The Alphabet in Crime Fiction: Knives

What a kick – the Crime Fiction Alphabet meme has arrived in exciting K City, our eleventh stop on this jitter-filled journey we’re taking. One of the big attractions here is K & K’s Bar and Grill, where you can get some delicious food. Right now though everyone’s posting their ‘photos to Facebook and Twitter, so I’ll take this time to offer my contribution for this week: knives.

Knives are one of the more common weapons in crime fiction and that makes sense when you think about it. They’re easy to acquire, they don’t require any special preparation or background and when they’re sharp enough, just about anyone can use them. There are far, far too many examples for me to mention them all in this one post, so I’ll just offer a few.

One of the most famous knives used in crime fiction appears in Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express. Wealthy American businessman Samuel Ratchett is en route through Europe on the Orient Express train. On the second night of that journey he is stabbed. Hercule Poirot is on the same train and he is persuaded to look into the case before the official police come on board at the next frontier. Poirot discovers who killed Ratchett and why, and there’s actually an interesting postscript, so to speak, about the knife. It’s mentioned later in Cards on the Table. In that novel Poirot investigates the murder (also with a knife, as it happens) of the eccentric Mr. Shaitana during a dinner party. There are only four possible suspects, so it’s a very interesting psychological puzzle. At one point, one of the suspects Anne Meredith and her roommate Rhoda Dawes pay a visit to Poirot. While they’re there he invites Rhoda to see the knife and in that invitation, Christie gives a major spoiler to Murder on the Orient Express. So if you haven’t read that one, read it before you read Cards on the Table…

In Lawrence Block’s The Sins of the Fathers, Cale Hanniford pays a visit to former NYPD cop Matthew Scudder. Hanniford’s daughter Wendy was brutally stabbed in her apartment and Hanniford wants to know what led to the murder. The police have caught the most likely suspect, Wendy’s roommate Richard Vanderrpoel, so Hanniford believes the case is solved. But he’s been estranged from Wendy for a long time and wants to know what kind of person she became. Scudder agrees to ask some questions, starting with an interview with Vanderpoel. That conversation doesn’t help much as Vanderpoel is either mentally unhinged or under the influence of drugs. Still, he says some things that make Scudder wonder whether he is really guilty. Shortly after that, Vanderpoel commits suicide. Now Scudder is even more curious about what exactly happened to Wendy Hanniford and he keeps digging for answers. As it turns out, both young people’s deaths have everything to do with their pasts.

Martin Edwards’ All The Lonely People features Liverpool attorney Harry Devlin, and begins when Devlin gets a surprise visit from his ex-wife Liz. He’s still in love with her, so his first hope is that she wants to patch things up. Instead, she says that she’s run away from her current lover Mick Coghlin because she’s afraid of him. She wants to stay with Devlin for a few days until she decides what to do next. Devlin agrees, still hoping he and Liz can get back together. The next night though, Liz is stabbed and her body left in an alley. It’s not long before the police begin to suspect that Devlin is guilty. So in part to clear his name, and in part to deal with his feelings for Liz, he begins to investigate. To find out the truth, he’s going to have to learn an uncomfortable about Liz’ complicated life.

In Adrian Hyland’s Gunshot Road, former prospector Albert ‘Doc’ Ozolins is stabbed one night after a drunken quarrel. The police, including Aboiginal Community Police Officer (ACPO) Emily Tempest, are called to Green Swamp Well where the murder happened. Tempest’s boss Bruce Cockburn believes that John ‘Wireless’ Petherbridge, with whom Ozolins had quarreled, is guilty. But Tempest sees little signs that something more might be going on than a drunken fight that ended tragically. So she begins to ask questions. Eventually, she finds that Ozolins was killed because he’d stumbled onto something that some very dangerous people wanted to keep secret.

