The Top Ten Best Short Story Mysteries of All Time

 

Jeff–Saturday

There is so much (good) news I have to share...but cannot talk about quite yet. All I can say is that it's kept me so busy and distracted this week that I couldn't find the time to come up with an MIE post that meets the standards of my blogmates' work. So, I've fallen back upon republishing an oldie but goodie post  It's my take on the top ten best short story mysteries of all time.

I cannot think of a quicker way to start an argument than with a “Top Ten” anything list. Yet, as a former adjunct professor of English teaching mystery writing at a college that’s decades older than the modern detective novel, how could I refuse the honor of such a request from the 2023 Mystery Writers of America Ellery Queen Award winning The Strand Magazine?  

In order to avoid offending any of my many gifted, still writing, short-story authoring friends, I readily admit to prayerfully ameliorating potential fallout by offering up, in roughly chronological order, this ten best list of seminal short stories penned by writers no longer with us.

So here's my article as published by The Strand Magazine, courtesy of the online posting skills of Talia Tydall.

 

 

 

 

 

“Murders in the Rue Morgue,” by Edgar Allan Poe (Graham’s Magazine, 1841)

It’s only appropriate that the first story on my list is considered the first modern detective story. In Poe’s tale, he introduces his brilliantly analytical detective, C. Auguste Dupin, and Dupin’s trusted friend who acts as the story’s narrator.  Their relationship and Dupin’s methods and cool demeanor have come to serve as inspiration for legions of mystery writers,

On Paris’ Rue Morgue at 3AM, a mother and daughter are brutally and inhumanely slaughtered in their heavily locked-down fourth-floor apartment. Neighbors heard their shrieks but also two additional voices coming from within the apartment, one identified as male and French, the other as shrill and foreign. When the neighbors break into the apartment, they find only the daughter inside, dead and stuffed feet-first up the chimney in a show of superhuman strength, while her mother lay decapitated on the ground, four unscalable stories below a still locked window. Though newspapers call it an impossible crime to solve, and the police remain baffled, a man known to Dupin is accused of the murders.  Through the application of his “ratiocination” investigatory methods that do not ask “what has occurred,” but rather, “what has occurred that has never occurred before,” Dupin determines what transpired and frees an innocent man; establishing in the process an enduring classic formula for mystery writing.

 

“The Red-Headed League,” by Arthur Conan Doyle (The Strand Magazine, 1891)

I trace my interest in writing mysteries to my early years as a lawyer when I found an unexpected opportunity to read The Complete Sherlock Holmes straight through from cover to cover.  By the end of that exercise, I was thinking like Holmes, loving Conan Doyle’s beautiful Victorian prose, and enthralled at the thought that since Sherlock’s father’s first name is “Siger” we were related…if not as kin, at least as kindred spirits. From the perpetual flow of new Sherlock Holmes-themed projects coming to market, I’d call him a true cultural phenomenon.

It’s hard to pick a favorite Holmes story. In “The Red-Headed League,” experts see themes of man-to-man confrontation and greed, plus Holmes’ high opinion of himself and distain for lesser minds. To me, there’s an added lesson: know your setting well, because from that knowledge you may find your answer. The assistant to a red-headed pawnbroker shows his boss an ad offering a busy-work office job paying male red-heads exorbitant wages and convinces him to take the job.  Eight weeks later the pawnbroker finds the office suddenly closed and that the landlord never heard of the League, He turns to Holmes, who visits the pawnshop with Watson and concludes he knows the answer to the mystery. Conan Doyle considered this story his second favorite. “The Speckled Band” was his first.

 

 

“Locked Doors,” by Mary Roberts Rinehart (1914)

Born in my hometown of Pittsburgh in 1876, she is buried at Arlington National Cemetery and identified there as: “America’s first woman war correspondent during World War I for the Saturday Evening Post; wrote mystery novels, including The Circular Staircase and The Bat; in 1921 was referred to as ‘America’s Mistress of Mystery.”  A fearless woman, also called “America’s Agatha Christie,” she’s credited as the inventor of the “Had-I-But-Known” mystery novel, and for the phrase “the butler did it.” Her best-selling books and plays were often adapted for film and one novel was among the earliest “talking book” recordings.

