But the Press Let the Story Leak*

Today is (or yesterday was, depending on when you read this) World Press Freedom Day. Now, normally I don’t keep track of every observance like this, but this one is an important one. People depend on their news to be accurate, and they depend on journalists to help ensure the transparency of what government and corporations do. So it’s important that the media be free to report on stories. At the same time, I think most of us would agree that there are good reasons for certain limits to press access. For instance, it wouldn’t be appropriate for the press to report on certain matters of national security (of course, we could debate on what belongs in that category; I’m speaking in generalities here). Most people would also agree that we have a right to a certain amount of privacy and the media should not violate that privacy. ‘Freedom of the press’ is a crucial concept, but it gets complicated when put into practice. And that’s what makes this kind of issue so interesting and such an appropriate plot point/theme for crime fiction.

Agatha Christie’s novels don’t generally paint journalists in a very positive light. I don’t know for sure but I wouldn’t be surprised if that has something to do with what she went through with the press during and after her famous 11-day absence during December of 1926. In Death in the Clouds (AKA Death in the Air), for instance, London hairdresser’s assistant Jane Grey is returning from a rare holiday at Le Pinet when one of her fellow airline passengers suddenly dies of what looks at first like a toxic reaction to a wasp sting. But it’s soon proven that this was murder. And it’s not surprising; the victim is Marie Morisot AKA Madame Giselle, a well-known French moneylender who used information she found out about her clients as ‘collateral’ for loans. The only possible suspects are the other passengers so although she’s not seriously suspected, Jane comes in for her share of questioning. That’s how she meets Hercule Poirot, who was on the same flight and who is helping Chief Inspector Japp with the case. At one point, Jane is having tea with fellow passenger Norman Gale when a reporter interrupts them, asking for a story. Both of them refuse him, but the reporter unscrupulously writes a story about them anyway.

Wendy James’ The Mistake also takes a look at, among other things, the way the press treats a major news story. Jodie Evans Garrow has what most people would say is pretty much the perfect life. She’s in an enduring marriage to Angus, a successful lawyer and up-and-coming politician. She has two healthy children and she herself is in good health. Everything changes when Jodie’s daughter Hannah is involved in an accident and ends up in the same hospital where, years earlier, Jodie gave birth to another child – a girl she’s never told anyone even existed. When one of the hospital nurses remembers Jodie and asks her about her daughter, Jodie says she gave the baby up for adoption. But the zealous nurse can find no official adoption records. She feels compelled to report what she’s found and the media soon gets wind of a big story. What happened to this successful woman’s baby? If the baby is alive, where is she? If not, did Jodie have something to do with the baby’s death? Very soon, the media makes the lives of Jodie and her family members miserable. Certainly the stories fan public sentiment against Jodie and that makes her situation that much worse. In the end, we find out what really happened after Jodie gave birth; we also see exactly what damage the press can do to a family.

And yet, as we see in Peter Temple’s Bad Debts, journalists play important roles in exposing corruption, graft and more. In that novel, sometime-attorney Jack Irish gets several telephone messages from a former client Danny McKillop, who’s recently been released from prison. McKillop was convicted of the drink-driving killing of Melbourne activist Anne Jeppeson and now he wants to talk to Irish about the case. But by the time Irish tries to return McKillop’s calls it’s too late; McKillop has been murdered. Irish knows that he didn’t do a good job of defending McKillop and that, plus his guilt over not returning the telephone calls sooner, pushes Irish to start asking questions about his former client’s death. As he begins to look into the matter he meets journalist Linda Hillier, who works for Pacific Rim News. Hillier gets interested in the story because it’s looking quite possible that McKillop was not guilty of Anne Jeppeson’s murder and was framed. If that’s true then someone else committed both killings. Hillier uses her contacts and journalistic skills to help find out who the murderer is. The trail leads to some highly-placed people and a case of greed and corruption that Jeppeson was trying to fight.

