We often think of fictional sleuths (real ones too, actually) as people of action. They go to crime scenes, they sift through and look for evidence, they catch the “bad guy” and so on. And a good crime novel has that kind of action in it. But some crime fictional sleuths are also philosophers. They think about the larger questions of human existence. That makes sense, too. After all, detectives look for reasons that people commit crime; that can certainly take one into the realm of philosophy. So to an extent, you could say that all sleuths are philosophers. But some sleuths are more interested in those larger questions than other sleuths are.
Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot sometimes looks to those larger questions as he investigates. For instance, in Evil Under the Sun, he takes a holiday at the Jolly Roger Hotel on Leathercombe Bay. One of his follow guests is the Reverend Stephen Lane. One day the two get into an interesting discussion on the existence of Evil in the world. Poirot mentions murder can happen anywhere, even in a peaceful, idyllic setting such as Leathercombe Bay. Lane then says:
“‘I was glad to hear you say that. Nowadays, no one believes in evil….Evil, people say, is done by those who…are more to be pitied than blamed. But M. Poirot, evil is real!’…
‘I understand your meaning. Up to a point I agree with you. Evil does walk the earth and can be recognized as such.’”
Whatever you believe about good and evil it’s an interesting philosophical discussion. Things get much less hypothetical when another hotel guest Arlena Stuart Marshall is strangled. Her husband is the obvious first suspect, but when it is shown that he’s innocent, Poirot works with the local police to find out who murdered her and why.
Luiz Alfredo Garcia-Roza’s Insepctor Espinosa is also a philosopher. He certainly takes his share of action, but he’s very reflective as well. For instance, in The Silence of the Rain, he and his team are investigating the robbery and murder of wealthy Richard Carvalho, who’s been shot while sitting in his car. There’s a significant amount of money missing, so robbery seems to be the prime motive. But it’s not as simple as that, as Espinosa learns when Carvalho’s secretary disappears. Espinosa and his team have to untangle a complicated web of corruption, kidnapping and greed to find out the truth about Carvalho’s death. Here is one of Espinosa’s thoughts about fitting in as a cop:
“Espinosa’s style learned more toward hunting good books than hunting criminals. But whenever he had to go into action or carry out an investigation, his efficiency surprised his colleagues. The difference was that once he was done he reverted immediately to his usual reserve, back to being a stranger. He was well aware what he was like; it didn’t matter where he was. Maybe that was why he’d never left the police force: he wouldn’t have felt any more at home in another profession. He wasn’t a stranger just to his colleagues but to everything – he inhabited a different space and time.”
Espinosa reflections may mean he spends his share of time just thinking, but they don’t mean he doesn’t catch criminals.
The same is true of Arnaldur Indriðason’s Inspector Erlendur. In his own way he’s a philosopher, too. For instance, in Jar City, he and his team are investigating the murder of a seemingly inoffensive old man Holberg, whose body is found in his apartment. As the team begins to search for answers, it slowly becomes clear that Holberg isn’t as inoffensive as everyone has always thought. He’s got a dark history of accusations of rape, although nothing was ever proven and Holberg never went to prison. Bit by bit, Erlendur and his team unravel Holberg’s past and find out who wanted to kill him and why. Meanwhile, Erlendur has personal issues of his own to deal with when his daughter Eva Lind comes back into his life after an absence. Here’s one of Erlendur’s thoughts about families:
“He thought about mothers and daughters and fathers and sons and mothers and sons and fathers and daughters and children that were born and no-one wanted and children who died in that little community, Iceland, where everyone seemed related and connected in some way.”
While it’s true that the return of Eva Lind doesn’t solve the case, it’s interesting in this novel how Erlendur’s reflections and philosophy play roles in the way he investigates.
