Does Anything Last Forever?*

An interesting post at Fair Dinkum Crime (You really should be following that blog if you’re not) has got me thinking about what happens as we expand our reading horizons. Reading more widely introduces one to all kinds of ideas, themes, and authors that one wouldn’t have encountered otherwise. It also gives debut authors and authors who are less widely known the chance to get their work ‘out there.’ So I for one think it benefits readers, authors and the genre (in this case crime fiction) when readers stretch themselves. Of course, let’s not talk about what expanding one’s reading horizons does to one’s TBR list… But there’s another consequence to branching out: one sees one’s old favourites in a different light. Sometimes that’s a positive experience, and sometimes it isn’t. As we evolve in our reading habits, we do get a different perspective and that affects the way we look at the authors and books we always loved before.

For example, authors such as Agatha Christie, Ellery Queen and John Dickson Carr created memorable novels that feature mostly a focus on plotting as opposed to deep character development. Of course one can point to exceptions in each of these authors’ back catalogues but in general their novels feature intellectual puzzles. That’s their appeal for millions of crime fiction fans. But for those of you who loved those puzzles, what happened to your view when you first read, say, Ruth Rendell’s work or P.D. James’ work? Those authors certainly feature solid mystery plots but their focus is also on deep interesting characters and psychological study. Did expanding your horizons that way change your perception of the ‘whodunit’ kind of intellectual exercise?

Many readers fell in love with the hardboiled PI novel along the lines of Raymond Chandler and later, John D. MacDonald, Peter Temple, Sara Paretsky and Sue Grafton. It’s easy to see why too. A well-written ‘hard boiled’ novel has a solid blend of realism, action, compelling plot and suspense. And the very well-written ones also develop the characters so that they aren’t ‘cardboard cutouts.’ But if you’re the PI-novel type, what happened to your perception when you expanded your horizons to include quieter series such as Alexander McCall Smith’s No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series? Did you change your view of the level of violence and grit in the series you’d always loved? If you’ve broadened your reading to include some traditional ‘country house’ or ‘English village’ series such as Ngaio Marsh’s or Caroline Graham’s work, have you returned with the same interest to the PI sub-genre?

Very often crime fiction fans experience these ‘growing pains’ if you want to call it that when they broaden their reading to include the work of authors from other countries. Each country has a different culture – sometimes several different cultures – and that’s reflected in the crime fiction that comes from that country. So suppose you’ve been a fan of L.A. crime fiction such as the work of Michael Connelly. What happened to your perception of that sort of crime fiction after you expanded your reading to include work such as Håkan Nesser’s Inspector Van Veeteren novels or Louise Penny’s Inspector Gamache novels? Those series reflect the cultures of their authors and thus expose readers to those cultures. After experiencing those different cultures did you return to Connelly’s work with the same enthusiasm?

There are also many crime fiction fans who originally fell in love with historical crime fiction such as Ellis Peters’ Brother Cadfael series. If that describes you, what happened to your perception of that context and those authors when you began to read crime fiction set in the modern day? Do you still enjoy virtually returning to medieval times? What about when you began to read historical crime fiction set in different eras, such as Rebecca Cantrell’s Hannah Vogel series which is set just before World War II? Did that change your perception of the historical crime fiction you’d always loved?

Sometimes of course we broaden our reading only to realise how much we really do enjoy the novels we’ve always loved. In those cases, returning to a favourite author’s work is like re-uniting with a dear friend. Yes we’ve matured but that doesn’t change our feelings about that author’s novels. I know I have my favourites whose writing I always enjoy. It doesn’t always work out that way though, even if the author has continued to innovate and create well-written books.

When that happens – when we see that our tastes have simply changed – it can be a little sad, especially if we have some very good memories of a particular author or series. But people grow and expand their horizons and sometimes that simply means that our favourite clothes if you will simply don’t fit any more.

Has that happened to you? What’s happened to your perception of your favourite authors’ novels as you’ve widened the scope of your reading? If you’re a writer, has your writing changed as your reading has changed? Just wondering…

Thanks to Bernadette at Reactions to Reading for the inspiration for this post. Folks, you really should be following her superb blog. I know it’s one of my must-reads.
 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Kenny Loggins’ Heart to Heart.

