Category Archives: Jacqueline Winspear

You Get to Meet All Sorts in This Line of Work*

PI InterviewsNot long ago, Angela Savage suggested that I do a post on crime-fictional PI interviews with their clients. It’s really a fascinating topic, if you think about it. PIs have to make a living, so they want to make a positive impression. On the other hand, the client, too, has to convince the PI to take the job. There are, after all, things that PIs are and aren’t allowed to do, and things that one or another PI will or won’t do. And, since fictional PIs are an important part of crime fiction, it really is interesting to see how they do what they do.

Savage’s own creation is Bangkok-based PI Jayne Keeney (a series, by the way, that I recommend highly). In The Half Child, Jim Delbeck decides that Keeney is the best choice for what he wants to accomplish. Delbeck is an Australian, whose daughter Maryanne served as a volunteer at New Life Children’s Centre in Pattaya. Tragically, she died in a fall from the roof of the building where she was living. The police report indicates that she committed suicide, but Delbeck doesn’t believe it. So he wants to find out what really happened. Keeney appeals to him as a PI because, being an ex-pat Australian, she can communicate easily with him. At the same time, she is fluent in Thai and very much accustomed to the local ways. On the one hand, she’s a bit put off by Delbeck’s apparent attitude towards the Thais. On the other, she can see that he’s a distraught parent. Maryanne Delbeck might not have been a perfect angel, but here’s a man who’s lost his child. Keeney agrees to take the case, and travels to Pattaya, where she goes undercover as a volunteer at New Life. In the end, she finds out what really happened on the day the victim died. She also finds out about some things that have been going on at New Life.

One of the iconic PIs of the Golden Age is Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe. He’s the essential ‘good guy trying to negotiate a very messy world.’ In The Big Sleep, he is more or less summoned to the home of wealthy General Guy Sternwood, who has a commission for him. Sternwood has received an extortion letter that makes reference to his daughter Carmen. The blackmailer is book dealer Arthur Geiger, and Sternwood wants Marlowe to find Geiger and stop him. Marlowe is, to say the least, not impressed with Sternwood. In fact, here’s how Sternwood himself describes both Carmen and her sister Vivian:
 

‘‘Neither of them has any more moral sense than a cat. Neither have I. No Sternwood ever had.’’
 

Marlowe has a sense already of the decadence and cynicism of this family. But he agrees to take the case and tracks down Geiger. By the time he does, though, Geiger is dead – murdered in his shop. Carmen is a witness, but she’s either been drugged or had a mental breakdown, so she can’t tell Marlowe much. He gets her to safety and with that, thinks that the case is over. After all, Geiger has been stopped. But then there’s another death. And despite his desire to be well and truly rid of the Sternwoods, Marlowe finds himself involved in the investigations.

In Jacqueline Winspear’s Maisie Dobbs, we are introduced to Dobbs, who has just hung out her PI shingle. One of her first clients is Christopher Davenham, who wants her to investigate whether his wife is having an affair. She isn’t overly eager to do so, for as she puts it,
 

‘‘To follow a person is an invasion of the right of that person to privacy. I If I take on this case – and I do have a choice in the matter – I am taking on more than the question of who did what and when. I am taking on a responsibility for both you and your wife in a way that you may not have considered.’’
 

She takes the consequences of what she does very seriously, and at first, Davenham is put off. But he finally agrees to her terms, and she begins work on the case. And in the end, she finds that the solution is quite different to what Davenham had thought.

Anthony Bidulka’s Saskatoon PI Russell Quant has a rather awkward interview with a client in Date With a Sheesha. In that novel, Pranav Gupta wants to hire Quant to find out what happened to his son Nayan ‘Neil.’ According to Gupta, Neil was in Dubai giving a set of guest lectures, as well as researching antique carpets. He was killed in an open-air market in what police claim was an attack by thugs. Gupta doesn’t believe that, though, and wants Quant to find out the truth. What makes this interview awkward is that Gupta’s wife Unnati most emphatically does not agree. As she puts it, her husband wants revenge, not peace. It makes for a few tense moments, but Quant agrees to take the case. And in the end, he finds that Neil Gupta’s death was much more than a chance mugging gone wrong.

Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot has had his share of awkward interviews, too. For example, in Third Girl, he gets a visit from a young woman who tells him that she may have committed a murder. But after a moment or two, she blurts out that he isn’t at all what she had imagined. In fact, he’s too old. Then she leaves without even giving her name. Not surprisingly, Poirot is not too happy about that, and he tells his friend Ariadne Oliver about it when he speaks to her shortly thereafter. As it turns out, Mrs. Oliver has met the young woman, and dredges up her name: Norma Restarick. By the time Poirot finds out who Norma is, though, she has disappeared. Her father and stepmother say she’s in London, but her London roommates say that she hasn’t returned from a weekend away. Now Poirot and Mrs. Oliver face not just the question of whether there’s been a murder, but also, what happened to the possible killer. I know, I know, fans of Murder on the Orient Express.

A PI never knows what a prospective client is really going to be like. And a person in need of PI never knows exactly what that PI will be like at first. So it can make for a very interesting dynamic when they first meet. Thanks, Angela, for the inspiration.

 

 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Dire Straits’ Private Investigations.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Angela Savage, Anthony Bidulka, Jacqueline Winspear, Raymond Chandler

In Silent Graveyards – They Look For Saviors*

GraveyardThere’s something about cemeteries and graveyards that has a certain kind of mystique. Sometimes people visit them to remember loved ones, or to commemorate a tragic event such as a war. They are also of course where the final parts of funeral and burial rites are held in many cultures. And they can provide a lot of information for historians and genealogists. There are a lot of spooky myths about graveyards and cemeteries too; after all, the dead are buried there.

A terrific post by Moira at Clothes in Books on The Guardian Book Blog has got me thinking about how cemeteries and graveyards fit in with crime fiction. And of course it makes perfect sense that we’d see a lot of them, since so much crime fiction has to do with murder. Here are a few stories that came to my mind after reading Moira’s post.

Agatha Christie’s Tommy and Tuppence Beresford find more than one clue during walks through graveyards and cemeteries. For example, in By The Pricking of My Thumbs, the Beresfords visit Tommy’s elderly Aunt Ada, who lives at Sunny Ridge, a rest home. While they’re there, Tuppence hears of a strange mystery and about something ‘behind the fireplace.’ She decides to find out what’s behind the ramblings of the woman who has mentioned the fireplace. At the same time, Tuppence has a strange sense of familiarity about a picture she finds among Aunt Ada’s possessions, although she has never seen the picture before. As it turns out, the two mysteries are related. Both have roots in a very sad story from the past. At one point, the trail leads Tuppence to a graveyard, where she is searching for a particular tombstone. The visit turns out to be very dangerous for her…

Dorothy Sayers uses a cemetery to add a fascinating plot twist in The Nine Tailors. Lord Peter Wimsey and his valet/assistant Mervyn Bunter are on a trip one New Year’s Eve when they have a car accident. Stranded in East Anglia, they are taken in by Rector Theodore Venables of the nearby village of Fenchurch St. Paul. Venables offers them lodging while they wait for the car to be repaired, and the two accept. Wimsey is able to return the rector’s kindness when he fills in as a New Year’s Day change-ringer for Will Thoday, who is ill. That day, news comes that Lady Thorpe, wife of the local squire Sir Henry Thorpe, has died. Wimsey and Bunter stay on for her funeral and then, their car having been fixed, they go on their way. A few months later, Wimsey gets a letter from Venables. Sir Henry died, and preparations were made for his burial. But when the gravediggers opened the family grave where Lady Thorpe was already buried, they found another body already there. Venables asks Wimsey to return to Fenchurch St. Paul and investigate. Wimsey agrees and he and Bunter go back to the village. They find that the unexplained corpse is related to a long-ago robbery and some valuable missing emeralds.

There’s a startling cemetery scene in Reginald Hill’s Child’s Play. Wealthy Geraldine Lomas’ son disappeared during World War II, but she never gave up hope that one day he would come back. In fact, she’s made a will leaving all of her considerable fortune to her son, so long as he returns before 2015. If not, her money is to be divided among three charities. When she dies, her family and others gather at the cemetery for the final burial rituals. An unknown man shows up, calling out ‘Mama!’ and claiming to be her son. Now it looks as though he will inherit everything. But before the will can be sorted out, he is found dead in his car. Now Superintendent Andy Dalziel and his assistant Peter Pascoe have to look through the motives of a number of people to find out who killed the victim. They also have to establish whether he really was Geraldine Lomas’ son.