In much of Rinehart’s work the challenge is discovering what’s hidden from view, because the “hidden situation” looms more important than whodunit. An accomplished mystery writer trained in nursing, Rinehart combined those talents in her series featuring nurse Hilda Adams a/k/a Miss Pinkerton, who at times works undercover for the police.  In “Locked Doors,” she’s recruited to replace a badly shaken nurse who came to the police after four days of living in a large eerie house, working for a peculiar family with no servants, no working telephone, two young children confined to their room, and doors barred shut at night. Its spine chilling, not-your-normal-mystery sort of “Gothic thrills” plotting, might just keep you from guessing the “perfectly macabre solution to this mystery.”

 

“The Adventure of the Egyptian Tomb,” Agatha Christie (The Sketch Magazine, 1923)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What more can I possibly tell you than you already know about Dame Agatha Christie, the undisputed Queen of Crime and creator of Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple, and the world’s longest running play, “Mousetrap.” Hmm, perhaps you didn’t know that this best-selling fiction writer of all time with more than two billion novels sold (trailing only the Bible and the works of William Shakespeare) loved surfing? That was news to me, so I took it as a suggestion on how to find a favorite among her more than 150 short stories.  I went surfing through her work and came up with this Poirot and Captain Hastings gem that’s celebrating its one-hundredth anniversary.

The widow of a famous Egyptologist asks Poirot to journey to the excavation site of a Pharaoh’s tomb where her husband died by heart attack, the wealthy backer of the dig died from blood poisoning, and from which the backer’s nephew left for New York only to commit suicide soon after arriving there.  The widow fears for the life of her son who intends on continuing his father’s work. Poirot cables New York for information on the nephew, and leaves for the dig. By the time he and Hastings arrive, another American has died, this one from tetanus, and talk of an Egyptian Curse fills the papers. Tension builds as Poirot suddenly begins choking on tea he’s been served.  It’s a tour de force example of how Christie’s least likely characters so often turn out to be the guilty, and of Poirot’s penchant for gathering the guilty together for their unmasking.

 

“Blackmailers Don’t Shoot,” by Raymond Chandler (Black Mask, 1933)

Chandler is considered a founder of the hard-boiled school of detective fiction. Mention his name and private detective Philip Marlowe immediately springs to mind.  Chandler coined the phrase “down these mean streets” and Marlowe lives on them.  It’s a rough place for a compassionate guy with a more noble sense of purpose than accumulating wealth and power. Marlowe’s compassion makes him vulnerable, and so he plays a tough guy to the world, using wise cracks as his defense to whatever that world throws at him.

“Blackmailers Don’t Shoot” is Chandler’s first mystery story, written when he was 44. Αll the dames, guns, gangsters, shady dealings, lies, deceptions, crooked cops, fights, tough guy talk, and elements of the mythical quests knight Marlowe feels compelled to pursue are there. But not yet the Marlowe name. That change doesn’t happen until 1939 in “The Big Sleep.”  In 1933 he’s Mallory and at center stage in a swanky club attempting to blackmail a beautiful movie star over love letters she’d long ago sent to a gangster. She dismisses the attempt, leaves the club, and is kidnapped.  Mallory leaves later, only to be strong-armed into the middle of a falling out among gangsters over her kidnapping. He turns the situation to his advantage, leading to the Star’s ultimate rescue, the death of her gangster ex-boyfriend, and the return of her letters.  But Mallory has more left to do. Chandler likes it that way.

 

“Death Threats,” by Georges Simenon (cir. 1936-42)

SIMENON, Georges, 1963, Ecrivain (F) © ERLING MANDELMANN ©

Belgian writer Georges Simenon is one of the most prolific authors of the 20^th Century, estimated to have written over 400 novels, plus as many as 1200 stories under his own name and more than a dozen pen names. His sales total more than 500 million copies, and his highly popular Inspector Jules Maigret appears in 78 novels and 28 short stories, often confronting serious themes rarely touched upon by more traditional detectives. Maigret does not adhere to the genre’s conventional approach of searching for clues and using deductive reasoning to solve a case. Rather, he immerses himself in the surroundings and life of those who interest him, much as would a therapist or professor looking for psychological insights to help better understand the human condition and criminal mind.

