Category Archives: Paddy Richardson

And He Recorded It On a Reel Of Tape*

Recording DevicesDo you listen to audio books? Many people do, and there is a long and growing list of publishers that offer audio books to those who want to experience a story that way. And it’s easy to see why. Audio books and podcasts are convenient ways to enjoy a novel, a short story, or even an author interview. You can listen during your commute, as you’re doing the dishes or the laundry, or as you’re being walked by your dog. What’s more, you can hear names and places (and sometimes idioms) pronounced authentically. That can be quite a boon if you’re not familiar with the language of a novel’s setting.

If you enjoy the audio experience, you owe a great deal to Thomas Edison. On this day (as I post this) in 1877, he invented the first sound recording device, which he called the Edisonphone. There you go, nerd fact of the day.  😉

For many years, people thought of sound recording devices as mostly having the purpose of playing back music. But sound recording technology has had a much wider impact. And that includes its impact on crime fiction.

As I mentioned, the most obvious influence is that crime stories are now available in audio form. In fact, you can now download audio versions of books, and listen in digital format. Among other things, the audio option has meant that now, books are available to people with vision loss, without the need for translating into braille.

If you think about it, though, sound recording has also had a powerful impact on what happens in a crime novel. For example, there’s an Agatha Christie novel where a sound recording device has a very important role to play. I won’t mention the title, as I don’t want to give away spoilers. But if you’re familiar with her novels, you’ll know which one I mean.

Gail Bowen’s A Killing Spring makes very interesting use of a recording. In one plot thread of the novel, political scientist and academician Joanne Kilbourn is concerned about one of her students, Kellee Savage. Kellee is emotionally very fragile as it is. And lately, she’s been making accusations against another student. Then, she disappears. Kilbourn learns that she was last seen at a bar where several students had gathered. Without their knowledge, Kellee made a recording of what they said, and what one student says is not exactly flattering to Kilbourn. The recording doesn’t solve the mystery of what happened to Kellee, but it offers a very interesting perspective on the way some students think.

Ian Rankin’s Exit Music introduces readers to Alexander Todorov, a dissident Russian poet now living in Edinburgh. When his body is discovered on King’s Stables Road, the first assumption is that he was the victim of a mugging gone very wrong. But Inspector John Rebus isn’t entirely convinced of that. There were several people, among them some wealthy Russian businessmen, who wanted Todorov dead – one had even made public mention of it. Then there’s another murder. Recording engineer Charles Riordan is killed, and his studio goes up in flames. There could be a connection between the two deaths, too, since Todorov had made a recording there before his own murder. Matters are only made murkier when Rebus learns that his old nemesis, Morris Gerald ‘Big Ger’ Cafferty may be mixed up in the whole business…

In Apostolos Doxiadis’ Three Little Pigs, which begins in 1974, an unnamed art restorer is visiting a Swiss monastery. There, he meets an old man who lives in the care home attached to the monastery. His new acquaintance offers to tell him a story – a good story – in exchange for a recording of it. The art restorer agrees, and gets some audio tapes. He then records the old man’s story, which concerns the family of Benvenuto ‘Ben’ Franco. This family emigrated from Italy to New York at the turn of the 20th Century, so on one level, it’s the tale of an Italian-American family. But on another level, it’s a crime story. Franco got into a bar fight one night, and killed a man named Luigi Lupo. Unbeknownst to Franco, Lupo was the son of a notorious Mafia boss, Tonio Lupo. As revenge for the death of his son, Lupo put a curse on the family, promising that each of Franco’s three sons would die at the age of forty-two. So the old man’s story also includes the murder, the curse, and what happened to the family afterwards. And in the end, the recording that the art restorer makes is a very important part of this novel.

There’s a more sinister use of the recording device, too, in crime fiction. One of the main characters in Paddy Richardson’s Swimming in the Dark is Ilse Klein. As a child, she moved with her parents from Leipzig, in what was then East Germany, to New Zealand’s South Island. They moved to escape the dreaded Stasi – the secret police. As the story goes on, we learn that one strategy the police used to keep people cowed was to encourage listening in on others’ conversations. And that included placing ‘bugs,’ and drilling small holes so that people living in one apartment could make use of a recording device to hear the people next door. Ilse and her mother, Greta, are happy enough in New Zealand, although Ilse feels more strongly attached to Germany than her mother does. Everything changes for them when one of Ilse’s students, fifteen-year-old Serena Freeman, starts skipping class and losing interest in learning. Then, she disappears altogether. The Klein women’s responses to this have real consequences for everyone involved.