Jacqueline Winspear’s Maisie Dobbs introduces readers to Maisie, a former World War I nurse who’s returned to England and set up shop as a private investigator. Christopher Davenham hires Maisie to find out whether his wife Celia has been unfaithful. Maisie takes the case and begins to follow Celia to learn her daily patterns. One day, she follows her quarry to a cemetery. She strikes up a conversation with Celia under the pretense of visiting a cousin’s grave. Slowly, she finds out why Celia visited the cemetery and what’s behind her troubling behaviour. She is able to reassure her client that his wife has been true to him, but the cemetery visit leads to another mystery. Several of the soldiers buried there (including the soldier whose grave Celia Davenham visited) had been living at The Retreat, a home especially designed for badly injured WWI veterans. The idea is that they will have a safe place to live, among others who understand what they’ve gone through. In fact, James Compton, son of Maisie’s former employer, is considering moving there, as he is having a great deal of difficulty adjusting to life after the war. But Lady Rowan Compton is concerned about that decision and asks Maisie to look into the place. Maisie agrees and finds out that there are some unsettling things going on at the home.

The real action in Paul Cleave’s Cemetery Lake begins in a Christchurch cemetery. There, cop-turned-PI Theodore Tate is following up on the case of a man who’s died of arsenic poisoning. His wife is suspected of murdering him, and questions have been raised about the death of her first husband. So it’s agreed to exhume that body and test it for poison. Tate is on hand when the exhumation team comes in to do the job, but it’s far from an ordinary exhumation (as if there really is one). As the team is working, several bodies start rising from the lake by the cemetery. What’s more, when the coffin the team is looking for is opened, there’s a real question of the identity of the person in it. In this case, the cemetery holds a lot of secrets…

Steve Robinson’s Jefferson Tayte is a genealogist, so he is accustomed to visiting cemeteries and graveyards as he tracks down information on people’s ancestries. In In the Blood, Tayte has been hired by wealthy businessman Walter Sloane to trace his wife’s genealogy as a gift to her. Tayte has so far learned that one branch of the Fairborne family, his client’s wife’s forbears, settled in the American South. But that line died out. The other branch, beginning with James Fairborne, went to England in 1783 with a group of other Royalists. Sloane wants to find out everything about the family, so Tayte goes to England to follow up on that branch of the family. He begins with the Cornish church nearest where the modern-day Fairbornes live. There he encounters Reverend Joliffe, who shows him round the churchyard. But to Tayte’s disappointment, there are no records of Fairbornes buried in the churchyard. Instead, says Joliffe, those ancestors are probably buried on the modern-day Fairborne estate Rosenmullion Hall. Joliffe makes it clear that the Fairbornes have a lot of local clout, and their co-operation will be needed if Tayte is to get any answers. So Tayte visits Rosenmullion, only to find that no-one in the family is interested in sharing their history with him. Still, Tayte has a paying client and he’s now curious himself as to what happened to the family. So he goes on with his search, although he’s warned off. In the end, he finds out the truth, and I can say without spoiling the story that there’s a very spooky graveyard/cemetery scene in it.

Cemeteries and graveyards really are full of myth, history, and the personal stories of those in them. Little wonder they’re so often mentioned in crime fiction (I know, I know, fans of Arnaldur Indriðason’s Jar City). Thanks very much, Moira, for the inspiration!
 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from The Flower Kings’ Silent Graveyards.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Arnaldur Indriðason, Dorothy Sayers, Jacqueline Winspear, Paul Cleave, Reginald Hill, Steve Robinson

All the Sounds of Long Ago Will be Forever in My Head*

SoldiersToday (or tomorrow, depending on when you read this) the US observes Memorial Day, a day to remember those who gave their lives in the service of their country. And that’s as it should be. We owe a debt of gratitude to them and to their families that cannot be repaid.

The casualties of war though are not just physical. The experience of war leaves deep and lasting, sometimes permanent, psychological scars. Sometimes those scars are accompanied by more physical scars; sometimes they aren’t. Either way, though, those soldiers who do make it home alive don’t always leave the war behind. Certainly that’s true in real life, and we see it in crime fiction too.

