Category Archives: Martin Edwards

One Word From You is All I Need to be Inspired*

Writing InspirationIn Agatha Christie’s Hallowe’en Party, detective story novelist Ariadne Oliver is talking to Hercule Poirot about how she gets inspired for her stories:
 

‘It does happen that way. I mean, you see a fat woman sitting on a bus…And you look at her and you study her shoes and the skirt she’s wearing and her hat and guess her age and whether she’s got a wedding ring on and a few other things. And then you get off the bus. You don’t want ever to see her again, but you’ve got a story in your mind…’
 

Later in the conversation, Mrs. Oliver points out (and I think, rightly, at least for me) that it would ruin the inspiration if she actually knew the woman she describes. Then the woman she created wouldn’t really be, well, her own creation.

Lots of fiction writers get asked if they base their stories on real people. And of course, there are plenty of authors who write fiction about real people (Hilary Mantel, Martin Edwards and Truman Capote, to name just three). But a lot of writers don’t quite do that.

What happens instead (well, at least for me) is that the writer may see an event, or read or hear about it. Or, perhaps the writer notices a stranger in a grocery store or restaurant or park. Whether it’s a person or event, it sparks the writer’s imagination. Then, the ‘what if questions’ happen: ‘That guy in the baseball cap is so wrapped up in his ‘phone that he’s not paying attention to anything. There could be a murder right behind him and he might not even notice! What would that be like?’  And the story starts to come together, just from that one scene.

Agatha Christie is said to have been inspired for Murder on the Orient Express by a personal experience in which she was caught on a train that was stopped because of snow. Of course, there wasn’t a murder on the train, and it wasn’t for three days, and…  But that one incident sparked her imagination. I can’t speak for her, of course, but my guess would be that she didn’t base the characters in that novel on specific people she knew. It’s possible that no-one on the train with her that day resembled any of the characters. Instead, it was the experience that got her thinking.

In October of 1999, two trains collided more or less head-on near Ladbroke Grove, a few miles from Paddington Station. There were 31 deaths and hundreds of injuries, and the incident left permanent scars. Ruth Rendell used that incident as the setting for her novel Adam and Eve and Pinch Me, in which three women’s lives intersect as a result of the crash. Two lose their partners in the wreck; the third meets her fiancé because of it. When these three discover that they’ve all been duped by the same con artist (who was ostensibly killed in the crash) the result leads to some dark places. Rendell didn’t, as far as I know, base those characters directly on people she actually knew who survived the crash. Rather, the event itself sparked the story.

You might say the same sort of thing about Michael Connelly. As he has told the story, he was at a baseball game and got to talking with another person who was there. That man was a lawyer who didn’t have an office in the conventional sense of that word. Rather, he used his car as an office. If you’ve read Connelly’s work and that sounds familiar, it should. Connelly used this person he met as the inspiration for Mickey Haller, whom he introduced in The Lincoln Lawyer. Fans of Haller will know that he uses his car as an office, and travels all over Los Angeles to pursue his cases. The man Connelly met at the baseball game wasn’t named Mickey Haller, and very likely didn’t resemble Haller either in character or appearance. My guess is that instead, Connelly was inspired to imagine a lawyer who works out of his car, and the kind of cases he might encounter.

In discussing the creation of his John Rebus series, Ian Rankin has said that Rebus came to him as a fully-formed fictional character. But he (Rankin) was inspired by the place where he was living at the time he was writing Knots and Crosses, the first Rebus novel. He has said that he wrote the story on a typewriter, sitting at a table by a window. From that window, he could see the tenement opposite, and decided that Rebus would live there – across the way. His living situation inspired the sort of home environment Rebus would have. Fans of this series will also know that Rankin has been inspired for several stories by other places in Edinburgh.

