Mysteries: Plan Versus Reality

"Does anyone have a plan like ours?"

Dr. Sloan doesn't pretend to be dumb. His intelligence is a given (doctors honestly aren't any more intelligent than other people but they are perceived that way). 

Most importantly, like many detectives, Dr. Sloan is a realist. He takes people and things as they are. He doesn't imagine conspiracies and murder until he is forced to imagine them. 

Consequently, he approaches a crime with few preconceptions. He isn't easily fooled because he isn't playing by a rule book to begin with. 

One of my favorite Diagnosis Murder episodes, "Till Death Do Us Part," starts with the murderers--a spoiled daughter and her clueless fiance--imagining the murder they have planned. They imagine themselves as slick operators who impress the wedding guests at their upcoming nuptials. They imagine the victim, the father, as a jerk. They imagine his second wife, the woman they intend to frame, as snide. They imagine the murder going off without a hitch as the detectives find all the clues they planted.

The episode then switches to the actual day. The couple are vain, pompous, disorganized, and kind of stupid. The father is kindly. The stepmother smooths things over. The two murderers keep making mistakes. Items that were supposed to be in certain places get lost. The dog laps up part of the poison. The maid vacuums. And so on.

 

The imagined plan extends to the murderers' self-delusions. The groom resents his father-in-law's rejection of his completely ridiculous business proposals. The bride asks her stepmother to fetch nail polish that is already sitting on her vanity (she never bothered to check the set-up). They don't see their own arrests coming because they believe so thoroughly in their smug version of reality. 

Dr. Sloan naturally finds out the truth. He was never party to the story the murderers invented about themselves. What he sees is not what they wish to impose on others' perceptions but what they actually did. He deals in reality.

 

I Act Dumb But I'm Smart: Columbo

A common trope in mysteries is the smart detective who acts dumb. 

Bones refers to this behavior quite directly when a few people point out to Brennan that Booth allows himself to be the physical guy who doesn't know stuff to give their relationship balance. Booth's behavior only works, however, because he is a fairly confident guy who doesn't mind how others see him.

Columbo is equally confident, even if he appears less so. He is also the quintessential detective of this type. His elf-like appearance, assumed bashfulness, and seemingly random stories about people in his family who may or may not exist disconcert others. Not to mention that supposedly forgotten "one more thing" that brings him back into the room.

Sometimes, the villains see through the pose/persona but even when they do, they can't entirely guess which way Columbo will jump, especially since Columbo manages--like Milan with red-zone dogs--to do something that every cell in the human body rebels against:

Columbo doesn't mind looking stupid if it helps him do what is necessary. 

One of my role models! Not caring what others think--while still aspiring to help others--is a great trait to emulate. 

Identity is More Than a Label

I mention in the previous post that what what constitutes acceptable and unacceptable epithets can change. Likewise, identity can change, not only with time but with context. 

A Numb3rs episode delivers a scene where David and Colby walk into a bar filled with Asian businessmen and scantily clad Asian women serving drinks. 

Colby says, "We're the only white people in here." 

Alimi Ballard's David chuckles and says, "Yes. Yes, we are."

Identity is more than a box on a survey form. In this context, the two FBI agents have more in common with each other than with anybody in the room. "White" isn't a slur or a brag; it's an acknowledgement of a culture--for good or for bad--tied to a particular institution.

Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe: Objectivity as True Kindness

Many people have attempted to capture Nero Wolfe's personality. Among them are William Conrad, Francesco Pannofino, and Maury Chaukin. 

William Conrad plays Nero as a gruff guy with a heart of gold and even a sentimental streak. I'm not sure Conrad is capable of playing someone like Wolfe any other way, even if the director demanded otherwise. I watched Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe with Conrad's personality in mind and quite enjoyed the early episodes. However, I never entirely warmed to Lee Horsley as Archie. 

Jake and the Fatman is more or less the same relationship in modern (for the time) L.A. (then Hawaii, then L.A. again). I consider Jake and the Fatman more accurate to the Nero Wolfe universe, especially Jake as Archie: the raw, hands-on, physical guy who exhibits both respect and a certain irreverence for "the Fatman." 

