Detectives and Love: Some Transform, Some Don't

My version of Harriet and Wimsey

Mystery-Romance is one of my favorite sub-genres. It not only provides a mystery, it gives a couple something to do (or, it not only provides a romance, it gives a couple something to solve). 

On Votaries, I am examining characters who transform--or don't. A great many detectives are entirely static characters, such as Nero Wolfe. They don't transform, and that's okay! 

They also, often, don't fall in love. Falling in love suggested change. 

It doesn't, however, suggest transformation. Ngaio Marsh has Alleyn fall in love, but it doesn't transform him. He simply becomes more Alleyn-ish, which is likely true of relationships in general. In many of her mysteries, she supplies the token young-couple-in-love, but they are usually rather throw-away characters (the one delightful exception is Peregrine and Emily, a director and actress). 

The most remarkable detective who transforms through love, of course, is Wimsey. Harriet realizes that over time, Wimsey has shed many of his self-protective layers and mannerisms. She came into his life--specifically, her case came into his life--at a point when he was either going to continue his self-transformation or retreat back into a self-protective position and role. 

She had the power to force him outside his defenses. Perhaps, seeing her struggling in a trap of circumstances, he had walked out deliberately to her assistance. Or perhaps the sight of of her struggles had warned him what might happen to him, if he remained in a trap of his own making. --Sayers, Gaudy Night 

Orlando from Charlie Cochrane's Cambridge Fellows Series falls into a similar category: he chooses to dive into a relationship with Jonty despite the outside-one's-comfort-zone requirement. 

The transformations are good for the romance AND good for the mysteries! 

 

Bromance: Murdoch and Pendrick

Murdoch has several close male associates. The Murdoch-Pendrick relationship is especially enchanting, in part because they share interests but also because their relationship comes with loads of plot! 

Murdoch suspects James Pendrick of crimes on a regular basis, while still applauding his inventions. In one of the best season openers, they fly a plane together. 

When Pendrick moves on to producing movies, he bases the first picture-with-a-story on Murdoch (the very first motion pictures were, as Murdoch Mysteries correctly show, series of moving images: trains, carriages, shoot-outs).  

I wouldn't be surprised if, like Kirk and Spock, Murdoch-Pendrick were "shipped"--Pendoch? Murdrick? In a later episode, Pendrick--who is continually betrayed by his assistants--wonders if he could "change his nature" to get together with the one male assistant who defended him. 

He sadly decides, "No." And he is standing next to Murdoch when he comes to that decision.  

Jessica Fletcher: Rational Good Sense & A Great Role Model

I mention earlier that one of the dumber tropes is, Everything the good guys want is automatically good/right.

Along the same lines, I really appreciate when a character doesn't automatically know who is good/right (as mentioned earlier, Gibbs does but at least Bellisario established this "gift" as an established part of Gibbs' personality early on).  

I have always appreciated that Jessica Fletcher doesn't automatically like the good guys and detest the bad guys. When she defends the student, David Tolliver--creepily well-played by Andrew Stevens--she doesn't do it because she has fallen for him. In fact, she is quite stern with him and makes clear at the end that they are not close. 

With the far more charismatic Dennis Stanton, the moment she finds out about the theft and murder in a hotel, she tells the police about his cat-burglar ways. She doesn't wring her hands over a self-inflicted emotional dilemma: "Oh, he showed up so suddenly and romantically! I know in my heart he is a good guy! How can I give up such a handsome man? He TOLD me that he was innocent!"

She behaves rationally. And Dennis Stanton (unlike David) proves that he is a real gentleman because he doesn't hold her immediate non-waffling level-headed decisions against her. Of course not! 

Jessica is not silly.   

  

Monsters with Lovers--Okay, Vampires Too

On Votaries, I discuss the time-honored tradition of providing the Monster's point of view, a tradition that goes back to the beginning of literature. 

