Category Archives: Adrian Hyland

Got to Get Back to the Land*

Hiking and CampingMany people enjoy the feeling of ‘getting away from it all’ by taking camping and hiking trips. There is definitely something to be said for spending some time with nature, turning off the computer and the telephone and enjoying some peace. Other people camp because that’s their culture and way of life. Either way, camping can be a rich experience. But as crime fiction shows us, camping isn’t always the relaxing, peaceful experience it’s sometimes made out to be.

In Agatha Christie’s Appointment With Death, the Boynton family tours the Middle East, making a special excursion to Petra. While they’re on their camping/hiking/sightseeing tour, family matriarch Mrs. Boynton suddenly dies of what seems to be heart failure. But Colonel Carbury isn’t satisfied, and asks Hercule Poirot to investigate. It soon turns out that Mrs. Boynton was poisoned, and Poirot interviews each of the people at the sightseeing encampment. There are plenty of suspects too, since Mrs. Boynton was a tyrant and a mental sadist who kept everyone in her family cowed. In the end Poirot establishes who the murderer is. One of the interesting clues in this murder comes from the location of each of the campers’ tents.

Dorothy Sayers’ Harriet Vane decides to take a hiking holiday in Have His Carcase. She’s just been through a traumatic time standing trial for murder (Strong Poison gives the details on that experience), and she is in need of a rest. During her hiking trip, Vane stops one afternoon for a rest and soon dozes off. When she wakes up, she finds the body of a dead man. She alerts the authorities who start the investigation. The dead man is soon identified as Paul Alexis, a professional dancer at a nearby hotel. At first it looks as though Alexis may have committed suicide, but it soon turns out that he was murdered. With help from Lord Peter Wimsey, Vane discovers who killed Alexis and why. So much for a peaceful hiking holiday…

Scott Young’s Murder in a Cold Climate introduces readers to Matthew ‘Matteesie’ Kitologitak of the RCMP. Matteesie has been asked to investigate the disappearance of a Cessna with three men aboard. He’s getting ready to do just that when he witnesses the shooting death of Native activist Morton Cavendish. It’s not long before Matteesie establishes that the two cases are related, so he changes his focus to an investigation of the murder. He’s hoping that by finding the killer, he may find the answer to what happened to the plane and the men on it. As Matteesie investigates, we get a look at the way things are done in Canada’s Far North. One fact of life there is that people go on hunting and fishing trips that can take them far from home. So they camp. In fact, it’s a popular tourist activity too. It’s not surprise then, that there are several scenes in this novel that take place at different camps. One of those scenes in fact tells us a lot about the mystery.

M.J. McGrath’s White Heat also takes place in Canada’s Far North. Edie Kiglatuk is a hunting guide with an excellent reputation. That reputation is threatened when one of her clients Felix Wagner is shot during a camping/hunting expedition. At first his death is put down to a tragic accident and Edie is given the message to just leave it alone. But then her stepson Joe commits suicide (or did he?) and there’s another death as well. Soon Edie is involved in a complicated case of murder and greed. If she’s going to clear her reputation and find out why her stepson died, she’s going to have to find the murderer. She works with Ellesmere Island police offer Derek Palliser to investigate the case. As they do so, we see how deeply camping is embedded in that culture. People go out for days or more to hunt, trap and fish and in that climate, a good campsite can mean the difference between life and death.

In Paddy Richardson’s Hunting Blind, novice psychiatrist Stephanie Anderson takes an unexpected camping trip. One of her clients Elisabeth Clark is troubled by the disappearance years earlier of her younger sister Gracie. This story haunts Anderson, as her own sister Gemma disappeared in a similar way seventeen years earlier. Anderson decides to lay her ghosts to rest, so to speak, by finding out who was responsible for abducting the young girls. So she makes a trip from Dunedin to her family’s home in Wanaka, trying to trace the culprit as she goes. During one stop she meets a hunting guide named Dan, who invites her on a hunting and shooting trip. Anderson demurs at first, but Dan wants to prove to her that

 

‘…all hunters aren’t blokey yobbos.’

 

Finally Anderson agrees and she and Dan take a three-day camping and hiking trip. Making the trip doesn’t catch the criminal. But it does give Anderson a new kind of confidence as well as some interesting and important information. And she finds herself more interested in Dan than she’d imagined she would be.

There’s also Nevada Barr’s Anna Pigeon series. Pigeon is a US National Park Service Ranger, so she spends quite a bit of time camping. She’s assigned to different parks for different amounts of time, so her accommodations vary. But she’s grown quite accustomed to tents, bedrolls and campfires.