In Chris Wormersley’s Bereft, Quinn Walker returns to his home in Flint, New South Wales after serving in the Somme during WWI. He’s been physically and emotionally scarred by the Great War. But instead of the rest and peace he needs, he finds that Flint is caught up in the terrible influenza pandemic that followed the Great War. What’s more, many people, including Walker’s own father, believe that he is responsible for the death of his sister, which occurred ten years earlier. Walker knows that he’s not welcome in the family home, so he hides out in an abandoned shack. That’s how he meets ten-year-old Sadie Fox, who’s hiding there herself. With her help, Walker gets past his war scars enough to find the courage to let his mother know he’s alive and to piece together what really happened to his sister.

Jacqueline Winspear and the mother/son writing team of ‘Charles Todd’ both explore the issue of PTSD in their novels. Winspear’s Maisie Dobbs was a nurse during WWI, and as the 1920’s begin, she has to cope with the physical and mental scars the war left. She also has to learn to deal with other people’s scars. In fact, the theme of returning soldiers trying to fit back into society is quite strong in that series. Charles Todd’s Ian Rutledge series features a police detective who took time away from his job to fight during WWI. He’s returned a different person though, and deals with several psychological issues. One of the themes addressed in this series is what people call ‘survivor’s guilt,’ as well as the issue of coping with the fact that one’s had to kill.

Geoffrey McGeachin explores what we now call PTSD in his Charlie Berlin series, beginning with The Diggers Rest Hotel, which takes place in 1947. Berlin served in Europe, and although he’s come home from the war physically intact, he has several psychic and emotional scars. McGeachin shows how Berlin has to cope with flashbacks and nightmares, as well as with the grim reality that many of his comrades didn’t make it home at all. As time goes on, Berlin does what many former soldiers have done. He gets on with his life as best he can, he tries to start living again and he does what he needs to do. But that doesn’t mean PTSD isn’t part of his life.

It’s also a part of life for James Lee Burke’s Dave Robicheaux. Robicheaux is a veteran of the Vietnam War. In several of the novels that feature him, he deals with flashbacks and nightmares from that time. And he has a sort of bond with others who also face the same demons. He doesn’t always cope successfully with the psychological challenges he faces, and his life as a cop doesn’t make it any easier. But he does his best to make a life for himself and his family.

Michael Palmer’s The Last Surgeon features Dr. Nick Gerrity, who suffers from PTSD after an act of terrorism during his service in Afghanistan. When he returns to the US, he does his best to start life again. He works with the Helping Hands Mobile Medical Unit to assist wounded veterans and to provide medical service to Washington’s street people. Then a nurse, Belle Coates, is murdered by someone who tries to make the death look like suicide. Belle’s sister Jillian doesn’t believe that though, and works to find out who killed Belle and why. Very few people believe her until her own home is firebombed. The trail leads to a connection between Belle and Nick Gerrity, and he and Jillian work to learn the truth about Belle’s death.

And then there’s Robert Crais’ Suspect, a standalone that features LAPD police officer Scott James. James has PTSD as a result of an attack that left him wounded and his police partner Stephanie Anders dead. Once James heals physically, he’s moved to the LAPD’s K-9 unit.  There he is paired with Maggie, a German Shepherd with her own case of PTSD after the loss of her handler during service with a US Marine Corps unit. James is determined to find out who killed Anders, and he and Maggie begin the investigation. But this is a much more complicated and dangerous case than it seems, and James and Maggie will have to depend on each other and trust each other if they’re going to solve it.

As you can see just from these examples, PTSD is a very real part of life for those who’ve seen military service, and I’ve only offered a few instances here. There are many more. It just goes to show that not all casualties of war are those who die in battle. But I hope these examples also show that those who come back from war with PTSD are humans, capable of growth, of healing and of a meaningful life.

Part of our debt of gratitude to those who gave their lives in military service includes, I think, our debt to those who came back and who need our support. They don’t want our pity. They want and richly deserve the psychological and other support they need as they work to put their lives back together. There are lots of ways in which we can help provide that support too. Volunteering, donations and so on are just a few examples. I’ll bet you can think of more. Whatever you come up with, it’s the least we can do for people who’ve laid their lives on the line for us.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Charlie Daniels’ Still in Saigon.

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Filed under Charles Todd, Chris Womersley, Geoffrey McGeachin, Jacqueline Winspear, James Lee Burke, Michael Palmer, Robert Crais

Gotta Go Back in Time*

Historical NovelsA very interesting recent blog post discussion has got me thinking about what really counts as an historical crime novel. You might think at first glance that that’s an easy question to answer. But it’s not as easy as you might think. Let me use a few examples to show you what I mean.