Paddy Richardson’s Traces of Red also brings up several issues of freedom of the press, its limits and the effects on people of a big story. Rebecca Thorne is a Wellington TV journalist whose Saturday Night is very well-regarded. But she’s reached a professional plateau, and she’s getting concerned. Saturday Night’s ratings are slipping and what’s worse, there are younger ‘hungry’ journalists out there who are all too eager to take Thorne’s place. So Thorne is looking for the story that will cement her place at the top of New Zealand television journalism. She thinks she finds that story in the case of Connor Bligh, who’s in Rimutaka Prison for the murders of his sister Angela Dickson, her husband Rowan and their son Sam. The only survivor of that attack was their daughter Katy, who wasn’t at home at the time of the killings. During the initial investigation and trial, everyone assumed that Bligh was guilty and most people still do. But there are little hints that he may be innocent. If he is, then this story could be just what Thorne needs. So she begins to investigate. In the process of her search for answers, she gets very close to the story – too close, really. And we see in the way she goes about it how all-consuming the search for a story can be. As Thorne interviews friends, colleagues, neighbours, and finally Katy Dickson herself, we also see how devastating it can be to have something this painful raked up.

There are also of course plenty of fictional sleuths who are journalists. I’m thinking for instance of Michael Connelly’s Jack McEvoy and Liza Marklund’s Annika Bengtzon. Of course, since they’re the protagonists we see the question of exactly what ‘counts’ as journalistic limits from their perspectives. But even so, they remind us of how important it is that the press be free to investigate stories. That said though, I think crime fiction also reminds us that with that freedom comes an important set of responsibilities, including accuracy, the protection of people’s privacy (especially the most vulnerable), and professional behaviour.

What do you think of this balance? Which stories have you enjoyed that treat these themes?

 

 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Paul Simon’s Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard.

Davy Crockett, Peter Pan, Elvis Presley, Disneyland*

Whether it’s ‘franchise’ movies, fashion magazines, reality TV, video games or something else, pop culture is a big part of a lot of people’s lives. So it shouldn’t at all be surprising that we would see pop culture in crime fiction too. After all, why shouldn’t fictional characters read a gossip magazine or go to a theme park or an ‘action figure’ film? It makes sense when you think of how pervasive pop culture is in our lives.

And it’s been around for a long time, too. For example, we see pop culture in Agatha Christie’s The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side (AKA The Mirror Crack’d). In that novel, famous movie star Marina Gregg and her husband have purchased Gossington Hall, which Christie fans will remember was the home of Colonel Arthur Bantry and his wife Dolly (The Body in the Library). It’s soon announced that the remodeled home will be open to the public at a charity fête and lots of the locals are excited to see the house and perhaps meet a famous movie star. Especially excited is Heather Badcock, who is very much a fan of Marina Gregg. In fact, Heather gets the chance to meet her idol, but is sickened and dies soon afterwards. At first, it’s thought that the drink that poisoned her was originally intended for the movie star. But soon enough, Miss Marple and Dolly Bantry figure out that Heather was the intended victim the whole time. Film celebrities and the pop culture that surrounds them are an important part of this novel.

The first Walt Disney film was made in 1928 and since that time, Disney films, television shows and networks, and theme parks have become integral parts of pop culture. I’ve even used a few Disney song lyrics as titles for posts.** So it shouldn’t be surprising that Disney shows up in crime fiction too. Robert Crais’ Elivs Cole for instance has a Mickey Mouse clock on the wall of his office, and in Lullaby Town, he wears a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt. And that’s not the only story in which he wears pop-culture franchised clothes.

We see pop culture in Marshall Karp’s The Rabbit Factory, which features his LAPD cops Mike Lomax and Terry Biggs. Eddie Elkins is an actor who portrays Rambunctious Rabbit, the ‘star’ of popular theme park Familyland. When Elkins is found strangled, Lomax and Biggs investigate the murder. They’re shocked to find that the victim was really convicted child molester Edward Ellison. So at first, it looks as though this murder was revenge for a horrendous crime. But soon enough it turns out to be more complex than that. Ellison’s death is actually the first in a series of deaths intended to ruin the network that created Familyland. Throughout this novel we see how pervasive theme-park and television culture can be.