T.J. Cooke’s Defending Elton tells the story of the stabbing death of the very enigmatic Sarena Gunasekera. When her body is found at the bottom of a cliff at Beachy Head near Eastbourne, the police find evidence that the killer is Elton Spears. Spears is a troubled young man with a history of mental problems and of inappropriate conduct towards women. There’s enough strong evidence against Spears that he’s held over for trial and in fact, the police think it’s an open-and-shut case. But some of the Spears’ comments suggest that he isn’t the murderer. Besides, under British law, Spears is considered innocent until proven guilty. So, solicitor Jim Harwood begins the work of representing Spears, with whom he’s worked before. Together with barrister Harry Douglas, Harwood intends to do everything he can to ensure that Spears is acquitted. That includes looking deeply into the victim’s life to see who else might have wanted to kill her. As it turns out, there are several hidden layers to Sarena and as we find out about her past, we also learn that more than one person could have wanted her dead.

And then there’s Cath Staincliffe’s Split Second. That novel begins on a bus, when three young people begin bullying Luke Murray. The harassment keeps up until Jason Barnes, who’s on the same bus, tells the others to stop. He gets off the bus, as does Luke, but so do the bullies, and the fight escalates. When it’s over, Luke has been gravely injured and may die, and Jason has been stabbed to death. The police investigate what happened, interviewing everyone and slowly getting to the truth about who the killer was. In the process we learn how the incident affects both boys’ families as well as how it affects Emma Curtis, who was on the bus when the tragedy started.

Of course, knives can also be handy for self-protection, as we also find out in a lot of crime fiction novels. I don’t want to give away titles because I think it has more impact when the reader doesn’t know that knife is going to be pulled out just in time to save the day, so to speak. But if you’ve read novels where that happens, you know what I mean.

Still, knives are extremely dangerous, mostly because they’re so accessible and it doesn’t take much for them to do a lot of damage. Now, I’m sure you’re ready for a good meal. How about we go to K & K’s Bar & Grill with the others and watch the staff chop up the steaks and the veges? 

The Back of Beyond is a Place Where I Love to be*

It can be very convenient to live near shops, restaurants and so on. It’s easier to get a lot of life’s tasks done and it can be isolating to live in a more remote area – dangerous, too. But let’s face it; traffic, annoying neighbours and basically the noise and hassle of other people living nearby can grate on the nerves. So it’s no wonder that some people choose to live in the back of beyond. Living in a more remote area does complicate life in some ways, but you don’t have to fight traffic, you don’t have to deal with loud or offensive neighbours and you do get some real peace and quiet. It can add to a story’s interest too when fictional characters live like that. When it’s done well, readers get a look at what it’s like to live in an area most of us don’t get to see.

For example, Tony Hillerman’s Jim Chee lives in a trailer in a remote part of the Navajo Reservation. For most of the series featuring him, he lives there alone. It’s not that Chee dislikes other people. But he’s not interested in having near neighbours. In part that’s because it’s the Navajo way to have a lot of space between homes. Living in the back of beyond also allows Chee to live in the way he chooses. In several of the early novels in the series Chee is studying to be a yata’ali, a Navajo Singer/healer, so he uses the land near his trailer to practice. In Skinwalkers for instance, he gets involved in a case of three mysterious deaths that are all linked to the Bad Water Clinic run by Dr. Bahe Yellowhorse. The clinic combines Western medicine with traditional approaches to healing and has had some real success. Still, some people resent it so it’s not exactly surprising that it’s the focus of a killer. Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn of the Navajo Tribal Police is investigating these deaths when a killer tries to target Chee. Leaphorn and Chee work together to find out who is behind the killings and what the motive is. At one point, Chee has a day off from work, so he decides to practice some of the sand painting that’s a part of the yata’ali’s ritual:

 

‘He used it [flat land that he’s cleared near his trailer] to practice dry painting the images used in the ceremonials he was learning.
At the moment, Chee was squatting at the edge of this floor. He was finishing the picture of Sun’s Creation, an episode from the origin story used on the second night of the Blessing Way.’

 

That’s not something a person can easily do who has a lot of nearby neighbours.

Robert Crais’ Elvis Cole also prefers to live more or less away from neighbours although he does live in greater Hollywood. In The Monkey’s Raincoat, we learn that living away from most people gives him among other things a terrific view. Here’s the description of the sights from his deck:

 

‘The rich black of the canyon was dotted with jack-o’-lantern lit houses, orange and white and yellow and red in the night. Where the canyon flattened out into Hollywood and the basin beyond, the lights concentrated into thousands of blue-white diamonds spilled over the earth. I liked that.’

