Category Archives: Louise Penny

There Are Secrets I’ll Never Tell*

PersonalLivesOr are there? An interesting comment exchange with Bernadette at Reactions to Reading has got me thinking about the amount of detail readers learn about sleuths’ personal lives. Do readers really want sub-plots, story arcs and other plot points that share what’s going on in the sleuth’s home?

On the one hand, I’d guess that most of us would say that we don’t want ‘cardboard characters. We want characters who feel authentic and ‘fleshed out.’ That said though, many of us would also say that when we read crime fiction, we want a plot – a mystery/crime that’s at the heart of the story. Too much ‘home life’ information takes away from the pace of that plot and can actually get tiresome.

It’s tricky to decide just how much information to include, really. And that choice has very likely changed over time as readers’ tastes have changed. There’s a strong argument that, while classic/Golden Age crime fiction certainly includes information about sleuths’ home lives, that’s often not the focus of the mystery. Today’s crime fiction is arguably quite different.

I thought it might be interesting to look at this question of personal lives in crime fiction just a bit more deeply. So the first question I asked myself was this: is there really as much ‘home life’ detail as it seems in crime fiction? To address that question, I chose 148 books that I’ve read. All of the books feature a police or PI professional sleuth. I didn’t consider amateur sleuths because, very often, their personal lives are the reason they get involved in detection. I thought it might skew my data.

Given that, here is what I found:

 

Cops' and PIs' Personal Lives

 

As you can see, of those 148 crime novels, 123 of them (83%) include ‘home life’ scenes and other information about the sleuth’s personal life. By ‘other information,’ I mean more than such things as a passing reference to ‘my wife/husband.’  Fans of series such as Louise Penny’s Armand Gamache novels or Henning Mankell’s Inspector Van Veeteren series probably won’t be surprised at this finding.

Going on the assumption that publishers are more likely to release books that readers want to read, there’s an argument here, I think, that we want that sort of ‘home life’ detail, at least to an extent. In fact, lots of readers actually follow story arcs in series precisely because they involve sleuths’ home and personal lives. In other words, books and series have this sort of information because readers want it. And that’s logical, given that most readers want believable characters.

The next question I asked myself was: has it always been this way? There’s a general perception that classic/Golden Age crime fiction doesn’t really give a lot of ‘home life’ information about sleuths. It’s been said that’s because those books tend to be more plot-driven. But is that really true? I decided to have another look at my data to see what it might show.

 

Percent of Books With Personal Life Details

As you can see, era really does make a difference when it comes to personal information and story arcs in crime novels. Only 38% of the pre-1950 crime novels in my data set include ‘home life’ scenes or other personal information. That number jumps to 85% in the years between 1950 and1980. And in the last thirty-five years, the percentage has risen to 92%.

Now, there are some important limitations to these findings. There are only 24 books in my pre-1950 data set. My guess is that that percentage would change if a lot more books were added. Would it go up to 92%? I personally doubt it, but it’s important to note the small size of the set. The same is true of the 1950-1980 set. There are 21 books in that set. If there were more, would the percentage be higher? Very possibly it would. But that, to me, would lend support to the argument that our interest in sleuths’ personal lives has increased over the years.

If this data reflects what’s really going on, why is it happening? Why do readers want to know, more than ever, about fictional cops’ and PIs’ personal lives? One answer is that we increasingly want our characters to be realistic, and that includes the fact that they have home lives. Another, related, possibility is that readers increasingly want story arcs in their series. If that’s the case, then it makes sense that story arcs would focus, at least some of the time, on personal lives. And in turn, it makes sense that we’d see more of sleuths’ personal lives in our crime fiction. Yet another explanation is that in general, people are sharing more of their lives (e.g. on social media). Whether or not that’s a good thing, we may be getting used to finding out others’ ‘home life’ information.

What do you think about all this? Obviously there’s such a thing as too much ‘home life’ in a crime novel. And I think most of us would agree that there’s definitely such a thing as too much dysfunctional ‘home life’ in a crime novel. But that aside, do you prefer books with ‘home life’ and other personal information about sleuths? If so, why? If you’re a writer, how do you balance that information with that all-important focus on the mystery at hand?

Thanks, Bernadette, for the inspiration. Folks, please give yourselves a treat and visit Reactions to Reading, simply one of the finest book review blogs there is. G’wan, you really want that blog on your blog roll!
 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Billy Joel’s Careless Talk.