Malls are another important part of pop culture. With their franchised store brands and ‘food court’ restaurants, they’ve been woven into pop culture life for several decades. There’s a stark and sometimes darkly funny look at the mall culture in Catherine O’Flynn’s What Was Lost. When Green Oaks shopping center opens in 1984, ten-year-old Kate Meaney is sure that it’s going to be a magnet for all sorts of criminals and that suits her just fine. She’s a budding detective who’s opened her own agency Falcon Investigations, and she spends a lot of time at the mall watching for suspicious activity. When her grandmother insists that Kate sit the exams at the exclusive Redspoon school, she reluctantly takes the bus there with her friend twenty-two-year-old Adrian Palmer. She never returns though, and everyone thinks that Palmer is responsible for her disappearance. In fact his life is made so unbearable that he leaves town. Twenty years later, the real truth about what happened to Kate is slowly revealed when Palmer’s sister Lisa strikes up an unlikely friendship with Kurt, a security guard at the mall. Kurt’s been seeing some strange images on the security cameras – a young girl who seems to look just like Kate. Each in a different way, he and Lisa Palmer re-visit Kate’s disappearance and in the end, we find out what happened to the girl.

One of the most powerful purveyors of pop culture is television. And of course the TV culture is woven throughout crime fiction. I’ll just give a few examples. In Riley Adams’ (AKA Elizabeth Spann Craig) Delicious and Suspicious, The Cooking Channel’s restaurant critic Rebecca Adrian is visiting Memphis to choose Memphis’ best barbecue restaurant. One of the top contenders is Aunt Pat’s Barbecue, which has been owned by the Taylor family for years. When Adrian is poisoned a few hours after eating at Aunt Pat’s, talk begins to go around that Aunt Pat’s food is to blame. So family matriarch Lulu Taylor investigates the murder to save her restaurant’s reputation and clear her family’s name. Oh, and three of the characters in this novel are docents at Graceland, the Memphis home of Elvis Presley. If that’s not pop culture….

In Liza Marklund’s Prime Time, journalist Annika Bengtzon is assigned to cover the story of the shooting death of Michelle Carlsson, a major TV celebrity. She was in the process of filming a TV series Summer Frolic at the Castle when she was found murdered in one of the television station’s control rooms. As Bengtzon investigates, we see the ‘pop culture power’ of television celebrities and it’s really not surprising because of that that this is deemed to be a major story.

And then there’s Tarquin Hall’s The Case of the Man Who Died Laughing, in which Delhi investigator Vishwas ‘Vish’ Puri investigates the murder of Dr. Suresh Jha. At the same time, his wife Rumpi and his mother Mummy-ji end up involved in their own mystery. They attend a ‘kitty party’ where all of the guests add some money to a kitty. Later, one woman’s name is drawn and she wins the money in the kitty. This party turns out differently though when a thief takes the money. Mummy-ji scratches the robber, hoping that there will be enough DNA evidence from that to catch the person. Later she and Rumpi go to the local forensics laboratory where a good friend of Mummy-ji’s works as a lab technician. Despite their friendship, here’s what he says:

 

‘Auntie-ji, I think you’ve been watching too much of CSI on Star TV, isn’t it?’

 

Needless to say, Mummy-ji is not pleased at this dismissal and in the end she insists on and gets her answer. But it does show how pervasive television pop culture is, even in crime fiction.

 

What about you? Do you indulge in pop culture? It’s OK, you can tell me. I won’t tell. ….

If you do love pop culture, go visit Pop Culture Nerd, a great source for all things pop culture.

 

 

** Bonus bragging rights question:  In which Disney film does Billy Joel have a major role? No fair Googling!

 

 

 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Billy Joel’s We Didn’t Start the Fire.

