries to warn Neecey about this boy, and when Neecey doesn’t listen, Huge follows her one night to a party. When he thinks he sees Neecey in danger, Huge tries to rush in to protect her. In one way, it’s a comical scene because what’s happening is not what Huge thinks is happening. In another, it’s really appealing to see Huge’s sense of loyalty and protectiveness. Neecey tries to protect her brother, too; she knows he has a hard time making friends and being accepted, and she tries to use her own social “clout” to help. In the end, Huge finds out who defaced the sign, and in the process, finds out quite a lot about himself.

In Tess Gerritsen’s The Mephisto Club, Detective Jane Rizzoli and Dr. Maura Isles get involved in the investigation of several brutal murders. The key to them seems to be Lily Saul, a young woman who went to school with two of the victims. Lily, though, has disappeared. With the help of a mysterious group called The Mephisto Club, Rizzoli and Isles find out why Lily has disappeared, what has happened to her, and who the murderer is. In one of the novel’s sub-plots, Isles has begun a very problematic romantic relationship. Rizzoli is worried about her and tries to warn her friend. Isles, who has her own conflicts about the relationship, feels that her friend is being judgmental. This tension adds an interesting layer to the novel and shows how much Rizzoli cares about her friend, even though she isn’t what you would call demonstrative.

We also see protectiveness in Adrian Hyland’s Gunshot Road. Emily Tempest has just started her job as an Aboriginal Community Police officer. With her boss Tom McGillivray ill and out of commission, she’s under the supervision of Bruce Cockburn. The team gets called to Green Swamp when the body of prospector Albert “Doc” Ozolins is found in his shack. Lying on the bed in a drunken stupor is John “Wireless” Petherbridge. The two had a quarrel in the local pub, and Cockburn is convinced that Wireless is guilty of the murder. Tempest doesn’t think so, though, and begins to ask questions. As she searches for the truth, she begins to earn the grudging respect of her team-mates. In fact, at one point, Tempest settles on a suspect, and her team-mates warn her that this suspect is a dangerous person. Tempest is happily surprised by this protectiveness, especially because it’s not condescending. Of course, being Emily Tempest, that warning doesn’t stop her, and she ends up being brutally attacked. As she’s recovering, we see the protective side of her father, “Motor Jack” Tempest. When he learns what’s happened to his daughter, he comes very close to attacking her boss for not protecting her better. In the end, Emily finds out who really killed Doc and what’s behind the murder and Doc’s strange behaviour in the weeks before his death. Interestingly, one of the keys to the mystery is a young teenager whom Emily herself has been trying to protect, mostly from himself.

There are lot of other examples in crime fiction of the instinct nearly all of us have to protect those who are made vulnerable, even if they aren’t friends of loved ones – far too many for me to mention here. Which ones have you enjoyed?

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Phil Collins’ You’ll Be In My Heart.

She Got Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes*

2011-04-14T12:15:00.000-07:00

What is it about jewels that captures our imaginations? Part of it is their monetary value; some jewels are worth quite a lot of money. But part of the monetary value of jewels comes from the fact that people want them. They’ve even killed and died for them. Why? Apart from their use in industry (for instance, industrial diamonds in cutting tools), jewels have a real mystique; you could even say that there’s a certain romance associated with them. So it’s no wonder that jewels have a prominent place in crime fiction.

A valuable jewel – a yellow diamond – is the focus of Wilkie Collins’ The Moonstone. Colonel John Herncastle steals this diamond from a palace in India and much later, bequeaths it to his niece Rachel Verinder, with instructions that she be given the jewel on her eighteenth birthday. It’s not the generous gift it seems to be on the surface, though. The jewel is said to curse anyone who takes it from its rightful place; even if the curse is not real, there is more than one unpleasant group of people after it. Soon enough, the Verinder family is struck by misfortune. First, two dangerous groups of people target the family, trying to get the jewel. Then, on the night that Rachel receives the jewel, it disappears. Shortly afterwards, second housemaid Rosanna Spearman disappears and is later found to have committed suicide. The moonstone is traced to London where it seems to have been pledged to a moneylender. Sergeant Richard Cuff is assigned to investigate the stone’s disappearance and Rosanna Spearman’s death and over the course of two years, he discovers what’s behind the dramatic events surrounding the moonstone.

In Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Blue Carbuncle, Sherlock Holmes finds out how a valuable carbuncle ended up in the crop of a Christmas goose. Commissionaire Peterson discovers a battered hat and the goose lying in the street after their owner gets into a fight with some hooligans. Peterson’s wife discovers the jewel when she cooks the goose and Peterson brings the mystery to Holmes. Holmes uses the hat to make some deductions about its owner and it’s not long before he discovers where the goose came from. After tracing the goose back to its breeder, Holmes finds that the breeder’s brother, who’d stolen the jewel, hid it in the goose because he thought the police were after him. Not only is this an interesting story of deduction, but it also shows Holmes’ compassionate side.

Several of Agatha Christie’s novels feature jewels; I’ll just mention two of them. In The Mystery of the Blue Train, wealthy American tycoon Rufus Van Aldin purchases a valuable ruby necklace that includes a very famous ruby, Heart of Fire. He gives to his daughter Ruth as a gift, and against his advice, Ruth takes the necklace with her when she travels on the famous Blue Train, ostensibly to Nice. What Ruth hasn’t told her father is that instead of going to Nice, she is going to meet her lover, Comte Armand de la Roche, a scoundrel who preys on wealthy women. Ruth never makes it to her destination; she’s found strangled on the second morning of the journey. Hercule Poirot is aboard the same train, and he gets involved in the investigation. The most likely suspect is the Comte; he knew that Ruth had the jewels with her, and was highly motivated to get them. But the case is not as simple as that, as Poirot and the police soon discover. In the end, this case revolves around the rubies, but not exactly in the way we think. After all, this is Agatha Christie ;-).