As Ellis Peters, Dame Edith Pargeter created one of the best-known historical crime fiction series, the Cadfael novels. Those novels take place in 11th Century Britain and many of them are set in and near fictional Shrewsbury Abbey. I think most people would agree that these novels ‘count’ as historical fiction. They weren’t written during that century, and that time period was a very long time ago. This one’s a fairly easy call.

So, I think, is Ariana Franklin’s Mistress of the Art of Death series. Those novels take place in Medieval England and feature Adelia Aguilar, who has journeyed from the University of Salerno in Naples to England at the request of the king. Again, that series was not written during the time in which it takes place, and that time was a very long time ago.

We could say the same of series such as Peter Tremayne’s Sister Fidelma series, which takes place in 7th Century Ireland, or C.J. Sansom’s Matthew Shardlake series, which takes place during the reign of King Henry VIII. There’s also Michael Jecks’ Medieval Murder series. All of these are easy to put into the category of ‘historical’ because they take place a very long time ago, and they weren’t written at that time. I’m quite certain you could think of many more series that fall into this category than I ever could.

Of course, there are lots of series that take place more recently than that, but are still generally considered historical. For instance, both Kerry Greenwood’s Phryne Fisher series and Jacqueline Winspear’s Maisie Dobbs series take place in the 1920’s. While that puts them within the 20th Century, it’s still not that far from a hundred years ago, and most people consider that long enough ago, if I may put it that way, to be considered historical. There are lots of other series too – more than I have space for here – that fall into this category.

Even novels and series that take place more recently than the 1920’s ‘count’ as historical for many people. Just as a few examples, there’s Philip Kerr’s Bernie Gunther series (pre-World War II – 1950’s Berlin), William Ryan’s Alexei Korolev series (pre-World War II Moscow) and Alan Bradley’s Flavia de Luce series (1950’s England). There are many, many other examples of this sort of series too.

So far, so good. I think most people would agree that these series are historical crime fiction series. But as we get closer to modern times, it’s a little bit more difficult I think to make the distinction between what does and what doesn’t ‘count’ as an historical series.

For example, David Whish-Wilson’s Frank Swann series takes place in 1970’s Perth.  If you were alive during those years, you might not be so quick to think of these novels as ‘historical.’ The same is true of Colin Cotterill’s Dr. Siri Paiboun series. That one also takes place during the 1970’s, which for a lot of people doesn’t seem so long ago.

And then there’s James W. Fuerst’s Huge, which takes place in 1980’s New Jersey. It’s historical in the sense that it wasn’t written at the time. And if you give the term ‘historical’ some latitude, you probably count it that way. But if you remember the 1980’s, maybe it seems more current. This one’s not quite so clear.

Even more difficult to categorise are series such as Angela Savage’s Jayne Keeney series. Those novels take place in late-1990’s Thailand. On the one hand, it’s not the late 1990’s any more. And the novels weren’t published during that time. So in that sense these novels are historical. But the late 1990’s wasn’t that long ago (or perhaps that’s just my view…). Perhaps not enough time has passed to consider these stories historical.

As you can see, this isn’t as easy a question to resolve as it seems on the surface. Some series and novels fall quite easily into the ‘historical’ category. But for others, it really depends on what you call ‘history.’ Is a novel that takes place two years ago historical?

What’s your view of this? How long ago does a series have to take place for you to consider it ‘historical?’

 

 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Huey Lewis and the News’ Back in Time.

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Filed under Alan Bradley, Angela Savage, Ariana Franklin, C.J. Sansom, David Whish-Wilson, Edith Pargeter, Ellis Peters, Jacqueline Winspear, James W. Fuerst, Kerry Greenwood, Michael Jecks, Peter Tremayne, Philip Kerr, William Ryan

Something About You, Baby, Really Knocks Me Off My Feet*

Mysterious SleuthIn general, crime fiction fans want their sleuths to be believable. Otherwise it’s very difficult to ‘buy’ a storyline or the protagonist and that of course is practically guaranteed to pull a reader out of a novel. But it can also be interesting if a sleuth is just a little enigmatic, or has at least some air of mystery. It’s hard to draw a character like that without sacrificing credibility and humanity. But a touch of mystery can make a sleuth a very interesting character and keep readers wanting to know more.