Here’s what Val McDermid says about the inspiration for her novel The Vanishing Point:
 

‘‘I was travelling with my son when he was about six,’ she says. ‘I’ve got replacement knees so I set off the detectors, and they literally put you in a box. While I was there, my boy was standing by the luggage belt waiting for our bags to come through and I thought that someone could just take him by the hand and walk away with him.’’
 

She took that moment of fear, with which any parent can identify, and used it to spark the story, even though fortunately, the events of the story didn’t happen in her personal life.

Some writers do use real people, of course. And if you’re interested in the legalities of that, please check out this fascinating post by Bill Selnes at Mysteries and More From Saskatchewan. That’s a great crime fiction blog, by the way, that deserves a place on any crime fiction fan’s blog roll.

A lot of writers, though, take those little ideas that come from people they see, events they watch (or learn about) or experiences, and use them to spark fictional stories. Admittedly it can be a bit difficult to explain the process. But when it happens to you, there’s nothing quite like it.

 

ps  It’s not just authors who do this. So do those who write songs. For instance, Billy Joel was, so it is said, inspired to write New York State of Mind by a bus ride he took to West Point. And Allentown was inspired by a comment he heard from a fan.

Wait, what? You wonder why I’d mention a rock star in a crime fiction blog post? But it’s Billy Joel!! And it’s his birthday. So happy birthday, Mr. Joel. And now I’m off to celebrate this important international holiday. Problem with that? Good! ;-)

 
 
 

*NOTE: the title of this post is a line from Billy Joel’s Blonde Over Blue.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Ruth Rendell, Martin Edwards, Ian Rankin, Michael Connelly, Val McDermid, Truman Capote, Hilary Mantel

A Golden Post about the Golden Age of Murder

PrintToday I’m excited to welcome Golden Age expert and talented crime writer Martin Edwards to Confessions of a Mystery Novelist…  Edwards knows far more than I ever could about Golden Age crime fiction and those who created it. You’ll learn more than you could imagine by visiting his blog, Do You Write Under Your Own Name? – a must for any crime fiction lover’s blog roll.  Edwards has just released his new book, The Golden Age of Murder, a unique look at the people who made the Golden Age what it was. Now, without further ado, here he is to talk about it. Writers, you’ll want to learn from his process. Crime fiction fans, you’ll be interested to know what went on ‘behind the scenes.': 
 

It’s kind of Margot to give me the chance to tell readers of Confessions of a Mystery Novelist about my latest book – it’s one that means a great deal to me. The title is The Golden Age of Murder, and although it isn’t a novel, I’ve used novelistic techniques, and undertaken quite a bit of detective work in writing it. In short, I set out to tell a story about detective novels and detective novelists from that extraordinary period in history, the years between the two world wars. It’s a story I found as fascinating as any fictional mystery, and when undertaking my researches I felt rather like a would-be Poirot, presented with endless clues, but also plenty of false trails and red herrings.

The first confession from this particular mystery novelist is that I’ve always had a passion for ingenious and imaginative whodunits. Agatha Christie was the first adult novelist whose work I read, at the tender age of nine, and the intense pleasure her twisty plots and surprise solutions gave me then is something I’ll never forget. As I read more widely, enjoying contemporary crime fiction as well as the classics, it dawned on me that even today’s most prominent cutting-edge authors owe a considerable debt to those who went before.

As well as thousands of detective novels, I’ve devoured countless books about the genre, but none of them offer an in-depth study of the men and women who wrote Golden Age fiction. I kept wondering – how did those writers interact with each other, and how did their membership of the legendary Detection Club, founded by the brilliant yet tormented Anthony Berkeley, inspire them? When I became the Detection Club’s archivist, I was struck not only by the paucity of the records, but also by how little was known about most of its early members. These people were the leading exponents of popular fiction in the Thirties, yet apart from Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers, and one or two others, most have been forgotten. So (at least until recently – the internet, digital publishing, and the diligent research of enthusiastic bloggers have been a boon) have their novels.