Jewels are also at the centre of Christie’s Cat Among the Pigeons. Ali Yusuf, who has just become the Sheik of Ramat, is about to be overthrown and he’s painfully aware of that fact. He knows that he may be killed at any moment, so he gives a fortune in jewels to his friend Bob Rawlinson for safekeeping. The revolution occurs just as Yusuf had predicted, and Rawlinson tries to spirit his friend out of the country. Tragically, both men are killed, but not before Rawlinson finds a safe place for the jewels. Three months later, the summer term begins at Meadowbank, an exclusive girls’ school. One night, newly-hired games mistress Grace Springer is shot inside the school’s brand-new Sports Pavilion. The police begin an investigation, but they haven’t gotten very far when there’s a kidnapping. And then there’s another murder. When Julia Upjohn, a student at the school, puts together an important piece of the puzzle, she goes to Hercule Poirot and asks him to help find out what’s going on at Meadowbank. In the end, Poirot finds out how the events at Meadowbank tie in with the revolution in Ramat. We also discover why Ali Yusuf was so determined to get the jewels out of Ramat even though he suspected he’d be killed.

Dorothy Sayers’ The Nine Tailors also features valuable jewels, this time emeralds. Lord Peter Wimsey and his valet Mervyn Bunter are stranded near the village of Fenchurch St. Paul on New Year’s Eve. They’re rescued by the vicar Reverend Theodore Vanables and his wife Agnes. Wimsey soon repays his host’s kindness when he agrees to ring one of the church’s bells in the place of the “regular” ringer, who’s come down with influenza. Wimsey acquits himself well, and he and Bunter prepare to leave as soon as the car is repaired. While he’s waiting, Wimsey hears a local story of a twenty-year-old theft. When Sir Henry Thorpe, the local squire, was married, a valuable emerald necklace was stolen from one of the wedding guests. The culprits were caught, but the emeralds were never found. Time’s gone by and on this New Year’s morning, Lady Thorpe dies. She’s duly buried and Wimsey and Bunter leave town after her funeral. A few months later, Venables writes to Wimsey to ask him to return. Sir Henry himself has died, and has left instructions that he be buried in his wife’s grave. When the grave is opened, the gravediggers discover the body of an unknown man already there. Venables wants Wimsey to investigate the death. Wimsey agrees and returns to Fenchurch St. Paul’s. In the end, Wimsey discovers who the man is and why he’s in the grave. He also finds out how this death relates to the missing emeralds and in the end, how the man died.

Jewels feature in more recent novels, too. For example, Colin Dexter’s The Jewel That Was Ours is the story of the theft of The Wolvercote Tongue, a piece of a valuable Anglo-Saxon belt buckle on display at Oxford’s Ashmolean Museum. American tourists Eddie and Laura Stratton, who own The Wolvercote Tongue, travel to Oxford with a tour group. The highlight of this stop will be Laura Stratton’s donation of the jewel to the museum. On the afternoon of their arrival, Laura Stratton suddenly dies. Then The Wolvercote Tongue disappears. Inspector Morse and Sergeant Lewis are assigned to investigate the theft. On the day after they start their search, Dr. Theodore Kemp, curator of the Ashmolean, is murdered. Morse and Lewis believe that this murder is related to the theft of The Wolvercote Tongue. They’re right, but as it turns out, the relationship is not the one we think it is.

And then there’s Martha Grimes’ The Anodyne Necklace. The quiet village of Littlebourne is rocked when a human bone is unearthed by a local dog. Later, the body of a young woman is found in the nearby woods, and Inspector Richard Jury is assigned to find out who the woman is and how and why she died. In a plot point reminiscent of Sayers’ The Nine Tailors, Jury and his friend Melrose Plant hear of a burglary that happened in the village a year earlier. Lord Kennington was robbed of some valuable jewelry, including an emerald necklace. The thief was killed shortly afterwards in a hit-and-run accident, but the necklace was never recovered. And then, there’s a brutal attack in a London underground station on another resident of Littlebourne. Then there’s another murder. Slowly, Jury and Plant put together the pieces of this puzzle and find out why Littlebourne is the target of so much tragedy, and how it relates to the missing emerald necklace.

Donna Leon’s Blood From a Stone shows us another tragic side of people’s obsession with jewels. Commissario Guido Brunetti and Ispettore Vianello investigate the execution-style shooting of an unidentified Senegalese man who’s illegally in Venice. Although the man has very little money and no valuables to speak of, the two sleuths discover a cache of diamonds hidden in the man’s cheap room. They discover that these stones are “conflict diamonds” or “blood diamonds” – stones that are sold to fund military conflicts. In the end, the two men find out where the diamonds came from and how they are related to an illegal arms-trafficking ring.

What’s your view? Do you feel the mystique of jewels? Which are your favourite jewel-related mysteries?

Oh, and the amethyst in the ‘photo? I don’t have many jewels. Trust me. But this one’s special; it was given to me when I spent a couple of months in Brazil many years ago.

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Paul Simon's Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes.

I'll See it When I Believe it

2011-04-13T12:10:00.000-07:00

That twist on the old saying is a reminder that we base a lot of what we say and do – and even what we think we see and hear and sense – on our beliefs. In medicine, for instance, that phenomenon is responsible for the “placebo effect.” People truly believe that a pill or shot or course of treatment will help them to get better, and sure enough, they get well. Of course, the opposite is also true. If we don’t believe something, the power of that denial can be strong enough that we ignore our own senses. Because of the power of people’s beliefs to shape their behaviour, even when they’re wrong, those beliefs can complicate a criminal investigation. That’s just as true in crime fiction as it is in real life. That’s why, for instance, framing an innocent person for a murder is such a popular strategy to avoid being caught. If the police assume someone’s guilty, they sometimes look for evidence to support that assumption rather than questioning the assumption. It’s also why innocent people sometimes truly believe that they have committed a crime.