There are a lot of other novels of course that feature camping trips (I know, I know, fans of Arnaldur Indriðason’s Strange Shores). And in novels such as Donna Leon’s The Girl of His Dreams, Arthur Upfield’s Napoleon ‘Bony’ Bonaparte series and Adrian Hyland’s Emily Tempest novels, we meet groups of people for whom camping is a way of life. It certainly does have a lot to offer. But – erm – do be careful…

 

 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Joni Mitchell’s Woodstock, made popular by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.

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Filed under Adrian Hyland, Agatha Christie, Arnaldur Indriðason, Arthur Upfield, Donna Leon, Dorothy Sayers, M.J. McGrath, Nevada Barr, Paddy Richardson, Scott Young

Looking For Evidence to Help it All Make Sense*

Light and Order from ChaosResearch on thinking and knowing has shown us for a long time that humans like things to make sense. When we encounter something that doesn’t fit our mental picture of what ought to be, we mentally wrestle with it until either our mental picture adapts or we learn more about the something we encounter. That’s arguably why so many people love crime fiction. It’s an opportunity to impose some order (who/why/howdunit) on chaos (a murder or murders and the aftermath). Even in crime novels that don’t have a happy ending, we want to know how the pieces all fit together and how it all makes sense. And readers can get very cranky if there doesn’t seem to be any order in a plot.

The drive to impose order on what seems to be chaos is also a motivator for detectives. They want the puzzle pieces to fit together. Of course there are other motivators too; murders are very human events that affect people on many levels. They’re far more than just intellectual puzzles. But at the same time, detectives still want the puzzle to fit together and make sense. Definitely fictional sleuths do. It’s the way we humans seem to be made.

Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes sees virtually all of his cases as opportunities to impose some sort of order on what seems like chaos. Take for instance The Adventure of the Dancing Men. Hilton Cubitt is worried about his wife Elsie. She’s never told him everything about her past, although she claims that she’s done nothing of which she need be ashamed. But she has had some dubious associations and now the past seems to be catching up with her. She’s been getting some cryptic notes that at first make no sense at all. They’re simply drawings that look like childish scrawls. But it’s precisely because they don’t make sense that Holmes is interested in them. But before he can figure out what the drawings mean, there’s a tragedy at the Cubitt home. Hilton Cubitt is killed and his wife badly wounded. Now it’s more important than ever that Holmes make sense of the drawings. Once he does, he’s able to find out the truth about the murder.

We also see this same drive for things to make sense in Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot. As Poirot fans know, his watchwords are order and method. And he’s not satisfied until every unexplained detail makes sense. That, for instance, is why he doesn’t ‘buy’ the police theory in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd.  When retired manufacturing magnate Roger Ackroyd is stabbed in his study one night, the most likely suspect seems to be his stepson Captain Ralph Paton. The two had quarreled violently and what’s more, Paton was known to be in desperate need of the money he would inherit at Ackroyd’s death. But Paton’s fiancée Flora Ackroyd doesn’t believe he’s guilty. She asks Poirot to look into the matter and at first he agrees to do so for her sake. But then he begins to have questions himself about Paton’s guilt. Those questions arise mostly from small things that can’t be explained by the police theory. That desire to have all of the details cleared up help lead Poirot to the truth about the murder.

Colin Dexter’s Inspector Morse also likes the pieces of a puzzle to all make sense. That’s in part why he perseveres in The Silent World of Nicholas Quinn. Quinn is the only Deaf member of Oxford’s Foreign Examinations Syndicate. That group is responsible for overseeing examinations given in non-UK countries with a British education tradition. Membership in the Syndicate is prestigious and select, and Quinn was by no means the universal choice. But he settles in and starts his work. Then one day he is killed by what turns out to be poison. Morse and Sergeant Lewis investigate the death and discover that all sorts of secrets are being hidden by Syndicate members, and that Quinn could easily have discovered one of them. Morse thinks he’s found out the truth, but then when something he learns won’t quite fit in with the rest, he completely re-thinks what happened and that leads him to the real killer.

Adrian Hyland’s Emily Tempest likes things to make sense, too. In Gunshot Road for instance, she’s assigned to help investigate the murder of Albert ‘Doc’ Ozolins at Green Swamp Well. The killing looks like a case of a drunken quarrel that ended tragically. But for Tempest the pieces don’t fit together. That explanation doesn’t account for what she knows about the man accused of Ozolins’ murder. It also doesn’t account for some physical evidence that she spots not very far from Ozolins’ cabin, where the murder took place. That urge for things to make sense is partly what drives Tempest to chart her own course in the investigation and find out the truth.