 

Of course, Cole doesn’t always get time to enjoy his peace and quiet. In this novel for instance, Ellen Lang hires Cole to find her husband Mort, who’s disappeared and taken their son Perry with him. Cole agrees, mostly to make sure that the boy is safe. He begins looking for Mort but matters get complicated when Mort Lang is found dead. Perry is still missing and now Cole works with his partner Joe Pike to find out what happened to Mort and where Perry is, if he is still alive.

Adrian Hyland’s Emily Tempest also chooses to live in the back of beyond. She’s an Aboriginal Community Police Officer (ACPO) who spends most of her time in the Moonlight Downs encampment. As we learn in Moonlight Downs, the encampment is

 

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

 

But Emily doesn’t mind. She’s not much of a one for big cities and lots of neighbours and she has a deep connection with the land. And in Gunshot Road it’s that understanding of the land that begins to point her towards the truth in the murder of Albert ‘Doc’ Ozolins. He’s killed one night after a drunken quarrel and the police think that John ‘Wireless’ Petherbridge, with whom Ozolins had the quarrel, is responsible. But Tempest notices some odd things about the land near Ozolins’ shack, and that’s her first indication that this was no heat-of-the-moment killing. So she starts asking questions and in the end, discovers that Ozolins had found out some things some things that were not safe for him to know.

Nevada Barr’s Anna Pigeon likes to live in the middle of nowhere too. After her husband’s tragic death, Pigeon became a US Park Ranger and now serves in a variety of different National Parks. In Track of the Cat for instance, she’s assigned to the Guadalupe Mountains National Park. That’s where one day she discovers the body of fellow ranger Sheila Drury. She and Drury weren’t exactly close friends, but she gets involved in the investigation when the police reports suggest that Drury was killed by a mountain lion. Pigeon has a deep love of nature and is afraid that if word gets out that a mountain lion killed Drury, this will mean that those endangered animals will become targets. So she begins her own investigation. It turns out that Drury had discovered some things she wasn’t meant to know and when Pigeon finds out what those things are, she has to not only catch a killer, but stay alive herself. Pigeon does have a small government-issue home, but it’s not fancy. Still, she doesn’t much care; she’s just as much at home in a bedroll as she is anywhere else.

Elly Griffiths’ Ruth Galloway also enjoys living in the back of beyond. She has a small house on the Saltmarsh on the North Norfolk coast. It’s isolated but she likes living there. As we learn in The Crossing Places,

 

‘It was research that first brought her to the Saltmarsh, but she doesn’t know herself what it is that makes her stay..’ 

 

It’s a lonely place with rough weather and not a lot of what most people think of as lovely scenery. But it’s a haven for all sorts of birds and other wildlife, and although Gallaway doesn’t dislike people, it does afford her the privacy she prefers. What’s more, it allows her to be close to the Roman ruins that interest her professionally (she is an archaeologist). It’s that interest that first gets her involved in The Crossing Places with DCI Harry Nelson. He’s investigating the discovery of a skeleton that may very well be the body of a missing girl whose case he’s been tying to solve for ten years. The skeleton turns out to be ancient, and not related directly to Nelson’s case. But it gets Galloway involved in that case and in the case of another girl who goes missing.

Paddy Richardson’s Hunting Blind introduces us to Stephanie Anderson, a newly-minted psychologist who lives and works in Dunedin. During a counseling session one of her patients Elisabeth Clark tells her a haunting story. Clark’s younger sister Gracie was abducted years earlier and never found – there wasn’t even a body. This case is eerily like the tragedy that befell Anderson’s own family. Her younger sister Gemma was also abducted and despite a massive search, was never found. Although she knows it isn’t exactly professional, Anderson decides to use what Clark has told her as well as her own memories to try to track down the person who wrought such havoc in so many people’s lives. So she travels from Dunedin to her family home in Wanaka. Along the way she meets Dan, a hunting guide who lives in a remote area and who offers to take her on a hunting trip. Ordinarily Anderson’s not the hunting type, but she finds herself drawn to Dan, so she agrees. Before the trip he invites her to his home for dinner:

 

‘She almost misses it [the drive], has to reverse and negotiate her way back , then off the highway and into the drive…it’s rough, just loose shingle, and steep, and her heart’s in her mouth because after twenty metres she’s driving almost vertically and the car’s shuddering. The track narrows, she can see the sheer drop below and she has to brake and swerve around a curve and then she’s on a wider drive leading to the house.’

