Normally, I write about fiction, but when reality is as strange as fiction, the two coalesce. Caveat: If you’re here for books, give this blog a miss.
On every continent, we’re battling COVID-19. We’re certainly resilient. However, we’re not immune to future viruses.
We’re not top dogs in the universe. We’re not even top cockroaches, which, apparently, are more resilient than us. They say this is the Anthropocene, the Epoch of the Human. GDP and ingenuity may be on the rise, but I don’t see our humanity evolving.
‘Enough, AMP. We’ve had enough gloom and doom. Got any good news?’ Always. Grilled roaches are delicious.
To some, crime noir is a subgenre set in grim urban environments, featuring petty criminals and desperate characters, permeated by a sense of disillusionment. I favour a wider lens. In the North Noir series, crime noir is less bleak. It is more like life itself: not always dark, not always light.
Crime noir is linked to film noir, to movies such as TheMaltese Falcon, which was first a novel. In a noir detective novel, the main character is sharp-witted and/or sharp-tongued. No quarter is given. Criminals try to rig the system, but fail.
Of course, noir detectives aren’t lily white. They cross lines, some more egregious than others, which they breach for the sake of efficiency or to apprehend criminals. Noir detectives are crime fiction’s dark angels. They know darkness, but follow the light.
Edgar Allan Poe (1809 – 1849) is best known for macabre stories such as “The Pit and the Pendulum” and “The Tell-tale Heart.” He is regarded by many as the inventor of the detective genre, which has expanded into multiple forms now considered to be sub-genres; for example, crime, mystery, detective, thriller, etc.
In the decades since Poe’s death, hundreds of authors have fleshed out his prototype: Homo detectus, a man or woman with a wide-ranging mind, ever seeking, ever suspicious.
A detective doesn’t believe everything people say. In fact, when on a case, he or she can’t afford to believe anything people say. Although humans like to believe each other — belief builds cooperation; it’s a societal glue — detectives default to the opposite: they distrust others. What a way to live. As a society, we’re indebted to them. While we enjoy each other’s company, detectives probe dark holes and darker hearts.
The word novel is derived from the Latin novellus. As an adjective, novelmeans new, fresh, unique. Centuries after its birth, it also began to be used as a noun meaning story. ‘Hey, AMP,’ you say, ‘enough of the etymology.’ Right. Onward.
Novels are adept at delivering ideas andemotions, as well as action, setting, and mood. If an author concentrates on one thing – for example, what people say – a novel can fall flat. Talk by itself isn’t dramatic. Discussion devoid of action is a debate, not a story.
We all expect different things from novels. In my case, I want them to tell a complete story. Not just that some guy, let’s call him Odysseus, travelled for years, but how and where he travelled, and when and why, and who helped or hindered him – which are all included in Homer’s epic.
Beyond that, I want novels to tell a new story. ‘But, AMP,’ you say, ‘nothing is ever new under the sun.’ Fair enough. However, there will always be twists and shades: different settings, fresh perspectives, new odysseys.
The first novel in the North Noir series (Bay of Blood) is set in the summer. The next two will be set in the spring and the fall. “Why no winter settings?” you ask. “No blizzards? No frozen bodies? It’s supposed to be NORTH noir.” Valid point. However, I have a reason – based on research. Well, on observation.
The short answer: Not as many murders take place in the winter. “Why?” Because it’s winter. In the north, outside the cities, life slows down. Think hibernation.
“Are you telling me that murderers are huddled next to their fireplaces? That it’s too cold to go out and kill someone?” Maybe. Hell, sometimes it’s too cold to go outside. Besides, murderers can’t risk harming their weapons. Take an axe. If you overuse it chopping wood, it’ll be too dull to whack someone. Consider a shovel. If you break the handle trying to clear ice, it won’t be available to crack someone on the head – a dozen times, of course (we’re talking noir, people). As for a shotgun, if you try to fire it at Minus-30, the barrel will explode or it’ll backfire. Forget about rendering it useless for murder. You’ll be dead yourself.