Things You’ll Never Hear These Sleuths Say… ;-)

If you’ve been kind enough to follow this blog for a bit, then you know that I have a special interest in the way crime fiction characters speak, and what that says about them. It’s the linguist in me, I suppose . We learn a lot about characters’ personalities through what they say. So just for a change, I thought it’d be fun to think of things that we’d never hear our favourite sleuths say. I think that says a lot about them, too. So here are some….

 

Things You’ll Never Hear These Sleuths Say

 

Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot:

“Just leave it, Hastings! It doesn’t matter if your tie’s not straight.”
“You know, I think I’d like to get rid of this confounded moustache.”
“Oh, I have no idea who did it. I’m not very good at this, you know.”

 

Colin Dexter’s Inspector Morse:

“Same again, Lewis? My shout.”
“You’re absolutely right, Doctor. Alcohol was really hard on my system and I’m very glad I’ve given it up.”
“Dative case? Nominitive case? Who cares?” 

 

Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Millhone:

“Would you like to come over for a home-cooked meal? I do a really good chateaubriand.”
“Not now! Project Runway is about to start and I want to know whose fashion design wins the competition.”
“You know, that’s the thing. I’ve never been in real danger, so I don’t know what that feels like.”

 

Stieg Larsson’s Lisbeth Salander:

“I consider myself a real “people” person. I just love a good, rich conversation.”
“Ewww, a bug! Kill it, quick!”
“Oh, I hate computers! They’re just too confusing.”

 

Ian Rankin’s Inspector Rebus:

“Now, Shiv, you know you’re not supposed to do that. It’s against policy.”
“No, thanks. Haven’t touched a drop in years. But I’d love an herbal tea.”
“I’m so tired of Edinburgh. I think it’d be nice to take a long, relaxing cruise.”

 

Rex Stout’s Nero Wolfe:

“Oh, no, thanks. I’m actually really proud of this diet I’m on. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to get down to the gym and work out.”
“Stop in any time. Or I’ll meet you somewhere. Just say the word.”
“You’re absolutely right, Archie! I was completely wrong about this case.”  

 

Sara Paretsky’s V.I. Warshawski:

“What? And ruin my manicure? I don’t think so!”
“Sorry, I can’t take that case. I just have to get this needlepoint project done.”
“I’m getting real tired of people whining about getting cheated and abused all the time. Life’s not fair – deal with it!”

 

Liza Marklund’s Annika Bengtzon:

“I just don’t understand this feminism thing. Why a woman can’t be fulfilled at home taking care of children is beyond me.”
“I’ve always thought the media has far too much power. Damned nosy reporters! They blow everything out of proportion.”
“Me? No, no complaints at all. I’m just grateful my life’s going so smoothly.”

 

Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch:

“Sure, cut me in on the deal. I could use the money and nobody has to know.”
“Ah, who cares? People do things and they get away with it sometimes. It happens. Let it go.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I leave for Hawai’i tomorrow and I can’t wait! Nothing to do for a solid two weeks – don’t you love it?”

 

Nevada Barr’s Anna Pigeon:

“Did you hear the good news? They’re building a shopping mall right in the preserve! What a great idea!”
“A fox fur? What a lovely gift and just what I wanted!”
“Two blocks? Nah, that’s too far to walk. Let’s take the car.”

 

So there you have it. Just a few things you’ll never hear these crime fictional sleuths say. Care to add any of your own?

A Word or Two About “Sell-By” Dates…

One of the interesting things about honey is that it doesn’t spoil – well, not in the conventional sense (although it does ferment if it’s not stored properly). That’s why raw honey has just about an indefinite shelf life. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said of most other things, including crime fiction. There are some themes in crime fiction that seem to have gone on long past their “sell-by” dates. Now of course, crime fiction fans are varied as the genre is, so not everyone has the same list of these “spoiled” themes. But I think we can agree that the best novels don’t rely on shopworn elements. Rather, they contain depths and richness in the plots and characters so that they don’t need to depend on plot elements and characters that are past their “sell-by dates.” Here are just a few plot elements and character types that I think are past their “sell-by” dates. We’re all different, though, so feel free to differ with me if you do.