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Filed under Henning Mankell, Louise Penny

When Sleuths Buy Gifts ;-)

When Sleuths Buy GIftsHave you ever taken part in a ‘Secret Santa’ gift exchange? Sometimes it’s called a ‘Kris Kringle,’ and sometimes a ‘Pollyanna.’ There are other names for it too. Whatever you call it, the way it generally works is that a group of people put their names into a hat, a box or some such thing. Each one draws the name of someone else and gets a gift for that person.

It sounds like a wonderful idea, doesn’t it? But it doesn’t always work out as planned. Don’t believe me? Let’s see what happens….
 

When Fictional Sleuths are ‘Secret Santas.’
 

I. Hercule Poirot (Agatha Christie)

Hastings: Whose name did you draw, Poirot?
Poirot: I have drawn…(Glances down at the slip of paper) Mlle. Kinsey Millhone (Sue Grafton).
Hastings: Any idea what you’ll get for her?
Poirot: I think, mon ami, that I will have Georges make an appointment for her at a dressmaker’s shop. Les femmes, they all love beautiful dresses, do they not?
Hastings: Er…well…I suppose so.
 

II. Rebecka Martinsson (Åsa Larsson)

(Having a coffee with Inspector Anna-Maria Mella)
Rebecka: So I got talked into this Secret Santa business.
Anna-Maria: Well, it might be fun. Whose name did you get?
Rebecka: Her name’s Corinna Chapman (Kerry Greenwood).
Anna-Maria: So what will you buy?
Rebecka: At this time of year? A heavy parka. If I rush it, she’ll get it before Christmas too. Hmm…. I don’t know her size. Well, I’ll just get her an average-sized coat – one I might wear. That ought to be safe. Can’t miss!
 

III. John Rebus (Ian Rankin)

Rebus: Shiv, you doing this Secret Santa thing?
Siobhan Clarke: Yeah, sure. You?
Rebus: Don’t have much choice, I don’t think.
Clarke: Who’d you get?
Rebus: His name’s Inspector Morse (Colin Dexter).
Clarke: Ah, fellow copper. What are you getting him?
Rebus: Everyone loves music, right? Think I’ll get him tickets to a Rolling Stones concert.
Clarke: (Looks down at her cup of tea) Maybe you ought to find out what kind of music he likes first?
Rebus: Who doesn’t love the Stones?
 

IV. V.I. ‘Vic’ Warshawski (Sara Paretsky)

(Having a glass of wine with Lotty Herschel)
Vic: So I’ve been thinking about this whole Secret Santa thing.
Lotty: That’s good. It’s coming up soon.
Vic: I know, and I think I have just the thing. I got this guy Nero Wolfe (Rex Stout). He’s never been to Chicago. So I’m going to take him bar-hopping! Really show him a Jack Daniels night. Then we’ll go to the Maxwell Street Market for some kielbasa. Ha! I might even get him a Cubs hat! What do you think?
Lotty: If you really think he’d like it.
Vic: Can’t go wrong!
 

V. Armand Gamache (Louise Penny)

(Having breakfast with his wife Reine-Marie)
Reine-Marie: So, have you decided what to do about this Secret Santa name draw?
Armand: Actually I think I have. I drew Lisbeth Salander’s name (Stieg Larsson). She’s from Stockholm, so I thought it would be nice to give her a real Québec welcome, with Christmas right here in Three Pines.
Reine-Marie: What a lovely idea! I’m sure she’d love a small-town holiday after living in the city. We can ask them to give her a room at the B&B, we’ll make sure she meets everyone, and she can come to Midnight Mass with us.
Armand: Good thinking. No-one does gourmet bistro better than Olivier and Gabri. She’ll love it!
 

VI. Nick and Nora Charles (Dashiell Hammett)

Nora: I’ve got it, Nick!
Nick: Got what?
Nora: The perfect idea for the Secret Santa draw, of course.
Nick: Oh, that. Who’d we get anyway?
Nora: His name’s Walt Longmire (Craig Johnson). He’s from Wyoming.
Nick: So what’s your brilliant idea?
Nora: Well, we’re going to be in New York for the next couple of months. Why not get him the best Broadway tickets we can? We’ll put him up at the Plaza for a few days.
Nick: Sounds great! I’ll bet he’s dying to get out of whatever one-horse town he lives in.