All The Stories Have Been Told of Kings and Days of Old*

An interesting post from Norman at Crime Scraps Review raises a very good set of questions about historical mysteries. His post has got me to thinking about how readers decide which historical eras they want to read about, and how authors choose which era will be their context. There’s also the question of how publishers choose which historical mysteries to accept and publish. Although I don’t have responsibly-collected data to support it, my guess is that there’s a constellation of factors that affects the choices of era that we see in historical mysteries.

Sometimes, those factors come together rather neatly. For instance, Agatha Christie’s Death Comes as the End, which takes place in Ancient Egypt, was published in 1944. This novel is her only historical mystery so far as I know (so please correct me if I’m mistaken about that). At the time of publication, the discovery of the tomb of King Tutankhamen was not quite twenty years old. The World War II North African campaign was still making headlines. So it makes sense that Egypt would be a very popular topic, and Ancient Egypt would have a particular allure. Add to that Christie’s already-established reputation as a crime novelist and it’s easy to see how the publisher would be interested in this title, and how readers would want to read the novel. Christie herself was interested in the topic because of her personal connection with archaeology. So it also makes a lot of sense that she would “stretch herself” as a writer in this way.

Ellis Peters, the pen name of Edith Pargeter, had already written a contemporary series about Inspector George Felse that had gotten quite a lot of critical praise when she first explored the idea of an historical mystery. She was doing some research into a possible story about the real-life Shrewsbury Abbey when the character of Brother Cadfael took shape. Her first Cadfael novel, A Morbid Taste for Bones, was published in 1977. It was well received, although not what you would call a runaway best-seller, and she continued the series. Oddly enough, though, a long series hadn’t been her intention. Then an interesting confluence of events happened. Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose, also a Medieval mystery, was published in 1983 to a great deal of popular and critical acclaim. Suddenly there was interest in Medieval mysteries, and the Cadfael series finally got the notice that it deserved. All in all Peters wrote 20 Cadfael mysteries. In this case, you could argue that Peters’ interest in the abbey and its history, combined with her reputation as an author and the commercial success of another Medieval mystery made for a ripe market for the Cadfael series.

Diana Norman, better known as Ariana Franklin, was a journalist who had a special interest in history, particularly women’s history. Her interest in history led to a special focus on the Middle Ages. She wrote well-received historical fiction, and then was persuaded to write a Medieval thriller. The result, Mistress of the Art of Death became an international success on many levels. The main character, Adelia Aguilar, struck a note with readers, and although the setting for the Adelia Aguilar novels is the 12^th Century, the themes are more universal. I don’t have data to support this, but I wonder whether the success of this series will bring back the interest in Medieval mysteries that we saw over twenty-five years ago when The Name of the Rose was published.

Many crime fiction readers find that they identify with characters and events in more recent history. So they prefer historical mysteries set in the less distant past. For instance, there are still people alive who remember the pre-World War II and World War II eras. That past is recent enough that the events and lifestyle of the day resonate with readers. And there were monumental events in that time, and not just those related to the war itself. So it makes sense that it would also be a time of interest to authors. Add to that the appeal (for an author) of a city like pre-war Berlin, and you can see why an author might set her or his novels there. That’s part of the reason that authors such as Philip Kerr and Rebecca Cantrell have made pre-war and World War II Berlin their contexts. It’s perhaps not fair to group these particular authors together, as they have different styles, different protagonists and write different sorts of novels. But both are highly talented authors who’ve used the hope, fear, decadence and vast social and political upheavals of the day as the backgrounds for their novels. Add to that the appeal that the era has for readers who either remember it or have known someone who did, and you can see how a constellation of factors would generate a lot of interest in mystery novels set at that time.

Some authors write about historical eras that they remember. Those memories resonate with readers and give the books added appeal. For instance, James W. Fuerst’s novel Huge takes place in 1980’s New Jersey. It’s the story of Eugene “Huge” Smalls, who wants to be a detective just like Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe. He gets his chance when his grandmother hires him for ten dollars to find out who defaced the sign at the retirement home where she lives. Fuerst himself was born in Red Bank, New Jersey and came of age during that era. So although the novel isn’t autobiographical, it does evoke a time he remembers and place he knows. For many readers, even readers who’ve never been to New Jersey, it’s a look back at another time in their own lives, too. Readers who remember the 1980’s can identify strongly with the time.