 

The “Persecuted Female Victim/s”

It’s quite true that women are far more likely than men to be raped and otherwise victimised. So it wouldn’t be realistic if a novel didn’t take that into account. And novels that address social justice for women can be both moving and brilliantly written. For instance, Unity Dow’s The Screaming of the Innocent tells the harrowing and heartbreaking story of Neo Kakang, a young girl who’d gone missing five years earlier. At the time, it was assumed that she was most likely the victim of a wild animal. But Amantle Bokaa, the young nurse who discovers a box containing the girl’s bloody clothes, becomes curious about what really happened to her. Bokaa’s search for the truth highlights the unpleasant reality of life for many Botswana women. It’s a difficult book to read, but a brilliantly told story. That novel seems to be an exception, though. As Bernadette at Reactions to Reading reminds us in her excellent review of Jussi Adler-Olsen’s Mercy (AKA The Keeper of Lost Causes), there are a number of novels in which there seems to be an emphasis on putting female characters through as much pain and suffering and humiliation as possible. Some novels dwell on what happens to these victims to a gratuitous extent, and what’s worse, for no productive reason.

By contrast, Mercy (AKA The Keeper of Lost Causes) features Merete Lynggard, an up-and-coming politician who disappears one day during a ferry ride with her brother Uffe. At first, everyone thinks her brother pushed her overboard during the heat of an argument. But her body hasn’t been found. Five years later, Carl Mørck and his assistant Hafez al-Assad re-open the case. Before long, it’s clear that Merete Lynggard could very well still be alive. This novel alternates between Merete Lynggard’s perspective and that of the two sleuths. As we follow what happens to Lynggard, we see that she is no stereotypical “persecuted female.” She’s a very strong character who’s determined to stay alive or at the very least, choose her own death. It’s refreshing, if I may share an opinion here, to have a character who is a victim in many senses, but who refuses to act like one. That sense of strength may be the reason for which Stieg Larsson’s Lisbeth Salander has become such a popular character. She’s certainly endured plenty, and Larsson’s Millenium trilogy doesn’t “sugarcoat” Salander’s experiences. But Lisbeth Salander is by no means a victim in the classic sense. She finds her own ways to survive and she takes her revenge.

 

The “Tortured Detective”

This is a difficult issue when it comes to crime fiction. On one hand, crime fiction fans want well-rounded and believable sleuths. And the sad fact is that we all have sorrow and difficulties in our lives. So we can often identify better with a sleuth who also faces or has faced struggles. And being a detective is traumatic. That line of work has no choice but to affect the sleuth. It wouldn’t be realistic if the sleuth didn’t have some sort of reaction to that trauma. That said, though, there are many novels in which the sleuth falls into the category of the stereotypical “tortured detective.”

I actually mean two things by that. One is the sleuth who’s faced tragedy and simply doesn’t seem able to function. I’m sure we can all think of fictional sleuths who’ve put us off because they seem to have no ability to pick up their lives over the long run. That can be irritating, as the reader almost wants to say, “Get some help! Pick up your life!” The same might be said of sleuths who seem to fall into the same life pattern again and again and don’t grow. The other thing I mean by the stereotypical “tortured detective” is the scenario where so many terrible and traumatic things happen to the sleuth – just for the sake of drama in the plot – that readers want to call out “Enough!”

All of that said, though, there are some fictional detectives who’ve faced, and continue to face, sad things that do affect them (sometimes permanently), but still function. They have lives and do some growing. For instance, to return to Adler-Olsen’s Mercy (AKA The Keeper of Lost Causes), Carl Mørck has undergone quite a lot of trauma. He was shot in the line of duty, and one of his colleagues was killed. Another was left paralysed. That certainly affects him and that’s clear in the novel. But Mørck hasn’t lost his will to live. He still has a sense of humour. He functions. That makes his character both human and appealing. The same is true of Arnaldur Indriðason’s Inspector Erlendur. Erlendur has certainly had some sadness in his history, and his personal relationships are far from perfect. He has his weaknesses and scars, so to speak. But he goes on. He functions. He tries to live his life the best he can. He’s got a lot of personal strength in that sense. I like Liza Marklund’s Annika Bengtzon for a similar reason. She’s had her share of sorrow and trauma both in and outside of the job, so to speak. And yes, her troubles affect her personally and professionally. But she’s not so debilitated by them that she can’t function. She tries to move on and she picks up her pieces.