Perhaps after all it’d be just as well for these sleuths to stick to solving crime… ;-)

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Åsa Larsson, Colin Dexter, Craig Johnson, Dashiell Hammett, Ian Rankin, Kerry Greenwood, Louise Penny, Rex Stout, Sara Paretsky, Stieg Larsson, Sue Grafton

What’s in a Name, Anyway?*

Cover and Title ChangesA great deal of what we do is influenced by culture. And a recent comment exchange with Crimeworm (whose blog you really ought to check out!) and Cleo of Cleopatra Loves Books (another blog treasure) has got me thinking about how culture influences things like book titles and book covers.

Culture and language have to be taken into account when a book moves into international markets. Publishers know this too, so sometimes, titles aren’t directly translated from one language into another. For instance, the original title of Stieg Larsson’s The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo was Män som hatar kvinnor – Men Who Hate Women. Those who are familiar with the book will know that that title gets right to one of the main points of the plot. But when the book was translated and prepared for English-speaking audiences, the publisher opted to change the title. That choice had two important effects. One was that the new title was more closely related to the other two titles in the trilogy, The Girl Who Played With Fire and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets’ Nest. That’s one effective strategy for ‘branding’ books.

Another effect of that title change was arguably to give the series a broader appeal. Among other things, Larsson used these novels to comment on Swedish politics, on social issues and on the role of women in Swedish society. While some of his commentary transcends borders, it’s possible that readers from other countries wouldn’t have been as tempted to try those stories if they had seen them as appealing mostly to Swedish readers. The title change also places extra emphasis on the character of Lisbeth Salander. And that switch of emphasis had commercial value as well. Quite possibly international readers found her story and personality more intriguing than the finance and Swedish social class issues that are also prominent in the series.

Culture is of course inextricably linked with language. So when publishers settle on final titles for novels, they also take words and language into account. Obviously that means translating from one language into another. But it also can mean more subtle differences, such as differences among dialects. To take just one example, Ian Rankin’s fifteenth novel featuring Inspector John Rebus was initially published as Fleshmarket Close. But when the US publication option was picked up, the title was changed to Fleshmarket Alley. That’s because in Scotland, a ‘close’ is an alley, but the word ‘close’ isn’t used that way in the US. It was thought that US readers would find it easier to understand the title if the word ‘alley’ was used. Interestingly, some other Rankin titles that would have extra levels of meaning in Scottish parlance were not changed for US audiences. For example, on one level, the title of the first Rebus novel Knots and Crosses is a play on words, referring to the game ‘naughts and crosses’ – the UK name for what’s called ‘tic tac toe’ in the US.

Another important thing to keep in mind about culture is that it is dynamic. Title changes of books therefore sometimes reflect changes in society and its values over time. For instance, one of Agatha Christie’s best-regarded novels is And Then There Were None. Fans will know that this title reflects the story of ten people who are invited to spend some time on Indian Island. One by one, the people on the island are killed, and the survivors have to find out which one of them is the killer if they’re to stay alive. Fans will also know that this book had two other names as well. The original titles were not considered to be offensive at the time that the book was published; and in fact, those original titles were in keeping with an old poem that plays a role in the novel. But by today’s standards, those two titles are considered offensive. This one’s Christie’s best-selling novel, but I wonder what sales might be like if the original titles had been kept.

Sometimes, title changes don’t have as obvious a cultural motivation. For example, Louise Penny’s Dead Cold was published in the US as A Fatal Grace. Agatha Christie’s The Hollow was published as Murder After Hours, and her Five Little Pigs was also published as Murder in Retrospect. There are lots of other examples like this as well. I’m sure that you could think of many more than I could. Sometimes those changes are made because there’s another novel with the same or a very similar title being published in the ‘target’ country. Sometimes it’s because the publisher thinks the new title will ‘stand out’ more. Other times it’s to link a group of novels by the same author (e.g. the ‘nursery rhyme’ theme in some of Agatha Christie’s titles).

The central point of all of this is really that when a publisher is preparing a book for a new market, the main concern is making that book appealing to readeres in that market. In order to do that, publishers choose titles that are likely to stand out in the minds of readers. They also choose titles that ‘brand’ a book or series for readers, and that take into account the culture of the target market. All of those factors play roles in the titles that are eventually selected. They can also mean that the same book has several titles, even in the same language. That can sometimes result in confusion and even frustration, but it probably also means that more books are sold.