Sometimes readers choose historical mysteries because they have a special interest in a particular event or era, and they enjoy reading mysteries that focus on that context. So readers with a particular interest in the Victorian Era might enjoy Deanna Raybourn’s Lady Julia Grey series. Readers interested in the U.S. Civil War might enjoy Owen Parry’s Civil-War era series that features Federal Agent Abel Jones, a Welsh émigré to the United States who works for the Union cause. There are many, many other examples, too.

In the end, it’s hard to say that just one factor (reader interest, publishers’ choices, author interest, popular choice) determines which kinds of historical novels get a lot of notice and which don’t. It’s more likely that a constellation of factors work together. What do you think? If you like historical mysteries, what is it that pulls you towards one or another series (besides, of course, author talent). Is it a particular event or era? Is it the era’s popularity? If you write historical mysteries, what made you choose the context you chose?

 

 

 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from the Kinks’ Living on a Thin Line.

You Don’t Know What We Can Find*

One thing we can learn from crime fiction is that you never know where a body is going to turn up. Of course, there are some obvious places that just about anyone who reads mystery novels could tell you are likely spots to find bodies. Beaches, rivers, cellars and abandoned buildings are just three of those. But there are all kinds of other unusual places where bodies are found. And sometimes, finding the body in an unusual kind of place can add “jolt” to a story and make for solid suspense.

For instance, in Agatha Christie’s One, Two, Buckle My Shoe (AKA The Patriotic Murders and An Overdose of Death), Hercule Poirot and Inspector James “Jimmy” Japp investigate the shooting death of Henry Morley, Poirot’s dentist. At first, it’s believed that Morley was killed in an attempt to get at one of his patients, powerful banker Alistair Blunt. There doesn’t seem to be a motive to kill Morley himself, and Blunt has made many political enemies. But then, one of Morley’s other patients goes missing. And another suddenly dies of an overdose of anaesthetic. Now it looks as though more is going on than just the death of one dentist. Two months after Morley’s death, an unidentified woman’s body turns up in a trunk in a flat belonging to the enigmatic wife of an even more enigmatic special agent. Then, Japp is taken off the case for national security reasons. But Poirot continues the investigation and finds out how the body in the trunk fits in with the murdered patient and dentist.

In Ellis Peters’ The Virgin in the Ice, Brother Cadfael is summoned to the priory at Bromfield to help tend the wounds of Brother Elyas, who’s been attacked by robbers and left for dead. Elyas tells Cadfael about a group of refugees fleeing from Empress Maud’s armies who may be Yves Hugonin and his sister Ermina, with her tutor Sister Hilaria. Cadfael goes out to look for the missing party and finds Yves Hugonin, who tells him that Ermina ran off with a lover, but that Sister Hilaria is probably safe with an acquaintance of theirs. As Cadfael and the boy are returning to the abbey at Bromfield, they cross a frozen stream where Cadfael sees the body of a young woman in the ice. He doesn’t tell Yves what he’s seen because it could very well be the body of the boy’s sister. But the next day, the body is retrieved and taken back to Bromfield where it turns out that it is the body of Sister Hilaria. Now Cadfael works with Deputy Sheriff Hugh Beringar to find out who killed Sister Hilaria and why, and what has happened to Ermina Hugonin. In the end, and after a surprising twist, Cadfael discovers the truth about the murder. He also finds out about a shocking connection between this case and his own personal life.

Shona MacLean’s Alexander Seaton gets quite a shock one morning when he discovers that there’s a body in his classroom. Seaton is the undermaster at a grammar school in 17^th Century Banff, Scotland. The dead man is Patrick Davidson, the local apothecary’s assistant and it’s not long before it’s established that he was poisoned. The most obvious suspect is the local music master Charles Thom, a friend of Seaton’s and Davidson’s rival for Marion Arbuthnott, the apothecary’s daughter. Thom is soon arrested for murder and begs Seaton to clear his name. Seaton is convinced that his friend is innocent and agrees to see what he can do. He soon finds out that more than one person might have wanted to kill Patrick Davidson. For one thing, it comes out that Davidson could have been a spy for the Catholic King of Spain and so could have incurred the anger of most of the locals, who are staunch Protestants. For another, Davidson might have visited a woman the locals believe is a witch. That, too, is enough to have signed his proverbial death warrant. There are other reasons, too. In the end, Seaton finds out what it was about Davidson that made it necessary for the murderer to strike. But really – a classroom? Not exactly such a happy thought when you’re a professor .