Francesco Pannofino and Pietro Sermonti in the MHZ Nero Wolfe have decent chemistry as Nero and Archie. Pannofino also plays Wolfe as having a heart of gold, but the heart of gold is more buried than with Conrad. I quite like the MHZ production, in part because I love the house and also because the chef, as in the A&E production, is given equal screen time. Nero Wolfe's household is replicated, not merely his personality and cases.

However, Maury Chaykin--directed by Timothy Hutton--captures the Nero Wolfe of the books best. Wolfe is not (merely) a gruff smart guy. And he is not a snarky, one-liner quip machine (see Sherlock and House). He is passionate and romantic, stating at one point that he gained weight to inure himself to that side of his character. 

More than anything else, he has a underlying belief system that makes him appear cold and uncaring but is, in truth, inexorably honest and right. He is more like Sherlock from Elementary, who points out to Kitty that letting people pay for crimes they didn't commit--however emotionally satisfying--is not in the long run good for anyone, including society. 

Ethics is the reason Wolfe refuses to let the spoiled heiress simply park herself in his home. He has let plenty of young women park themselves in his home when needs warranted. But Wolfe doesn't lie or play games or forget the long-term consequences of any act. He tells her the truth, even though he could have massaged the situation to give emotional satisfaction and still claim an award.

He exhibits true respect for principles. To Debra Monk, playing the wife of a murdered man, he states, "[The woman who got killed] is the one who asked for your promise. So the responsibility [for that promise and her death] was hers." He relieves the burden on the wife's mind--he later honors the dead woman's purpose in requesting the promise.

Again, the behavior may seem uncaring. But in fact, it is ultimately more fair, honorable, and human than any outsized emotional response. 

Archie--more impulsive than Wolfe--often disagrees with his boss. Overall, however, he is more likely to see things from Wolfe's point of view than not. In a Venn diagram of life, they see life through the same honorable lens. 

Sayers's Characters, including Villains, in the Golden Age of Mysteries

The Golden Age mysteries often get compared to each other. 

Comparisons seem to be how humans survive (Is that dark alley safe or unsafe? Is that person a stranger or friend?). Consequently, I think that comparisons are often inevitable. 

However, I think the impulse should be fought. Or at least monitored. It is completely unnecessary to consider Christie better than Sayers or Sayers better than Christie or Marsh better than either of them. I've read all three. I enjoy all three. I'm not going to stop enjoying all three. 

I think where comparisons get interesting is not deciding who is better or worse. I think comparisons get interesting in examining how the writers differ.

Marsh, who worked in the theatre, wrote characters from the perspective of a playwright: where they stand in a scene, how they look, how they move. 

Christie distilled human characteristics into brief and very relatable portraits. 

Sayers creates individuals within context. 

One of my favorite Sayers' character is Charles Parker. In Unnatural Death, Sayers describes him as "one of those methodical painstaking people whom the world can ill spare." In many ways, Parker is like Bell from Elementary: a guy who looks at an issue from as many sides as possible. AND does the hard work of collecting the requisite information. He also has the masterful ability to be unafraid and unimpressed by Wimsey. He isn't tactless or revolutionary but he also isn't a sycophant. If he thinks Peter is behaving pompously, he says so. 

Sayers's villains also have a quality that I think most villains have (and the reason villains who confess when faced with THE TRUTH never entirely convince me). They think themselves justified. Even the most evil of her villains, from Unnatural Death, is entirely normal on the surface. That villain's world has narrowed to MY rights, MY needs, MY desired outcome. 

In fact, like C.S. Lewis, Sayers conveys the normality of the villainous behavior, so the villain of Murder Must Advertise is NOT, as Wimsey recognizes, the Big Bad. He is too impulsive; too easily caught in dumb behavior. He got away with the murder initially because it was put down to an accident. But he was never going to get away with much for long. 

Sayers understood the stories and justifications that heroes and villains tell themselves. 

Stopping Christie Murderers: Crazy is Harder to Stop, Murder is Easy and Endless Night

These posts present fictional crime prevention detectives who go into novels, specifically Agatha Christie novels, to stop the murders there. 