The other topic that was brought up in this interesting comment exchange had to do with covers. Why, for instance, are covers for the same novel (same title, even) different between, say, the US and the UK? Why does the same book have two different covers in different editions? Part of the reason may have a bit to do with culture. Each culture, for instance, has different standards for what is appealing/appropriate. But as Cleo pointed out, there’s also the matter of graphic artist or company. Different publishers use different companies or individuals to do the cover art. Those companies or people have different interpretations of the story, and different ideas of what is likely to appeal to readers. And, of course, there’s the important reality of film and television tie-ins. Many cover changes are influenced by those adaptations.

These are just my initial thoughts on the topics of title/cover changes. What do you think? Thanks to Crimeworm and Cleo for the delicious ‘food for thought.’ You’ll want to visit their blogs and see how terrific they are.
 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from K.L. Dunham and Johnny Mandel’s Don’t Look Back.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Ian Rankin, Louise Penny, Stieg Larsson

I Can Make it Disappear*

Vanishing Murder WeaponsWhen there’s a murder, whether it’s real or fictional, the police put a lot of effort into trying to find the murder weapon. Often it links the killer with the crime. So, murderers have to think about what they’re going to do with the weapon they use. Sometimes (as in cases of pushes from heights, strangling or drowning) the killer can hide his or her tracks more easily. But not all murderers have that option. After all, it takes some effort to lure your victim to the top of a cliff if you haven’t planned carefully. And not all killers have the physical strength it can take to strangle someone.

This all means that sometimes, the killer has to make a weapon disappear, or seem to disappear. There are lots of examples of ingenious ways to do that in crime fiction. Here are just a few to get started.

In Christianna Brand’s Green For Danger, postman Joseph Higgins is brought to Heron Park Military Hospital with a fractured femur. An operation is planned, and the surgical team gathers. Higgins dies on the table and at first, it looks as though it was a tragic accident – a surgery gone wrong. Kent County Police Inspector Cockrill is assigned to the hospital to do the routine paperwork that’s required for an unexpected death like this. He begins by asking perfunctory questions and it’s assumed the case will be closed quickly. But then, one of the nurses, Sister Marion Bates, has too much to drink at a party and blurts out that she knows Higgins was murdered. What’s more, she says, she knows how it was done. Later that night she too dies. And this time it’s a clear case of murder. Now Cockrill looks more deeply into the Higgins case. He concentrates his attention on the people who were present during the operation and at first, he doesn’t get very far. But eventually he figures out exactly how the murder was accomplished. It turns out that the killer had a very clever way of getting rid of the weapon.

Georgette Heyer’s A Blunt Instrument actually mentions the murder weapon in the title. This novel concerns the death of wealthy businessman Ernest Fletcher. When he is bludgeoned in his study, Sergeant Hemingway and Superintendent Hannasyde take on the investigation. One thing they want to do of course is to find the weapon. But that proves to be more difficult than it might seem. It’s clear that Fletcher was killed by a blunt instrument, but there’s no obvious weapon in his study. That can only mean that the killer hid it (but a thorough search turns up nothing), or took it away (but witnesses say that no-one carried anything out of the house that night). A weapon big enough to kill like that couldn’t be hidden in a pocket, so it’s very unclear what happened to it. Still, the police continue to do their jobs and begin to look into the possible motives of Fletcher’s family members and others he knew. Eventually they pin their suspicions on Charlie Carpenter, a young man with a dubious reputation and a history of blackmail. But when they track him down, they discover that he’s been murdered too, in the same way as Fletcher. And again, there is no sign of a murder weapon anywhere. In the end, we discover who killed both men and why. And it turns out that the killer had a very innovative way to make the murder weapon ‘vanish.’

Arthur Porges’ short story Horse-Collar Homicide features an unusual sort of ‘disappearing murder weapon.’ Pathologist Dr. Joel Hoffman is assigned to examine the body of Leonard Lakewood, a wealthy tycoon who suddenly collapsed at a family gathering. At first it looks as though Lakewood died of a massive stroke, and even Hoffman is prepared to sign off on that explanation. But there are certain points about the autopsy/laboratory results that aren’t consistent with a stroke. So Hoffman talks to the members of the Lakewood family to get more information. He learns that at the time of Lakewood’s death, he was leading the family in an antique game called ‘grinning through a horse-collar.’ A horse-collar is suspended at about the height of a human face. Then, the players take turns putting their faces through the collar and creating the funniest facial expressions they can. The winner is the player who gets the most laughs. Lakewood wasn’t strangled, so the horse-collar couldn’t have been used in that way. It takes some time, but in the end, Hoffman figures out exactly what the weapon was, and how it ‘vanished.’