 

The “Mindless Killer”

Admittedly, there aren’t that many believable reasons that one person kills another (or a series of others). The decision to take a life is often not an easy one, so in real life, there’s got to be a compelling motive, even if that motive is a “flash” of rage or jealousy. The same is true in crime fiction. Of course, there are individuals who’ve been warped by circumstances or who have severe mental illness or psychosis. For those individuals, the motive to kill may seem “mindless” to others, but they make perfect sense to the individuals themselves. Stories that include such characters (e.g. Thomas Harris’ Red Dragon) can be compelling when the characters are well-drawn. But all too often, novels feature serial killers with no real believable motive to murder. The result is all too often a bloodbath with no depth to the plot.

It’s certainly possible to create a very well-written and absorbing novel in which a killer commits multiple murders for a psychological reason. For instance, in Agatha Christie’s Three Act Tragedy (AKA Murder in Three Acts), Hercule Poirot investigates the poisoning murder of a seemingly inoffensive and beloved clergyman, Stephen Babbington. Poirot is just beginning to look into that death when there is another, similar death. Later, there’s another. What’s fascinating about these murders is that the motive is psychological. And yet, it’s not at all mindless. There’s a very believable and logical reason for which these murders are committed.

These are just a few themes that I think have gone past their “sell-by” date; you’re by no means obliged to agree with me. What do you think? Are there themes you think should be retired? If there are, what are they?

Just Give Me Something, Something I Can Use*

This past week’s revelations about the News of the World have got me to thinking about the love-hate relationship we have with the media. On one hand, we’re appalled (well, I know I am) by the behaviour of some journalists and other members of the media. And when that behaviour is condoned – even encouraged – by those at the top of those organisations, that makes matters even worse. On the other hand, if those lurid stories, complete with information obtained through violations of privacy and through lack of respect, did not sell, there’d be less motivation to try to get those stories. Publishers and editors want to sell newspapers and online news subscriptions. If something’s considered not newsworthy, it doesn’t make the news. Many people do have a morbid fascination with the upsetting and tragic details of others’ personal lives. And it doesn’t just happen in one country. There are plenty of cases of the media taking advantage of this kind of morbid fascination all over the world. It’s rather like the case of someone watching a film who covers his or her face – while peeping through fingers.

The relationship people have with journalism is more complicated by the fact that there are lots of cases where journalists have exposed things that needed to be exposed. Journalists have broken many important stories and revealed plenty of cover-ups. So painting an entire industry with the same proverbial paintbrush doesn’t make sense, either. Just like much of life, there seems to be a balance that’s needed when one covers a story. There needs to be a balance between reporting news and capitalising on grief. There needs to be a balance between asking the difficult questions (i.e. getting to the truth) and invading privacy. I’m not a journalist myself, so I couldn’t tell you exactly where that line should be (I am curious about what those of you who’ve been in journalism think of that issue, though). But that love-hate relationship we have with the media seems pretty clear. And it’s just as evident in crime fiction as it is in real life.

For instance, in Agatha Christie’s The Hollow (AKA Murder After Hours), Hercule Poirot works with Inspector Grange to find out who shot Harley Street specialist Dr. John Christow. Christow and his wife Gerda, along with some other houseguests, are spending the week-end with Sir Henry and Lady Lucy Angkatell. On Sunday afternoon, Poirot, who’s taken a nearby cottage, is invited for lunch. He arrives, only to find that Christow has just been shot. During that investigation, there’s some interesting discussion about how many of the lurid details (and there are several) of the story should be made public. On one hand the Angkatell family doesn’t want any invasion of privacy; neither do several other characters in the story. On the other, Lucy Angkatell is described as,

 

“…delicately enjoying the News of the World come from print into real life…”

 

There are several other Christie novels, too, where reporters and journalists take liberties with privacy. Several characters show their contempt for this, too.

