"Plain Reckless," by Scott Mackay, in Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, December 2011.
To my mind one of the worst phrases used to advertise a crime story (next to "transcends the genre) is "This time it's personal!" As Jon L. Breen wrote "I think the necessity for the series detective to suffer enormous physical and/or emotional trauma in every book and to be personally involved in every case is one of the worst trends in contemporary crime fiction, but I’m not typical."
Maybe you aren't typical, Jon, but you are right, because you agree with me. In fact, in the same e-conversation I wrote "Those books are self-limiting in a way. How many times in a series can the detective be betrayed by his lover, best friend, etc., before the series begins to look a little silly? Only in TV do they get away with that sort of stuff."
But the self-limiting issue doesn't apply to a one-off novel or short story. Take this story of a cop named Michelle Evans investigating a murder. "With a twinge of anxiety, I realized I now had a personal connection to the case...It happened from time to time. And it always made me nervous when it did."
A woman is found shot to death in her house, but clearly she had been killed somewhere else. Her one year old child had been returned to the home. And she had volunteered at the church where Detective Evans' lover used to work...
I like the way Mackay uses the personal involvement in the story. A lot of cops say one of the hardest parts of the job is that they find themselves using their work skills on their friends and families and that is what happens here. When Evans talks to her sweetheart about the case "I detected regret... I observed guilt and evasion." How is she supposed to react? As cop, or as lover?
The best mystery story I read this week...
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Who I Am, by Michael Z. Lewin
Mr. Lewin becomes the second author (after James Powell) to appear in this column twice. This story raises the question: how do you make a genre story new and unique?
For instance: Indianapolis private eye Albert Samson gets a client whose house has just been robbed. A few things of no great value were taken, plus a memento of his father. Samson investigates and finds the culprit.
Well, okay, but we've all read that one a few thousand times before, haven't we? What makes this story different from the others?
Just one thing really. Samson's client, who calls himself Lebron James (but isn't the famous basketball player) claims that his father was a space alien. Samson doesn't believe it, of course, but he does believe the roll of hundred dollar bills Mr. James pays him with. This is apparently the first in a series of stories about a rather sympathetic guy who his neighbors call "spaceman" and "the weirdo." I'm looking forward to more.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
The Investigation of Boyfriend #17, by Maureen Keenan-Mason
"The Investigation of Boyfriend #17," by Maureen Keenan-Mason, in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, December 2011.
If you look back at your notes from previous classes you will find that I said the one thing the opening of a story must do is keep the reader reading. I mentioned that there are lots of other things the opening can and probably should do. One of them is to tell us what kind of a story we are about to read. It is easy for the opening to tell us: this is noir, get ready for a cosy, there's going to be spooks here, or whatever.
On the other hand, sometimes it can be fun to have no idea where a story is going. That's what Keenan-Mason pulls off in this tale.
Lila is a twenty-four-old woman who, after several bad experiences, has started investigating each boyfriend. She has a locked desk where she keeps files on each new swain, checking out their stories to see if they have a wife, criminal background or other no-no in their past.
The tone is light but there is an element of creepiness here (does Lila have a hobby or an obsession? ToMAYto, ToMAHto) and I could easily the story going into nasty territory with either Lila or a boyfriend getting very wicked. The fun here is not knowing until near the end which road we will be traveling...
If you look back at your notes from previous classes you will find that I said the one thing the opening of a story must do is keep the reader reading. I mentioned that there are lots of other things the opening can and probably should do. One of them is to tell us what kind of a story we are about to read. It is easy for the opening to tell us: this is noir, get ready for a cosy, there's going to be spooks here, or whatever.
On the other hand, sometimes it can be fun to have no idea where a story is going. That's what Keenan-Mason pulls off in this tale.
Lila is a twenty-four-old woman who, after several bad experiences, has started investigating each boyfriend. She has a locked desk where she keeps files on each new swain, checking out their stories to see if they have a wife, criminal background or other no-no in their past.
The tone is light but there is an element of creepiness here (does Lila have a hobby or an obsession? ToMAYto, ToMAHto) and I could easily the story going into nasty territory with either Lila or a boyfriend getting very wicked. The fun here is not knowing until near the end which road we will be traveling...
