Birthday Gifts

It was Raymond Chandler's 120th birthday yesterday and the LATimes asked some influential mystery folks what gift they'd offer him.

 

I, too, have some presents for the father of Philip Marlowe - because he's worth it.

 

First, the complete works of one of his favorite authors. Should bring back fond memories of fruitful, if passionate, arguments.

 

Second, a dedicated photo of Alfred Hitchcock as a souvenir of their friendly, mutually-respecting collaboration on Strangers on a Train.

 

Third and final - I'm rather short of money and you shouldn't offer a dead centenarian too many gifts, that might spoil him - my own copy of The Simple Art of Murder, complete with my uncensored annotations.

 

Happy birthday, Raymond.

 

P.S.: This article is, of course, satirical and not to be taken seriously. Never would I give away my copy of TSAM - not for free.

And my annotations are quite polite, except for a tiny handful occupying roughly the three quarters of the volume. Otherwise it's pretty G-rated stuff.

When "I" Is Not Another

A large number of mystery novels are written in first person. This approach offers multiple advantages - and multiple drawbacks as well.

 

Leading among the former is an easier identification with the protagonist - he talks to us, we follow his actions and his thoughts, we see what he sees, we hear what he hears. It's no surprise, then, if the device is historically associated to forms of the genre that rely on strong emotional investment from the reader: suspense of course, but also hardboiled and noir. But, since the narrator is not omniscient and ultimately tells us only what he's willing to, first-person may also be a marvelous tool for mystification, as anyone who's read The Murder of Roger Ackroyd will be happy to confirm, and that's why detective novels and twist-in-the-tale stories made and still make a great use of it.

 

Still, the device has its problems or, as the French say, les défauts de ses qualités (the flaws of its virtues). First, it restrains the scope of the work on both a dramatical and psychological level. As I said above, the narrator is not omniscient. Being only human, he can't read other people's thoughts, make himself invisible or be in two places at the same time. This means we know characters and places only through his personal, subjective experience. If he leaves the room in the middle of a conversation, what was said afterwards will remain forever unknown to the reader, and if he stays we can't be sure people mean what they say. This wouldn't be much of a problem* if that ambiguity extended to the narrator, which alas is rarely the case. All too often he tells the reader in detail about himself, his past, present and future while other characters remain at best silhouettes, more or less well-sketched - making him the actual subject of the story he tells. Such a phenomenon is not uncommon in contemporary mystery fare, even that sticking to third-person mode.

 

Finally and in accordance with the rimbaldian title of this post, the narrator's "I" is often the author's, not only biographically and psychologically but stylistically as well. Narrators, despite being new to the job, know all of the tricks to grab the reader's interest and never let go. They can capture a landscape or a character in a few words and keep a fast pacing, with suspense and twists most efficiently dosed - so efficiently, indeed, that it's hard at times to believe you're reading a true story told by an amateur rather than, say, a piece of fiction by a seasoned pro. Even more remarkable is the continuity of style some authors maintain through different stories with - supposedly - different narrators. Mike, 31, a computer scientist in New York has thus the same "voice" as Roger, an alcoholic quinquagenarian Washington Post journalist whose writing style itself bears some resemblance to that of Sarah, a 40-year old Dallas housewife... all of the three having, of course, never met each other. Quite a feat, indeed!

 

True, characters are often so interchangeable that it's no surprise it goes the same for their voices - but the same phenomenon may be encountered in works by more ambitious writers, proving that style just like every other habit is second nature.

 

*Actually, it may even be beneficial.

A Note For the French-Speaking

My French blog, Mayhem Parva, is operational again, with a post on the pros and cons of first-person narration in mystery fiction.

 

 

Another Decalogue

This list, of course, is tongue-in-cheek. Mostly.

1. Mystery fiction is not about character, society, politics, gender, religion or whatever else. It's about mystery and the puzzle plot is what makes its specificity as a genre. You will thus approach it with respect and attention rather than just as a template for your personal concerns.

2. Mystery fiction, however, is or should be more than just a game. Good writing, sound characterization and some humor can't but enhance the value of your work. Remember, though, that good writing doesn't equate preciosity or free-wheeling virtuosity, while sound characterization doesn't mean loading your characters with various problems and issues or going into painful detail of their childhoods and food habits, especially when neither are relevant to the story.