“Death Threats” has Maigret dispatched to spend the weekend at the country villa of the senior member of a wealthy merchant family. The merchant received an anonymous note threatening his death before 6PM on Sunday. His twin brother reaches out to Maigret trying to convince him that his brother is paranoid and the threat must be a joke.  At the villa, Maigret discovers a family of ambitious, self-absorbed, greedy narcissists wracked by mutual hatred for each other, who despite all their advantages, utterly fail to appreciate life. Things get exciting around 6, but don’t go quite as Maigret had expected even though he knew from the outset who’d sent the note.

 

“Kiss Me Again, Stranger,” by Daphne du Maurier (Gollancz, 1952)

Du Maurier’s work rarely has a happy ending, yet she’s often described as a romantic novelist, a characterization she rejected and despised. Fantasy and mystery were descriptions she might have found more to her liking. Whatever one’s opinion on that debate, her short stories are certainly dark, if not noir, hovering close to the paranormal and often haunting the reader long after the final sentence is read.

“Kiss Me Again, Stranger” is neither a ghost story nor a supernatural tale, but rather a classic example of du Maurier’s uncanny ability to keep the reader thinking it just might end up being one of those. A nameless young man narrates the story of his evening at the cinema where he’s irresistibly taken by a beautiful usherette.  He follows her onto a bus, sits beside her, pulls her close to him, and rests her head on his shoulder. I shall not tell you what happens when they later go off together into a cemetery, except to quote what another has written about the usherette: “it is hard to think of any female character in British fiction, before this husky siren, who does what she does and with such cool aplomb: an unexpectedly powerful proto-feminist role model.”

 

“The Oblong Room,” by Edward D. Hoch (The Saint Magazine, 1967)

 

 

 

 

Edward Hoch is the author of close to 1000 classic detective stories, a record holder with Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine for having published a short story in every one of its issues over a thirty-four-year span, and the first short story writer to be named a “Grand Master” by Mystery Writers of America.  His work emphasizes mystery and deduction over other forms, but seldom are they simple police procedurals, and at times they’re locked rooms and impossible crimes scenarios. His small town, Connecticut police Captain Jules Leopold has weathered close to fifty-years and one hundred stories, including the Edgar award winning, “The Oblong Room” – an homage of sorts to Poe’s “The Oblong Box.”

In “The Oblong Room,” Captain Leopold is called to investigate what seems an open and shut case of murder on a college campus. A man is found stabbed to death, locked in a room for 24 hours with his roommate. All that is needed to convict is the roommate’s motive, but the roommate will not make a statement.  The ensuing investigation establishes, (a) the victim possessed an uncanny ability to manipulate anyone into obeying him, (b) no one was more devoted to and protective of the victim than his roommate, and (c) the two were known to use LSD. But why did the roommate kill someone he’d die to protect? And why a 24-hour vigil after the slaying? Our answers arrive in a do-not-see-it-coming solution.

 

“The Last Bottle in the World,” by Stanley Ellin (Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine 1968)

This three-time Edgar award winner and Mystery Writers of America Grand Master is said to have focused so intently on perfection that it would take him a year to complete each short story he submitted to Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine.   His ingenious imagination, precision plotting, strong characters, chosen locales, and deft ability to fool and surprise the reader from a psychological point of view, all served to focus attention on his protagonist’s crisis at hand.

In this story about the last bottle of a famed vintage that a mega-rich man is determined to buy from the narrator-wine merchant, the merchant unexpectedly comes across the rich man’s wife in a café, and there’s a flashback to when the two first met. She’s now in a difficult marriage and showing interest in another man.  The tension rises, until the plot unexpectedly twists in a most satisfying yet realistic of ways.

 

“Blood Lines,” by Ruth Rendell (Hutchinson (UK), Crown (US), 1995)

Writing also as Barbara Vine, Ruth Rendell is a literary giant of the 20^th Century, possessing an uncanny knack for weaving the strangest of tales out of the joys and pains of ordinary family life.  Rendell offers up her themes on multiple penetrating levels, drawing upon ancient tragedy, quixotic dark humor, poignant intellect, and piercing insights into the darkest regions of the human psyche to reveal the disturbed family relationships unearthed in her works.  In the process, often shocking the reader at how fragile the separation between life on the page and off.

“Blood Lines” features her popular Inspector Reginald “Rex” Wexford investigating a murder that’s shattered the tranquility of a small bucolic community.  A young woman discovers her stepfather’s brutally beaten body.  She firmly denies knowing the identity of the murderer, but Wexford is convinced his primary suspects include the victim’s extended family. Wexford’s patient investigation reveals evidence of spousal abuse, infidelity, avarice, and betrayal, reminding him that the criminal impulse may be present in even the most routine or intimate of situations. It is vintage Rendell.