The idea came to me of a book that explored the Golden Age in general, and the Detection Club in particular. I felt I’d like to connect classic detective fiction to the society it came from, and the real life crimes which often influenced it – but this was a mammoth task. Nothing like it had been attempted previously, and I was far from confident that anyone would want to publish it. And how on earth to go about producing such a book? Nevertheless, before long, I became passionate about the project, and spent every spare minute working on it.

After I set up my blog, Do You Write Under Your Own Name? I found the blogging community very supportive. I was especially gratified by the interest shown in my posts on Forgotten Books. I found myself writing a book that developed some of themes hinted at in those posts, but before long the project took a new direction, as I decided to investigate the early years of the Detection Club’s existence. At first, this meant jettisoning a good deal of interesting material – but at a later stage, I managed to smuggle much of it back in, by way of end notes to chapters…

At one point, an expert in the field whom I’d told about the project suggested that we write the book together. I’ve done a lot of co-writing over the years, and enjoy it, but I felt that this book was too personal for the collaboration to work. But no writer is an island. I did want to take into account the views of others in forming some of my judgments, not least about how best to present all the material I’d accumulated. So I decided to consult a handful of people whom I trusted to be frank yet positive in their appraisal of the manuscript’s strengths and weaknesses. When I’d written about two-thirds of the draft, I shared it with three leading British novelists – all current members of the Detection Club. Ann Cleeves, Peter Lovesey, and Ruth Dudley Edwards each gave me invaluable help and encouragement. Energised, I pressed on.

When the book was at long last complete, I shared it with four genre experts. Two are American – Douglas Greene (biographer of John Dickson Carr, and founder of that splendid press, Crippen & Landru) and Tom Schantz (renowned bookseller, and owner of the Rue Morgue Press.) One is Irish – John Curran, who decoded Agatha Christie’s secret notebooks. And one is British – Tony Medawar, who is arguably the genre’s leading researcher. Again, they were constructive in their criticisms, and generous in their comments, and they saved me from many errors. So at a late stage did another American expert, Arthur Robinson, when he checked the proofs for me. I owe a great debt to all eight of my “advisers”, as well as many others who have supplied me with precious scraps of fresh information in my hunt for the truth about the Detection Club.

Thankfully, my long quest eventually had a happy ending. I was thrilled when Harper Collins – Agatha Christie’s publishers, no less! – bought the rights to publish The Golden Age of Murder in both the US and the UK. And I was ecstatic when that wonderful novelist Len Deighton read the book before publication, and said that it provides “a new way of looking at old favourites.” That was exactly what I hoped to do, when I started work on the book all those years ago, and such a response made all those years of writing and re-writing seem worthwhile. How others will react to the book, time will tell. But my hope is that it will, at least, convey my love of Golden Age fiction, and perhaps encourage readers who are unfamiliar with some wonderful books of the past to give them a try. Those who do will not, I’m sure, be disappointed.’
 

Thanks so much, Martin, for your insights! Folks, do check out The Golden Age of Murder

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It Seems That Ancient Adage Still Applies*

SayingsI’ll bet you’ve heard them all your life. You may even use them and live by them yourself. I’m talking about sayings and proverbs that are passed along in a culture. Whether they directly reflect a culture’s values and viewpoint or are more universal in nature, sayings, adages and proverbs are woven into the way we think and sometimes act. So it shouldn’t be surprising that there are a lot of sayings and proverbs written into crime fiction in one way or another.

Several of Agatha Christie’s stories include sayings. For example, in Murder in Mesopotamia, Hercule Poirot interrupts his travel in the Middle East to investigate the murder of Louise Leidner. She was the wife of noted archaeologist Eric Leidner, who’s been working with his dig team at a site a few hours from Baghdad. This story is told from the point of view of Amy Leatheran, a nurse who was hired as a sort of watchdog/companion for Mrs. Leidner. When she first meets Poirot, Nurse Leatheran is not exactly impressed, and her lack of faith in him is soon evident. Here’s what Poirot says about it:
 

‘‘You disapprove of me, ma soeur? Remember, the pudding proves itself only when you eat it.’
The proof of the pudding’s in the eating, I suppose he meant.
Well, that’s a true enough saying, but I couldn’t say I felt much confidence myself!’
 