In The Twelfth Department, William Ryan’s Moscow CID Captain Alexei Korolev and his partner Sergeant Nadezhda Slivka are assigned to find the murderer of noted scientist Boris Azarov. Azarov’s work was highly classified, so the investigation has to be carefully conducted. They’ve just about settled on a suspect when that person is murdered too. The much-feared NKVD (this series takes place in pre-World War II Stalinist Moscow) has a theory about the crimes. And Korolev and Slivka have every reason to ‘rubber stamp’ that theory. It’s not implausible either. But both detectives know that it doesn’t explain everything. They want the truth about the case, and any truthful explanation has to account for everything. So despite the danger of going up against the NKVD, the two continue their investigation.

Not all fictional detectives see the process of imposing order on chaos as a completely intellectual matter. For Tony Hillerman’s Jim Chee, making sense of it all is a matter of restoring hozro – balance and beauty – to the world. Murder throws things out of balance and Chee wants to set things right and restore the balance by finding out the truth. There are several instances in the novels featuring him where he also acknowledges the sense of chaos in himself that comes from being involved in murders. He’s certainly intellectually curious but for him, it’s just as important to solve crimes to impose what you might call a spiritual order. That’s how he makes meaning.

Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe also wants to make sense of it all, even though he knows that the answers he gets won’t always be pleasant. He’s got a sense of what ‘counts’ as ‘right’ and ‘just.’ Of course, those are risky words because everyone has a different definition of what ‘the right thing’ to do is, or what’s ‘just.’ That’s the stuff of a separate post in and of itself. But for Marlowe, making sense of the world and imposing some sort of mental order on it is a matter of righting injustices if I can put it like that. It’s that way for John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee, too.

We can say that it must be an important personality trait in detectives to want to restore order – for things to make sense. But really, that’s true of all of us. We all seem to want things to make sense. Little wonder that so many of us love solving crime-fictional mysteries.

 

 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Kansas’ Chasing Shadows.

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Filed under Adrian Hyland, Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, Colin Dexter, John D. MacDonald, Raymond Chandler, Tony Hillerman, William Ryan

Don’t Let it End*

One Book AuthorsEvery month, a lot of terrific new crime fiction is released – enough to keep TBR piles and lists from ever actually shrinking. Erm – please tell me I’m not the only one with that problem. Please??  And there are authors such as Michael Connelly and Katherine Howell, who consistently keep their series going with high-quality stories. Interestingly enough though, there are also authors who write one or a few books and then stop. Of course there are a lot of reasons for this. Authors go on to different things, or have to deal with poor health, or something else happens. You wish they’d written more perhaps because that one (or those two) novels were well-done. There are a lot of them out there, and of course, they are not just crime fiction authors, but this is a crime fiction blog, so….

One of the most famous examples of a one-novel author is Harper Lee, whose To Kill a Mockingbird is, in my opinion anyway, a crime novel as much as it is anything else. Among other plot threads, Mayella Ewell claims that she was raped by Tom Robinson. Her father supports her and Robinson is arrested and nearly lynched. Complicating matters is the fact that this is Maycomb, Alabama, at a time when racism was a way of life. Mayella Ewell is White, and Tom Robinson is Black, which means he’s not likely to get a fair trial. Well-known lawyer Atticus Finch takes Robinson’s case, determined to see that he does get a fair hearing, and as the town prepares for the trial and deals with its aftermath, we see the effect that even alleged crime can have on a small community. There are of course a lot of other themes in this novel; whole university courses are devoted to it. And it won many literary prizes. And every year, the University of Alabama School of Law and the American Bar Association (ABA) award the Harper Lee Prize For Best Legal Fiction. This novel has had a real impact on modern fiction, to say the least. But it’s Lee’s only novel.

Also from the American South was James Ross. He’s said to be ‘the man who invented Southern noir.’ Written in 1940, Ross’ They Don’t Dance Much is the story of down-and-out farmer Jack Macdonald, who’s just lost his property due to non-payment of taxes. Macdonald’s friend Smuts Milligan owns a local store, but wants to expand it into a roadhouse and dance hall. Macdonald begins working for his friend and the two of them start to develop Smuts’ plans. When the business doesn’t go as well as they’d hoped, Smuts becomes desperate for money and as any crime fiction fan can tell you, financial desperation leads to all sorts of things. In this novel, it leads to brutal murder. Not a novel for the faint of heart, but it established Southern Gothic noir. And it was Ross’ only novel.