 

As Anderson soon finds out, Dan likes to live away from a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean he lives in a hovel…

It can be inconvenient, even dangerous at times, but there can be a real appeal to living away from people, even at the back of beyond. At the very least you never have to sit in traffic. OK, your turn: which gaps have I left?

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Kevin Moyna’s The Back of Beyond.

These Are the Things I’ll Remember*

The main point of a well-written crime novel is usually to tell the story of a crime or crimes and the investigation that follows. There are of course myriad ways to go about telling that story, but when you get down to it, that’s at the core of most crime novels. But sometimes, other things about the novel – little incidents, minor characters, even a particular description – make a real impact on the reader too. An interesting comment exchange with Moira at Clothes in Books got me to thinking about those smaller flourishes that can add ‘flesh’ to a novel. It can be tricky to put them in because of course there’s the risk of taking away the focus from the plot and main characters. There’s also the risk of making the novel unwieldy. But when they’re done well, those flourishes and extra touches can stay in our minds and make a novel even more memorable. Of course, everyone’s different, but here are a few of those extra touches that have made an impact on me, to give you an idea of what I mean.

In Agatha Christie’s The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side (AKA The Mirror Crack’d), Miss Marple takes a walk one day to explore St. Mary Mead’s new council housing. That’s where she meets Heather Badcock, who lives in one of the new houses with her husband Arthur. Heather is very much an admirer of famous actress Marina Gregg, so she is especially excited that Marina and her husband Jason Rudd have bought Gossington Hall and will be hosting a charity fête there. On the day of the fête, Heather gets to meet her idol, who is kind enough to spend a few moments with her. Shortly afterwards, Heather sickens and dies of what turns out to be a poisoned cocktail. At first, the theory is that Marina Gregg was the intended victim and Heather took the poisoned cocktail by mistake. If that’s true, there are certainly suspects. But soon enough, it turns out that Heather was the target all along, Now Miss Marple works with her friend Dolly Bantry to find out who would have wanted to murder Heather Badcock and why. At the beginning of the novel, Miss Marple is recovering from a bout with illness and her nephew Raymond West has arranged for Miss Knight to stay with her. Miss Knight is well-intentioned, but she’s condescending and overprotective, and Miss Marple feels more than a little smothered. Her successful ruse to get rid of Miss Knight for a morning so she can go out exploring is a minor, but memorable scene in this novel. It’s funny and readers can sympathise with Miss Marple’s wish to be treated as a competent, capable adult.

In her comment, Moira mentioned Ruth Rendell’s A Judgement in Stone. In that novel we meet wealthy and well-educated George and Jaqueline Coverdale, who share their home with George’s daughter Melinda and Jacqueline’s son Giles. The Coverdales hire a new housekeeper Eunice Parchman. At first, all goes well enough, although the family does think that Parchman is a little eccentric. The truth is though that Eunice Parchman is hiding a secret. She is determined not to let anyone find out that secret and practically pathological in her fear that someone will. When one of the family members accidentally finds out what the housekeeper has been hiding, the family is doomed, ‘though everyone is tragically unaware of it at the time. One of the minor characters in the novel is Jonathan Dexter, who is in a relationship with Melinda Coverdale. Dexter doesn’t play a critical role in the novel, but his reaction when he finds out what happens to the Coverdale family is memorable. It’s not dramatic, but it stays with the reader.

Andrea Camilleri’s The Shape of Water begins in a notorious area of the Sicilian town of Vigatà called The Pasture. The Pasture is a meeting place for prostitutes and very small-time drug dealers and their clients. One morning, two workers who are paid to clean up The Pasture make a ghastly discovery. The body of powerful businessman and politician Silvio Luparello is in a car left abandoned the night before. Inspector Salvo Montalbano and his team are called in to investigate the death. On the surface of it, it looks as though Luparello died of heart failure. But Montalbano is not completely convinced, and requests two extra days to investigate. He soon finds that among Luparello’s family members, political allies and enemies, and business contacts there are several suspects. In the process of this investigation, Montalbano has an interview with Baldassare ‘Saro’ Montaperto, one of the clean-up workers who discovered the body. Saro has a secret to hide, and although it is relevant to the story, it’s not a major point. He’s more or less a minor character, but he is memorable. Saro and his wife earn very little money, but they have a sick son who needs special treatment. Saro’s desperation, a decisions he takes because of it, and Montalbano’s response stay with the reader (well, this one anyway).