© 2023 Jeffrey Siger

--Jeff

The wine of Constantia

 

Michael - Alternate Thursdays

For this week's post I was looking for topics that are uniquely South African, and, of course, there are lots of them. Nelson Mandela and Jacob Zuma (at opposite ends of the spectrum), the local cultures, the animals (I'd choose the springbok because all the other iconic animals of South Africa are widely spread in sub-Saharan Africa), the Kruger National Park, Table Mountain, various dishes. To pick one thing that is absolutely South African for me, I thought I'd look at my first ever post on Murder Is Everywhere. That was 17 years ago and if you remember it, you have a good memory. It was about a very special South African wine. 

In 1652 Jan van Riebeeck landed at what became the Cape of Good Hope with the aim of providing fresh produce for ships of the Dutch East India Company on the way to and from the Indies.  Ostensibly, because wine was supposed to help scurvy but perhaps for a quiet tipple on the side, he planted the first vineyard three years later.  And on the 2^nd of February 1659, he was able to proclaim: “Today, praise be to God, wine was pressed from Cape grapes for the first time”.  By all accounts the wine was pretty foul - not too surprising given the level of expertise around. The Netherlands is not renowned for her wine.

But van Riebeeck was succeeded twenty years later by Simon van der Stel, an interesting if contentious character, who did know about wine and saw the opportunity for a guilder or two to come his way also.  He was the son of Adriaan van der Stel and Maria Lievens, the daughter of a freed Indian slave woman, which made him “coloured” in the racial parlance of the apartheid government.  (Needless to say this was not a feature emphasized in the school history text books of the day.)

The Cape peninsular has a climate not too different from that of southern Europe with winter rainfall and moderate temperatures.  It's the area of South Africa which most reminds people of Europe with gnarled oak lined streets and the genteel plants that thrive in the “old country”. Van der Stel carefully selected a wine farm for himself along the southern slopes of the Cape peninsular, actually testing the soils and choosing a cool microclimate with winds from the sea.  He called the estate Constantia and it did very well.

But the wines that made Constantia famous came later when Hendrik Cloete moved from
Stellenbosch (named after van der Stel) and bought a portion of the Constantia estate.  He planted new vines and specialised in a wine made from grapes ripened almost to raisins on the vine, matured in vats, and fortified.  The wine was called simply Constantia and it held its own with all the choice sweet wines with the rich and famous of the day.  All this came to an end late in the nineteenth century when phylloxera devastated the vineyards.  Still, a few bottles survive to this day.  A wine-writer friend of mine was fortunate to taste one some years ago and pronounced it still luscious after two hundred years.

A famous story about Constantia is that it was one of Napoleon's favourite wines and he received a regular supply to cheer him up on Saint Helena - an island off the west coast of Africa to which he was exiled the second time after Elba couldn't hold him. A juicy twist to the story was that the British used the wine to kill him with small doses of arsenic poisoning, but if arsenic was involved, it was more likely to have been from the glue in the wall paper. The modern consensus seems to be that he died of stomach cancer and that spoils the tale altogether.

In 1980 a new estate named Klein Constantia (part of the original van der Stel estate) decided to try to recreate the wine.  It was to be a sweet desert wine in the late harvest style – not botrytis – with the berries hand-selected.  The venture was a stunning success and celebrated in the name – Vin de Constance – and in copies of the old Constantia hand-made bottles which the estate uses for the modern wine.  It's available outside South Africa – a friend in Australia has a good selection of vintages, and I've had a bottle in a restaurant in New York.  If you like dessert wines, this one is worth trying if you have the chance.  

You can imagine you're sharing the bottle with Bismark or Napoleon or King George. It will set you back more than a few dollars though. The wine has become something of a collectors item.

Feeding Me, My Dog and My Next Mystery

Ovidia--every other Tuesday

For years I’ve had two mystery series, both of which I love. But recently I’ve been feeling the itch to start something unconnected with either of them.

We're also settling in our beloved new dog, Sophia (who would like to make it clear the itching doesn't have anything to do with her!)