Speaking of education, there’s Yrsa Sigurðardóttir’s Last Rituals, in which the body of Harald Guntlieb is found at the university in Reykjavík where he studies. One morning, Gunnar Gestvík, head of the History department, opens the door of the printer alcove in the building that houses the department. To his shock, Guntlieb’s body comes tumbling out and lands on him. The shock becomes even greater when it’s discovered that Guntlieb’s body has been mutilated. At first, the police suspect Guntlieb’s former friend Huggi Thórisson and he’s duly arrested. But Guntlieb’s family believes that Huggi is innocent. So they hire Reykjavík attorney Thóra Gudmundsdóttir to investigate, since she speaks German. The family also sends Matthew Reich, their banking representative, to work with Thóra on the case. Together, they begin to look into Harald Guntlieb’s life, his research and his connections and discover that he had an interest in mediaeval history, in particular the history of witchcraft. That discovery proves key in finding out who killed him and why.

In Peter Robinson’s All the Colours of Darkness, the body of Mark Hardcastle is found hanging from a tree in the woods near Eastvale and DI Annie Cabot is called to the scene. At first, it looks as though Hardcastle, a set and costume designer for the Eastvale Amateur Dramatic Society, chose hanging as a way to commit suicide. But then, his lover Laurence Silbert is found bludgeoned to death. DCI Alan Banks, who’s away on holiday, cuts his trip short to return to Eastvale and work with Cabot on what looks like an increasingly complicated case. It turns out that these deaths are not the murder/suicide that they seem to be, and Banks and Cabot have to unravel a complex web of intrigue and espionage to find out why the two men were killed.

And then there’s of course the bathtub. A very strange place indeed for a body to turn up, but it happens. In Dorothy Sayers’ Whose Body, architect Alfred Thipps is shocked to discover the body of an unknown man in his bathtub. He’s instantly suspected of murder, but he claims innocence. His employer, the Dowager Duchess of Denver, asks her son Lord Peter Wimsey to help find out who the man is and who killed him. Wimsey agrees and begins to look into the case, beginning with the man’s identity. Eventually, he untangles the connections between the dead man, a missing financier (No, the dead man is not the missing man) and a long-simmering resentment.

In Patricia Stoltey’s The Desert Hedge Murders, retired judge Sylvia Thorn is persuaded to join her mother Kristina Grisseljon’s travel group, the Florida Flippers, on a sightseeing tour to Nevada. The group is settling into their hotel in Laughlin when the body of unknown man is found in the bathtub of the hotel room shared by two of the Flippers. No-one in the group claims to know who the dead man is, and although the police wonder about the group, they can’t really make clear connections between the dead man and the members of the group. Then, another group member disappears and is later found dead in an abandoned mine. It’s now obvious that this is more than just one man’s death, and that somehow it involves the Florida Flippers. So to keep everyone safe, Sylvia works with her mother and the overeager Flippers to find out who committed these murders and why.

See what I mean? Bodies can turn up just about anywhere, even in tubs, classrooms, closets, under the ice, in trunks and in trees. Which are the most unusual places bodies have turned up in crime fiction you’ve enjoyed? If you’re a writer, do you plan really unusual places for your victims’ bodies to turn up?

 

 

 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Steppenwolf’s Magic Carpet Ride.

Well, How Did I Get Here?*

One of the interesting things about learning a sleuth’s backstory is learning how he or she got into the sleuthing business in the first place. Of course, all well-written sleuths are interesting people to begin with; otherwise we wouldn’t read about them. But for some sleuths, the way they got into the business is almost as interesting as anything else about them. Lots of times (although certainly not always) authors give that information in the novel that introduces the sleuth. Sometimes, authors choose to reveal it later in the series where it may be more relevant to a plot. Other times, especially for sleuths who are police officers or otherwise professional detectives, we never do learn exactly what made the sleuth decide to take up the trade, so to speak. But when we do learn, it can make for an interesting bit of backstory.