We see the powerful effect of beliefs in Agatha Christie’s Cards on the Table. In that novel, the very eccentric Mr. Shaitana has invited eight guests to an unusual dinner party. Four of them (Hercule Poirot, Superintendent Battle, Ariadne Oliver and Colonel Race) are sleuths. The other four are people Mr. Shaitana believes have committed murder but never been suspected of it. After dinner, everyone settles down to play bridge; the four sleuths are in one room and the four other guests are in another room. Mr. Shaitana, who isn’t playing, joins those other guests. At some time during the evening, Mr. Shaitana is stabbed. There are only four suspects; each has a motive and any one of them could have committed the crime. Poirot and the other sleuths examine each possibility to find out who killed Shaitana. At one point, one suspect confesses to the crime. Poirot doesn’t believe that suspect is telling the truth because this particular suspect’s psychology doesn’t match the sort of murder it was. When he points that out, the suspect admits to lying and claims to have been an eyewitness when another suspect committed the crime. The lies were a coverup for that other suspect. It’s an interesting case of believing something…and then seeing it.

In Christie’s 4:50 From Paddington (AKA What Mrs. McGillicuddy Saw!), Elspeth McGillicuddy is on a train en route to visit her friend Jane Marple. Another train passes, going in the same direction. Mrs. McGillicuddy glances into the window of the other train and sees a man strangling a woman. She alerts the conductor, and when she arrives at her destination, she alerts the police. But no-one believes her because there is no body, and no-one has reported a missing woman who matches the description of the victim. Miss Marple, though, does believe her friend and sets out to discover the body and the truth about the crime. Because she believes that there was a murder and therefore, a body, Miss Marple deduces where that body must be – on the grounds of Rutherford Hall, the property of Luther Crackenthorpe. Miss Marple persuades her friend Lucy Eyelesbarrow to take a position as housekeeper there and coaches her on where to look for the body. Sure enough, Lucy finds the body of a dead woman. Because the police didn’t believe there was a murder, they didn’t look for a body at first. Once the body is discovered, they begin to investigate and with Miss Marple’s help, they discover who the woman was and who killed her.

In Ellery Queen’s Ten Days Wonder, we meet Howard Van Horn, who wakes up one morning covered in blood. He remembers nothing from the night before and is now terrified that he’s done something horrible. He’s been having a scary series of blackouts lately, and truly believes that he committed a murder during this episode. So he visits his college friend Ellery Queen and begs him to help. Queen agrees and he and Van Horn begin to try to figure out what happened. Their search for the truth leads them back to Van Horn’s hometown of Wrightsville, a small New England town. Shortly after they arrive in Wrightsville, Van Horn has another blackout. And then there’s a murder. Because Van Horn assumes that he is guilty of this murder, he only accepts as truth evidence that points to his guilt. At one point, he even convinces Queen that he truly could be guilty. It’s not until Queen lets go of that assumption that he’s able to figure out what really happened and who framed Howard Van Horn for murder.

In Tess Gerritsen’s The Mephisto Club, Dr. Maura Isles is called to the scene of a brutal murder late on Christmas Eve. When she gets there, she sees that the police, including her friend Detective Jane Rizzoli, are already there. The murder scene is grisly and the killer has left strange symbols and signs behind. At first, both women, especially Rizzoli, believe that this murder is the work of a psychologically twisted killer. Then, there’s another terrible murder with similar hallmarks. And another. The more that Isles and Rizzoli find out about the victims, the more likely it seems that one person could the key to the murders. That one person is Lily Saul, who grew up with two of the victims. The only problem is that Lily Saul has disappeared. No-one’s been able to get in touch with her for months, and we soon learn why; Lily has fled and is in hiding. With help from a shadowy group of scholars called The Mephisto Club, Isles and Rizzoli track Lily down and try to convince her to help them get to the truth about the murders. At first, Lily refuses and sees Rizzoli and Isles, as well as the Mephisto Club, as her enemies. Then we discover that that’s because Lily has been living under a wrong assumption for many years, and has very much the wrong beliefs about the people who have found her. It’s not until Rizzoli convinces Lily that her beliefs are wrong that Lily agrees to help. As it turns out, Rizzoli herself has some wrong assumptions about this case, too.

Mark Haddon’s Christopher Boone, whom we meet in The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, has a very clear and well-ordered picture of his family. He sees his family in a certain way because of his beliefs. That’s especially important to fifteen-year-old Christopher because he has Autism and relies heavily on routine and dependability. Then one day, Christopher discovers that a neighbour’s dog has been killed. He himself is suspected, so he determines to be a detective just like Sherlock Holmes, clear his own name and find out the truth about the dog. In the process of figuring out what happened to the dog, Christopher finds out that his assumptions about his family were wrong. As he becomes aware of the truth about his family, the reader learns that truth, too. Then, all sorts of things seem to fall into place, and we see a shifting picture of the family and of some other people in Christopher’s life. Since this story is told from Christopher’s point of view, we see even more clearly the effect of our beliefs on our perceptions.

Donna Leon addresses this issue, too. In A Question of Belief, Ispettore Vianello asks for help from his boss, Commissario Guido Brunetti. Vianello is worried because his aunt Zia Anita has recently taken what Vianello thinks is an unhealthy interest in astrology. She’s also been taking money from the family-owned business without any explanation of what she’s doing with it. Although she’s got a legal right to the money, her behaviour worries her family. She’s also become a fan of Stefano Gorini, a supposed medical doctor with a very shady reputation. Vianello asks Brunetti to help find out whether Gorini is as disreputable as he seems and whether he’s taking people’s money in return for false cures. The more the two detectives look into Gorini’s background, the more they see how willing people are to believe in him. All sorts of people claim that his cures have helped them even though it becomes clear that they have not. Brunetti uncovers the reason for these beliefs and when he does, tragedy strikes. As for Zia Anita, she refuses to see Gorini for what he really is until she is confronted with evidence that even she cannot deny. It’s only then that she realises she’s been “taken.”