In Adrian Hyland’s Gunshot Road, Aboriginal Community Police Office (ACPO) Emily Tempest is called with the rest of her team to the scene of the murder of Albert ‘Doc Ozolins. The case looks on the surface like a drunken quarrel gone horribly wrong, and that’s where Tempest’s boss Bruce Cockburn wants to leave matters. In fact, John ‘Wireless’ Petherbridge, who’d had the quarrel with Ozolins, is arrested for the murder and there’s evidence against him. But Tempest is fairly sure that Wireless isn’t guilty. So she starts asking questions. It turns out that she was right. Ozolins had uncovered something that threatens some powerful people who want the case left alone. In the course of her investigation, Tempest talks to Ozolins’ brother Wishy, who gives her some interesting and important background information. While she’s there, she meets Wishy’s daughter Simone ‘Simmie.’ Simmie isn’t a major character in the novel, nor is she instrumental in solving the case. But she and Tempest discover they have in common a love for Emily Dickinson’s poetry and they forge a sort of bond. Simmie and Tempest’s interactions with her may be minor parts of the novel, but they are memorable.

And then there’s James Craig’s Never Apologise, Never Explain. Inspector John Carlyle from Charing Cross Station is called to the scene when Henry Mills reports the murder of his wife Agatha. Mills claims he was asleep at the time of the murder, and doesn’t know who killed his wife. He does say though that she had political enemies who wanted her dead. At first, neither Carlyle nor his assistant Joe Szyskowski believes Mills. In fact he’s arrested for the crime. But then Carlyle gets a clue that suggests very strongly that Henry Mills was right. So he begins searching into Agatha Mills’ past to find out how she would have made dangerous political enemies. In the meantime, Carlyle is working on another case as well, this one informally. One of Carlye’s acquaintances is Amelia Jacobs, a former prostitute who now keeps house and cleans for Sam Laidlaw, who’s still ‘in the business.’  Amelia is concerned because of Michael Hagger, a local gangster who’s the father of Sam’s son Jake. She believes Hagger may take Jake and she wants Carlyle to warn Hagger to stay away from Sam and their son. By the time he tries to contact Hagger though, it’s too late; Hagger has snatched Jake and disappeared. Now Carlyle will have to track them both through London’s underworld and try to find Jake before it’s too late. There’s a small scene during which Carlyle has a conversation with Amelia and Sam at their home, and it stays with the reader. It’s not essential to solving the mystery but it is memorable in its quiet way. It also shows the friendship between the two women – again, not key to the plot, but it adds to the story.

And that’s the thing about those well-done extra flourishes. They may not be important plot points or provide key clues to a mystery. But they add to a story and they are often the things we remember. Which of those little extra touches do you remember from your reading?

Now, let me suggest that your next blog-round stop should be Moira’s wonderful Clothes in Books. Talk about extra touches that can make a story memorable…  Moira has an expert eye for the way what we wear defines a character, an era, and a novel. Thanks, Moira, for the inspiration for this post!

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Nik Kershaw’s The Bell.

I Have My Own Life and I Am Stronger Than You Know*

Most authors tap their own life experiences and world views when they write. And that makes sense; tapping one’s own experiences has a way of adding authenticity to a story and it allows the author to write in a more natural way. But some authors have taken interesting risks by creating protagonists who don’t have much in common with the author at all. Giving an authentic voice to that kind of character can be a real challenge. Essentially, the author has to re-think her or his assumptions about everything when writing the character. It’s not easy to do, but there are some examples of authors who’ve done it very well.