Maybe it's because so many people in my generation are moving into retirement, while it can feel like I've not ever started working at a 'real' job... meaning one that I would look forward to retiring from. Anyway, the itch for the 'new' is translating into a German Course at the Goethe Institut and the new book I'm drafting.

And exploring Singapore looking for dog friendly locations...

Anyway, the dog influence first. One side effect of having Sophia around is we’ve begun exploring dog-friendly cafés all over Singapore.

Sophia at Boomarang.

And what I look for when eating out has changed--these days it's a case of looking for a place with outdoor seating (where Sophia's allowed to join us) and preferably a nice grass patch nearby.
Given Singapore's 'garden city' concept that's not been too difficult to find. And the first bar bistro we tried, along the Singapore River, was lovely.
And that was lovely, though neither Sophia nor I were keen on walking along the riverside in the heat.
Which led to the next quest: for someplace with air-conditioning where we could all sit together... and we found that in Menage...

Which was pretty much perfect.
Sophia loved her salmon dish so much she tried to eat mine as well, which made me think about a case where a dog steals someone's poisoned salmon--but I don’t want my not-yet-fictional dog to die, so most of the salmon will be retrieved... though just having had her jaws around it and swallowing a bit is enough to made the poor pup sick and that murder attempt is foiled/ exposed...

Which just goes to show (again) how ideas tend to come when you're not sitting at a desk. A newly retired friend asked 'where do your ideas come from?' and I had to say 'everywhere'. If anything, the struggle is to find enough time to sit down and work through all the ideas I want to wrestle with!

To make it worse/ better, my husband and I are starting to learn German; partly to stretch our minds, partly because with all the German neighbours we have, it's a shame that the only German words I know are 'marten aller arten' (loads of terrible tortures) and 'Meine tochter nimmermehr' (no more my daughter) both phrases useful for threatening a dog who's stubbornly trying to kill one's reading glasses or refusing to walk. (Don't worry, Sophia doesn't take threats or opera seriously).

Anyway, we've signed up for four hours a week of German classes, starting next Monday. And we thought we'd get started by reading (with the help of Google Translate) Erich Kastner's Emil Und Die Detektive in German.

I love the daily down to earth details about life in Berlin about a hundred years ago, the trams and trains, the cafes, the neighbours and the observant child. And I realised I want to try to capture my time and space with the same care, respect and lightness. And I'm realising that reading in a language other than English is making more aware of how I sometimes use language on autopilot.

Also, my sis-in-law strongly recommended Uketsu's wonderfully strange puzzle with pictures books, Strange Houses and Strange Pictures and now I strongly recommend them too!
I borrowed these e-copies from the library--

But I am going to need to be getting my own copies because I love them so much. They are somehow simple and complex at the same time and I'm trying to figure out why while figuring out the puzzles!

So life is very good here even as we're aware of disruptions in the outside world.

My Pilates teacher was stranded in Dubai but the second repatriation flight from the UAE back to Singapore just landed and I'm hoping she was on it!

But in situations like this, when there's nothing practical to do other than 'hope' we might as well put all our energy into hoping and for me that means thinking about what we get to read and write next!

Exposition

Annamaria on Monday

I am back in NYC and on a whim decided that it's time to start working on the TBR pile of books on the window sill next to my bed.  The way it looks in the picture below, you might think it's not that out of control, but that window sill is not the only place where such volumes reside.  There is a whole bookshelf full next to the window and many unread purchases hanging out on shelves all over my apartment.

To start toward my goal, I chose a book I had bought at a conference of the Historical Novel Society in England about a decade ago.  The author, until then unknown to me, was greatly revered by the participants, who spoke of him as a great authority on writing great historical fiction.

A few evenings ago, I finally cracked his book.  To my amazement, I found I could not read it. It may be a prejudice as far as I am concerned, but the first two pages were written in what I think is a clunky style.

Here's how I think about historical fiction: it must draw the reader back into the past and make it look effortless.  The history must meld into the fiction. But in the book in questionI starts with an implausible conversation.   It set me to thinking about exactly what was wrong, and what would be a better way to do it.  (I am not going to quote from the actual story.  I do not want to vilify a fellow writer.  I just want to share a better way to set the scene a historical novel.

That writer's first scene began with a supposed conversation between a powerful nobleman and one of his minions discussing the core challenge they faced.  The problem is they are telling each each other facts that both of them undoubtedly already know.  It was exposition masquerading as historical fiction. 