But there’s more than one character who takes advantage of it. For instance, in Death in the Clouds (AKA Death in the Air), Poirot finds out who poisoned French moneylender Madame Giselle while she was on a flight from Paris to London. The details of the murder are considered sensational and several of Madame Giselle’s fellow passengers are well-known. So the story gets all sorts of media attention, including the unwelcome kind. Some characters are upset by it, but at least one, businessman James Ryder, sells his story to one of the papers.

In Margaret Yorke’s Speak For the Dead, private investigator Michael West is hired by Oliver Randall to find out the truth about the death of Randall’s daughter Anne. Her husband Gordon Matthews went to prison on charges of killing her, but he and his attorney managed to convince the jury that the killing was provoked, and that Anne Randall Matthews was, in fact, a promiscuous, drunken shrew who made her husband’s life miserable. Randall knows that the opposite is true, so he wants West not just to clear his daughter’s name but also to find out what has happened to Matthews now that he’s been released from prison. West works closely with journalist Barnaby Duke to find out the truth. Duke wants an exclusive on the story, and of course, West wants whatever information Duke can provide. In this novel, Duke is portrayed as a very pragmatic journalist. He wants a big, juicy story and he wants to sell papers. His decision to work with West isn’t motivated by the strong desire to clear Anne Randall’s name. On the other hand, Duke is not portrayed as an invasive journalist who has no respect. He certainly does want the story, and that’s mentioned frequently. But he doesn’t go through trash, invent half-truths or listen in on ‘phone calls. He represents an interesting balance between going for the story and respecting boundaries.

And then, of course, there are fictional journalists who expose cover-ups, break important news and solve crimes. Liza Marklund’s Annika Bengtzon, for instance, works for the Swedish newspaper Kvällspressen. Her job is to follow up and report on crime news. So in that sense, she goes for the story. That’s what she’s paid to do. And yet, she’s got a strong sense of ethics. She asks hard questions and gets beneath the surface, but she doesn’t sensationalise the details. In The Bomber, for instance, she covers the story of a bomb that goes off in Victoria Stadium, site of the upcoming Olympic Games, which are to be held in Stockholm. When the body of Christina Furhage, who was head of the committee responsible for bringing the games to Stockholm, is discovered, it’s assumed that terrorists are responsible for the blast. But Bengtzon goes beneath the surface, so to speak, and finds out that this wasn’t a “public” murder. And yet, she’s not interested in capitalising on anyone’s personal tragedy or grief.

There’s also Andrea Camilleri’s Nicolò Zito, who works for Vigatà’s Free Channel. Zito has strong political leanings, and gladly uses his influence as a journalist to expose corruption and other “dirty dealings.” Commissario Salvo Montalbano often works with Zito when he’s investigating a case. For instance, in The Wings of the Sphinx, he and Zito work to find out the identity of a young woman whose body is found near a dry riverbed now used as a dump. The one distinctive thing about this woman is that she had a tattoo of a sphinx moth. Zito and Montalbano work with that and soon identify the woman. In the process, they connect her with some very dirty dealings and illegal human trafficking. Throughout the novel, Zito is what you might call “on the side of the angels,” helping to expose the corruption that’s uncovered.

In more than one of Donna Leon’s Commissario Guido Brunetti novels, he makes connections with journalists he knows who help him uncover the truth about underworld activity, corruption and other illegal doings. In exchange, he works with them, too. So it’s clear, at least in crime fiction, that not all journalists are unethical; nor do they all capitalise on grief and tragedy. Many in fact do not. On the other hand, enough do that we see plenty of sensational and lurid stories. There is a strong, complicated and sometimes unhealthy relationship among the media, consumers and those who find themselves the subjects of media hype. What do you think of this whole question? Where have you seen it in crime fiction?

 

 

 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Don Henley’s Dirty Laundry.