In Louise Penny’s A Fatal Grace (AKA Dead Cold), we meet C.C. de Poitiers. To the public, she’s a celebrated ‘life coach’ who’s made a huge success from her book Be Calm and from her associated businesses. In private, she’s malicious, verbally cruel and completely self-involved. She decides to move her family to the rural Québec town of Three Pines, where she intends to open a new Be Calm business. Trouble starts right away, since she is not exactly popular among the people who live in Three Pines. And matters quickly go from bad to worse. Then, she attends the traditional Boxing Day curling match that takes place in the area. During the game, she suddenly collapses and dies. The cause turns out to be electrocution. Chief Inspector Armand Gamache and his team are called in, and are quickly faced with a problem: how was the electric shock delivered? There aren’t super-length electrical cords lying around, and the murder scene is outdoors, not near any obvious source of power. Once the investigation team discovers exactly how the victim was electrocuted, they face the task of finding out who the killer is. In this case, you could say that the victim’s own past and personality have everything to do with her death.

Everyone is different of course, but in my opinion, one of the the most ingenious ways to make a weapon disappear is in Roald Dahl’s Lamb to the Slaughter. One evening, police officer Patrick Maloney comes home with some news that shocks his wife Mary. Not long afterwards, he is murdered. Mary alerts the police, who come immediately (the victim is, after all, a ‘brother in blue’). The officers can immediately see that Patrick’s dead, but they can’t find the murder weapon. Because of this, they’re not going to be able to link the crime to the culprit. If you haven’t read this story (or if it’s been a while), you can read it right here.

And in my own Publish or Perish, police officers Donna Crandall and Lloyd Simmons investigate two murders. In one of them, the killer takes advantage of the fact that it’s winter in Pennsylvania, and that means lots of large icicles. Of course, when ice gets warm enough, well, it melts… Former police detective-turned-professor Joel Williams takes an interest in the murders because the first victim is Nick Merrill, a graduate student Williams knew. So he works with the police to find out who’s behind the killings.

Making a murder weapon ‘vanish’ isn’t always easy. For instance, police can trace guns much of the time, and with effort, one can trace something like a poison back to the person who administered it. So murderers sometimes have to be creative about what they do with their weapons, especially if they themselves can’t leave the scene of the crime or provide an alibi. I’ll bet you can think of lots more examples of this in crime fiction than I can. So, over to you.
 
 
 
*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Bruce Springsteen’s Magic.

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Filed under Arthur Porges, Christianna Brand, Georgette Heyer, Louise Penny, Roald Dahl

An Englishman’s Way of Speaking Absolutely Classifies Him*

Adjusting LanguageThere’s an interesting theory of language that suggests that we adjust the way we speak in order to identify with a particular group. If this theory (it’s called Speech Accommodation Theory, or SAT) is correct, people often do that because they’re members of that group, and feel a connection. Or they want to be accepted into the group, so they adjust their language to express solidarity. If you’ve noticed that you change your way of speaking depending on the group of people you’re with, you know from your own experience how this works.

It happens in crime fiction, too, and it’s an interesting way for authors to show not tell, as the saying goes, what a character is like. It’s also an effective way for a fictional sleuth to ‘fit in.’ Let me just offer a few examples.

In Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express, Hercule Poirot takes the Orient Express train through Europe back to London to deal with some new developments in a case he’s working. On the second night of the journey, one of his fellow passengers, Samuel Ratchett, is stabbed. M. Bouc, who’s one of the travel company’s directors, is also on board the train and asks Poirot to find out who the killer is. Poirot agrees and begins to look into the case. The only possible suspects are the other passengers in the same car as as the victim, so Poirot concentrates his efforts there. It turns out that this murder has everything to do with a past incident. One of the interesting elements in this novel is the way language is adjusted in order to give a certain impression. If you’ve read the novel, you know what I mean. If you haven’t, and you do read it at some point, keep in mind that not everything is the way it sounds…

Arthur Upfield’s Inspector Napoleon ‘Bony’ Bonaparte is a member of the Queensland Police. He’s in the interesting position of being a part of two cultural communities, since his father was White and his mother belonged to one of the Aboriginal groups. He actually identifies himself in two different ways, and in more than one novel there are references to his dual identity. Bony adjusts his language and his cultural ways to suit the needs of situations in which he finds himself. When he’s with other Aborigines, he uses their language and their ways. When he’s with Whites, he speaks standard Australian English. What’s more, he’s even able to adjust his dialect if it’s necessary. This language adjustment is an authentic reflection of Bony’s own identity; it’s also a way for him to put people enough at their ease that they’re more willing to talk to him than they might otherwise be.