British author Robert Pollock didn’t write a lot of novels either. If someone else knows his work better than I do, please correct me. But it seems he only wrote four novels (although he wrote some non-fiction too). One of those novels is Loophole or, How to Rob a Bank. It’s the story of professional thief Mike Daniels and his team, who put together a plan to rob London’s City Savings Deposit Bank. They enlist the help of laid-off architect Stephen Booker, and before long, all of the details are worked out. On the day of the planned robbery, everything is ready. But no-one has planned for the sudden storm that blows up during the heist. I’ll confess this is the only one of Pollock’s books that I’ve read. Still, I don’t think this is part of a series. I sort of wish it was though, or at least that Pollock had continued writing caper/crime novels.

Mary Semple Scott also wrote only one crime novel, 1940’s Crime Hound. St. Louis investigator Herbert Crosby, who works for the DA’s office, decides to take a lakeside holiday. But he soon gets drawn into murder when a shady realtor he had an appointment with is murdered. When his own gun is stolen and later used for two other murders, it’s clear that Crosby is being set up. If he’s going to avoid going to jail himself (something the local sheriff would like only too well), Crosby is going to have to find out who’s framed him. It would have been interesting to see what Scott could have done with Crosby’s ‘regular guy’ character in a series.

There’s also David Markson, who wrote only two crime fiction novels featuring his New York PI sleuth Harry Fannin. In Epitaph For a Tramp, Fannin helps solve the murder of his ex-wife, whose body is found on his doorstep. And in Epitaph for a Dead Beat, Fannin investigates three murders that show just how deadly the literary world can be. Markson of course went on to become famous for his postmodern literary works, but the two Fannin novels are, so far as I know (so correct me if you know better) the only crime novels he wrote. For pulp crime fiction fans, they’re part of the canon.

And then of course there are more recently-published authors who’ve only done one or two novels, but who you’d love to see do more. Or at least do them more quickly. For instance, Adrian Hyland has written two novels (Diamond Dove/Moonlight Downs and Gunshot Road) featuring Aboriginal Community police officer (ACPO) Emily Tempest. There’s yet to be a third, although I hope that will change soon. Very soon.

These are just a few examples of authors who’ve only done one or two novels, but a lot of people wish wrote more. Which one-novel (or a few novels) authors do you wish wrote more?

 

 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is the title of a song by Styx.

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Filed under Adrian Hyland, David Markson, Harper Lee, James Ross, Mary Semple Scott, Robert Pollock

Rainbows in the High Desert Air

DesertLas Vegas is a major tourist attraction with lots to do. Because of that it’s easy to forget that it’s located in the middle of a desert. There are deserts in lots of different places in the world, and they can be beautiful. But deserts can be very harsh and inhospitable places if one’s not prepared. They’re lonely places, too, where it’s a long time between people. Deserts can be effective settings for stories just because of the danger; it can add a layer of suspense to a story. So it’s not surprising that we see deserts in crime fiction.

For example, in Arthur Conan Doyle’s A Study in Scarlet, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson are called to the scene of the unusual murder of Enoch Drebber, an American who was staying in London boarding house with his friend Joseph Stangerson. At first, Stangerson is suspected of the murder, but when he himself is killed, it’s clear that someone else is responsible. It turns out that these murders have their roots in the American desert of Utah. Years earlier, John Ferrier had been stranded in the desert with a young girl Lucy whom he had more or less adopted. They were rescued and the events that followed that rescue led directly to the murders of Drebber and Stangerson.

Since several of Agatha Christie’s stories take place in the Middle East, it’s no surprise that the desert plays a role in her work. Just to give one example, in the short story The Adventure of the Egyptian Tomb, Sir John Willard discovers and excavates an ancient tomb that’s said to be haunted and cursed. Not long after the tomb is opened, Sir John dies. Then, there are two other deaths. Willard’s widow is not a fanciful, hysterical person, but she is beginning to wonder whether there might indeed be some kind of curse. So she visits Hercule Poirot and asks him to travel to Egypt and investigate. Poirot and Captain Hastings go to the site of the excavation and look into the matter. What they find is that there is a very prosaic reason for the deaths, and that someone has been using the curse to cover up murder.