Sunday, September 25, 2011
The Uncleared, by Thomas Pluck
"The Uncleared," by Thomas Pluck, at A Twist of Noir, Friday September 16, 2011.
I have been reading Criminal Thoughts of R. Thomas Brown for some time. Mr. Brown reports almost every day on several flash stories he has read. I usually follow his leads but this is the first time one of his tips made my best of the week.
I have a rule about flash fiction (usually defined as under 1000 words). I think it only works if the story needs to be that short. Either it is a simple anecdote (like a joke, a setup and a punchline) or something so unique that it only makes sense as a very short piece (like Man Changes Mind, by Jason Armstrong).
But Mr. Pluck has made me break my rule. I can easily see this story as the outline for one of those looong broody tales that EQMM loves so much. Instead he fit it on a postcard, and did it with no sense of cramming or shorthand. Quite remarkable.
Here, in brief, is the brief story. When the narrator is in college his parents decide to sell their house. His mother, a brand-new real estate agent, attempts to do so and is found murdered in it.
We learn what happened to the family afterwards, and then there is a twist that is staggering and yet neatly foreshadowed. It all works perfectly and even though it could be told at five times the length, it isn't missing a single necessary detail.
And my, the last sentence...
Admirable.
I have been reading Criminal Thoughts of R. Thomas Brown for some time. Mr. Brown reports almost every day on several flash stories he has read. I usually follow his leads but this is the first time one of his tips made my best of the week.
I have a rule about flash fiction (usually defined as under 1000 words). I think it only works if the story needs to be that short. Either it is a simple anecdote (like a joke, a setup and a punchline) or something so unique that it only makes sense as a very short piece (like Man Changes Mind, by Jason Armstrong).
But Mr. Pluck has made me break my rule. I can easily see this story as the outline for one of those looong broody tales that EQMM loves so much. Instead he fit it on a postcard, and did it with no sense of cramming or shorthand. Quite remarkable.
Here, in brief, is the brief story. When the narrator is in college his parents decide to sell their house. His mother, a brand-new real estate agent, attempts to do so and is found murdered in it.
We learn what happened to the family afterwards, and then there is a twist that is staggering and yet neatly foreshadowed. It all works perfectly and even though it could be told at five times the length, it isn't missing a single necessary detail.
And my, the last sentence...
Admirable.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Hell of an Affair, by Duane Swierczynski
"Hell of an Affair," by Duane Swierczynski, in L.A. Noire, 2011.
L.A. Noire is a video game created by Rockstar Games, and as I understand it, the player has the role of an L.A. cop in the forties, trying to solve various crimes. I don't play video games, having enough addictive habits without that one, thank you very much, but I picked up the accompanying product: L.A. Noire, the complete stories. According to the introduction some of the stories include characters/plots from the games and some just bask in the milieu. So far, this one is my favorite.
Billy Shelton is a land surveyor whose daily grind is to drive "around in the dry heat and set up my theodolite on its tripod and make little measurements and write them down in my notebook. Then I go home to my empty apartment on West Temple Street, where I stare at the walls and try not to climb them."
In other words, a classic noir protagonist, a pile of tinder waiting for someone to throw a match. The match turns out to be (surprise!) a beautiful woman named Bonnie, a waitress who takes an unexpected shine to him. Anyone who has read noir knows she has something nasty in mind, and that's what happens.
But the reason this story made my list is several unexpected turns the story takes near the end. Billy is an organized sort of guy, after all, used to precise mathematical measurements and his mantra becomes I can still set things right... I can still set things right. But there are some angles too bent to measure.
L.A. Noire is a video game created by Rockstar Games, and as I understand it, the player has the role of an L.A. cop in the forties, trying to solve various crimes. I don't play video games, having enough addictive habits without that one, thank you very much, but I picked up the accompanying product: L.A. Noire, the complete stories. According to the introduction some of the stories include characters/plots from the games and some just bask in the milieu. So far, this one is my favorite.
Billy Shelton is a land surveyor whose daily grind is to drive "around in the dry heat and set up my theodolite on its tripod and make little measurements and write them down in my notebook. Then I go home to my empty apartment on West Temple Street, where I stare at the walls and try not to climb them."