If you read police procedurals, or if you’re familiar with the way police work, you’ll know that interviews with suspects are typically recorded. Today, they’re video-recorded, but before that technology was available, they were audio-recorded. And there are many, many examples in crime fiction of the police interview, during which the recorder is switched on and the suspect tells her or his story. It’s a staple of the genre, and it’s another way in which audio recording has changed the crime novel.

Anyone who reads espionage fiction or thrillers can tell you that recording devices – ‘bugs’ – play a really important role in that sub-genre. There are many examples of operatives who ‘take a walk together’ to speak freely. We also see that use of recording devices when police go undercover, or when they use informers.

See what I mean? Mr. Edison’s little invention had much more far-reaching effects than he probably imagined they would. Where would crime fiction be without it?

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Kid Creole and the Coconuts’ Stool Pigeon.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Apostolos Doxiadis, Gail Bowen, Ian Rankin, Paddy Richardson

Try to Realise It’s All Within Yourself*

Mind FocusLife can get very stressful at times, especially when one’s faced with a challenging task. It helps to clear one’s mind and focus, to drive away the clutter. And there are dozens of different ways to do that. An interesting guest post on author and fellow blogger Sarah Ward’s blog has got me thinking about what people do to help them focus when they need to accomplish something. The discussion on the post is about music (and you’ll want to check it out for some great musical ideas!). There are a lot of other ways to focus, too, and we see them in crime fiction just as we do in real life.

Any fan of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes can tell you that he is a skilled violinist. At times, he plays for others’ (read: Watson’s) enjoyment. But he also uses the violin as a way to clear his mind and ponder an investigation. And as we learn in A Study in Scarlet, when he’s doing that, Holmes doesn’t really play songs. Instead, he
 

‘…would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle which was thrown across his knee.’
 

The result may not be musically appealing, but it does help him to concentrate.

Fans of Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot will know that he sometimes builds houses of cards (and does jigsaw puzzles) to clear his mind when a case is particularly challenging. For example, in Three Act Tragedy (AKA Murder in Three Acts), Poirot is faced with a difficult investigation. Reverend Stephen Babbington was poisoned by a cocktail at a small party hosted by famous actor Sir Charles Cartwright. Babbington had no enemies that anyone knew of, and certainly no fortune to leave. So it’s hard to understand why anyone would have wanted him to die. Then, not long afterwards, Harley Street specialist Dr. Bartholomew Strange was poisoned at a dinner party at his home. Many of the same people were present at both occasions, and the murder method is nearly identical. So the two deaths are likely connected, but it’s hard to see how. One day, Hermione ‘Egg’ Lytton Gore, who’s mixed up in the case, goes to visit Poirot. When she arrives, she sees him building a house of cards with a deck of Happy Families cards. Poirot explains to her that he does this because it stimulates his mind. And in this case, his house of cards turns out to provide him with an important clue, too.

Some fictional sleuths run as a way clear out the mental cobwebs. For example, Kate Rhodes’ Alice Quentin is a dedicated runner. She’s a psychologist who often works with the police, so her job can be quite stressful. She also has a very difficult past, so she’s got her own personal issues to face. Running frees her mentally, and helps her to clear her mind. Of course, it doesn’t always work out that way. In Crossbones Yard, the first Alice Quentin novel, she’s on an evening run through London when she discovers a body at an old graveyard that used to be used for prostitutes. A body in a graveyard isn’t such a surprising find, but this body is quite new. And it turns out that this death might very well be related to the recent release of convicted killer, and to a set of previous killings.

K.T. Medina’s Tess Hardy, whom we meet in White Crocodile, also uses running as a way to free her mind and clear out the clutter. She’s a member of MCT, a charity mine-clearing agency, and has seen her share of danger. One day, she gets a call from her abusive ex-husband Luke, who now works as a mine clearer in Cambodia. He has a completely different attitude now to the one she’s accustomed to; he’s more balanced, but most importantly, he’s afraid. Something about the place has unsettled him. There’s not much time to find out what it is, though, because two weeks later, he’s dead. Tess travels to Cambodia to look into what’s happened to him, and finds herself drawn into a dark mystery. Young women are disappearing, and abandoning their babies. Some of them are discovered murdered. Tess’ habit of running doesn’t solve the mystery of the murders, but it does add an interesting layer to her character.