For example, in Agatha Christie’s The Secret Adversary, we meet Thomas “Tommy” Beresford and Prudence “Tuppence” Cowley. They’ve been friends all their lives, so they’re delighted to meet up again right after World War I. Neither has any money or a job, so rather impulsively, they decide to go into business for themselves. They start a company called Young Adventurers, Ltd., and advertise themselves as being willing to take on any job. By chance their conversation is overheard and Tuppence is hired for a job. Little does she know that she and her partner (soon-to-be husband) are about to be caught up in an international plot that involves stolen papers and foreign intrigue. You could say that this couple starts sleuthing without really having much of an idea of what they’re getting into, but they last in the business for over fifty years.

Another interesting “how it all started” story comes from Colin Dexter’s Inspector Morse. As we learn in The Riddle of the Third Mile, Morse actually planned to become an academic. He was preparing to study History, Logic and Philosophy at St. John’s College, Oxford. After two years there, he met Wendy Spencer, who was preparing for her doctorate at St. Hilda’s College. He fell in love with her and of course, his studies suffered. Then, when she broke off the relationship, he fell into a deep depression. So profound was his melancholy that he stopped working and ended up having to leave the university. Bitter and disappointed with life, Morse wasn’t sure what to do. It was actually his father who suggested that he might consider the police force and the rest, as they say, is history. In fact, Morse doesn’t really return to that part of until his former mentor Oliver Browne-Smith disappears in The Riddle of the Third Mile. When a body turns up wearing Browne-Smith’s clothes, it seems at first as though the police have found the missing man. But of course, this being a Morse mystery, it’s not as simple as that…

There’s also Ellis Peters’ Brother Cadfael. He’s a Benedictine monk at 12^th Century Shrewsbury Abbey. The religious life isn’t his first calling, though. He was a soldier in the Crusades and fought in other wars, too. He was also a sailor. In both careers, he killed. Although he didn’t enjoy killing, he did what he had to do. When he came to Shrewsbury, it was only fitting, from his perspective, that he should use his talents to help people, so he became an herbalist. He says this about his career in A Morbid Taste For Bones:

 

“When you have done everything else, perfecting a conventional herb-garden is a fine and satisfying thing to do.”

 

Cadfael gets involved in sleuthing as a part of his calling as a monk to help others as much as for any other reason.

There’s another really interesting story of “getting into the business” with Alexander McCall Smith’s Mma. Precious Ramotswe. In The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, we learn that as a young woman, she had hoped to marry and have a family. But when she fell in love with and married jazz musician Note Makoti, she found herself in an abusive situation. After some terrible personal sadness, she left Makoti and moved home with her beloved father Obed Ramotswe. Then, sadly, he died. At loose ends as it were, Precious Ramotswe decided to open a detective agency. She used the proceeds from the sale of her father’s cattle to open the business and quickly gained a reputation as a skilled and principled detective. Starting with not much more than a small room, a desk and a telephone, she soon developed a very successful business.

Colin Cotterill’s Dr. Siri Paiboun, Laos’ state medical examiner, also got into sleuthing in an interesting and unusual way. He was never interested in being in an official government position, and certainly not interested in detecting. But he was the only doctor left in Laos, so in The Coroner’s Lunch, we find out that he was “volunteered” for the position. Dr. Siri wasn’t particularly keen to be a part of the new bureaucracy, but he also knew that he didn’t have a lot of choice. Expedience won out and he became Laos’ official coroner. It wasn’t long, either, before he had his first cases: the poisoning of the wife of an influential bureaucrat, and the discovery of three bodies that turn out to be those of Vietnamese diplomats.

Shona MacLean’s Alexander Seaton also gets into sleuthing in an interesting way. In The Redemption of Alexander Seaton, we learn that he was a candidate for the ministry. After a personal disgrace, he was no longer eligible for a pulpit, and became undermaster of the grammar school in Banff, Scotland. When local apothecary’s assistant Patrick Davidson is poisoned one night, his body ends up in Seaton’s classroom. As if that’s not enough, Seaton’s friend Charles Thom is arrested for the crime. He’s got a motive, too, since he was Davidson’s rival for Marion Arbuthnott, the apothecary’s daughter. Thom begs Seaton to help clear his name and Seaton agrees. But he doesn’t really intend to get into the sleuthing business. Instead, you could almost say he does it as a way of redeeming himself. As he gets closer to the truth about who really killed Davidson, he also reaches that point of redemption.