By the end of the novel, as you can imagine, Nurse Leatheran’s opinion of Poirot’s abilities has improved…

The title of one of Josephine Tey’s Inspector Grant novels, The Daughter of Time, comes from a saying attributed to Sir Francis Bacon: ‘Truth is the daughter of time, not of authority.’ And it’s a fitting title for a novel in which Inspector Grant looks into a very old case. He’s been laid up with a broken leg, and as he’s recuperating, he gets interested in a portrait of King Richard III.  As he reflects on the portrait, it occurs to him that the king may not have been the evil murderer that history made him out to be. If that’s true, then the famous case of the Princes in the Tower could have an entirely different explanation. With that possibility in mind, Grant sets out to learn the truth about the tower case.

A Basque proverb, ‘A life without friends means death without company,’ is woven into Craig Johnson’s Death Without Company. In that novel, Sheriff Walt Longmire investigates the poisoning murder of Mari Baroja, an elderly member of Wyoming’s Basque community. At first there doesn’t seem much motive for the murder, but soon enough, the trail leads to the network of relationships among some of the people in the area. Those relationships go a long way back, and it’s in an event fifty years old that Longmire finds the root of this modern-day murder. Without spoiling the story, I can say that the saying is a very appropriate choice of title for the novel.

Michael Robotham’s Lost begins with a German proverb: ‘Wealth lost, something lost; honor lost, much lost; courage lost, all lost.’ In this novel, DI Vincent Ruiz wakes up in a hospital with bullet wound in his leg. He has no memory of how he got there, nor how he came to be hurt. All he remembers is being pulled out of the Thames. He works with his friend, psychiatrist Joe O’Loughlin, to get answers. It turns out that Ruiz was working on the disappearance of seven-year-old Mickey Carlyle, who went missing three years earlier. It was always assumed that the child had been killed by Harold Wavell, who’s actually in prison for that crime. But Ruiz came to believe that Wavell might be innocent, and that Mickey may still be alive. He was following up on leads in this case when he was shot. With O’Loughlin’s help, Ruiz pieces together what he had already learned, and discovers the truth about the disappearance.

Yrsa Sigurðardóttir’s My Soul to Take begins, in prologue form, with a four-year-old child and the old prayer, ‘Now I lay me down to sleep…’ (I can’t say more about the prologue for fear of spoilers). This may not be, strictly speaking, an adage, but it’s been a part of, especially, Christian culture for a very long time. Sixty years after the events in the prologue, Reykjavík attorney Thóra Gudmundsdóttir takes on a new client Jónas Júlíusson, who owns an upmarket spa and resort. He wants to sue the former owners of the land where his spa is located, because, so he claims, the place is haunted and the former owners never informed him of that. Thóra doesn’t believe in ghosts, but she is interested in the fee. And the chance for a stay at a spa is just as welcome. So she travels to the spa to start working the case. She’s not been there long when there’s a murder, with her client as the most likely suspect. He asks Thóra to continue acting for him, and she agrees. It turns out that this recent murder has everything to do with the sixty-year-old events.

Sayings, proverbs and the like also come from other religious traditions. For instance, John Burdett’s Sonchai Jitpleecheep is a member of the Royal Thai Police. He is also an observant Buddhist. More than once in this series, Burdett weaves in a saying or adage from the Buddha. And of course, Buddhist teachings are at the core of the way Sonchai thinks and tries to act.

There’s another interesting use of sayings in Qiu Xiaolong’s Chief Inspector Chen series. These novels take place for the most part in post-Mao Shanghai, where Mao’s writings and sayings are still very much etched into the national consciousness. Interestingly enough, this society is also strongly impacted by much older proverbs and sayings. Since Chen is, among other things, a poet (as is his creator), he’s particularly observant of words and sayings. Their use in this series reflects much about the world views of the people Chen encounters.