*Spoilers* 

Not many but some of Christie's murderers are nuts, such as Miss Honoria Waynflete from Murder is Easy. And the problem with crazy is that craziness is difficult to stop. 

Take Michael from Endless Night. Although he goes crazy after the murder, he doesn't start out that way. Like most Christie murderers, he is self-protective. He doesn't plan to put himself at risk. The murder at the end is an aberration in an otherwise careful plan.

That is, Christie's murderers usually kill within a mindset and current set of experiences; they want various things out of their real lives that they will protect by not behaving stupidly. The things they want are often the things that make them vulnerable. And because they are vulnerable, they can be stopped. 

With the truly crazy, their craziness is their protection. While Michael's link to Greta immediately gives away his nefarious plan, Miss Waynflete's link to the dead parrot, by itself, wouldn't convince anyone of anything. Unfortunately, my crime prevention detectives would have to catch her in the act of trying to do someone in.

The point here is an important one: my recent personal contact with a suicide brought home to me how much the human spirit, evolutionary or emotionally or culturally or morally, isn't prepared for acts that violate social norms. And social norms do matter! (By themselves, they do an exceptional job keeping society functional.) Consequently, I've always thought it was unfair to blame police and other investigators for not imagining as a reality the unimaginable.

The point here is also the reason that I don't buy the "sane person who murders a dozen people to hide one murder" as occurs in The ABC Murders. I don't think truly non-serial-killing people do that. Something inherent holds us back from that one-on-one level of evil. And, in fact, Christie does a decent job with her serial murderer. He may actually be what he thinks he isn't. (I will come back to The ABC Murders in a later post.)  

To put the matter more cynically: people justify themselves, and they have to live with their justifications. And some acts simply are too difficult to justify unless one is nuts. Michael in Endless Night goes crazy because he can't leap the gap--not when he was likely falling in love, unintentionally, with the wife he killed.  

The Voice of Characters: Cadfael and Others

Patrick Tull

I remark in an earlier post that one issue with books-to-movies is when the character doesn't match the image in one's head. Although I am a big fan of Sir Derek Jacobi, I don't really see him as Cadfael. I like the early Cadfael series anyway. But I never forget that I'm watching Sir Derek Jacobi. 

A related topic here is when someone SOUNDS like the character. The first Ellis Peters' books I listened to were read by Patrick Tull. He isn't one my favorite readers since I like readers who read at a fairly steady clip, and Tull lingers on words. But the voice--oh, my!--was perfect, exactly how I imagined Cadfael would sound. Stephen Thorne was the second reader I encountered, and he is quite good both as Cadfael and as a well-paced reader. I "see" Cadfael through their voices.

Stephen Thorne

Ian Carmichael is the same. His voice, that is. I will occasionally watch the Wimsey TV movies starring Carmichael, but I can never not wince a little: he doesn't match Sayers' description of Peter Wimsey or my own image of Peter Wimsey at all.

And yet, he TOTALLY gets Wimsey. His voice is perfect. 

In reverse, I think David Suchet is perfect as Poirot in the series, but I don't like him as a reader. (I far prefer Hugh Fraser.) Likewise, Barbara Rosenblat as Mrs. Pollifax makes her sound about two decades older than she is in the books, which is just odd. 

Good reading is a skill. And a good reader makes a difference. Voice can be as much a "character" as any other part of an actor. 

Give Characters Jobs: Numb3rs

In a commentary on Numb3rs, Rob Morrow complains about shots that position an actor at one point in the room, just to have the actor  start walking as the camera begins to roll. 

Why are they coming from that direction? What are they doing? Why? 

Either Morrow or another actor comments that directors prefer to have characters do stuff, not simply stand around waiting to deliver their lines. In an early episode of Numb3rs, Alan Eppes (Judd Hirsch) is feeding a bird while he talks to his sons rather than simply standing (conveniently) in the same room. 