Along similar lines, in Paddy Richardson’s Swimming in the Dark, we meet secondary school teacher Ilse Klein, who swims as a way to focus herself and clear her mind. Originally from Leipzig, she and her family moved to New Zealand during the ‘Iron Curtain’ years to escape the Stasi, the dreaded East German secret police. Now, she lives and works in the small town of Alexandria, on South Island. She gets concerned when one of her most promising pupils, fifteen-year-old Serena Freeman, loses interest in school. She misses a lot of classes, and when she is there, doesn’t participate. Ilse voices her concerns to the school’s counseling service, but that backfires when Serena’s mother refuses to cooperate. Then, Serena goes missing. Ilse’s decision to take an interest in Serena’s well-being has consequences she couldn’t have imagined.

Many people choose meditation as a way to focus themselves. And there are studies that suggest that meditation is associated with a stable heart rate, lower incidence of stress-related illnesses, and lower levels of depression, among other things. Whether those studies are actually correct, millions of people find personal benefit in meditation. Certainly John Burdett’s Sonchai Jitpleecheep does. He is a member of the Royal Thai Police, and lives and works in Bangkok. He is also a dedicated Buddhist who continually strives to move towards enlightenment. That process involves mental and physical discipline, for which Sonchai needs a clear and focused mind. And for that, he engages in regular meditation. To a great extent, he meditates as a part of his commitment to the Buddhist Eight-Fold Path. But meditation also helps him to keep the clutter at bay, so to speak, as he works on his investigations.

Whether it’s music, puzzles, running, meditating or something else, people do need a way to focus their minds and clear out the ‘static.’ And it’s interesting to see how different fictional sleuths go about it. These are just a few examples. Your turn.

 

 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from the Beatles’ Within You Without You.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Arthur Conan Doyle, John Burdett, K.T. Medina, Kate Rhodes, Paddy Richardson

So Many Pieces Still Unsolved*

UnsolvedAs I post this, today would have been Amelia Earhart’s 119th birthday. Her life was certainly fascinating, and her career has been an inspiration to many people. But as much as that, it’s her disappearance that’s captured the public’s imagination. In 1937, she and her navigator, Fred Noonan, went missing in the area of Howland Island in the Pacific Ocean. There were on a round-the-world flight that was being followed by millions of people when they went off the radar.

There have been many theories about what happened to Earhart and Noonan. Some have held up better than others, but as far as I’m aware, there’s been no indisputable evidence of their fate. And that’s precisely what makes this disappearance so irresistibly interesting to so many people. It’s an unsolved case, and people very often find them fascinating.

There are plenty of other real-life unsolved cases, too. They’re the subject of a lot of speculation and theories. There are crime-fictional cases as well. And they capture people’s interest even when those people have no stake in what really happened. It’s human nature to be curious.

In Josephine Tey’s The Daughter of Time, for instance, Inspector Alan Grant is laid up with a broken leg. As he’s recuperating, he happens to muse on a portrait of King Richard III. His reflection leads him to the question of whether the king was really the murderer he was made out to be. That possibility gets Grant curious about what really happened to Edward V of England and Richard of Shrewsbury, Duke of York. Most people have always thought Richard III had them killed. But Grant begins to wonder if there’s another theory. So he looks into the matter.

Colin Dexter’s Inspector Morse shows a similar sort of curiosity in The Wench is Dead. In that novel, Morse is laid up with an ulcer. During his recovery, he reads a book about the 1859 discovery of the body of Joanna Franks in one of Oxford’s canals. At the time of her murder, two men were arrested, found guilty, and duly hung. But Morse isn’t sure that they really were guilty. So he can resist looking into the case again. Neither he nor Inspector Grant is officially assigned to the case in question. It’s just human nature and the desire to get answers that drives them.

Agatha Christie’s The Thirteen Problems also shows the human tendency to want questions answered and mysteries solved. The Thirteen Problems is a collection of short stories, loosely tied together by an overarching theme. A group of people meet every Tuesday evening. At each meeting, one person describes a murder case. The others try to solve the murder. And it’s interesting to see how the human wish to impose order and have things make sense plays a role. I agree with you, fans of Anthony Berkeley’s The Poisoned Chocolates Case.