Some of the finest fictional sleuths got into the business in what you might call ordinary ways. They chose the police force, or they studied forensics, or they are medical practitioners. There are other “typical” routes, too, that they’ve taken. It’s certainly possible to become a terrific and beloved fictional sleuth by being a terrific cop. But it can also be interesting, and add a unique layer to a character, if she or he takes a “road less traveled” to becoming a sleuth. That can make all the difference.

How did your favourite sleuths get into the business?

 

 

On Another Note…..

 

 

Do you see that Write to Read 2011!  logo on my sidebar? Yes, that one. This is a reminder that you’ve got just over a week left to check out a terrific auction of some wonderful books – signed, yes, signed by their authors. As if that weren’t enough, it’s also an opportunity for you to help provide books and literacy to those who otherwise might not have them. Go ahead, click the logo and find out what it’s all about!!  Dare ya! 

 

Hey…what are you still doing here?

 

 

 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from the Talking Heads’ Once in a Lifetime.

Got to Pay Your Dues if You Want to Sing the Blues*

For most people, real professional success takes a lot of hard work and a long time. It doesn’t come easily. People who want to be really good at something usually have to “pay their dues” and hone their skills. Being willing to do that means one has to be humble enough about one’s own skills to learn, and patient enough to take the time to learn. That’s not always easy to do, especially if one’s got natural talent. The process of “putting in time” can teach us a lot if we’re willing to be open to it, and it can make for a very interesting sub-plot or theme for a novel. Characters who are “paying their dues” can add layers of interest to a novel, and so can the process of learning. So can the social structure that comes from having to “pay one’s dues.” In fact, it’s really interesting to see just how many of those characters there are in crime fiction.

For example, Eileen Rich is “paying her teaching dues” at Meadowbank, an exclusive girls’ school, in Agatha Christie’s Cat Among the Pigeons. She’s passionate about teaching and skilled, too. But she’s young and inexperienced and she knows it. New games mistress Grace Springer is also “paying her dues” at Meadowbank, but she takes a very different attitude towards what’s supposed to be the process of learning. Springer is arrogant about her own importance, doesn’t get along with the other mistresses and is not a success with the pupils, either. She also has the unfortunate belief that it’s her duty to find out things about people, so she snoops. When she’s shot late one night in the school’s new Sports Pavilion, no-one particularly misses her, although everyone’s shocked. Inspector Kelsey is called in to investigate and it’s soon clear that Springer was shot because she’d gone snooping where it was not safe for her to snoop. Then there’s a kidnapping and then another death. Pupil Julia Upjohn discovers one important piece of the puzzle and pays a visit to Hercule Poirot, asking him to investigate. He agrees and discovers that the deaths and kidnapping are related to a revolution in a Middle Eastern sultanate and a fortune in stolen jewels. The difference between the two young teachers is an interesting contrast. And in an interesting sub-plot, Headmistress Honoria Bulstrode is planning her retirement and debates whether to invite Eileen Rich to succeed her, even though Rich is still “paying her dues.”

There’s a very interesting contrast between DI Kate Miskin, whom we first meet in P.D. James’ A Taste for Death, and Agent Yvette Nichol, whom we meet in Louise Penny’s Still Life. In A Taste for Death, Miskin’s just been appointed to a special squad dedicated to delicate cases that are likely to attract a lot of media attention. That squad is put to the test when Crown Minister Paul Berowne is brutally murdered in a local church. In Still Life, Nichol’s just been named to the Sûreté du Québec and is very pleased with herself and proud of her accomplishment. She gets her first homicide assignment when beloved former teacher Jane Neal is killed near the rural town of Three Pines. Both women are assigned to work with team leaders who are interested in helping them learn and who are happy to serve as mentors; in Miskin’s case, Commander Adam Dalgliesh is in charge and in Nichol’s case it’s Chief Inspector Armand Gamache.  There are other similarities between the two women, but the way in which they handle their status and their cases turns out to be very different. Miskin does her job well and although she is not at all sycophantic, she is willing to learn and grateful for the opportunity. She’s got a “chip on her shoulder” because of the social class differences between her and the “well-born” Dalgliesh and upper-middle-class DCI John Massingham, who’s also on the team, but she works hard to put that aside and be an effective part of the team. For his part, Dalgliesh values her input and teaches her without condescending to her. Things are quite different for Yvette Nichol. She is smart and capable, but she’s so eager to prove how good she is that she’s unwilling to watch and learn. She’s smug and arrogant, and although Gamache tries more than once to counsel her and help her fit in, she simply doesn’t listen. In fact, she blames Gamache for the conflicts that arise between her and the rest of the team (to say nothing of the residents of Three Pines). While Kate Miskin understands the process of “paying one’s dues” without being a toady, Yvette Nichol does not.