Another philosopher is Colin Cotterill’s Dr. Siri Paiboun, the septuagenarian chief medical officer in Laos. At the time in which this series takes place, the 1970’s, the Khmer Rouge has taken over in Cambodia and the military has taken over in Laos. Dr. Siri doesn’t want to become chief medical officer, but he’s “volunteered” into the job, so he does the best he can. In The Coroner’s Lunch, Dr. Siri investigates the death of Mrs. Nitnoy, the wife of a prominent government official, who is poisoned during a banquet luncheon. This case is of course fraught with all sorts of political ramifications, but Dr. Siri isn’t interested in politics. He wants to find out the truth behind the death. And so he does. Here’s Dr. Siri’s view of communism:
“If the truth were to be told, he was a heathen of a communist. He’d come to believe two conflicting ideas with equal conviction: that communism was the only way man could be truly content; and that man, given his selfish ways, could never practice communism with any success. The natural product of these two views was that man could never be content.”
Dr. Siri has thoughtful views on other larger issues too and his philosophical way of thinking adds to these novels.
And then there’s Peter Høeg’s Smilla Jaspersen, whom we meet in Miss Smilla’s Feeling For Snow. She’s a half Inuit/half Danish Greenlander who now lives in Copenhagen. When her young neighbour Isaiah, also a Greenlander, falls from the roof of the building in which they live, it’s put down to a terrible accident. But Jaspersen suspects otherwise as soon as she sees the patterns in the snow on the roof. She’s grown up with snow and Ice and they tell her things. Once she begins to suspect that Isaiah might have been killed, she goes to extraordinary lengths to find out why and by whom. And she succeeds in the sense that she finds out who the murderer is and what the motive is. Jaspersen is a philosopher, and integrated throughout this novel are her views on life, on international relations, on men and women and lots more. Here is her view on love:
“Falling in love has been greatly overrated. Falling in love consists of forty-five percent fear of not being accepted, and forty-five percent hope that this time the fear will be put to shame and a modest ten percent frail awareness of the possibility of love.”
No matter what your views on life and love, it’s interesting to learn how Jaspersen views the world and thinks about it.
That’s also true of Mma. Precious Ramotswe, who “stars” in Alexander McCall Smith’s No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series. She’s got a very philosophical turn of mind and although she certainly takes action, she also spends quite a lot of time reflecting on the larger questions, too. For instance, in Morality For Beautiful Girls, she gets a visit from an important Government Man, who believes that his sister-in-law is trying to poison his brother. He wants Mma. Ramotswe to find out the truth and stop his sister-in-law. Mma. Ramotswe agrees to at least visit. While she is there, she finds out the surprising truth, and shares it with her client. Throughout their interactions, the Government Man has been arrogant and officious, even insolent. Mma. Ramotswe doesn’t like it and won’t stand for being bullied. But she has also learned the truth about the Government Man and his family. She decides to give him the answers to his questions in allegory form. Here is what she says about his bullying (once she’s put him in his place, of course):
“He [the Government Man] was very rude to her [Mma. Ramotswe], because he had developed habits of rudeness and because he always got his own way. But she realised that under the skin of a bully there is always a person who is frightened and unhappy. And this lady thought that she would speak to that frightened and unhappy person.”
And so she does.
Sleuths who are also philosophers can get us thinking about all sorts of different things that we might not have thought of otherwise. Which are your favourites?
*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Rush’s Closer to the Heart.












Great post, as usual. Louise Penny’s Inspector Gamache is quite the philosopher, too. I’m really deep into these Penny books now. Gamache on the brain!
Mollie – Why, thank you!
. And yes, Gamache is a philosopher isn’t he? I like that about him. I’m glad you like those novels; it’s one of my favourite series, actually.
I recently read my first Gamache and loved it! I should go back and read the rest considering the writer wrote about Canada. I think it’s important to have detectives that think about other things rather than the cases, think about the big picture. I would imagine that it would sadden or depress them to think too deeply about it though. They are limited to solving a case at a time and the cases keep coming and coming. I think that if I was a detective, I wouldn’t want to think to deeply about why people do what they do, it would just make me sad because often times, there’s really no good reason behind any of it.