Jussi Adler-Olsen’s Mercy (AKA The Keeper of Lost Causes) introduces Copenhagen homicide detective Carl Mørck. In the novel, he’s recently returned to work after a line-of-duty shooting that left him injured, one colleague murdered and another with permanent paralysis. Never the easiest person in the world to work with, Mørck has become even more difficult since his return. So, for several reasons, he’s given a new role: head of a new department, Department Q, which is dedicated to looking at ‘cases of special interest’ – cold cases. Mørck’s first instinct is to do as little as possible, since he’s very cynical about both the department and his appointment to it. But then one case captures the interest of his assistant, Hafaz al-Assad. Five years earlier, up-and-coming politician Merete Lynggaard when missing during a ferry trip with her brother, Uffe. The theory at the time was that she went overboard and drowned. But her body has never been found. Assad is curious about the case, since some things don’t quite add up. So he persuades his boss to re-open it and look into it more deeply. And that’s when the two discover that Merete Lynggaard might still be alive. If so, she may have very little time left.

And then there’s Paddy Richardson’s Cross Fingers, the second of her novels to feature Wellington TV journalist Rebecca Thorne. The nation is getting ready for the 30th anniversary of the South Africa Springboks’ rugby tour, which was to include matches with the New Zealand All-Blacks. At the time of The Tour, as it’s often called, apartheid was in full force in South Africa, and many people protested the Springboks’ visit. Others simply wanted to see the matches. And, of course, the police were responsible for keeping order and protecting everyone’s safety. The controversial decision to let the visit go ahead led to some real ugliness. Now, Thorne’s bosses want a new angle on the 30th anniversary story. Thorne doesn’t really think there is one at first. And in any case, she’s busy with another story. But then, one small item catches her attention. During the match, two people dressed as lambs went to the games, where they danced, made fun, and entertained the crowds. Then, they stopped attending. Thorne’s curious about what happened to The Lambs. Her curiosity is piqued even more when she learns that one of them was a professional dancer who was killed one night. Now, Thorne can’t resist looking into what really happened.

And that’s the thing about human nature. And it’s part of the reason for which people still want to know what happened to Amelia Earhart and Fred Noonan. I hope we learn the real truth.

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Powderfinger’s Thrilloilogy.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Anthony Berkeley, Colin Dexter, Josephine Tey, Jussi Adler-Olsen, Paddy Richardson

Between This Genre, That Genre*

Crossover WritersI’ve started a new manuscript (an occupational hazard for writers). This one’s not a Joel Williams mystery; in fact, it’s not really even a traditional-style whodunit, ‘though it is a crime novel. I’m pleased about the idea, but it’s still in its beginning stages, so we’ll see how it goes. The process of getting started on this story has got me thinking about other writers who make an even bigger leap with their stories than I am with mine.

Some authors have even written in different genres. Or, they’ve written both fiction and non-fiction. Or they’ve written both poetry and crime novels. That sort of ‘branching out’ is risky. After all, many people write what makes them comfortable, and perhaps even get a reputation and a following. Trying something new means building up a new audience, using different skills, and so on. To move on to something different isn’t always easy. But it can result in some excellent work. And it gives the author the chance to experiment and ‘stretch’ creatively.

As you’ll no doubt know, Edgar Allan Poe is often credited with pioneering the detective story. Works such as The Murders in the Rue Morgue and The Purloined Letter are frequently cited as examples of detective fiction. But as you’ll also know, Poe was a master of the horror story, too. The Fall of the House of Usher, The Pit and the Pendulum and The Black Cat are just a few examples.

More recently, Alan Orloff has done a similar thing. Under his own name, he’s written Diamonds for the Dead, Killer Routine and Deadly Campaign, all crime novels. Under the name Zak Allen, he’s written The Taste and First Time Killer, both of which are horror novels. You might argue (and you’d have a well-taken point!) that horror novels and crime novels are close cousins. But they do require different sorts of storytelling skills, and they appeal to different audiences. That sort of flexibility takes skill.

Agatha Christie, of course, is renowned for her mysteries. She wrote all sorts of plays, short stories and novels featuring crime and its investigation. And if you’re kind enough to read this blog with any kind of regularity, then you know what a fan I personally am of her crime fiction. But she also wrote novels that explore characters and trace their lives. Under the name of Mary Westmacott, she wrote stories such as Giant’s Bread and A Daughter’s a Daughter, that explore love in its different forms, and provide interesting character studies. In those novels, the focus is on psychology and relationships, rather than on crime. And she’s by no means the only one to write both romance and crime fiction (Am I right, fans of Georgette Heyer?)