Tony Hillerman’s Jim Chee is a Navajo Tribal Police officer, and a member of the Navajo Nation. He uses English quite a lot of the time, but he also speaks Navajo, and uses it to express his kinship with that group. Even when he’s speaking in English, if the person he’s talking to is Navajo, you’ll find that Navajo words, phrases and cultural references are sprinkled into what he says. And sometimes, he completely code switches to Navajo when he’s speaking to a fellow Navajo. Chee is a cop, so part of the reason he adjusts his speech as he does is to make others feel comfortable enough to tell him what he wants to know. In other words, it’s a deliberate adjustment made for a specific purpose. But he adjusts his speech that way in more casual moments too, so there’s a good argument that he also does it to belong – to be a part of his community.

One of Martin Edwards’ series features Harry Devlin, a Liverpool attorney who works with a somewhat down-and-out firm. Although he’s educated and uses standard British English, Devlin can easily adjust his speech to the Scouser variety of English that’s common in the Liverpool area. And he finds that that’s to his advantage in All The Lonely People. In that novel, Devlin is surprised to say the least when his estranged wife Liz comes back into his life, asking if she can stay with him for a bit. Devlin accepts, hoping that this may mean she is interested in a reconciliation. Two nights later, Liz is stabbed and her body found in an alley. Devlin is determined to find out who killed her, and it’s in his pragmatic interest anyway, since that will clear his own name. So he starts to ask questions. The trail leads through some of Liverpool’s poorer and more dangerous areas, and Devlin knows that he’s not likely to be trusted, to say the least, if he uses his own way of speaking. So he adjusts his speech and adopts
 

‘…a congested Scouse accent…’
 

when he talks to some of those he meets. That change doesn’t solve Liz’ murder, but it does mark Devlin as ‘one of us,’ in some people’s eyes, and that gets him information he probably wouldn’t have gotten otherwise.

Louise Penny’s Chief Inspector Armand Gamache is a proud francophone Québécois, as are several members of the police with whom he works on his cases. And it’s very interesting to see how they interact when they’re speaking with other francophones as opposed to when they’re speaking with native speakers of English. For instance, in Still Life, Gamache and his team go to the small town of Three Pines to investigate the murder of former school teacher Jane Neal. Here’s a snippet of what happens when he speaks to a local police officer Agent Robert Lemieux. Lemieux was first on the scene, and secured the area, so his input about what and whom he saw is important:
 

“Bien sûr! I saw that man over there [indicating a possible witness]. An Anglais, I suspected, by his clothes and his pallor. The English, I have noticed, have weak stomachs.’…
It had also been Lemieux’s experience that the English had no clothes sense, and this man in his plaid flannel shirt could not possibly be francophone.’

 

Lemieux identifies closely with fellow francophones, so he adjusts his language (and his comments!) to express solidarity with them. Fans of this series will know that as a rule, things are different when the team members are speaking with anglophones.

One of Anya Lipska’s protagonists is Januscz ‘Janek’ Kiszka, a Polish immigrant who now lives in London. Kiszka speaks fluent English, and when he interacts with native speakers of that language (such as Lipska’s other protagonist DC Natalie Kershaw), he uses English. He sometimes misses Poland, but he’s comfortable enough in England. However, he’s culturally and linguistically Polish, and uses that language to identify with other Poles. Even when he’s speaking English with fellow Poles, he uses Polish expressions and makes Polish cultural references. He adjusts his language in great part to express solidarity with people from his own background. Kiszka’s ability to adjust his language to fit in is part of why he’s got a reputation in his own community as a ‘fixer.’ He helps his fellow Poles to get things done, to arrange paperwork, to negotiate life in London and so on. And that’s why Kershaw also finds his input useful. In Where the Devil Can’t Go and Death Can’t Take a Joke, she investigates cases that reach into the Polish community. Kiszka is a member of that group and provides valuable insights.

We may not consciously be aware of it, but we do adjust the way we speak, and there’s a solid argument that we do so at least in part to identify with a particular group (or to identify ourselves as not belonging to a given group). So it’s little wonder that we see these language adjustments in crime fiction too. Which ones have stood out in your mind?

 

 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Alan Jay Lerner and Frederick Loewe’s Overture/Why Can’t the English.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Anya Lipska, Arthur Upfield, Louise Penny, Martin Edwards, Tony Hillerman