Anyone who writes
and submits their work to publishers or agents will know what a struggle it is
to get published. The industry is looking for work which is fresh and in some
way unique, something that will catch the attention of the readers out there
and make the publisher lots of money. Yes, it’s a business and money is a
significant motivator in this game.
At the same time as
they want something new, publishers also want something that is familiar. They
want something original yet somehow the same. What a challenge!
I got to thinking
about some of my favourite crime writers and what they offered that was unique
and special. Sherlock Holmes, of course, jumps out immediately. What a hard act
to follow!
What follows is a
brief round-up of writers from the 1920s onwards:
Agatha Christie – a
sprightly spinster (Miss Marple) who lurks in the background, observes what is happening
and analyses scenarios until she reaches the correct conclusion; an oddball and
prissy Belgian (Hercule Poirot) whom villains underestimate while he sniffs out
the truth through – again – observation and analysis.
Elizabeth George – a
dynamic juxtaposition of an upper class aristocrat (Thomas Lynley), who is
never quite comfortable in his skin, with a working class non-conformist
(Barbara Havers), who notoriously thumbs her nose at authority and does it her
way, while constantly feeling left out of normal life. Lynley at least is capable
of normal human relationships; Havers is not.
Henning Mankell – a
depressive, self-absorbed detective (Kurt Wallender) who is abysmally bad at
human relations but has persistence and intelligence for solving crimes. Also a
subtle capacity to unravel the flaws of Swedish society from a left-wing
perspective. Largely friendless, he doesn’t get on with his ex-wife, his father
or his daughter.
Raymond Chandler –
an intelligent yet socially isolated and independent PI (Phillip Marlowe) whose
moral fibre and honesty guide him faultlessly through the temptations and evils
of Los Angeles. He unwinds by playing chess against himself.
Colin Dexter – a
lonely, sensitive and reserved aesthete (Endeavour Morse) with inadequate
communication and social skills but ample compassion and insight into human
frailties. He relaxes by playing opera.
PD James – a bookish,
poetic, empathetic but reserved detective (Adam Dalgliesh) who loses his family and only slowly finds
himself able to love again. Like Morse, Dalgliesh always seems to
understand why someone would commit murder, without condoning their actions. An odd pairing of an old-fashioned English
gentleman with a life spent investigating grizzly murders.
Maj Sjöwall
and Per Wahlöö – an efficient
methodical pillar of Swedish society (Martin Beck) who is increasingly used by
the authors as a tool for critiquing and eventually savaging the Swedish social
democratic model from a Marxist perspective. A man who is rescued from
portraying a stereotypical Swedish depressive and recluse with a failed
marriage by the meticulous detail with which his cases are conducted and the
insights he brings to the human situation.
Ian Rankin – a
maverick (John Rebus) who functions best when he is overstepping the boundaries
set for him by authority and who will calmly flout accepted procedures in
pursuit of an outcome. A social isolate who takes to the bottle and is smoking himself
to death while alienated from his daughter and most of his colleagues. A man
who brings himself under suspicion from the police complaints and conduct
branch – and seems to relish it.
While all of these detectives
are unique and readily identifiable, don’t they share something in common? In their
own ways, they are not ‘normal’ human beings – they stand outside regular human
society. And they are usually observers rather than participants in normal life
– almost none of them have regular family lives. Few of them seem to have
friends. Many of them have alcohol problems. They are extreme examples of what
we see around us.
Yet they are also
united by another factor – an unshakeable commitment to ensuring that justice is done, although not always in ways which would be seen as conventional.
Given the enormous
success of the above authors, it seems that the reading public is strongly
attracted to characters who, while alienated from normality in some way, have a
vital job to perform in maintaining the social order. And perhaps that’s why
publishers love 'em.
(The odd one out in
the above analysis is Ruth Rendell, whose chief protagonist, Detective
Inspector Reg Wexford, seems normal by comparison. He has a stable and
successful marriage and two daughters. In her other work, however, Rendell specialises
in developing eccentric and alienated characters who often live on the margins
of society. Rendell’s genius lies in her analysis of the edges and how people
cope with their own dysfunctionalities amid the challenges of a problematic
social order. I must admit that it’s an ordinariness similar to Wexford’s that
makes Tom Barnaby so refreshing in Midsommer
Murders.)