Agatha Christie created several protagonists who had different voices to her own. One of them is Captain Arthur Hastings (and I’ll bet you thought I was going to mention Hercule Poirot!). Hastings has in common with Christie an English background and wartime experience. But they are quite different, not least in terms of their genders. And it’s interesting to see how Christie goes about giving Hastings his unique voice. We see it for instance in The Murder on the Links. Hastings is returning by train to London after a business trip when he meets a mysterious young woman who is a fellow passenger. The woman, who refers to herself only as ‘Cinderella,’ turns out to play an unexpected role in the case that soon preoccupies Hastings and Poirot. Paul Renauld writes to Poirot to ask his help, and Poirot and Hastings travel to Renauld’s home in France in response. When they get there they find that Renauld has been stabbed. Poirot investigates and discovers that this stabbing is related to Renauld’s hidden past. Throughout the novel, we see Hastings’ interactions with ‘Cinderella’ as well as with other characters. His voice strikes the reader as authentic and his reactions are believable, despite the fact that he has little in common really with his creator.

The same is true of Christopher Boone, whom we meet in Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. Christopher is a fifteen-year-old boy with autism. When he discovers that a neighbour’s dog has been killed, he decides to be a detective just like Sherlock Holmes and find out who is responsible. In the process of investigating, he finds out not just the truth about the dog, but also some truths about his own life. Haddon has had experience working with people with disabilities and Christopher’s character shows that knowledge. But Christopher’s voice is quite different to Haddon’s. This story is told from Christopher’s point of view, so we get an authentic look at the way a person with autism might see the world and might process a series of events. Haddon took a risk in writing Christopher’s voice and it paid off (at least in my opinion, so do feel free to differ with me if you don’t agree). The voice is very believable and that’s part of what makes this novel work.

Alan Bradley’s Flavia de Luce has a voice that’s very different to her creator’s voice. While Bradley has said that he has some things in common with his protagonist, the two really are different. Besides the obvious gender difference, Flavia is English and Bradley is Canadian. Flavia is interested in chemistry and Bradley’s professional background was in electrical engineering and technology. And of course, Flavia is a child while Bradley isn’t. And yet, Bradley has created an authentic voice for Flavia. For instance, in A Red Herring Without Mustard, she attends a church fête where there are several attractions, including fortune-telling. Flavia has her fortune told, but the experience ends in disaster. Afterwards, she feels a sense of obligation to the Gypsy who told her fortune. When the Gypsy tells her that she and her husband were once forced off the property of Flavia’s own home Buckshaw, here is Flavia’s reaction:

 

‘And that was when it came to me. Before I could change my mind I had blurted out the words.
‘You can come back to Buckshaw. Stay as long as you like. It will be all right…I promise.’
Even as I said it I knew there would be a great flaming row with Father, but somehow that didn’t matter.’

 

In this we see a very eleven-year-old response. Flavia is bright and observant, but like any eleven-year-old, she hasn’t thought out the consequences of what she’s offering. And when the Gypsy is later found murdered, she uses that same enthusiasm to find out who the killer is.

Karin Fossum and her sleuth, Oslo police inspector Konrad Sejer, both live and work in Norway. But beyond that, they are quite different. Fossum is a poet as well as a novelist, but she has had other work experience too, including hospital work and working as a home aid caregiver. Her creation though is a cop. That’s been his life’s work. In other ways too, they are different. They have different perceptions of life just by dint of their being different sexes. And yet Sejer has a distinctive voice that doesn’t seem forced at all. He is a widower whose process of grieving his wife Elise seems natural, as does his relationship with psychiatrist Sara Struel, which begins in He Who Fears the Wolf and evolves as a story arc. He is believable as a middle-aged male cop and doesn’t strike the reader (well, at least this reader) as a female civilian’s perception of what a male cop would be like.

Shona MacLean (who now writes her series as S.G. MacLean) has created a sleuth who’s quite different to her in her Alexander Seaton series. Like MacLean, Seaton is Scottish, but there the resemblance ends. MacLean studied history; Seaton studied religion. MacLean lives in 21^st Century Scotland, but Seaton lives in the Scotland of the 17^th Century. And of course, there’s the gender difference. To MacLean’s credit though, Seaton’s voice is quite authentic. He inhabits his world just as naturally as we inhabit ours, and he sees the world in a believable way. His voice is very real too as he meets, gets to know, woos and marries Sarah Forbes.