I'm a big fan of characters having jobs, and I've always liked the fact that Numb3rs gave its guest experts stuff to do (other than being the Big Bad of the week). Chris Bauer as Professor Galuski, for example, is a useful character. He bridges the two worlds of academe and FBI since he visits locations with agents; discusses speed and velocity and other matters with Charlie; and gives Alan a bosom buddy, someone who takes a less intellectual, more hands-on approach to engineering problems. 

Themes naturally arise from these interactions, such as understanding based on abstract theory versus understanding based on experience. 

Give a character a task--all kinds of positive writing possibilities will follow!

Death in Fiction is Still a Cop-Out

I have written elsewhere (and often) about how death in fiction is a cop-out, 90% of the time. There are exceptions. But most of the time, killing off a character is a failure of imagination, an adolescent shriek of "look at my deep thoughts!" 

It's obnoxious.

*Spoilers*

The end of Professor T, Season 3, is a great example of what I mean, and it points to the difference between truly mature writing and adolescent writing. 

At the end of the season, Professor T's cop prodigy dies (or is nearly killed--the scene is presented as a death with Professor T and the fiance hovering over her body and Professor T reverting to his OCD behavior). 

I wasn't sad. I just sighed. Then, I really sighed because I'd lost respect for the writers but I happen to like Ben Miller...so now what do I do if there is another season? 

And I realized the difference between this type of "ending" and the show Bones. 

Years ago, I read a review (I wish I could remember the reviewer's name!) that stated that with Bones, whatever happens, you know people will keep going. Vincent gets shot. The characters mourn, put up a plaque, and remember him. Sweets is killed. His on-again/off-again girlfriend goes on to have his baby. Brennan and Booth evoke his name quite often. He isn't forgotten. Hodgins becomes wheelchair-bound, adjusts, and becomes the literal king of the lab.

But shows like Professor T--and Ballykissangel--treat a death like the ultimate resolution, as if all of the episodes and the characters' arcs have been leading up to...a moment of shock. 

It is VERY adolescent. It is also a great example of "killing off one's gays"--that is, killing a character JUST so other people can react to it and the reader can have a moment of social awareness.

There were other, far more interesting ways, to get Professor T to revert to his OCD behavior. Death was a cop-out.

Mysteries on Cruises and Planes: When They Work, When They Don't

The problem with mysteries on cruises and planes is that unless the mystery is tied to the cruise or plane, it really doesn't matter that it happens on a cruise or plane. It could happen anywhere. 

Sometimes the mystery is tied to solving the mystery before the cruise docks or plane lands. In one episode of Bones, Booth wants to arrest the malefactor before the plane lands in China; before then, the plane is still "American soil." 

Overall, however, such time crutches are not exclusive to transportation. They can be tied to dawn breaking or night falling or rain coming or a holiday beginning.

Sometimes the mystery is tied to the cruise sinking or the plane crashing. The latter is VERY COMMON (see at least one episode in every mystery show ever, including Murdoch Mysteries). The first is less plausible than the second. One reason that passengers were slow to get off the Titanic is that it is actually surprisingly difficult to sink ships absent a bomb or an iceberg that rips past ALL watertight compartments. Many ships that hit icebergs in the early twentieth century stayed afloat for several hours, long enough for everyone to be rescued.

(Note to those who fear planes: even plane crashes are statistically rare if one considers the numbers of planes that take off and land every day.)

Sometimes, the setting provides the "cozy" manor house option--a passenger is killed and the only suspects are the  passengers in first class. Murder She Wrote provides a decent episode of this type with several hilarious "plane" moments, including a smuggled dog!

And sometimes, the mystery is tied to conditions of travel--one of the best is "Unfriendly Skies" in Season 1 of CSI: Las Vegas (see image above). The mystery is about why/how a passenger died on the plane, and the explanation is connected to conditions of going way up in the air.

Likewise, Columbo's cruise episode involves an intimate knowledge of ship procedures--so being on the ship does matter. 

Still--it's hard not to ask, "Why not wait for the cruise to dock?" Even in "Unfriendly Skies," the investigation takes place AFTER the plane has landed.

Consequently, one of the most common cruise tropes is the use of the boat to smuggle something, leading to spy passengers who confront each other during the voyage. Scarecrow & Mrs King provides one of the best episodes of this type, the aptly named "Ship of Spies," which takes place on a marriage cruise.  And, of course, Spy X Family's cruise ship arc! 