The tendency to see and hear what we believe is true is a very strong part of human nature and it takes a lot of effort at times to get beyond our assumptions. Which novels have you enjoyed that hinge on that point?

ps Which woman do you see in the 'photo? An old woman, a young woman, or both?

You Give My Life Direction, You Make Everything So Clear*

2011-04-12T12:15:00.000-07:00

We’re all faced with ethical dilemmas at times. Not every choice is easy and sometimes it’s difficult to know which choice is the right one. That’s why many people turn to a “moral compass” to guide them. That “moral compass” may be a set of spiritual or religious traditions or another person who can give one’s conscience a voice. Either way, “moral compasses” can be very important as we face dilemmas. Crime fiction is full of moral and ethical dilemmas, and that’s not surprising. Questions of right and wrong, even when it comes to the taking of a life, are sometimes very thorny issues in real life, so it makes sense that they appear in crime fiction, too. It also makes sense that we’d see the sleuth turning to a “moral compass” for guidance. That’s a very human thing to do.

Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot serves as a “moral compass” in more than one of the stories featuring him. For instance, in the short story Wasp’s Nest, which appears in the collection Double Sin and Other Stories, he pays a visit to an acquaintance John Harrison. Poirot tells Harrison that he’s come to prevent a murder. He then brings up the subject of Claude Langton, who was formerly engaged to Harrison’s fiancée Molly Deane. Harrison brushes off Poirot’s warning, saying that all is well between him and Langton, and that there’s no reason to worry. Poirot doesn’t give up, though, and insists that there is a real possibility of a murder. In the end, he does keep a killer from giving in to temptation, so to speak, but not the murderer we imagine.

In Christie’s Death on the Nile, we meet another “moral compass,” Cornelia Robson. She’s a not-very-well-off young American woman who gets the chance of a lifetime to travel when her wealthy elderly cousin Marie Van Schuyler invites her on an international trip. Tragedy strikes Cornelia’s adventure while she and her cousin are taking a cruise of the Nile. Linnet Doyle, a wealthy and beautiful bride who’s on her honeymoon on the same cruise, is shot. Hercule Poirot is also taking this cruise, and he gets involved in the investigation of Linnet Doyle’s murder. In the course of the investigation, we get to know the other passengers on the cruise. One of them is Mr. Ferguson, who’s a vocal opponent of any sort of wealth or privilege. In fact, he says that in his opinion, women like Linnet Doyle aren’t good for much anyway, and are better off dead. His views are extremely controversial, and Cornelia isn’t afraid to tell him that he goes too far.

“‘Then you’re wrong,’ Cornelia blazed out at him. ‘And it makes me sick to hear you talk and talk, as though nobody mattered but you... as for Linnet Doyle – well, apart from everything else she was just lovely. I’m homely myself, and that makes me appreciate beauty a lot more…And when anything beautiful’s dead, it’s a loss to the world. So there! ’

Mr. Ferguson is quite surprised and disconcerted by Cornelia’s lack of spite and jealousy, and it certainly brings him up short. In fact, he tells Cornelia she’s the nicest person on the ship and asks her to marry him. It’s an interesting example of a “moral compass” making one think.

Sleuths often need “moral compasses” themselves. They are frequently faced with serious ethical dilemmas, and they benefit from having what you’d call another conscience. For instance, in Walter Mosley’s A Red Death, Ezekiel “Easy” Rawlins faces several ethical dilemmas. He’s in very serious tax trouble, but he’s been given a way out. If he’ll help the FBI catch a suspected Communist, his FBI contact will make sure his tax problems go away. Rawlins has been raised to believe that Communism is wrong and Communists are bent on world domination. So at first, he doesn’t have much trouble agreeing to the deal he is offered. Soon enough, though, he begins to have doubts. First, he’s asked to volunteer at the First African Baptist Church, where his FBI target spends a lot of time. As Rawlins sees it, that puts his own people at risk and makes them vulnerable, something he doesn’t want to have happen. As if that weren’t enough, his target turns out to be a very sympathetic person. The target is Chaim Wenzler, a former Polish Resistance fighter. As he gets to know Wenzler, Rawlins begins to like the man and in the end, the two become friends. This friendship makes Rawlins question his assumptions about Communism and Communists, and makes him wonder whether what he’s doing is the right thing. Then, there three deaths, two of which take place at the church. Now, Rawlins has to make some difficult choices as he tries to get out of his tax problems, clear his own name as a murder suspect, and find out who the murderer is. Strangely enough, it’s Wenzler who serves as Rawlins’ “moral compass” in this novel and keeps him focused on what really matters.

Tony Hillerman’s Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee also make use of “moral compasses.” For Leaphorn, that conscience takes the form of his wife Emma. Leaphorn and his wife are both members of the Navajo Nation, but Emma is the more traditional of the two. She’s also compassionate, level-headed and loving. More than once she points Leaphorn in the right direction, so to speak. Even after her death, Leaphorn often thinks about what Emma would have done in certain situations, and that guides him. For example, in Coyote Waits, Leaphorn gets a visit from Professor Louisa Bourbonette, whose specialty is Native American lore and history. With her she brings Mary Keeyani, a Navajo who’s got a difficult problem. Mary’s uncle Ashie Pinto has been arrested for murder – a murder Mary is convinced he didn’t commit. The two women want Leaphorn to help clear Pinto’s name, and they’ve come to him specifically because Pinto is a kinsman of Emma’s. The dilemma for Leaphorn is that the victim is Delbert Nez, a fellow Navajo and a member of the Navajo Tribal Police. There’s plenty of evidence, too, to suggest that Pinto is guilty of the murder. Leaphorn is reluctant to get involved, but he also knows what Emma would have him do. She would have had him try to find out what happened. So he contacts Jim Chee, the investigating officer and a close friend of the victim’s. Together, the sleuths find out who really killed Nez and why.