3. You won't conceal any vital clue or decisive element from the reader. This is an old rule, present in many past and present syllabuses, but it's always worth-repeating if only because it's infringed almost every day by legions of hacks as well as some major names. Cheating is wrong because it ruins the architecture of the plot, much like bad rhyme or meter errors ruin that of a poem; it's bad technique and thus bad art.

4. If realism and verisimilitude get in the way of a good idea then realism and verisimilitude should be dropped, period. One of the great pleasures of being a writer is that you can play God and do exactly as you please, so enjoy your freedom and let your imagination be your guide. Mystery fiction, unlike common misperception, don't have a sacred duty to "show the world as it really is". You are a writer, possibly an artist, not a reporter or a social scientist.

5. Conversely, do research only if it's your thing or if you think it may improve your story. Otherwise just go ahead and don't be afraid to talk about things you have little or no knowledge of - provided of course that you admit it from the start. It's fiction and most importantly, your fiction. The only master aboard is you.

6. Ellipsis is a force. Don't explain, don't tell, don't describe more than what's absolutely necessary and let the rest open for imagination and interpretation. Reading, especially reading mysteries, must not be a passive experience. Gaps must be left for the reader to fill.

7. Don't stay content with what others have said and done before. Try to find new ways, new themes, new approaches. Mystery may look quite strait-laced at first sight but it actually offers a plenty of room for experiment, and it would be a pity not to use it.

8. Series detectives are to be avoided as much as possible or used homeopathically, and must never become the sole or major justification for their stories.

9. Don't mistake gimmicks for originality. It takes much more than an "original" character, premise or setting to write a genuinely original mystery.

10. The genre didn't start with you and the authors that you like. To have a good knowledge of its history will help you understand it better and avoid hubris. Whatever "new" ground you think you're breaking, chances are someone else broke it a long, long time ago.

In Praise of Theory

Sarah Weinman unearths S.S. Van Dine's famous Twenty Rules, rightfully singling out #15 as the one still most important eighty years on - I am more hesitant in respect to her contention that mystery fiction having become "more about the emotional and the visceral" is "rather a good thing". Van Dine's rules for the most part were actually quite reasonable despite the bad press they've been getting for eight decades, and anyone setting to write a real mystery rather than just a mainstream novel with a criminal element should definetely take a look. The main interest of this syllabus, however, is a historical one. Not as an embodiment of Golden Age ideals of good mystery writing, which it clearly isn't: major authors of the era as well as many lesser ones either ignored or deliberately violated its most contentious ukazes. Van Dine himself broke free from his own laws on numerous occasions (Kennel Murder Case, anyone?)

 

The Twenty Rules are important for just the same reason as Freeman's Art of the Detective Story, Carolyn Wells' Technique of the Mystery Story, Ronald Knox's Decalogue or  even - God forbid - Raymond Chandler's Simple Art of Murder. There you have authors from different stripes and backgrounds pausing one moment to think about the genre they practice and giving their own answers to some hard questions - in short, doing theory. What is this thing called mystery and what is it for? Where does it come from and where is it heading to? How does it work and how can it be made to work even better? Is it "serious" fiction, fluffy entertainment or something else? Is it about plot or character, real-life or fantasy? They were not the only ones pondering these issues: Dorothy L. Sayers, Anthony Berkeley, John Dickson Carr, Anthony Boucher, our old friend Julian Symons in the Anglo-Saxon world or Boileau-Narcejac and Jean-Patrick Manchette on this side of the pond also chimed in. Theory was a driving force in twentieth-century mystery writing, leading at times to violent wars such as the one Carr and Chandler fought for years without ever meeting each other. Yes Virginia, they took the genre that seriously back then.

 

Feuds of that kind are unlikely to happen nowadays. Theory is now mostly confined to fanzines, discussion groups and blogs like the one you're kind enough to pass by; most authors, critics and readers agree on the (very basic) basics of the genre and don't give a damn about the whole thing anyway. It's both fascinating and infuriating to see that many "fans" are more interested in what mystery fiction allows - social comment, psychological studies, political messages - than the genre itself, hence the proud illiteracy met in countless articles and interviews as well as the academism, both formal and thematical, of a large part of contemporary crime fare. Why bother to learn about the history of a genre, or try to make it progress, when to you it's just a convenient medium? Just keep doing what you've always done, and reading what you've always read.