Hey, I treat the spaceship in my Myths Endure on Mars series like a cruise liner, and a mystery takes place on it! 

However, I made sure that (1) the mystery is related to the conditions of the spaceship, both the passengers on a particular voyage and the murder attempt's method; (2) the mystery still ends on the planet. 

After all, too many times, it feels like the ship or plane is simply window dressing--not that different from the train in Murder on the Orient Express. The suspects could all be in a snowbound manor or on an island...

Yup, Agatha Christie did those too! 

Accountants as Heroes: The Auditors and The Other World's Books Depend on the Bean Counter

Van Dine famously wrote that murder is the only satisfactory problem for a full-length mystery. And generally speaking, most of the Golden Age mystery writers agreed with him. Sayers challenged the notion with a suicide and a second-degree murder. She also wrote a few short stories--as did others--in which theft was the main mystery.

However, generally speaking, the form relies not only on murderers but on Columbo type murderers who plan meticulously and cover up their acts and even murder again.

And many, many mystery shows follow suit.
 
The Auditors, however, makes accounting malfeasance the dirty secret. There is a murder in the wings and several attempted murders/assaults. But the main issue is people stealing money for their own greedy reasons.

And it works!

It works because the stakes are fairly high. Entire lives can be derailed by the scheming, grifting, and lying carried out by management and employers.

In fact, one of the reasons that I like these heroic accountants so much is that their concern about money is not some manifestation of greed. Quite the opposite! By focusing on how things get paid for, they show a greater concern for real people and real solutions than so-called compassionate and sensitive people who look down on such "penny-pinching." The theme here is one I tackled in my story "Golden Hands," a take on Rumpelstiltskin: why assume that the king doesn't have good reasons to want more money? 

In The Auditors, the main character, Shin Cha II, is a man on a mission. He appears ruthless but is motivated by an exact understanding of the crimes and their cost. His prodigy, Goo Han Soo, is a friendly, kind young man who comes to understand his mentor better. 

*Spoilers.* 

The Auditors also supplies good villains; in fact, the eventual primary villain's  psychology is disturbingly familiar these days: I'm so righteous, my sins are necessary to combat the unrighteous. 

And The Auditors gives us some ambiguity. The department is semi-pitted against a member of upper management, Hwang Dae-woong, who turns out to be a supporter in the end. 

The tension between Shin Cha II and Hwang Dae-woong is fantastic since Shin Cha II is a "by the book" operator while Hwang Dae-woong doesn't see the harm is some nepotism, some minor grifting, some handouts. To him, that's the oil that keeps business running. However, he is inherently a moral guy: some actions truly are unimaginable. The two characters are frenemies and provide some of the best and funniest scenes in the series.

So The Auditors is well-crafted. And it provides a nice variation on the detective hero! 

Another great accountant character is Seiichirou Kondou from The Other World's Books Depend on the Bean Counter. One of the best scenes in the light novels and manga is when Seiichirou must persuade the court that his ideas about how to handle the miasma will actually save money--a long-term solution as opposed to housing and clothing and rewarding the Holy Maiden. Another great scene is when he persuades the prince to impress the Holy Maiden by using his income to do stuff for her.

Accountants in both series are cool. However, in terms of sheer dramatic entrances, Shin Cha II wins here! 

A Dumb Plot Handled Well: Jessica Fletcher and Her Dead Husband

Lansbury & Husband

A typical motif in drama and sitcoms occurs when the main character, often female, discovers that her dead husband was unfaithful. Sometimes, a grown child of the "other" relationship shows up. There's a lot of weeping and yelling followed by reconciliation and acceptance. Oh, look how advanced and forward thinking the widow is! 

I hate it. It is so entirely unbelievable and falls into the category of imputing to the dead whatever well-meaning intentions the living wish to force on them. 

Hey, lady, maybe your husband was just a jerk!

In a Murder, She Wrote episode, Jessica is contacted by a woman desperate to help her son. The women (falsely, we discover) tells Jessica that the boy is the son of Jessica's dead husband, Frank. The woman and Frank met in Korea, and he strayed. One of Frank's fellow soldiers gives Jessica a speech about how hard it was for soldiers away from home.