More recently, Paddy Richardson has written both well-regarded literary fiction (such as The Company of a Daughter) and well-regarded crime fiction (such as Hunting Blind and Swimming in the Dark). And she’s not only one who’s made that ‘literary crossover.’ Many other literary writers have also written crime fiction.

Some of them have been poets. For instance, Cecil Day-Lewis was the UK’s Poet Laureate. His collections are extremely highly regarded. Under his own name, he also wrote some literary novels. As fans will know, he also wrote a series of crime novels under the name of Nicholas Blake. His sleuth in those stories is Nigel Strangeways, who is, like his creator, a poet. And that’s an interesting example of the ways in which one’s writing in one genre/type of book can influence one’s writing in another.

Isaac Asimov gained a worldwide reputation as a scientist and an author of science textbooks. He was also a skilled writer of science fiction, such as the Foundation series. With his name made, as the saying goes, in that field, Asimov also created a short series of crime novels featuring Elijah ‘Lije’ Baley. Baley is a homicide detective in a futuristic New York, which bears all the hallmarks of Asimov’s background in science fiction. But the stories (The Caves of Steel, The Naked Sun, The Robots of Dawn, and the short story Mirror Image) are distinctly crime fiction.

There’s also Ausma Zehanat Khan, whose novels The Unquiet Dead and The Language of Secrets are crime novels featuring detectives Esa Khattak and Rachel Getty. They take place in contemporary Ontario, and focus on crimes and their investigations. Khan is also writing a fantasy series (at the moment, it’s scheduled as a quadrilogy). The first in this series, Bloodprint, is due to be published in 2017.

Elizabeth Spann Craig has written three mystery series. Under her own name, she writes the Myrtle Clover series; under the name of Riley Adams, she writes the Memphis Barbecue series. She also writes the Southern Quilting Mysteries. Recently, Craig has also ‘branched out’ and written a post-apocalyptic novel that includes zombies. It’s a big change from cosy mysteries to post-apocalypse, but Craig has made it successfully.

Of course, there are plenty of other authors, too, who have used their skills in more than one genre or type of writing. J.K. Rowling, Sara Paretsky, and before them, Charles Dickens, are just some examples. I know that you’ll have lots more in mind to share.

Have you read the same author in two different genres? What have you thought? Can authors do that effectively, so that you, as a reader, enjoy their work? If you’re a writer, have you experimented in different genres, or with a literary-to-genre move (or vice versa). What was it like for you?

 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Utada Hikaru’s Crossover Interlude.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Alan Orloff, Ausma Zehanat Khan, Cecil Day-Lewis, Charles Dickens, Edgar Allan Poe, Elizabeth Spann Craig, Isaac Asimov, J.K. Rowling, Mary Westmacott, Nicholas Blake, Paddy Richardson, Riley Adams, Sara Paretsky, Zak Allen

In the End, Only Kindness Matters*

OnlyKindnessMattersThere’s been a lot of bad news from all over the world lately. At times like this, I think it’s helpful to remember that people are also capable of great kindness (and OK, the cute ‘roo in the ‘photo is an extra bonus😉 ). I’d bet you’ve experienced kindness in your own life, and shared it with others. It’s all over crime fiction, too.

It’s not easy to write a ‘kind’ scene in a crime novel. After all, those stories are about things that people do to one another, and crime fiction fans don’t want their books too ‘sugary.’ But there are ways to weave such scenes into a crime novel. And, when done well, they can add a welcome bit of light into an otherwise sad novel. For the writer, they can move the plot along, too, and add character development.

In Agatha Christie’s The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side (AKA The Mirror Crack’d), we are introduced to Heather Badcock. She lives with her husband, Arthur, in a brand-new council housing development in St. Mary Mead. Heather’s far from perfect, but she has what’s sometimes called a big heart. So one day, when she sees an elderly lady stumble and twist her ankle, she’s only too happy to help. That lady turns out to be Miss Marple, who is quite grateful for the kindness of a stranger. That’s partly why she gets involved in the case when Heather later dies of what turns out to be poison. Miss Marple is not at all blind to Heather’s faults and weaknesses, but she also sees her good qualities. It’s an interesting case of a character whose positive qualities turn out to have a negative side, if I can put it that way.