And then there’s Adrian Hyland’s Emily Tempest. She is very different to her creator, being not just female but half-Aborigine. What’s more, her home is Australia’s Northern Territories, a very different environment to Hyland’s own Melbourne. He began by writing,

 

‘…a young whitefella who, whatever I did to him, always seemed to be too much like me’

 

Feedback from a manuscript assessment place caused him to re-think his story:

 

‘So I pulled the whitefella out altogether and Emily stepped forward. That forced me into a plot and some structure.’

 

Hyland took a risk in creating Emily, but fans of this series (of whom I am one) can tell you that Emily’s character is rich, authentic and certainly has a distinctive voice.

And that’s the thing about talented authors. They can create characters who have completely different voices and make those characters just as real as they themselves are. What are your thoughts on this? If you’re writer, have you written characters who have completely different voices to your own?

 

 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Stevie Nicks’ Leather and Lace.

Can’t You See I’m Smart?*

Research during the past few decades has shown us some fascinating things about the way we think and know. It used to be believed that intelligence could be measured on a single dimension. The assumption was that everyone had a certain amount of this one ‘thing’ called intelligence. But work by Howard Gardner and other researchers has changed all that. Gardner conceived of several different intelligences. According to this theory, there are several different ways of thinking and knowing; Gardner called them multiple intelligences. We each have some of each of the intelligences, but in each of us, at least one (and usually more than one) is particularly strong. Hold on – I’ll get to crime fiction in just a second.

Gardner’s ideas about multiple intelligences make a lot of intuitive sense if you think about it. Some people are naturally good at, say, art, music, athletics or languages. And research has supported his theory fairly consistently. We can even see these multiple intelligences woven all through crime fiction. If you look at the way various sleuths go about solving cases, you can see how different ways of thinking and knowing come through in the genre.

For instance, one of Gardner’s multiple intelligences is what he called logical-mathematical intelligence. People with a high degree of this kind of intelligence find it easy to recognise patterns and algorithms. They find numbers and codes and puzzles interesting and their skill is in deduction. Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes is like that. As Holmes fans know, he looks for patterns and focuses on deduction and logic.

There’s also what Gardner called visual-spatial intelligence. People with visual-spatial intelligence tend to be talented at art. They notice colour and design and respond to what they see. In a very obvious way we see that kind of intelligence in Ngaio Marsh’s Agatha Troy. She’s an artist who responds to what she sees and can create in several different media. For instance in both Final Curtain and Tied Up in Tinsel (and other novels too), Troy is commissioned to paint portraits. So she’s on the scene when murder happens at the homes where she’s staying. Although it’s technically her husband Roderick Alleyn who officially solves the cases, Troy’s skilled eyes are very helpful in finding clues. We see that especially in A Clutch of Constables in which she goes up against an international art forger known only as Jampot. Hercule Poirot also has this kind of intelligence. He’s quite observant about his visual surroundings and of course, fans know how important the appearance of his clothes and moustaches are to him.

Some people have a great deal of linguistic intelligence. Novelists, poets, journalists and other writers often fall into this category. If you love words, play a lot of word games and notice the way people use language, you’ve got a solid dose of this kind of intelligence. For instance, John Dickson Carr’s Dr. Gideon Fell is a lexicographer. Words and languages are his specialty. That’s how he finds out the truth in, for instance, Hag’s Nook, where a cryptic poem turns out to be key to a murder. Colin Dexter’s Inspector Morse has a dose of this kind of intelligence too. He does after all solve crossword puzzles with a pen and is a stickler for certain kinds of language use.

People with a lot of kinesthetic intelligence have a solid sense of where their bodies are in space. Actors, athletes, dancers, and people who can parallel park on the first try show this kind of intelligence. People with kinesthetic intelligence like to learn by doing and using their hands and bodies. For example, Helene Tursten’s DI Irene Huss has a share of kinesthetic intelligence. She is a former judo champion who uses the principles of judo to keep herself in shape as well as to clear her mind and cope with the stresses of her life as a cop. And interestingly, we several instances in this series where Huss gets bored and tired of paperwork and the other ‘desk routines’ that are part of a cop’s life. Although she’s hardly rash, Huss prefers to be out doing things to sitting at her desk. She also enjoys going for runs and exercising the family dog. All of those are hallmarks of kinesthetic intelligence and it serves Huss well.