She listens. She isn't entirely dismissive. But she is completely devastated. It isn't so much the straying that bothers her. It is that she thought she knew her husband. Not only would her husband have strayed and kept that secret to himself, he would have kept a life-changing occurrence (his child) from her. And he simply isn't the kind of man to abandon his own child. 

Did she even know him? 

Her entire world is rocked. She doesn't give herself a "go, girl!" speech and shake it off. Although the matter is cleared up at the end, the script leaves the impression that she would have been faced with a different dead husband than the one she thought she married, and she wouldn't have altered the dead to meet her expectations. She would have had to come to terms with a truth that might re-form her life. 

She's Jessica! She's tough! She can do it! But it isn't a cute blip--Oh, I forgive him. It's a foundation-rocking event, as it should be. It is also entirely believable.

The Canny Thug

A hilarious variation on the canny dope and canny jerk is the canny thug.

The canny thug is the mugger/thief/drug dealer who has a streak of philosophical insight. My favorite is Marcus Oliver Kemp in Major Crimes' episode "Tourist Trap." He is a Cockney thug, paid to follow a couple to America and kill the husband (those Americans and their guns!). 

When he turns "state's evidence," he reflects on various factors that can end a marriage/relationship, including "even a little bit of success." Lieutenant Tao takes these reflections to heart and determines to stop showing off his television award (he is an advisor on a made-up television show Badge of Justice).

I love how unembarrassingly contemplative Kemp is, even when admitting that he and his ex had "their differences."

Elias in Person of Interest is a more complex variation of this type.

Stop the Christie Murder: Christmas & Murder

A popular myth insists that murders occur more around holidays. 

I doubt it. However, the myth is so common that mystery writers regularly use it: put a bunch of non-complementary personalities together in a single house...MURDER! 

*Spoilers*

"The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding" does not entail an actual murder. It is one of those occasions when the detective forces the villain to react by faking a robbery or death or suicide. If the police did it, it would be called entrapment. When private detectives creates these scenarios, they still come off as rather extreme. 

Poirot likes to fool the villains and I often accept the plot device as "hey, that's fun!"

"The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding," however, is a little creepy since the person who supposedly dies is a girl in her early teens. Granted, her "death" is arranged by her and her cousins (to supposedly fool Poirot). But Poirot plays along. It is rather unimaginable that everyone would just laugh and say, "How cute" after the fact rather than punching Poirot in the face. 

The Poirot episode is rather enchanting, however, since it delivers a full plate of English Christmas customs from going to church to singing carols to charades and Christmas crackers.

To avoid Poirot being punched in the face, my prevention detectives reveal that Bridget isn't dead. Moreover, they let the villain get away with the jewel well beforehand. Once they do, they nab the villain for theft. Collected evidence will trace the original theft to him as well. 

Not as exciting! But there are the festivities to get to.

Love as Hard Work in Elementary

This time of year is a great time to discuss the belief system of  Elementary's Holmes.

I love Elementary in part because Miller's Sherlock, however misanthropic, tries hard to be a good guy. 

Although Elementary often falls back on the classic motive for murder--greed--it has an interesting bonus theme:

Being in a relationship is work! And it may entail hurting others. And it's work! And not many villains like work. 

The pilot episode of Elementary presents a husband who seems as irritated by his wife's existence as desirous of her money--referring to himself in the third person, he states that the "husband wants out of the marriage." A later episode "Deja Vu All Over Again" revolves around the same desire for freedom, only in this case, the husband punishes the wife for the impulse. And the episode "Ears to You" has an ex-wife who couldn't be bothered to go through the hard work of a divorce.

The motivations are mostly all show-not-tell. But the scripts consistently avoid displays of villainous greed--or even need. Rather, the murderous significant others are unwilling to give up any of their prerogatives for the sake of the significant other, from money (sure) to lifestyles to attention. 