Chee himself is sometimes in need of a “moral compass.” He’s a traditional Navajo; in fact, in the earlier novels that feature him, he’s studying to be a Navajo healer. So he often relies on Navajo spirituality and the Navajo Way to guide his decision-making. He also sometimes seeks guidance from his mother’s brother Frank Sam Nakai, who is a Navajo healer himself. Chee’s uncle often provides him with a “push” in the right direction.

And then there’s Donna Leon’s Paola Falier. She is married to Commissario Guido Brunetti and often serves as his “moral compass.” Although she has a wealthy and titled background, Paola has a strong passion for social justice, and no patience for corruption. In fact, it’s she who encourages Brunetti in his attempts to, as she puts it, clean up the “Augean Stables” that is Venice and the Venice Questura where Brunetti works. Paola is so committed to her principles that in Fatal Remedies, she knowingly commits a crime to call attention to a serious injustice. Early one morning, she’s arrested for throwing rocks through the window of a travel agency. She’s committed this vandalism to call attention to the fact that this travel agency sponsors sex tours of Thailand and is involved in sex trafficking, and she wants this practice to end. The problem is that the agency is owned by Paolo Mitri, who is wealthy, well-placed and influential. So as a punishment, Brunetti is placed on administrative leave. Although Paola realises that her strong beliefs may have taken her too far (she did break the law, and she’s gotten her husband in very deep trouble) and she regrets that, she also is committed to justice. This passion is also a guide for Brunetti.

Shona MacLean’s Alexander Seaton thinks he’s got the perfect “moral compass – “ his religious beliefs. In fact, he was even a candidate for the ministry. But in The Redemption of Alexander Seaton, he discovers that there are larger ethical issues involved when his friend Patrick Davidson is poisoned. The most likely suspect is another friend Charles Thom, Davidson’s successful rival for Marion Arbuthnott, the local apothecary’s daughter. Thom claims innocence and begs Seaton to help him clear his name. Seaton agrees and investigates. Along the way, he is greatly assisted by the local physician Dr. Jaffray, who in many ways gives a voice to Seaton’s conscience and helps him sort out the mystery. In the end, it’s Jaffray who helps Seaton to discover the difference between giving “lip service” to justice and being truly just. Jaffray is also helpful in a practical way in helping Seaton find out who killed Davidson.

Most of us need a “moral compass” to help us navigate difficult ethical issues. That’s as true in crime fiction as is it in real life. Who are your favourite fictional “moral compasses?”

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from REO Speedwagon’s Can’t Fight This Feeling.

In The Spotlight: Shona MacLean's The Redemption of Alexander Seaton

2011-04-11T12:30:00.000-07:00

Hello, All,

Welcome to another edition of In The Spotlight. Historical crime fiction has become a popular sub-genre of crime fiction, and it’s easy to see why. When it’s well-written, historical crime fiction gives the reader a real sense of another place and time, while still telling a taut mystery story. So today, let’s turn the spotlight backwards, so to speak, and take a close look at Shona MacLean’s debut historical mystery, The Redemption of Alexander Seaton.

The novel takes place in Banff, Scotland, in 1626. Two sisters, Mary and Janet Dawson, find a man lying in a gutter. At first they think he’s drunk, and rifle his pockets to take whatever money he has. They find nothing and are about to leave when he begs them for help. They quickly see that the man’s not drunk, but terribly ill. The sisters don’t want to call any attention to themselves; they’re both prostitutes, and neither has any desire to meet up with the local bailie. At the same time, though, they don’t want to leave a sick man alone in the gutter. So they do the best thing they can think of to do. They bring the man into a local classroom, hoping that he’ll be found and helped. Then they go on their way.

The schoolroom they choose is the classroom of Alexander Seaton, undermaster of the local grammar school. Seaton is a former candidate for the ministry who, because of a personal disgrace, is no longer eligible to take a pulpit. Bitter and guilty over what he sees as a personal failure, Seaton’s wrapped up in his own troubles. His self-imposed personal exile ends when the man the Dawson sisters left in his classroom dies. The man is Patrick Davidson, the apothecary’s assistant, a man Seaton knows well. Shortly after Davidson’s death, it becomes clear that he was poisoned. The most likely suspect for the murder is music master Charles Thom, Davidson’s successful rival for Marion Arbuthnott, the apothecary’s daughter. Thom is a good friend of Seaton’s so when he’s arrested for the murder, Seaton speaks up for him. It’s to no avail, though, and Thom is soon imprisoned. He begs Seaton to help him and clear his name, and Seaton agrees to do his best.

Step by step, Seaton begins to retrace Davidson’s last days and weeks and as he does so, he discovers that more than one person might have had a motive to kill the victim. For one thing, there’s evidence that Davidson might have been providing maps to Scotland’s enemy Spain, so that King Philip could reclaim Scotland for the Roman Catholic Church. If that’s the case, then there are several local people who might have wanted to murder him. And then there’s the enigmatic Marion Arbuthnott. She’s the subject of more than one rumour, including that she’s involved in witchcraft. Could she have killed Davidson? There are other suspects, too. As Seaton is exploring the various possibilities, there’s another death and this time, Charles Thom couldn’t possibly have killed the victim. While the second death clears Thom’s name more or less, it makes the mystery all the more confusing for Seaton. In his journey to the truth, Seaton finds out some things about his dead friend that he hadn’t known. He also re-discovers himself.

One of the important elements in this novel is of course the mystery that Seaton investigates. There are clues, suspects, witnesses and hidden secrets, and as Seaton uncovers the truth, we see how the puzzle fits together. The solution to the puzzle is believable and so is the way that Seaton finds out the truth.