Many of Arthur Upfield’s Napoleon ‘Bony’ Bonaparte novels are set in the desert of Australia’s Outback. Let me just give one example. In The Bushman Who Came Back, life at the Wootton homestead is turned upside down when Mrs. Bell, who serves as housekeeper, is found shot. What’s more, her daughter Linda has disappeared. Everyone is especially fond of Linda, so a massive search is launched. It’s suspected that a bushman named Yorkie killed Mrs. Bell and took Linda, Bony is sent to investigate and to try to rescue Linda if he can. There are several scenes in this novel that depict just how harsh the desert in that part of the world can be, and in fact, that’s part of the reason for which there’s such a sense of urgency to Bony’s search. In the end, Bony finds out the truth about Mrs. Bell’s murder and as you imagine, it’s not at all what it seems to be at first.

More recently, Adrian Hyland’s Emily Tempest novels depict life in the Outback desert. Tempest is an Aboriginal Community Police Officer (ACPO) who is assigned to Moonlight Downs, an aboriginal encampment that’s,

 

‘…miles from nowhere. The nearest town, Bluebush, was four hours of rough roads away, Alice Springs another five beyond that.’

 

Because Tempest was brought up there, she knows the land and is prepared for the harsh climate. But that doesn’t mean she’s safe from desert danger…

Fans of Tony Hillerman will know that his Joe Leaphorn/Jim Chee novels are set in the American Southwest. The intersection of the US states of Arizona, New Mexico, Utah and Colorado is often called Four Corners, and is the home of several Native American Nations, including the Navajo. The desert there is unforgiving, but both Chee and Leaphorn have always lived in the area and have learned how to adapt to the climate. Novels such as The Blessing Way and The Dark Wind give readers vivid portraits of life in the desert.

So does Betty Webb’s series featuring Scottsdale, Arizona PI Lena Jones. Together with her partner Jimmy Sisiwan, Jones owns Desert Investigations.  Jones is familiar with living and working in a desert climate, and she’s well aware of the dangers. But even she comes almost fatally close to those dangers in Desert Noir. I don’t want to say more for fear of spoiling the novel; suffice it to say that the desert is not a safe place to be if you’re at all vulnerable.

And then there’s Patricia Stoltey’s The Desert Hedge Murders. Former Florida judge Sylvia Thorn grew up in Illinois and has lived in Florida for some years. But she gets more than a taste of the desert experience when she accompanies her mother’s travel club the Florida Flippers on a sightseeing tour of Laughlin, Nevada. The group hasn’t been settled in their hotel very long when one of the group members finds the body of an unknown man in her hotel room’s bathtub. Then, another group member disappears and is later found in an abandoned mine. Thorn wants to keep her mother and the rest of the group safe, so she begins to investigate. With help from her brother Willie Grisseljon, Thorn finds out who the murderer is and why the Florida Flippers seem to be the focus of so much mayhem.

As you can see, the desert is not the kind of place you want to be unless you are thoroughly prepared. And sometimes even then, it’s not all that safe. And I haven’t even mentioned the Arctic deserts…

 

ps.  The ‘photo is of the sunrise over the Nevada desert. It only looks peaceful and safe…

 

 

 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Paul Simon’s Hearts and Bones.

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Filed under Adrian Hyland, Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, Arthur Upfield, Betty Webb, Patricia Stoltey, Tony Hillerman

All I Can Do Is Write About It*

Sensual ImageryOne of the challenges of communicating in written form, as authors do, is that it’s sometimes hard to convey a strong sensory image.  With only words, it’s hard to give readers a real sense of how something looks, tastes, feels or smells. One can of course use particular words that convey a strong sensory image. But the risk here is wordiness; most readers don’t want to wade through long descriptions. And then there are those descriptions that are either contrived or ‘clunky,’ so that they don’t sound authentic at all. So choosing the words to convey a sensory image can be a challenge. But when it’s done well, just a few words can convey a lot of sensory information. And that can invite a reader to be part of a story.

In Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles for instance, Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson investigate the mysterious death of Sir Charles Baskerville in the park of his family’s estate. An old legend suggests that the family is cursed because an ancestor Sir Hugo Baskerville sold his soul to the Powers of Evil in exchange for a young woman with whom he was infatuated. Holmes isn’t one to believe in ghosts and curses, so he sends Dr. Watson to Baskerville Hall to find out more about the family and about the death. Here is Watson’s first impression of Baskerville Hall:

 

‘A few minutes later we had reached the lodge-gates, a maze of fantastic tracery in wrought iron, with weather-bitten pillars on either side, blotched with lichen, and surmounted by the boar’s head of the Baskervilles. The lodge was a ruin of black granite and bared ribs of rafters, but facing it was a new building, half-constructed, the first fruit of Sir Charles’ South African gold.’