Another Season 1 episode "While You Were Sleeping" sets the stage. Sherlock solves the case when he hears a recovering addict admit that when she was on drugs, she only cared about herself, not her doctor boyfriend or what her choices would do to him. He later refers to the murderess--a twin sister killing off heirs to the family money--as having a "little heart."

Sherlock understands the villains' reluctance to work at relationships. He finds them difficult too.

He nevertheless condemns their illegal and harmful solutions. When the supposed activist against the government kills the young woman who helps him, Sherlock is unimpressed by the "security" implications. Like Poirot, he cares most for the individuals "who deserve not to have taken from them their lives." And despite his own reluctance to invest in a relationship when he is not sure he has the requisite qualities--especially regarding fathering a child--he expects civilized members of a society to at least try, or, at the very least, not murder.

The theme that relationships take effort underscores the show. Sherlock attempts to build his friendship with Joan. He advises Marcus to take chances in his personal relationships. He encourages Captain Gregson to work at his failing marriage and then helps him in his later relationship with Paige. In the episode "You Do It Yourself," he gives the ultimate British compliment to the young research assistant who agrees to marry the woman he loves, becoming an instant father:

"Good show."

Perilous Interference: Why Not to Get Involved in a Christie Investigation

*Spoilers* 

One of the stranger Poirot novels is Peril at End House. Poirot helps a young woman who he is believes is being stalked by a killer...only to discover that she was playing him the whole time. She's a murderer. 

How far did Poirot's interference inspire and aid her? If no one had picked up on her hints--"Someone is trying to kill me"--would she have still committed the book's primary murder?

I tackle this problem in an earlier post: "Detectives Who Cause Deaths."

The problem here is less about the ethics and more about the writing. 

I think the murderess may have still committed the murder: she is something of a sociopath. And Poirot is susceptible to damsels in distress. Still, the issue points up the plot's weaknesses. 

In sum, my prevention detectives would simply need to warn the murderess's cousin--the true target--to stay away. And I don't think they would need to witness the murder first in order to rewind and issue the warning. Objectively-speaking, simply asking around would expose the murderess's mercenary nature and her less than respectable friends. The cousin staying away is good sense. 

The book isn't one of my favorites precisely because so much depends on Poirot not questioning the young woman's motives. And Christie appears to side-step Poirot's accountability at the end. 

On the other hand, Christie appears to have set up Poirot deliberately. She explores detective compliance in other books. When does interference actually create more problems? 

Ordeal by Innocence directly addresses this question. Arthur Calgary returns from a trip to discover that a young man he gave a ride to years earlier was hung for a crime committed during the time the young man was with Calgary. He insists on investigating, only to discover that actually the young man did plan the crime. Calgary's investigation stirs up a lot of unhappiness and exposes one of the young man's victims. The book is a more solid mystery than Peril since the detective's culpability is addressed upfront.

As I mention in the earlier post, Dorothy Sayers also tackled an investigation having unintended negative consequences. In Gaudy Night, when the professors accuse Wimsey of harassing people who were forced to commit terrible deeds due to social inequity, Wimsey responds by asking them to consider his "real" victims--the people who got killed while he was investigating, usually by criminals who feared exposure. The question of when and when not to get involved continues throughout the book, up to Harriet's choice between a "safe harbor" (where "real world" events impinge only through the mind) and an "unsafe" life/marriage with a complicated guy, where the outcome is less sure.

Neither Christie nor Sayers argue that Poirot and Wimsey shouldn't be involved. They are pointing out that getting involved may have a cost. (My definition of a non-Mary Sue is that non-Mary Sues accept that cost instead of having their "safety" preserved by the author no matter what.)

My prevention detectives have a mandate to stop murders. That doesn't mean they can't be careful and wise about how they go about it. They are more likely to be careful and wise if they understand and accept the possible ramifications.

A Cop Can Be a Gentleman: Crabtree in Murdoch Mysteries

One of my favorite examples of a cop being a gentleman is Crabtree in Murdoch Mysteries. He is kind, honorable, chivalrous, and fair-minded. 

One of my favorite examples of Crabtree's gentlemanly behavior occurs in "Game of Kings." Station House 4 needs someone to go "undercover" at a chess tournament. Crabtree immediately bemoans that women aren't allowed to play since his girlfriend, Nina Bloom, is brilliant at the game.