Clarissa – Now that’s an interesting perspective! There is something to be said for not thinking too deeply if one sees nothing but sadness and death when one investigates. It can make one so very sad and depressed. On the other hand, like you, I like it when a detective thinks more deeply than just getting evidence, analyzing it and “getting bad guys.” It adds depth to a character…
I agree about Erlendur as a philosopher, especially in Hypothermia, where he thinks a lot, including about religion. Inspector Van Veeteren does a bit of philosophizing himself, especially in The Inspector and Silence.
Guido Brunetti thinks about the greater pictures of crimes and society in nearly every book, and even turns to ancient Roman philosophers in his leisure time. Even Fred Vargas’ Commissaire Adamsburg thinks about bigger issues often when solving a crime.
I’m trying to think of other women detectives who philosophize and am hard pressed to come up with more to my dismay.
Kathy – Interesting point about women detectives. Now you’ve got me thinking about that, too! And yes, Brunetti does think about the larger issues, and his interest in ancient Rome helps him when he’s working out “the big questions.” I hadn’t thought as much about Adamsberg when I wrote this, but he does do some “big picture” thinking, too…
What a terrific post – as usual. I am reading Andrea Camilleri’s latest novel at the moment and I definitely think Inspector Montalbano is a philosopher.
Like kathy though I am struggling to come up with other female philosopher sleuths.
Bernadette – Thank you *blush*
. You do have a point about Montalbano. I’m glad you people are here to remind me of things I miss out. And you know you and Kathy both have got me thinking of female detectives who are philosophers. Time for me to do some real thinking, for which thanks.
Pounding the virtual pavement for women sleuth/philosophers, there is Isabel Dalhousie, a very serene, charming detective, who has a Philosophers’ Club, but is not quite an Erlendur or Brunetti. V.I. Warshawski, our blogosphere’s controversial detective, does think a lot all the time, but about politics, not philosophy so much. (Actually, her current book is quite witty; I’m laughing constantly.) Perhaps Amanda Cross’ professorial detective? There are now so many women sleuths in Oz; are any philosopically inclined? Or in Europe? Any in Germany with a worldview? This is quite a project.
Kathy – Oh, thank you so much for reminding me of Isabel Dalhousie! Of course she’s a philosopher! Interesting you should mention Australian women sleuths. In many ways Adrian Hyland’s Emily Tempest has the makings of a philosopher although you might not think of her as the “sit and think” type. But she does think about the larger issues in life and the world. You know, you’ve really got me thinking
Ecxcellent post. The trouble with coming to it a bit late is that the examples I can think of are gone! But philosophising detectives are perhaps more common in the Spanish/Latin world? As well as those mentioned there are Padura’s and Carofiglio’s creations, as well as Vasquez Montalban. Some detectives perhaps agonise more than philosophise, eg Villani in Peter Temple’s Truth or Rebecka Martinsson in Asa Larsson’s books. The Nobellist in Shadow by Karin Altvegen is quite a philosopher, but that book isn’t really a detective novel.
Maxine – Thank you *blush*!
. And thanks for reminding me that I need to read Shadow. Altvegen is a talented author… And it’s interesting that you’d mention the effect of culture, etc., on on whether or not a detective is a philosopher. Carofiglio is a good example, and it very well could be that the culture of the author affects the kind of philosophising that a detective does as well as the extent to which that’s integrated into a novel. Such an interesting way to think about this point, for which thanks.
And I agree; characters such as Villani and Martinsson do agonise, but I’m not sure they philosophise.
Of course, there is also the original, Martin Beck, as written by Sjowall and Wahloo. He waxes philosophical at times.
Thanks for reminding me to read about Precious Ramotswe. I loved the tv program episodes, so I should try the books.
Kathy – Good point; Beck can be philosophical at times. I hadn’t thought of that…. And I do recommend the McCall Smith Precious Ramotswe series.