And that’s the thing about adages, proverbs and sayings. We may not think about them very much, but they can reveal a great deal about a people’s way of looking at the world. Which sayings and proverbs have stayed the most with you?

 

A Programming Note…

I have a bit of a background in writing and words and language, so of course sayings in crime fiction interest me. But I’m by no means an expert in everything about the genre. So I’m going to call in a real expert to talk about Golden Age writers. As you know, I don’t do book reviews, and almost never do I do author promo. But Martin Edwards knows more about the Golden Age of crime fiction than I ever could, and I think you’ll find what he has to say very interesting. So I’m very pleased to announce that he’ll be right here on Tuesday. Do tune in!

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Johnny Burke and Arthur Johnston’s The Moon Got in My Eyes.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Craig Johnson, John Burdett, Josephine Tey, Martin Edwards, Michael Robotham, Qiu Xiaolong, Yrsa Sigurðardóttir

Same as the Old Boss*

Bad BossesAs I mentioned yesterday, having a supportive, competent boss can make all the difference in your professional world. But not everyone is so fortunate. If you’ve ever had a terrible boss, you know what a nightmare that can be. That kind of work stress can be intolerable.

There are of course plenty of crime-fictional examples of incompetent, non-supportive and even downright malicious, sadistic bosses. Creating these characters can be tricky, since most crime fiction fans don’t want unidimensional characters. Most people, even awful bosses, have at least some redeeming quality. But an annoying (or worse) boss can give the author lots of opportunity for conflict, sub-plots and so on.

Michael Connelly’s LAPD cop Harry Bosch has a boss who certainly makes his life difficult. In The Black Echo, we are introduced to Irvin Irving, then a Deputy Chief. In more than one of the books in this series, Irving shows that he’s self-protective and highly political. He’s also not in the least bit above squelching any honest investigation that may make him or the department look bad. So even those not deeply familiar with this series will be able to guess that he makes life very difficult for Bosch and sometimes represents a real threat to him. Connelly doesn’t give Irving’s character only one facet though. He is competent, and people loyal to him will tell you that he stands up for the police force. But to Bosch, for whom integrity is essential, Irving is part of what’s wrong with the department.

Fans of Donna Leon’s Commissario Guido Brunetti series will know that he is saddled with a dreadful boss, Vice Questore Giuseppe Patta. Patta is a toady to the rich and well-connected. More than that, he’s an ambitious man who’s not above ‘glory-grabbing’ to make his mark. In several novels he interferes with investigations, pulls Brunetti from cases, and in other ways impedes work. Most of the time it’s because he’s being protective both of his own reputation and of those of the rich, powerful people he thinks can do him some good. Brunetti is no fool, though; more than once, he and Patta’s assistant, Signorina Elettra Zorzi, use Patta’s vanity, arrogance and ambition against him.

Martin Edwards’ DCI Hannah Scarlett has a boss, ACC Lauren Self, who isn’t much better. Self is also ambitious, and well aware that moving up into the higher echelons of police power is still easier for men than for women. So she does everything she can to improve her political position. Even Scarlett, who has little but contempt for Self, admits that her boss is very good at getting influential people on her side. She manages the social aspect of police politics quite well. But underneath that exterior, Self can be very malicious, even backstabbing. Certainly she’s not respectful of the people who work for her; nor does she listen to what they tell her about what’s really going on as they investigate. Again, Edwards doesn’t depict Self as one-sided. She does have skills. But she certainly hasn’t endeared herself to her team members.

Sometimes, even when you have a boss you like and respect, things can change if that boss leaves, transfers or is temporarily away. That’s what happens in Katherine Howell’s Web of Deceit. New South Wales Police Detective Ella Marconi likes and respects her usual boss Dennis Orchard. But he’s on a temporary assignment elsewhere, so Brad Langley steps in as acting head of homicide. On the one hand, he knows and follows police procedure, and is competent at what he does. It’s no surprise that he’s been tapped to head this team. On the other hand, he is, as Howell tells us,
 

‘…a numbers man.’
 