The novel is also an historical novel, and MacLean takes the reader to 17^th Century Scotland in many ways and gives the reader an authentic look at the traditions, mores and lifestyle of that time and place. For instance the murder method, the detection methods and the way in which the murder is solved all reflect that time period. Even the motive is a solid fit for the times. Here, as an example, is the way that Dr. Jaffray, the local physician, describes his findings:

“These are the findings of my examination of the corpse of Patrick Davidson….someone took the root of a small and beautiful flower and fed it to him. So lethal was it that it started to kill him before it ever reached his stomach, for there was little trace of it there…we found it in the vomit, Arbuthnott and I, before we ever had the barber help us open him up. We found elements of the root, pieces and two whole slices….”

The sub-plots, too, evoke the era. When Marion Arbuthnott dies, rumours spread that she was a witch, and her body is taken from the doctor’s home and burned at the stake. The fear and suspicion of anything that smacks of Roman Catholicism also runs through the novel and it also reflects the times. So does Seaton’s disgrace, which came about mostly because of a relationship he had with a young woman, a relationship that would not have the same negative consequences in today’s world.

The writing style and dialogue also reflect the era, but without being difficult for the modern reader to follow. Here, for instance, is a snippet of a conversation that Seaton has with Dr. Jaffray about the poisonous flower that killed Davidson:

“‘If anyone in the north of Scotland ever knew that flower it would have been James Cargill.’

‘But the doctor has been dead these ten years and more,’ I protested.

He brushed this aside. ‘It matters little. His notebooks were the most exact ever I saw…If his nephew has them, I trust you will manage to persuade him to lend us them awhile.’

‘I have no doubt. But how might they help?’

Jaffray muttered at my idiocy. ‘They will show us the flower…’”

The novel is told in first person, from the point of view of Alexander Seaton. Many people find that first-person narratives pull them out of the story. However, in this novel, that point of view is a solid fit to the story. It allows the reader to discover the truth as Seaton does, and this adds to the suspense. It also allows for the very interesting sub-plot involving Seaton’s own personal problems and the unexpected solution he finds to them. Finally, the first-person narrative gives the story an authentic “diary” feel that’s an appropriate fit for an historical novel.

There’s a strong sense of place here, too, as we travel with Seaton through Banff and then later, to Aberdeen and back. Although there isn’t a map in this novel (at least, not in the edition I have), the reader gets a very solid feel for this seaport town.

An intriguing mystery set against the backdrop of 17^th Century Scotland, the novel focuses on the character of Alexander Seaton as he looks for the truth behind the two murders, and in the process, finds out some surprising truths about himself. But what’s your view? Have you read The Redemption of Alexander Seaton? If you have, what elements do you see in it?

Coming Up On In The Spotlight

Monday 18 April/Tuesday 19 April – The Blank Page – K.C. Constantine

Monday 25 April/Tuesday 26 April – The Anodyne Necklace – Martha Grimes

Monday 1 May/Tuesday 2 May – Smoke and Mirrors – Kel Robertson

The Alphabet in Crime Fiction: Dorothy Sayers' The Nine Tailors

2011-04-10T12:30:00.000-07:00

The Alphabet in Crime Fiction community meme has reached the beautiful city of “N” on our tour. Thanks to our tour leader Kerrie at Mysteries in Paradise for so capably guiding us through the treacherous landscape. My contribution for this week’s stop on the tour is Dorothy Sayers’ The Nine Tailors, published in 1934.

This novel begins on New Year’s Eve. Lord Peter Wimsey and his valet Mervyn Bunter are heading towards the town of Walbeach when they have a car accident near the village of Fenchurch St. Paul in East Anglia. The two men walk towards the village where they meet Rector Theodore Venables, who invites them to stay at the rectory until the car is repaired. The grateful travellers are settling in when word comes to the Rector that one of the men he’d depended on for the New Year’s Eve bell-ringing has fallen ill. William “Will” Thoday has come down with influenza and is too sick to take his part in the nine-hour traditional change-ringing. It turns out that Wimsey has a bit of experience at change-ringing, and offers to take Thoday’s place. Overjoyed at his good fortune, the Rector agrees and Wimsey prepares for the night’s ringing.

The change-ringing goes very well and the next morning, Wimsey and Bunter prepare to join the village in the New Year’s Day activities. Then, word comes that Lady Thorpe, wife of local squire Sir Henry Thorpe, has died. She is duly buried and after her funeral, Wimsey and Bunter go on their way. They’re destined not to stay away long, though. When spring comes to East Anglia, Sir Henry, devastated by the loss of his wife, dies. He is to be buried alongside his wife but when the grave is opened, everyone is shocked to find that there’s another body of an unknown man already there. No-one seems able to identify the man, and no-one can say how the corpse got there. So Rector Venables writes to Wimsey and asks him to return to Fenchurch St. Paul and help find out who the dead man was and how his body got in the Thorpes’ gravesite.

Wimsey and Bunter go back to Fenchurch St. Paul and Wimsey begins to look into the matter. Before long, Wimsey finds that the dead man is connected to a twenty-year-old story he heard during his first visit to the village. When the Thorpes were married, a valuable emerald necklace was stolen from one of their wedding guests by a team of thieves, who were later caught and sent to prison. The emeralds were never discovered. It’s highly likely that the dead man is one of the thieves, who quite possibly returned to the village to find the emeralds. But if so, which thief is he and who killed him? And where are the emeralds? With the help of some physical evidence, a frightening personal experience of his own and the cracking of an interesting cipher code, Wimsey finds out who the dead man was and what happened to the emeralds. As he re-traces the victim’s last days in Fenchurch St. Paul, Wimsey also finds out how and why the man died.

In many ways, this is an intellectual puzzler complete with a cipher, questions of identity and disguise, and some important physical clues. The reason for the death isn’t a deep-seated psychological one, either. So readers who enjoy exercising what Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot called “the little grey cells of the brain” will not be disappointed. But be warned: it’s important to stay alert throughout the novel.