 

No art form, and mystery fiction is undoubtedly one, can move forward if it doesn't explore, question and try to renew itself. That's why we need theoricians, and most particularly authors-theoricians, more than ever. Will the next Willard Huntington Wright please stand up?

30 mystery writers the Daily Telegraph and London Times staffes should read before next list

Two months after the Daily Telegraph disclosed its list of the 50 crime writers to read before you die, it's the London Times' turn to offer its own Top 50 and the result is just as interesting - that is, not much. Neither of both lists is very imaginative: much overlap, some curious omissions (Rex Stout is decidedly not popular with the British audience) and a general bias to psychological thrillers and hardboiled/noir fiction, preferably homegrown. Were Crimetime to issue their own pantheon, it would probably include the same authors, except of course the golden-agers. Other than showing they're as crime-savvy as the Telegraph folks, it's hard to fathom what motive prompted Berlins and his team to round up the usual suspects once again; hopefully the Grauniad and the Independent if they enter the game will come up with something a little more original.

Still, making lists is always fun, so I decided to set mine, though of a somewhat different kind. It has "only" 30 items but I don't pretend them to be the best ever; they're just in my opinion the best not to make the other lists despite being at least as deserving, if not as well-known as those who did. Feel free to make your own suggestions or voice your disagreements; that's why the comments section and Hotmail are for.

Charlotte Armstrong 1904-69

Turned suspense fiction into a modern-day morality play. You can't but like the author who gave Marilyn Monroe one of her precious few opportunities to act.

Robert Bloch 1917-94

Better-known as the guy who fathered Norman Bates but there's more, much more to him.

Pierre Boileau 1906-89 and Thomas Narcejac 1908-98 a.k.a. Boileau-Narcejac

A towering moment of French mystery fiction, either as solo acts or as a duet. They're Martin Edwards' favorite suspense writers: I can't think of a better recommendation.

Stephen Booth

Yorkshire mystery writer with a lot of promise.

Christianna Brand 1908-88

The other queen of crime.

Fredric Brown 1906-71

The master of paradoxes, equally good at mystery and sci-fi.

Howard Browne a.k.a. John Evans 1908-99

Chandler with plots.

Michael Butterworth dates unknown

British gothic writer with a fondness for decay, madness and body parts.

Thomas H. Cook 1948-present

Master-stylist, brilliant explorer of tortured psyches and haunted pasts and, more importantly, the very best plotter around.

Ursula Curtiss 1923-86

The woman who made people afraid of neighbours, old ladies, phones, peacocks and wasps.

Stanley Ellin 1916-87 and Jack Ritchie 1922-1983 and Henry Slesar 1927-2002

The Big Three of short crime fiction and an example to follow in these times of literary brontosaurianism. (Ellin and Slesar also wrote some excellent novels)

Richard Austin Freeman 1862-1943

The man who made forensics sexy and gave the world the inverted story - and Dr. Thorndyke.

Celia Fremlin 1918-present

Albion's answer to Charlotte Armstrong.

Emile Gaboriau 1832-73

Yes, he's wordy and his plots drag. But he started it all. And the first part of Le Crime d'Orcival is pure beauty.

Paul Halter 1956-present

Not quite John Dickson Carr's heir but responsible for some of the best locked-room mysteries in recent years.

Edward D. Hoch 1930-2008

Father of Nick Velvet, Captain Leopold, Ben Snow, Simon Ark, Rand and many others. Need I say more?

Patricia McGerr 1918-1987

One of the most innovative mystery writers of the late 40s, now sadly forgotten.

Mark McShane 1930-???

The weirdest and most unpredictable of all British crime/mystery writers.

Leo Malet 1909-1996

Nestor Burma's daddy, he did for Paris what Chandler had done for L.A.

Margaret Millar 1915-1994

The absolute queen of suspense fiction and the finest deviser of plots of the post-WWII era.

Ellery Queen

The most glaring omission of both lists. How can one pretend to make a list of best crime writers and then omit the duet responsible for The Player on the Other Side, Calamity Town, The Murderer is a Fox or Ten Days' Wonder among other gems and the fondation of the world's leading (and oldest) mystery magazine? Shame, shame, shame.