In other words, a classic noir protagonist, a pile of tinder waiting for someone to throw a match. The match turns out to be (surprise!) a beautiful woman named Bonnie, a waitress who takes an unexpected shine to him. Anyone who has read noir knows she has something nasty in mind, and that's what happens.
But the reason this story made my list is several unexpected turns the story takes near the end. Billy is an organized sort of guy, after all, used to precise mathematical measurements and his mantra becomes I can still set things right... I can still set things right. But there are some angles too bent to measure.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Notes Toward A Novel Of Love in a Dog Park, by Louis Bayard
"Notes Toward A Novel of Love in the Dog Park," by Louis Bayard, in Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, November 2011. 
My first thought was to describe this as experimetnal fiction, the catchall term we use for anything that doesn't follow the standard way of writing that has been used for hundreds of years. But actually Bayard could argue that he is using a very old form, the epistolary tale (some of the first novels in ENglish were comprised entirely of letters).
But this story isn't exactly made up of letters. As the title suggests it is notes for a novel, complete with earnest quotations from some writing manual. The question is how much of the scary plotting of the book's narrator is actually things the would'be novelist has done, or is planning to do.
Use passages from journal here. E.g. stripping skin from Ellen's face.
I'm still not sure of exactly what is real and unreal here, but it is a delightfully disturbing tale.
But this story isn't exactly made up of letters. As the title suggests it is notes for a novel, complete with earnest quotations from some writing manual. The question is how much of the scary plotting of the book's narrator is actually things the would'be novelist has done, or is planning to do.
Use passages from journal here. E.g. stripping skin from Ellen's face.
I'm still not sure of exactly what is real and unreal here, but it is a delightfully disturbing tale.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Slip Knot, by David Edgerley Gates
"Slip Knot," by David Edgerley Gates, in Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, November 2011.
I think it was G.K. Chesterton who said (or had a character say) that the criminal is the artist and the detective merely the critic. The reason that the detective nonetheless gets to be the main character is that the story starts after the crime, and the action we follow is the criticism, so to speak, not the creation of the art.
Not so in the usual Gates story. Of course, one can argue that his hero, Mickey Counihan, is not a detective, but he is trying to solve a crime. (In fact, if I were a judge on the Shamus Awards next year I would argue that he meets the qualifications for consideration.)
You see, Mickey is a fixer for the Hannah family, an Irish mob in New York in the 1950s. He usually seems less like a main character than the typical hero of a detective story. More like an observer or not-so-innocent bystander. Because his main job is to watch out for the Hannah family's interests, which may call for him to watch what's going on but not necessarily step in. As someone tells him in this story "You don't have a dog in this fight." Before the tale is over, he very much does.
The story is about a pool match, or really about the betting that goes on before and during the match. No one, including Mickey, can figure out who is manipulating the odds, and to what end. Before it gets straightened out a bunch of people will be dead.
Gates writes convincingly of dangerous men who expect trouble and know how to greet it. But the main reason the story made this list is the sheer casualness of the last paragraph, that treats a stunning detail as less important than a pool shot.
I think it was G.K. Chesterton who said (or had a character say) that the criminal is the artist and the detective merely the critic. The reason that the detective nonetheless gets to be the main character is that the story starts after the crime, and the action we follow is the criticism, so to speak, not the creation of the art.
Not so in the usual Gates story. Of course, one can argue that his hero, Mickey Counihan, is not a detective, but he is trying to solve a crime. (In fact, if I were a judge on the Shamus Awards next year I would argue that he meets the qualifications for consideration.)
You see, Mickey is a fixer for the Hannah family, an Irish mob in New York in the 1950s. He usually seems less like a main character than the typical hero of a detective story. More like an observer or not-so-innocent bystander. Because his main job is to watch out for the Hannah family's interests, which may call for him to watch what's going on but not necessarily step in. As someone tells him in this story "You don't have a dog in this fight." Before the tale is over, he very much does.
The story is about a pool match, or really about the betting that goes on before and during the match. No one, including Mickey, can figure out who is manipulating the odds, and to what end. Before it gets straightened out a bunch of people will be dead.
Gates writes convincingly of dangerous men who expect trouble and know how to greet it. But the main reason the story made this list is the sheer casualness of the last paragraph, that treats a stunning detail as less important than a pool shot.
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