 

With just a few sentences, Conan Doyle conveys both the eerie atmosphere of the property and its age. It’s a powerful visual image, and Conan Doyle isn’t particularly wordy, either. This novel is less than 250 pages.

Åsa Larsson’s The Blood Spilt is the story of the murder of Mildred Nilsson, a priest in the Swedish Church. Attorney Rebecka Martinsson is trying to pick up the threads of her life in Stockholm after a traumatic incident (read The Savage Altar (AKA Sun Storm) for details). In one scene early in the novel, an emotionally fragile Martinsson has been persuaded to attend a company party at a country hotel. Here’s a bit of the scenery:

 

‘One of the archipelago cruise boats slips by out in the channel. The reeds down by the water put their heads together and rustle and whisper to each other. The sound of the guests chatting and laughing to each other is carried out over the water.’

 

Against that peaceful backdrop, her friend Maria Taube suggests she should go back to Kiruna to help arrange for the transfer of Nilsson’s property back to the church. Martinsson most emphatically doesn’t want to go, but she is reluctantly persuaded and ends up getting involved in the investigation of Nilsson’s murder. Larsson uses words deftly to convey sound, again, without being too wordy. This novel comes in at about 300 pages, depending on your edition.

In Ed McBain’s Cop Hater, Steve Carella and his partner Hank Bush investigate the murders of fellow cops Mike Reardon and David Foster. At first, it looks as though someone may be out for revenge against these two cops, who were police partners. But when there’s another death, the picture changes. At one point Carella and Bush pay a visit to the apartment of a possible suspect:

 

‘The smell inside a tenement is the smell of life.
It is the smell of every function in life, the sweating, the cooking, the elimination, the breeding. It is all these smells and they are wedded into one gigantic smell which hits the nostrils the moment you enter the downstairs doorway. For the smell has been inside the building for decades.’ 

 

That description conveys a powerful olfactory image, but McBain isn’t long-winded about it, or about the rest of the story. Carella and his team find out the truth about the murders within 150 pages (in my edition).

Fans of Andrea Camilleri’s Salvo Montalbano series know that Inspector Montalbano is fond of fine food. So for him, the way a meal tastes matters a great deal. In The Snack Thief, for instance, Montalbano and his team are investigating two murders: the allegedly accidental shooting of a Tunisian sailor who happened to be on an Italian fishing boat when he was killed; and the murder of a retired businessman who was stabbed in his own apartment building. Neither investigation is easy but that doesn’t mean that Montalbano forgets to eat. Here’s his reaction to a meal he has in a trattoria he’s recently discovered:

 

‘The pasta with crab was as graceful as a first-rate ballerina, but the stuffed bass in saffron sauce left him breathless, almost frightened.’

 

And here, from The Shape of Water, is his opinion of coffee served on an airplane:

 

‘He was in dire need of an espresso after the vile, dark dishwater they had forced on him in flight.’

 

I empathise.  And Camilleri conveys these images in just over 300 pages for The Snack Thief, depending on your edition, and about 220 for The Shape of Water, again, depending on your edition. Oh, and more than a word of praise for translator Stephen Sartarelli’s skill at conveying these images in English.

Adrian Hyland’s Emily Tempest novels feature Aboriginal Community Police Officer (ACPO) Tempest, who in Diamond Dove (AKA Moonlight Downs) returns to her home in the Moonlight Downs Aboriginal encampment after years of being away. When the father of her former best friend Hazel Flinders is killed, Tempest starts asking questions – and gets herself into a lot of trouble for her curiosity. Here’s her description of one very unpleasant encounter:

 

‘I glared hazily…my head as groggy as a payday at the Black Dog.’ 

 

What a perfect description of what grogginess feels like, and Hyland tells the story of this investigation in about 320 pages, depending on your edition.

It’s not easy to really convey sensual experiences without either going on too long or seeming contrived. But those images can really draw the reader in, and authors know how powerful they can be.

What about you? Do you notice that sensual imagery? If you’re a writer, how do you convey those images?

 

 
 

 *NOTE: The title of this post is the title of a Lynyrd Skynyrd song.

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Filed under Adrian Hyland, Andrea Camilleri, Arthur Conan Doyle, Åsa Larsson, Ed McBain