One of the classic examples of this kind of character is GK Chesterton’s Father Paul Brown. On the one hand, there are certainly things that make him a very real, credible character. He eats, he drinks and he sleeps as we all do. In many ways, he is a completely real person. On the other hand, there is something enigmatic about him. We don’t really know much about his background, and he has a way that’s hard to put in words of finding out the truth about cases. He certainly pays attention to facts and evidence. But he understands people at a different sort of level.

One of Agatha Christie’s recurring characters is Mr. Harley Quin. We don’t really know where he comes from or much about his background. His usual explanation for being in a given place at a given time is that he is ‘just passing through.’ There’s a real air of mystery about him, but at the same time, he is real enough. He eats, he drinks, he talks as other people do and so on. In Christie’s short story The Harlequin Tea Set for instance, he just happens to be passing by a village where Mr. Satterthwaite (another Christie ‘regular’) has stopped for tea. Satterthwaite is on his way to visit an old friend and when he encounters Quin, he tells him about the family. It turns out that Quin’s input is very useful when Satterthwaite’s friend suddenly dies.

Fred Vargas’ Commissaire Adamsberg has a bit of mystery about him too. In some ways he’s quite down-to-earth. He’s originally from the Pyrenees, and as the series goes on, we learn a bit about his background, which is real enough. He eats, drinks, sleeps, and so on. But in some ways, there is a little something different about him. He doesn’t solve cases in exactly the way other police officers do. It’s not that he ignores evidence (which he doesn’t), but he gets a certain sense from people that guides him as much as anything else does. As we learn in The Chalk Circle Man, he sometimes wishes he didn’t think that way, but as he puts it:

 

‘What I’m telling you about is something that I can’t help. In fact, it gives me enormous trouble in my life. If only I could be wrong about someone once in a while, about whether he was an upright citizen or not, or sad, or intelligent, or untruthful, or troubled, or indifferent, or dangerous, or timid…’

 

Over time, Adamsberg’s colleagues get used to his ability to sense things about people. They see that although he doesn’t go about cases in the way they do (and some of them are quite pointed about that), he gets to the truth.

That’s also the case with Anne Zouroudi’s Hermes Diaktoros. In many ways, he’s quite a real person. He smokes, eats, drinks, has likes and dislikes, and those things make him credible. But at the same time, he’s a little mysterious too. We don’t really know much about where he comes from or his background. We’re not even really sure how he gets involved in cases. He generally says he ‘comes from Athens’ to investigate, but he isn’t specific about whom he works for or why he takes an interest in a given case. Here’s what he says about it in The Messenger of Athens:

 

‘As for who I am, I’ve made no claims. So choose for yourself. Perhaps I am a mere philanthropist. Or maybe I am a man of means who simply enjoys meddling in the lives of the less fortunate. Perhaps the Police Authority employs me to combat corruption in our remote police forces. Maybe I am all those things. Or none. Maybe I was sent here by a higher authority still.’

 

That said, though, Diaktoros is a very real person who solves cases by gathering information, talking to witnesses and so on. He doesn’t solve cases magically.

Neither does Jacqueline Winspear’s Maisie Dobbs. On the one hand, she is quite real. We know her history (she’s the daughter of costermonger Frankie Dobbs) and we know how she comes to open her own detective agency. Like everyone else she goes about her daily life and she’s very much a real person. And yet there is something about her that is a little mysterious. That’s also true of her mentor Maurice Blanche. Blanche is a psychologist and doctor, but he’s got wide-ranging interests, and he seems to have a real intuition about people. You couldn’t call it being psychic, and (in my opinion anyway) that makes his intuition all the more interesting. We don’t know very much about his personal background or life either. He’s taught Maisie a lot of what he knows about ‘reading’ people, about using one’s intuition and about sensing things. And she has learned well. That aspect of her makes her just enigmatic enough to be interesting without making her hard to ‘buy’ as a character.

Sleuths who have that certain air of mystery about them can add a lot to a series, especially as we get to know them bit by bit. That bit of mystery can make the reader all the more interested in the sleuth. At the same time, it has to be balanced with credibility. Sleuths one can’t imagine actually existing can pull the reader out of the story. What do you think? Do you like your sleuths to be a little enigmatic, or do you prefer them to be completely straightforward?

 

 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Journey’s La Do Da.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Anne Zouroudi, Fred Vargas, G.K. Chesterton, Jacqueline Winspear