One of the things I missed dearly during the months when the pandemic forced us into the work-from-home thing were the chance conversations in the hallway with my colleagues. Until very recently, I hadn’t truly appreciated just how much information was passed back and forth during those happenstance meetups; from the (current) best coffee spot in town to the latest gossip, it was a subtle but surprisingly efficient method for keeping everyone connected. I can’t tell you how many times a friend has recommended a new book or television show as we passed each other heading to (or from) the restroom, or (perhaps more unfortunately) finding out about a bug in one of our systems from overhearing a group of students complaining (loudly) about it as they wander the corridors. Video calls just don’t fill that particular void in quite the same way.
I often will find myself taking a quick break when I pour my second cup of coffee each morning and poke my head into the office next door for just that reason — a chance to take a breather and to find out what is new in the world. The other morning, I wandered into a discussion about made-for-television master movies, particularly those that appear on the Hallmark Channel; specifically, one of my friends had been sucked into a marathon of Jesse Stone movies, the ones where Tom Selleck plays the titular small town police chief.
As it happens, I am a huge fan of Robert B. Parker, the author behind Jesse Stone; I first discovered Parker when I stumbled across his suave, Boston-based private investigator, Spenser. I’ve devoured the more than forty books in the Spenser series multiple times, and seriously enjoyed the more limited number of Stone novels; Parker’s writing is wonderfully snappy, with witty dialogue that reads almost as though you are in the middle of the action yourself. Spenser was my gateway drug, the one that led me into the entire private investigator genre; Kinsey Millhone (from Sue Grafton) quickly joined that club, along with Dashiel Hammond’s Sam Spade and Nick and Nora Charles.
Only then did I discover Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple, two wildly different characters who seemed to share the penchant for always being in the right place at the wrong time as well as being more observant than the average human being. Much like their more contemporary kin, they always seemed to be able to out-think the villain, but with a flair and panache that made being smart seem cool. For a budding nerd worried about appearing to be brainer than his schoolmates, it was refreshing to see people use their keen mental abilities in the pursuit of justice (and not be bullied for it as part of the process).
As much as I love my private eyes, the incredible P.D. James opened me to the possibility of a thoughtful police detective who was capable of taking down a cold-blooded murder while still having a private life. Adam Dalgleish, to me, felt like the first complete character I had ever read; his experiences — and the way James wrote him — brought him to life in a way that I’d never seen before, to the point where I often found myself just as interested in where his love life was going as whether he would ultimately prevail in the case he was working. Her style and approach affected me greatly, especially her insistence that every clue be available to the reader and not suddenly dropped in during the final reveal in the last paragraphs of the book. Elizabeth George took this model one step further with her Inspector Lynley series; she had the amazing talent of making a member of British aristocracy relatable to the average person. And, like James, George has this ability to sketch in a location so vibrantly you feel like you’ve been there on a prior trip.
These amazing authors have influenced me immensely in terms of how I view the mystery genre — as well as what it takes to craft a unique story that resonates with readers. They also continue to inspire me to push the genre forward with new characters and new stories, ones that are both timeless and timely. Hopefully that translates into crafting something someone will curl up on a couch to devour in a weekend, much like I once did with Spenser.
That, to me, is the highest compliment possible.