Patrick Quentin

The other great mystery duet, responsible for Peter Duluth, Inspector Trant, Dr Westlake and daughter Dawn and lots of excellent short stories.

René Reouven 1925-present

French king of mystery steampunk, author of some of the finest and most imaginative holmesian pastiches ever. Also writes science-fiction.

Mary Roberts Rinehart 1876-1958

The godmother of all modern mystery fiction, no less. Read her seriously if you don't believe me.

Julian Symons 1912-94

Often exasperating as a critic, but one of the very few authors who genuinely tried to break new ground - and succeeded on more than one occasion.

Henry Wade 1887-1969

Awfully underrated Golden Age detective writer in bad need of a reprint.

Jean Stubbs - Dear Laura

I must confess I am not particularly fond of historical mysteries, which puts me (once again) in the minority camp. My objections are twofold:

- Plot and characters all too often take a backseat to "production values"; the author has done his homework and wants it to show. Alas, it does.

- Because it's popular fiction and readers are meant to bound with the main protagonists, the latter tend to display attitudes and ideas which are quite mainstream in this day and age but were considerably less so back then. While I can see the commercial logic behind this, it's still cheating to me; when you set out to write a book set in the past, you must go all the way: no presentism, no statiscally-implausible beacon of enlightened values in a time of obscurity, no "oh-look-how-weird-they-were" condescension, no preachiness about how things are better nowadays.

 

Jean Stubbs avoids all of those trappings in this remarkable 1973 novel, the first of a trilogy featuring rather than starring Inspector John Joseph Lintott.

 

1890. Theodore and Laura Crozier have been married for fifteen years. On the surface they are a happy couple by contemporary standards of wealth and respectability. If you look beneath however, things are different. A cold, repressed and authoritarian man, Theodore treats his wife and children well - nothing more; his only soft spot is for his ever-broke younger brother Titus, a charming parasite with no interest in life but game and women. Entering marriage with bovary-like expectations of everlasting and passionate love, Laura was sorely disappointed with that anything but passionate husband who, as a final touch to an already unflattering portrait, happens to be also a hypocondriac always seeking for a new illness to suffer of. As time went by, however, they've found a modus vivendi - helped by Titus's comforting and sometimes troubling presence. And then Theodore dies. A natural death at first sight, but only at first sight. Murder? Suicide? It's Inspector Lintott's job to sort that out - or try to.

 

What makes Dear Laura such a wonderful work is that it makes no compromise; from first page it's total immersion into a different society - some would say a different world.  Characters act victorian, talk victorian, think victorian; even their occasional rebellions against social codes stay within victorian boundaries. Lintott for instance is a likeable character, a skilled investigator and shows more empathy and compassion than most, but his values and opinions are those of his day - few modern female readers will agree with him that a woman "has no [sexual] need". None of the characters will have a Damascus experience; Laura Crozier repeatedly complains about her status and enjoys the freedom she finally finds as a widow but nothing suggests any intention of hers to go further and engage the establishment, though she fancies assisting a Fabian Society meeting - probably more out of the thrill of doing something forbidden than any serious commitment or intellectual curiosity.

 

The plot is typically victorian as well, revolving around a hidden secret, a major theme of sensation fiction and logical outcome of a society obsessed with respectability. Lintott's gentle yet firm manners as well as his ability to get along with the domestics makes him a cousin of Wilkie Collins' Sgt. Cuff. Even the ending, while cynical to the last degree, actually conforms in an admittedly twisted way to victorian values. The object of the secret and Stubbs' use of misdirection, however, are distinctively modern, as well as the rampant nihilism permeating it all.

 

For Dear Laura is a bleak book, though nothing shocking is ever shown or openly said, understatement being another distinctive trait of victorian literature. The society it portrays is an open-air jail where everyone is both a prisoner and a jailer. Even those holding power or seeming to are subjected to the same self-enforcing, never questioned codes, no matter how suffering they bring; the next century is only a decade away, but it might as well be one million years. No sign of change, no sign of a desire for change, is in sight. Jean Stubbs, unlike some of her later followers, passes no judgement; she just observes and provides the reader with the evidence she collected. The result may not be exotic, picturesque, it's certainly not a feel-gooder and doesn't give any easy answer, but it rings true without burying the reader with useless erudition and straight-from-the-textbook "atmospheric" touches. This is, in short, the kind of historical mystery that I like.