He doesn’t use department resources wisely, and he doesn’t listen to the people who work for him. What’s more, he can be publicly rude to his team members, especially when they suggest anything other than what he outlines for them. It’s little wonder Marconi misses Orchard.

Adrian Hyland’s Aboriginal Community Police Officer (ACPO) Emily Tempest also has a very bad experience with a temporary boss. In Gunshot Road, we learn that she’s just begun her duties as an ACPO, and is hoping to work with Tom McGillivray, whom she likes and respects. But when he is badly injured, Tempest is assigned to work with Bruce Cockburn. From the very first, they dislike each other. Cockburn is brusque and disrespectful. He’s sometimes rude and not one to pay much attention to what Tempest says. For his part, Cockburn finds Tempest too much of a maverick and too tactless. So when they investigate the shooting death of former prospector Albert ‘Doc’ Ozolins, they butt heads almost immediately. Matters worsen between them as the novel goes on. Hyland doesn’t depict Cockburn as all bad. Some of the things he says are right, and the points he makes well-taken. He’s not completely incompetent, and Tempest makes her share of mistakes. But Cockburn is certainly not skilled at supervising with any kind of respect.

Camilla Läckberg’s Fjällbacka police detective Patrik Hedström also has an insufferable boss. Bertil Mellberg. Especially in the earlier novels in the series, he is rude, lazy and disrespectful. He is also ambitious, and considers his current assignment to be a ‘backwater.’ His only goal is to be transferred ‘up the pole’ to the bigger and more prestigious police department in Göteborg. Admittedly, as the series evolves, it becomes a little easier to work with Mellberg. He gets a little more responsive to his team and actually does some work on his own. But he’s hardly ‘boss of the year’ material.

If you’ve ever had a ‘nightmare boss,’ you know what an impediment it is. But perhaps some of the really unpleasant fictional bosses will make the ones you’ve had seem a bit better by comparison…

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from The Who’s Won’t Get Fooled Again. I couldn’t resist the symmetry…

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Filed under Adrian Hyland, Camilla Läckberg, Donna Leon, Katherine Howell, Martin Edwards, Michael Connelly

Meet the New Boss*

BossesUnless you’re self-employed, chances are you’ve got a boss. If you’re fortunate, you have a supportive boss who looks out for you and helps you to develop and use your skills. That makes sense when you think about it. After all, if you look good, your boss looks good. Of course, you may be unlucky enough to have a boss who’s not supportive at all, and that can make your work life horrible. Either way, bosses play an important role in the way we feel about our work.

Bosses also play important roles in crime fiction. Some crime fictional sleuths are independent PIs; except for laws and policies that govern what they’re allowed to do, they don’t have bosses in the usual sense of the word. But a lot of fictional detectives have bosses (some are also bosses themselves). Here are just a few examples.

Arthur Upfield’s Napoleon ‘Bony’ Bonaparte is sometimes unorthodox in his approach to solving cases. Just as one example, the alternate title of The Bushman Who Came Back is Bony Buys a Woman. No, it’s not exactly the way it sounds; it’s more complicated than that. And no, Bony isn’t a human trafficker. But he does have different ways of going about things. In that particular novel, he has a rather unusual way of helping one of the other characters as he solves the mysterious shooting of a housekeeper. Sometimes his approach gets him into trouble with the ‘higher ups’ in the Queensland Police. But Bony is fortunate enough to have a boss who understands both his value to the police and his not-always-by-the-book ways. So although they do ‘butt heads’ from time to time, Bony knows that his supervisor supports him and wants him to use his skills.