Crabtree, in fact, attends the tournament with Nina whispering instructions in his ear using Murdoch's up-to-date technology. 

At the end of the episode, Crabtree brings Nina to the Station House to play against her real opponent, the female relation of a Russian master, who has suffered a lessening of his mental faculties. He gleefully sits on the cot beside the master. He is thrilled to watch two virtuosos at work. He demonstrates no sense of emasculation at witnessing the women's skill.

Give Characters Jobs: Blue Bloods

One of my arguments with fiction is that main characters need jobs. 

Blue Bloods demonstrates this truth excellently. Although many of the family dinner conversations are about relationships and school and friendships, nearly all of them deal in some manner with the "family business." 

Crime. Detection. Loss. Punishment. Fairness. 

Granted, the ganging up on Erin gets tiresome (sure, she can hold her own; it still gets tiresome). But some of the absolute best dialog emerges when people in the family try to thrash out a problem. I've mention elsewhere Jamie's great scene at the dinner table after he gets beaten up and family members share memories of stuff he swallowed as a kid. 

On the crime side, I like the scene in "Payback" when Jamie and Erin exchange views on the problem of "he said-she said." 

"Like trying to deconstruct a milkshake," Erin says in exasperation.

Frank and Henry then make the wonderful point that a cop can be a gentleman. 

If you are a writer and suffering from a lack of decent dialog...give your characters WORK! Some of the best dialog I've written--and the most fun--was people arguing over what belongs in museums and what doesn't, precisely because one character assessed pieces for museums. The conversation was the natural result of people discussing what they do and care about and have invested themselves in.  

Belated Happy Rat and Mouse Day

Yesterday, November 12th, was Rat and Mouse Day. It reminded me of a subplot in a Castle episode where Alexis takes care of her boyfriend's rat while he is away. It gets lost, and she spends most of the episode trying to find it (with Martha declaring that she is checking into a hotel). She apologizes to the boyfriend who is very accepting.

THAT story reminded me of a Home Improvement episode in which Brad takes care of his girlfriend's fish. It dies (from the bowl being placed too close to the light). His brother suggests they buy a replacement, so they head off with the dead fish in Brad's pocket. I actually found it somewhat unbelievable that they couldn't find a replacement, but they don't, so he has to tell the girlfriend who forgives him.

 

And...I don't buy it. Neither subplot. I believe that these excessively sweet-natured and forgiving and noble-minded teens would, eventually, forgive their significant others for killing their pets. But right then? In the moment of being told? You leave a pet with someone and it ends up lost or dead? Wouldn't you be just a little pissed...at first?

I Forgive You: Why Theories Always Ultimately Fall Apart

I'm not a fan of academic theories about why societies function the way they do/why they are unfair or fair or something else. 

I'm not a fan for numerous reasons--one reason is that the labels within these theories often take on a life of their own. Observed life is twisted to fit the theory. John Douglas discusses in one of his books on serial killers that labeling one particular serial killer unintentionally narrowed the investigation. The investigators began to look for the serial killer along the location where he was labeled to reside. They missed opportunities to look elsewhere. They weren't stupid, but they had bought into the label's presumptions.

One such presumption is that people will behave according to the theory rather than according to their experiences and characters--at the macro rather than micro level. 

My favorite example of how character overrides designated behavior occurs in Castle, Season 3. *Spoilers* In the search for her mother's killer, Beckett learns what her mother uncovered, which led to her death: that a group of police officers had kidnapped mobsters and held them for ransom. Inadvertently, they killed an FBI agent.

Beckett then discovers that her captain, Captain Montgomery, was one of the original officers. 

And she knows him. She knows what type of man he is. She knows what he has done for her. She knows how he has trained her. If one thinks deeply about their relationship, one could well-imagine that she would feel a deep sense of betrayal. But in the moment of his confession and her knowledge of what he plans to do, she reacts not according to some theory or pre-determined response. 

"I forgive you," she declares and pleads with him to remain alive.

Ultimately, the world is personal.