That said, though, there are some deeper issues explored here. Chief among them is the theme that our actions have consequences. When the truth about the dead man is revealed, that revelation has devastating consequences for more than one person and Wimsey wonders about the wisdom of letting the truth come out. This theme is also explored in a sub-plot having to do with water and flood management in the area. A new Wash Cut is being made so that the area will be better irrigated, but as a local sluice-keeper says,

“To my mind, things was all very well as they was.”

As he points out, it would be better to repair the gates for which he’s responsible than to go to all the expense of an entirely new drainage system. His point is made tragically clear towards the end of the novel when a terrible spring storm floods the area, breaking the sluice gates and wreaking havoc on the nearby villages.

Another interesting element in this novel is the background it offers on the English tradition of change-ringing. In fact, the title refers to this tradition, tailors referring in this case to the “telling” of church bells. Sayers has this to say about it:

“…the proper use of bells is to work out mathematical permutations and combinations….His [the campanologist’s] passion – and it is a passion – finds its satisfaction in mathematical completeness and mechanical perfection, and as his bell weaves her way rhythmically up from lead to hinder place and down again, he is filled with the solemn intoxication that comes of intricate ritual faultlessly performed.”

The novel contains a great deal of interesting information about how changes are rung and what the different permutations are and what the result of them is.

The church itself is the setting for some key clues in this novel and some of the important action, and Sayers places the reader in that setting:

“At the first glance he [Wimsey] felt himself sobered and awe-stricken by the noble proportions of the church, in whose vast spaces the congregation…seemed almost lost. The wide nave and shadowy aisles, the lofty span of the chancel arch…the intimate and cloistered loveliness of the chancel, with its pointed arcading, graceful ribbed vault and five narrow east lancets, led his attention on and focused it first upon the remote glow of the sanctuary.”

There are some diagrams, too, that help place the reader at the church and rectory.

The village of Fenchurch St. Paul is located in the lonely and somewhat wild fens of East Anglia, and Sayers places the reader there, too, not only with description but also with a helpful map. You could argue that this setting is suitable for the story. It’s not what you would call a truly bleak novel; we see, for instance, how the village comes together during the storm, and there are some light moments (I’ll get to them in a moment). There are also elements of life and hope in the novel. But there is no real satisfaction when we find out what happened to the dead man. Even Wimsey is distressed by what he deduces, and although there is a sense of closure, there isn’t a corresponding sense of justice served.

Because this isn’t what you’d call a light, cheerful novel, the lighter moments in it are particularly welcome. Some of them are provided by Mervyn Bunter. For instance, at one point, Wimsey and Bunter go to a post office to see if they can retrieve a letter Wimsey believes is a clue to the case. The letter was sent to the dead man, and neither man is sure that they’ll be able to get it. But Wimsey sends Bunter into the post office to get the letter if he can. Bunter invents a story for the postmistress to the effect that he’s looking for a letter sent to his chauffer, indicating Wimsey, who’s waiting outside in the car. Bunter soon returns to the car:

“‘What’s up?’

‘Better move on quickly, my lord,’ said Bunter, ‘because, while the manoeuvre has been attended with a measure of success, it is possible that I have robbed His Majesty’s Mails by obtaining a postal packet under false pretenses.’…

‘Bunter,’ said his lordship, ‘I warn you that I am growing dangerous. Will you say at once, yes or no, did you get that letter?’

‘Yes, my lord, I did. I said, of course, that since the letter for my chauffer was there, I would take it to him, adding some facetious observations to the effect that he must have made a conquest while we were travelling abroad and that he was a great man for the ladies. We were quite merry on the subject, my lord.’

‘Oh, where you?’

‘Yes, my lord. At the same time, I said, it was extremely vexatious that my own letter should have gone astray….and in the end I went away, after remarking that the postal system in this country was very undependable and that I should certainly write to the Times about it.’”

This novel was published in 1934, so there are several instances of the “isms” of the day. This is just my opinion, so feel free to differ, but I found those “isms” more noticeable and more bothersome in this novel than “isms” I’ve encountered in other novels written at the same time. That said, though, the story is intellectually challenging, the pacing and timing are effective, and the characters and setting are effective “fits.” But what do you think? Have you read The Nine Tailors? If you have, what elements do you see in it?

'Cause I'm the Taxman*

2011-04-09T12:32:00.000-07:00

Most of us don’t think it’s much fun to pay taxes. And yet, we do pay them and that’s a good thing. Financial irregularities tend to make the authorities suspicious, and once the authorities do suspect something like tax evasion, they usually pursue it. Relentlessly. Just consider the case of famous Chicago gangster Al Capone. As you probably know, although he was no doubt responsible for several murders, he was never arrested for murder. In the end, he was arrested, tried, convicted and imprisoned for tax evasion. It was the financial authorities who found a way to catch Capone. In crime fiction, too, we see how playing fast and loose with finances can trip a person up. Sometimes it even leads police to a murderer.

That’s what happens in Agatha Christie’s Hickory Dickory Dock (AKA Hickory Dickory Death). In that novel, Hercule Poirot is persuaded to investigate a series of odd thefts and other events going on at a hostel for students. At one point, it seems that the matter is resolved when Celia Austin, one of the residents, admits that she’s responsible for most of the thefts. Two nights later, though, Celia dies of what seems at first to be suicide. Soon enough, though, it’s proven that she was murdered. Now, Poirot and Inspector Sharpe have to look into the lives of the other residents to find out who would have wanted to kill Celia. What they find is that Celia Austin had stumbled onto more knowledge than was safe for her to have. One of the main clues in this crime is some financial “funny business.” As one of Sharpe’s men says:

“Inland Revenue. Always snooping around asking embarrassing questions. It’s not so difficult to make money…but it’s hell and all to account for it once you’ve got it!”

Once that tax evasion is discovered, it leads the team to one important reason Celia Austin was murdered.

