DEFECTIVE DETECTIVES?

One of my many cousins sent me an e-mail the other day with the recommendation that I read the works of several mystery writers. I wrote the names down on my "to read list." That led me to the realization that I had not followed through on my determination to read some of the works by each of the Inkslingers' fall (2000) conference mystery writers. I got out the packet from the conference and added those four names to the list. My memory of the fall conference is that I liked the presentation by each of the writers, and that I thought books by each would be good reads.

A quick check on the Net revealed that the Durango Public Library had selections by several writers on the list, but not of two of those from the fall conference. I drove to the library and arrived back home with an arm load of books, most of them hardbacks.

After culling through all of the books to get a feel for the depth and range of the offerings, I read "Heartshot" by Steven R. Havill at two sittings. The book read fast and held my interest, in spite of the fact that the main character is an overweight slob who smokes and drinks his way into a heart attack, while busting a drug operation and killing the murderer.

I don't like overweight people who smoke, who drink and who otherwise don't take care of that "temple" which is the human body. Such people, in my lexicon, are assholes. Next, I ventured away from the conference writers to try one of the writers my cousin - who is, like myself, a psychologist and a long-time college professor. Ugh! John Straley's "The Woman Who Married a Bear" - according to the cover - won the 1993 Shamus Award for the Best First Private Eye Novel.

Why ugh? The "detective" in that book is a 24-carat jerk. Early in the book, he loses his money, his credit card and his memory of events during a drunken evening. This is a man who is going to solve a murder mystery? Not in my experience. He could, possibly, stagger his way to the nearest drunk tank, but solve a mystery? Never, except in the twisted and convoluted "illogic" of the author. I did not even bother to open the other two offerings in that series.

I ventured on through several more of the mysteries. I did not read more than a few selected parts of each. None of them "grabbed me." I did not like any of the detectives and I thought most of the "plotting" and writing was less than good. Most seemed to me to be "formula" written for readers suffering from near-total ennui.

Then, I changed course: I went to the Bowker Annual for 1999 - the most recent I could find. From there, I wrote down some of the Notable Books for 1998 and brought several home. I am still in the process of reading them. Scott Anderson's "Triage" - I started with the A's - is a finely crafted book. I can see why it got chosen as a Notable Book for 1998. Next, I read "Flanders" by Patricia Anthony and "Voyage of the Narwhal" by Andrea Barrett. Two very different, complex and readable books.

It will take a long time to read through the 1999 (for 1998) list. I won't even mention all of the years of notable books listed in previous Bowker Annuals. And, the list is already out 1999 and the 2000 list will be coming along. All of which will leave me no time to even think about "defective detectives" and novels that feature them.

"Life is short and time is fleeting." I am going to continue to read notable works by serious writers - fiction and non-fiction writers who know their crafts and who practice them well. What is all this fascination with murder mysteries, anyhow? I get more than enough news about killings - if I want to and which I seldom do - from the Albuquerque TV. "Back in my day" the killers and the detectives were worthy adversaries, not assholes.