Gardner also proposed interpersonal intelligence. People with interpersonal intelligence are skilled at interacting with others. I don’t mean that they are necessarily manipulators; rather, they work well with all kinds of people. And that is a critical skill for a sleuth. So, most fictional sleuths have at least some degree of it. G.K. Chesterton’s Father Paul Brown for instance is highly skilled at communicating with others, at forming bonds with them and understanding their perspectives. That’s how he learns as much as he does from suspects and witnesses. Karin Fossum’s Oslo police inspector Konrad Sejer is like that too. When he’s investigating a crime, one of his talents is the ability to see things from a variety of other perspectives and ‘get in people’s heads’ to understand why and how they do what they do. People tend to become comfortable talking with him and he often finds himself better able to get information through his interactions than he would through simply reading police reports.

There are also people with a lot of what Gardner called intrapersonal intelligence. Reflective people, people who keep journals and those who are really aware of themselves show this kind of intelligence. And being aware of one’s own reactions  – one’s sense of self – can be very useful for a sleuth. For example, James Lee Burke’s Dave Robicheaux has a keen self-awareness. That self-knowledge and reflection have helped him cope with some of the traumas he’s had to face, especially his Vietnam-era experiences. For instance in A Morning For Flamingoes, Robicheaux agrees to go undercover as a ‘dirty’ cop to try to trap New Orleans crime boss Tony Cardo. Part of his assignment is to get close to Cardo but that proves increasingly difficult for Robicheaux as he becomes aware that he has sympathy for his target. Throughout this novel, Robicheaux keeps himself as grounded as he can by ‘checking in with himself.’

Another of the multiple intelligences people have is musical intelligence. Obviously singers, composers and musical artists have a healthy dose of this kind of intelligence. But it’s more than just being able to sing or play music on key. It’s also a sense of rhythm and a keen awareness of sound. If you like a soundtrack when you work, or if you find yourself singing or whistling when you weren’t aware of it, or if you can’t help walking in time to the music when you walk past a car with its radio on, you know what I mean. And if you don’t, just ask Jill Edmondson’s Toronto PI Sasha Jackson, who used to be a rock singer and still does occasional gigs. Ian Rankin’s Inspector Rebus has musical intelligence as well although he’s hardly a famous rocker. His music collection matters a lot to him and there are lots of scenes in the Rebus novels (including a really well-done scene in Exit Music) in which he gets or listens to music.

Naturalist intelligence is actually pretty self-explanatory. People who are attuned to nature and its rhythms and who just ‘fit in’ in natural environments have a lot of naturalist intelligence. Garden enthusiasts, park rangers, those who are comfortable with animals and those who simply like to be outdoors are examples of those with naturalist intelligence. There’s a lot of it in crime fiction too. Tony Hillerman’s Jim Chee, Adrian Hyland’s Emily Tempest, and Nevada Barr’s Anna Pigeon are all examples of people who learn from and use nature as they solve crimes. So does Arthur Upfield’s Napoleon ‘Bony’ Bonaparte. These sleuths can tell much from weather patterns, animal activity, ground marks and other natural phenomena. In fact, they often find clues where others can’t.

Finally there’s what Gardner called existential intelligence, the most recent of his proposals. The big questions – the ‘why’ questions – appeal to people with a lot of existential intelligence. Philosophers and members of the clergy often wrestle with these larger questions. And sometimes getting philosophical can be helpful to a sleuth. It is to Alexander McCall Smith’s Isabel Dalhousie, who is the editor of Review of Applied Ethics. She doesn’t go out looking for physical clues, and she doesn’t search for patterns. Rather, she looks at the larger motivations people have, and considers the larger issues of morality.

You may be thinking, ‘But don’t all these sleuths also have other intelligences?’ They do indeed. That’s the thing about multiple intelligences. We’ve all got all of the intelligences to some degree. And what’s most interesting is that we can develop the ones we choose to develop.

Interested in taking a look at your own intelligences? Try this Multiple Intelligences Survey. It’s got 40 questions and took me about 10 minutes or so to complete.  By no means is it definite – it’s just one look at the way we learn and know. If you’re a writer, what intelligences does your protagonist have?

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from The Undertones’ Smarter Than You.