Ellis Peters’ Brother Oswin, whom we first meet in The Leper of St. Giles, gives us another glimpse of what it’s like to “pay one’s dues.”  He enters 12^th Century Shrewsbury Abbey as a novice and acolyte to Brother Cadfael, the abbey’s herbalist and Peters’ sleuth. Brother Oswin is eager to please and eager to learn, so in that sense, he understands that his role is to learn and gain in knowledge. But he’s a little overeager and clumsy, too, and he tests Brother Cadfael’s patience to the limit. Here, for example, is Cadfael’s first impression of Oswin:

“His fingers were all thumbs but his zest and confidence were absolute. He knew he could do all, his will being so beneficent, and fumbled at the first balk, forever astonished and aghast at the results he produced…Under reproof, having broken, wrecked, mismanaged and burned, he rode the tide serenely, penitent, assured of grace, confident of avoiding all repetition of failure. Cadfael liked him…and gloomily made large allowance for the damage the lad was certain to do whenever left to follow instructions unsupervised.”

Oswin is in many ways not at all a promising novice but as the novels progress, we see him grow wiser, more skilled and less eager to “plunge in” without thinking about what he’s doing.

Margaret Truman introduces us to rookie cop Matthew Jackson in Murder Inside the Beltway. When call girl Rosalie Curzon is found bludgeoned to death in her apartment, Jackson and Detective Mary Hall investigate the case under the supervision of veteran Walt Hatcher. Hatcher looks down on Jackson in part because of Jackson’s mixed-race heritage, but also because Jackson’s college-educated while Hatcher is of the “old school,” a cop who moved up through the ranks without higher education. Hatcher wastes few opportunities to put Jackson in his place and remind him that he’s supposed to be doing what he’s told. In the meantime, a nasty political battle is brewing between incumbent U.S. president Burton Pyle and his challenger in the upcoming election Robert Colgate. Then, a friend of Colgate’s daughter is abducted and the police swing into full action. When Hall and Jackson uncover a connection between Colgate and Curzon, the two cases are tied together and we find out in a surprise twist who’s behind all of the shocking events in the novel. Throughout the story, one of the sub-plots is Matt Jackson’s attempt to “pay his dues” as a rookie while at the same time doing what he is sure is the right thing.

In The Paris Enigma, Pablo De Santis introduces us to Sigmundo Salvatrio, who wants more than anything to be a detective just like world-famous Buenos Aires detective Renato Craig. Salvatrio gets his chance when he’s chosen to attend the Academy for Detectives that Craig founds. Craig is also a co-founder of The Twelve, a group of world-renowned detectives who are scheduled to exhibit at the Paris World’s Fair. At the last minute, ill health prevents Craig from going to Paris and he chooses Salvatrio to take his place. Salvatrio is overjoyed at this “vote of confidence,” but when he gets to Paris, he’s quickly put in his place and reminded that he has to “pay his dues.” The other detectives make it clear that the assistants are to do only what they are told, with no actual detective work, and Salvatrio is expected to keep quiet, call no attention to himself and learn by observing his “betters.” Then, one of The Twelve is murdered. Then, there’s another murder. Now Salvatrio and Viktor Arkazy, co-founder of The Twelve, have to work together to solve the crimes. In the end, Salvatrio uses his own special knowledge to find out who’s responsible.

“Paying your dues” is a part of a lot of professional development, so it’s not surprising that it’s found its way into crime fiction, too. Which novels have you enjoyed that feature dues-paying?

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Ringo Starr’s It Don’t Come Easy.