On the surface of it, you might not think that Reginald Hill’s Superintendent Andy Dalziel would make a particularly good boss. After all, as fans will know, he’s demanding, sometimes quite rude, and certainly not one to care much about the finer sensibilities of his staff. And as the saying goes, he does not suffer fools gladly. But he is in many ways a very supportive boss. He’s not at all one to gush, but he is well aware that he’s got a good team of people working for him. And he looks after them, too. For example, in Child’s Play, the team is investigating the case of a man who’s found murdered not long after claiming to be the son (and only heir) of a wealthy woman who’s recently died. In the meantime, Sgt. Wield faces a difficult personal matter. He’s gotten involved in a relationship with a young drifter who has his own agenda. Now Wieldy has to decide what to do about coming out as gay. When internal police politics threaten Wieldy’s career, Dalziel finds a very clever way to protect his sergeant. He takes care of the rest of his team too, even when it doesn’t seem so.

Fred Vargas’ Commissaire Adamsberg supervises a very unusual team of detectives. At first glance, it seems as though they’d be any boss’ nightmare. One’s a narcoleptic, one has an uncomfortably close relationship with the bottle, and one works better with animals than with people. But Adamsberg is a supportive boss. For one thing, he knows he’s not perfect either. For another, he knows that he has a team of skilled detectives who are good at their jobs. So he looks out for them and listens to them. They may be misfits in a lot of people’s estimation, but Adamsberg gets the best out of them.

The same is true of the team at Andrea Camilleri’s fictional Vigàta constabulary. Inspector Salvo Montalbano can be short-tempered and brusque with people, including those he supervises. And anyone who works for him knows better than to interrupt him when he’s eating. But they also know they can count on him. For one thing, he’s a fine detective. For another, he’s loyal to them and cares about them. As an example, in one plot thread of Dance of the Seagull, one of Montalbano’s team members, Giuseppe Fazio, goes missing. Montalbano immediately puts together a plan to find him. At the time of his disappearance, Fazio was following up some leads on a dangerous smuggling ring, and pursuing that case seems to be the best chance to find him. So Montalbano and the team do exactly that. They find Fazio too, wounded but alive. Throughout the novel, we see how Montalbano’s leadership and his loyalty to his team play roles in what happens.

Martin Edwards’ DCI Hannah Scarlett has to learn leadership skills as she takes over and heads up the Cumbria Constabulary’s Cold Case Review Team. At first it’s seen as a demotion – a punishment for a case that went wrong. But Scarlett is determined to do the best job she can. And she loves her work. So she buckles down and develops the skills she needs to get the best from her team members. Along the way, she has to deal with some very complicated relationships and with the inevitable performance evaluations and other paperwork involved in being a boss. In this series, we get a look at what it’s like to learn how to be a supervisor and lead a team.

Kerry Greenwood’s Corinna Chapman may not head up a large team, but she cares about the people who work for her. Chapman is a Melbourne baker with two shop assistants, Kylie Manners and Gossamer ‘Goss’ Judge. She also has an apprentice baker, Jason Wallace. All three employees are young, and sometimes need some adult guidance. For example, Kylie and Goss have a potentially very dangerous encounter with some weight-loss tea in Devil’s Food. When Chapman learns what’s happened, she does what’s needed to help take care of them and ensure that they’ll be all right. For his part, Jason is learning to live on his own, without the use of drugs. He makes his share of mistakes, but Chapman supports him as he starts to grow up. In turn, all three of the young people are just as loyal to their boss. They step in when needed, they work to make sure that customers are happy, and they are trustworthy.

Those relationships are possibly the best thing about being (or having) a good boss. If you are a good boss, you get your subordinates’ loyalty and best work. If you have a good boss, you get the chance to develop your skills, and you grow professionally. You also forge really positive relationships. Of course, not all of us are lucky enough to have a good boss; that’s the stuff of another post…

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from The Who’s Won’t Get Fooled Again.

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Filed under Andrea Camilleri, Arthur Upfield, Fred Vargas, Kerry Greenwood, Martin Edwards, Reginald Hill