Financial scheming and fraud also play an important role in Christie’s Evil Under the Sun. Beautiful and notorious actress Arlena Stuart Marshall is taking a holiday at the Jolly Roger Hotel on Leathercombe Bay. With her are her husband Kenneth and her stepdaughter Linda. Soon after the Marshalls’ arrival, gossip begins to spread about Arlena Marshall’s budding relationship with fellow guest Patrick Redfern. One day, Arlena is found strangled on a beach not far from the hotel. Hercule Poirot is staying at the hotel at the same time as the Marshalls are, and he gets involved in the investigation. The most likely suspect is Arlena’s husband Kenneth; however, he’s got a strong alibi, so the police and Poirot have to look elsewhere for the killer. Interestingly enough, finances shed a lot of light on this crime. One character, for instance, makes a suspiciously good living and when the police learn why, they also find out that Arlena Marshall might have discovered the reason, too, and been killed to silence her. And when Arlena’s own finances are examined, they, too, give a good clue as to what happened to her. It’s an interesting case of alert and careful tracking of money being very useful in solving a crime.

Walter Mosley’s Ezekiel “Easy” Rawlins finds himself in a difficult tax situation in A Red Death, and it gets him into very deep trouble. Rawlins isn’t an officially licensed private investigator (although he does get his license later in the series), but he does do “favours for friends.” One such favour has earned him ten thousand dollars which he hasn’t exactly declared as income. This decision comes back to haunt Rawlins when he gets a letter from an Internal Revenue Service agent threatening him with jail if he doesn’t pay the entire amount of tax and penalty that he owes. Since Rawlins can’t possibly pay that much money, he’s mentally preparing to go to jail. Then, he gets an unexpected way out of his financial mess when FBI Agent Darryl Craxton makes him an offer. If Rawlins helps the FBI bring down a suspected Communist, Craxton will see that Rawlins’ tax problems go away. Seeing no alternative, Rawlins agrees. He soon faces a dilemma, though, when he finds himself becoming friends with his target, former Polish Resistance fighter Chaim Wenzler. Once he gets to know Wenzler, Rawlins no longer has any stomach for trapping him; however, he sees no other option. Then, there’s a sudden death. And then two other murders. Now it looks as though Rawlins himself is being targeted and he has to find out who the murderer is, and how the murders relate to his work with Wenzler.

In David Dodge’s Death and Taxes, we meet George MacLeod, a successful San Francisco accountant. He’s made a good living finding every tax advantage for his clients, and has the reputation of using creative tax loopholes that don’t raise too many eyebrows. MacLeod gets more than he bargained for when he agrees to help beautiful Marian Wolff resolve a messy tax issue. He’s been offered a large fee if he’ll help Marian avoid tax evasion charges and get a tax refund even though she hasn’t filed recent tax returns. It turns out that not only is Marian Wolff’s tax situation more complicated than MacLeod thought, but also, her father is wealthy bootlegger Harald Wolff. This means connections with all sorts of unsavoury people. So MacLeod asks his partner James “Whit” Whitney to come back early from a vacation in Santa Cruz and help with the Wolff case. By the time Whit returns to San Francisco, it’s too late. MacLeod’s been shot. Now, Whitney has to finish Marian Wolff’s tax return and find MacLeod’s killer if he can, before he becomes the next victim.

Financial intrigue is also at the heart of Caroline Graham’s A Ghost in the Machine. When wealthy Carey Lawson dies, she leaves quite a lot of her fortune to her nephew Mallory and his family, provided they move into her house in the village of Forbes Abbott and employ her companion Benny Frayle. The Lawsons agree to these conditions and soon settle into their new lives. Tragedy strikes when Benny discovers the body of her friend Dennis Brinkley, who’s also the Lawson family’s financial consultant, under one of the medieval torture machines in his collection. At first, Brinkley’s death looks like a tragic accident, but Benny is sure he was murdered. She persists in her belief and finally, Inspector Tom Barnaby and Sergeant Gavin Troy look into Brinkley’s death. While they’re on that case, there’s another suspicious death. Barnaby and Troy find that the two deaths are connected, and that financial scheming is behind both of them. Interestingly, this story also has a sub-plot that focuses on one character who makes a very naïve attempt at financial trickery – and fails miserably.

And then there’s Donna Leon’s About Face, in which Commissario Guido Brunetti and Maggior Felippo Guarini of the Caribinieri work together to investigate illegal transportation practices. The first hint of wrongdoing comes from one trucking company owner’s clumsy attempt to “cook the books.” The investigation into that fraud is underway when the owner is killed. This death and the illegal transportation case seem to be connected to an informal investigation Brunetti’s making into the financial affairs of Maurizio Cataldo, who wants to do business with Brunetti’s father-in-law Conte Falier. Falier has asked Brunetti to “vet” Cataldo before agreeing to any kind of deal. As Brunetti learns more about Cataldo and his enigmatic wife Franca Marinello, he finds that this financial investigation leads to a group of very dangerous people – and the solution to three murders.

You might not think that financial matters are very intriguing, but as you can see, they can be far from boring. They can even be the key to a murder case. That’s one reason that the field of forensic accounting’s grown in recent years. So don’t forget to file your taxes and keep your financial house in order…or maybe I’m just feeling self-righteous because I’ve filed my taxes for the year ;-).

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from the Beatles' Taxman.

Author! Author!

2011-04-08T11:59:00.000-07:00

Haven't you learned by now to be careful when visiting my blog? ;-).

Yes, it's time for another quiz. If you're a crime fiction fan, then you know there've been a lot of famous crime novels. And of course, you know who wrote them all, don't you? Or do you?

Take this handy quiz and find out. Read each novel's description and match it to the correct author. When you've finished, check your score to see how you have done. Oh, and don't forget to click all the way to the end of the quiz, so you can find out which items you've answered correctly.

Ready????? Click the typewriter to begin.... if you dare ;-)