To show you what I mean, here is an example of what this mistake might look like on the page.  To make this easy on myself, I need you to pretend that, in 2096 you are reading a historical novel set in Washington in 2026.  Let's say the characters the writer has chosen to introduce the reader to the history are two US Senators, both Democrats from Maryland. Here is their scene one, page one, meant to envelop a future reader into what life was like back in 2026.  

    James Morgan closed the door softly behind him and spoke in a whisper.  "Donald Trump is in the White House. He was re-elected, and he is overstepping his bounds.  He is ignoring the rule of law.  We are both senators, but our party is in the minority."

His fellow Senator from Maryland, Joanne Burns, shook her head.  "There are people on the left who are getting violent.  People on our side have been attacked and harmed.  Some have been killed."

You get it.  This style of writing does not draw the reader in. It informs him in pretty much the same way a history book would.

A good way to avoid this is to choose characters who do not agree, so they can discuss their differences.  They might argue about them.  Or the writer can have one of them enter the discussion wanting to change the other person's mind.  And fail.  Or change his own mind and come to agree with the person whose mind she came to change.  The writer then can get the facts out by weaving them into the arguments of the characters. 

Joanne Burns was afraid.  She wanted convince Jim Morgan to go easy.  As far as she could see, because he was the senior senator, he thought he could dictate how she would vote on the up coming bill.  They both knew that, with Trump in the White House and the Republicans in the majority...

You get it. 

Also with crime fiction, the writer can weave in the history by choosing the right victim, so that those who are trying to solve the mystery have to consider the facts of the history in order to solve the crime.  In my third South American story, Blood Tango for instance, the victim is a young woman who is fascinated with Evita, and makes herself up to look like her. When she is found murdered, the question is was the person who killed her, trying to kill Evita?  The policeman trying to solve the murder has to consider why someone would want to kill Juan Peron's woman.  Thinking about the politics of the time is essential to answering that question.

To my way of thinking, a historical novelist should always be first a story teller who writes in a way that the reader learns the history through the story, not next to it, but melded with it,

I'm Back!!

  

Saturday–Jeff

It’s been a rough several weeks but … fingers crossed… things seem to be back on course.

Earlier this week , “The Campus Files” published a deep-diving interview with me exploring A Study In Secrets, the just published debut novel in my new “The Redacted Man” series.  Sam Hunter conducted the interview and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Here’s hoping you will as well in the reading.

Here is the Q&A:

On the Evolution of the Protagonist

Q.1 Michael is a fascinating departure from the typical high-octane thriller hero. What prompted the decision to center a new series on a man whose primary power is his intellect and his "gentil civility" rather than physical youth?

Answer.1           We live in the time of the “high-octane thriller hero.” No matter where you look, aggressive power dominates intellect.  Be it in entertainment, business or politics. As for “gentile civility,” good luck at finding evidence of that amid modern social media. Call me a cockeyed optimist, but I believe the world can be different. But only if those with the capacity for bringing about real change choose to stand up for what they know to be right and not simply live out their days going along with the status quo.  

 

 

Q.2             Michael’s past is intentionally "redacted," leaving the reader to piece together his history through small clues—his wealth, his service, and his loss of a foot. As a writer, how do you balance the need to satisfy a reader's curiosity while maintaining the mystery that defines his character?

     Answer.2           I agree with the principle that curiosity keeps readers turning pages, but I also believe a writer must be wary of an unintended opposite effect.  It is an intriguing dilemma; one I confront every day––guided by this variation on an age-old proverb: “Too much requited curiosity will kill the cat…no matter how much satisfaction tries to bring it back.”

 

 

On the "Imagined Life" vs. Reality

Q.3 The book opens with Michael as a passive observer, literally watching life through a window. The theme of "imagining" vs. "living" is central to his journey. Was this a reflection on the role of the novelist—creating lives for others—or was it strictly a character choice to illustrate Michael’s self-imposed isolation?

Answer.3 Actually, it was neither. Or both. As I’m sure you’ve gathered by now this is a very different sort of book from any of my Kaldis novels. This one is driven far more by the nuances of its characters and the intensity of their individual backstories than by the sort of grandiose settings and unique cultural ways at play in my Greece-based Kaldis stories.