In Arthur Upfield’s Death of a Swagman, Queensland Police Inspector Napoleon ‘Bony’ Bonaparte travels to the small town of Merino to investigate the death of itinerant stockman George Kendall. In order to get as much information as possible, he goes undercover as ‘just another swagman.’ With the help of Sergeant Marshall of the local police, he arranges to be jailed for ten days for vagrancy, loitering, lying to the police, and interfering with the police. He’s in his jail cell when he meets eight-year-old Florence Marshall (who usually goes by Rose Marie), the sergeant’s daughter.  Florence brings the ‘prisoner’ tea, and strikes up a friendship with him, and Bony is grateful for her kindness. Interestingly enough, he doesn’t condescend to her, which endears him to her. Later in the novel, Bony’s able to repay her kindness.

Ernesto Mallo’s Needle in Haystack begins as Buenos Aires police officer Venancio ‘Perro’ Lascano and his team raid a brothel. They have to be careful about, too. On the one hand, the ruling far-right junta (the novel takes place in the late 1970s) wants to put on a show of being tough on such crimes. And it’s as much as a death sentence to go against them. On the other, several important community leaders are patrons of the brothel. Still, the police carry out their duty. As Lascano is making one last pass through the establishment, he discovers a young woman hiding there. She’s not one of the brothel workers; rather, she’s using the place as a refuge. Lascano escorts her to safety, where he finds out that her name is Eva. He gives Eva temporary shelter in his home; and at first, she assumes he’s going to want something in return. But he asks neither for information nor sexual attention. In fact, as the novel goes on, he continues to treat her with kindness with no apparent ulterior motive. In the end, that kindness saves her life. This isn’t the main plot of the novel, really. But it does show how a kind gesture can add a ‘lift’ even to a noir story such as this one, where people generally can’t trust one another.

Andrea Camilleri’s The Snack Thief includes a sub-plot regarding a young boy named François. When his mother, Karima, disappears (her reasons are a part of the main plot), he’s left more or less alone in the world. Vigàta Inspector Salvo Montalbano has compassion for the boy and takes him in temporarily. That’s mostly at the behest of Montalbano’s longtime lover, Livia, who’s visiting at the time. Livia and François, especially, form a bond that benefits both of them. In the end, that kindness allows François to build a new life.

Paddy Richardson’s Hunting Blind is the story of Stephanie Anderson. When she’s fourteen, her younger sister Gemma goes missing during a school picnic/barbecue. Despite a massive search, no trace of Gemma is ever found. Seventeen years later, Stephanie is just finishing her training in psychiatry in Dunedin. She gets a new patient, Elisabeth Clark, who tells her a story that’s eerily similar to Stephanie’s own. Elisabeth’s sister Gracie also disappeared, also with no trace. Against her better judgement, Stephanie decides to lay her own ghosts to rest, and goes in search of the person who caused so much hurt to both her family and the Clarks. So she travels back to her home town of Wanaka. Along the way, she stays for a short time with Elisabeth’s father, Andy. Although she’s a stranger to Andy, really, he makes her welcome at the Guest House he owns, and treats her with kindness. So do other people she meets along the way. That kindness doesn’t catch the person responsible for the disappearances, but it shores Stephanie up during her journey. And it helps her do some healing.

And then there’s Ilsa Evans’ Nefarious Doings, which introduces Victoria newspaper columnist Nell Forrest. One night, Nell gets a visit from the police, who tell her that there’s been a fire at the home of her mother, Lillian ‘Yen.’ What’s more, a man’s body was found in the ruins of the garage, where the fire started. He is Dustin Craig, who lived next door. At first, the police think that he died in a terrible accident (although there is some question about what he was doing at the next-door house late at night). But soon, it’s proven that he was murdered. Now, Yen herself comes under suspicion, and there’s good reason for that. Nell starts to ask some questions, and discovers that several other people have strong motives for murder. In the course of her search for the truth, Nell herself gets into grave danger. Despite that, though, she finds a way to be kind to another character who’s also in danger. That kindness doesn’t exactly cement a friendship. But it does show that even when things look terrible, people can be kind.

And that’s the thing about kindness. It doesn’t have to be ‘sugary sweet’ (Nell’s isn’t, for instance). And in a crime novel, most readers wouldn’t want such saccharine anyway. But kindness can add a touch of relief to a novel. And in real life, those little kindnesses can make a difference. It doesn’t take much to reach out. And it can be an antidote to everything going on in the world…
 
 
 

*NOTE: The title of this post is a line from Jewel Kilcher’s Hands.

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Filed under Agatha Christie, Andrea Camilleri, Arthur Upfield, Ernesto Mallo, Ilsa Evans, Paddy Richardson