 

In the opening scenes of A Study in Secrets, Michael A subtly offers his perspective on modern life and why he prefers a lifestyle reminiscent of elegant late 19^th Century living. One that provides a firm framework for moving the storyline forward at an ever increasing, more complicated pace. As for why I chose New York City over several other cosmopolitan international settings I’d been considering, I settled upon NYC because of how well I know the city and its secrets.

 

 

 

Q.4         At the end of the novel, Michael considers "shuttering" his window. Does this signify a permanent transition from an observer to a participant, or is he simply trading one form of protection for another?

Answer. 4  The closing lines of the novel reveal a subtle distinction in how Michael now views his role compared to how he’d imagined it when the story began. Specifically:

 

“He’d long considered his window an impenetrable barrier between the imagined and reality. One that allowed him to see life as he wanted it to be, not as it had become. To imagine life left him free to be fearless and forever hopeful. Facing reality meant confrontation, sacrifice, and risk to all he held dear.

“But his window had failed him.

“Before it did so again, he should shutter it.

“Perhaps tomorrow.”

Yes, his choice lay between observer and participant…existing and living…the imagined and the actual.

And he’s not yet sure of the path to choose. Perhaps tomorrow he will.

 

 

 

On Dialogue and Narrative Style

Q.5                  The dialogue in A Study in Secrets is notably formal, almost Victorian in its precision. Even characters from rougher backgrounds, like Angel, seem to adapt to this "gentlemanly" frequency when speaking with Michael. Was this a deliberate choice to show how Michael’s personality reshapes the world around him?

Answer.5  I’ve long admired Conan Doyle’s brilliant Victorian prose, and so I’m not surprised that I fell to utilizing that style in creating the ambiance for this book.  I wouldn’t say that all characters adopted Michael’s style of speech, but without question the dialogue was meant to demonstrate that Michael is a character very much in charge of whatever situation he confronts.

 

 

 

 

 

On the Nature of "The Treasure"

Q.6                  The "Fielding Treasure" serves as the classic MacGuffin, yet its true value remains somewhat ambiguous even as the book closes. Why was it important for the resolution of the story to focus more on the psychological safety of the characters than the physical contents of the package?

Answer.6  Once again the mischievous role of curiosity brings its buddy imagination into play. I’m a big believer in utilizing a reader’s natural imagination to play a significant role in selling my story. And that’s why I resisted editorial efforts to identify the Fielding Treasure beyond classic MacGuffin status.  My reasoning is simple: If I were to tell a room full of readers that in a box on the table before them is the most fearsome horror imaginable, how many different opinions will that elicit as to what’s in the box?  Some people might imagine ten possibilities, some a hundred.  But one thing is for certain: Once the box is opened, they’ll be relieved it wasn’t any of the other nine or ninety-nine they feared. That’s why I prefer to leave the box closed. 

 

On Secondary Characters and Relationships

Q.7.                The relationship between Michael and Gabriel (the diner owner) hints at a deep, generational history involving Gabriel’s father. How much of Michael’s backstory is already mapped out in your mind, and how much is being discovered as he interacts with these "remnants" of his former life?

Answer 7. I am a dedicated seat-of-the-pants writer. When I sit down at a keyboard, I rarely have more than a tingle in my brain of what I’m about to write that day. It’s up to my characters to tell me where we’re off to and whether or not they’ll permit me to intercede in ways they disagree. That’s especially true in the case of Michael and Gabriel. The two have a lot of backstory at play in their respective lives, that I sense they’re anxious to explore and share.  Hopefully soon.

 

 

Q.8.       Mrs. Baker is clearly much more than a housekeeper. In many ways, she feels like his last remaining "handler." How does their dynamic serve to ground Michael in a reality he often tries to avoid?

Answer 8.          Once again you impress me with your insights on the nature of my characters and their interpersonal dynamics. Though I didn’t intend for Mrs. Baker to serve as Michael’s “handler” I must admit that their interactions reveal a long-standing symbiotic relationship akin to handler and asset with each doing what they must to jointly survive a needlessly merciless and complex world.      

 

 

 

 

On Future Redactions

Q.9.                Now that the "Redacted Man" has stepped out of his apartment and into the lives of others, can we expect the next installment to peel back more layers of his history, or will he continue to keep the reader—and his new family—at arm's length?

Answer 9. He’s promised to tell more but on reflection, we all know how these secret agent types can be tricky. 

––Jeff