In terms of romance, Monsters sometimes have romantic partners or, rather, romantic interests. In Dracula Tape, Saberhagen uses original Dracula's obsessive interest in Mina to create a real relationship of mutual interest; they worked together in more than one book. Jekyll in Stevenson's book expresses little interest in a romantic partner but just about every adaptation, including movies, gives him that interest. And Grendel's mom--even in the original text--cares for him! (The parent-child relationship with monsters, including Frankenstein's monster, also has a strong tradition.) 

Vampires, of course, have more romantic partners than...veins in a body (seriously: veins are to an extent uncountable). 

I generally find vampire literature, even vampire manga, rather dull. Years ago, when I was still submitting short stories to magazines, I read a "what we are looking for" blurb that stated, "Please don't send us vampire stories!" 

And that was nearly 20 years ago! 

I partly dislike vampire literature because unlike Dracula and Nosferatu, current vampires always seem to belong to cliques/gangs/extended families, and the ensuing politics bore me. The one-on-one stuff is better, but even there, how many angst-y passages about lack of sunlight can one read, sit through? 

That is, I feel about vampire literature the same way I feel about dystopia fiction: I read one or two; isn't that enough? (With dystopia fiction, I read Lord of the Flies; seriously, isn't that enough?) 

However, Demon Under the Waxing Moon by Fumi Tsuyuhisa is worth mentioning because although the demon drinks blood (and sex becomes the substitute, as it does in much vampire erotica), the manga actually has a plot! In addition, the main human character, Minoru, has a distinct personality--and he is generally unafraid of his demon lover. The demon lover also has a rather delightful desire to please his human.  

I will still go for (yet another) office romance first.  

Dumb Trope: Good Guys Are Always Right

One of the dumber tropes is, Good guys are right because they are good. 

NCIS used this trope to an extent with Gibbs, but it wasn't entirely aggravating because Gibbs's "gut" is established early-on as a "given"--and also because Gibbs is capable of doubt. (In the same way, Saitama's incredible power--a "given"--is a source of angst.) 

The trope gets more aggravating when the reader is supposed to accept that a couple is broad-minded and tolerant yet...isn't it amazing how many characters who simply disagree with the couple end up suffering terrible ends? Rather like Victorian "bad" children who choke to death or fall down wells. 

A series that I otherwise liked up to the last book became so vindictive in this way, I become increasingly uncomfortable. When the 2 male characters decided to get married and selected a pizza place for the reception, I thought, "Well, that pizza place better not make the mildest objection--not even being closed that day. Otherwise, it's going to burn down!" 

I've encountered this "God or fate delivered just punishment to the people we despise" idea in religious fiction (which supports growing proof that the fundamentalist right and progressive left are staffed by the same types of people). 

In either case, what is happening is not tolerance or compassion. For that matter, it's not good versus evil. It's not as magnanimous as the former or as big-picture, difficult, and objective as the latter. 

It is rather a run amuck version of high-schoolers-clawing-up-the-social-ladder.  

Great Chivalry Moment: Columbo in "Dead Weight"

So many times in Columbo, Columbo figures out the murderer early on. In "Death Lends a Hand," he figures out the murderer within their first meeting because (1) the man has inserted himself into the investigation; (2) the man's job of private investigator accounts for the claim by the husband that his dead wife had "a clean bill of health"--she supposedly wasn't having an affair; (3) the man is wearing a ring that corresponds to the cut on the victim's cheek. 

In fact, Columbo makes a correct deduction based on strong circumstantial evidence! 

Sometimes, however, his conclusions seem more random. 

"Dead Weight" is a nice exception since Columbo doesn't immediately pinpoint the murderer. He is cautious, in part because of the suspect's reputation but also because he is investigating based on a single eyewitness, and eyewitness testimony is notoriously unreliable.

And yet...he investigates anyway. And when he investigates, he is thorough, even to insisting that a crate be reopened (see image above). He listens closely to the eyewitness and takes her seriously. He withholds his judgment of accuser and accused until he has thoroughly examined the case. He later points out to the eyewitness, who struggles with self-doubt, that he trusted her more than she trusted herself. 

Wonderful chivalrous and objective role model! 

The Transformation of Leonie from These Old Shades

On Votaries, I am examining characters who transform/don and discard disguises. Women in disguise are a common trope in romance. 

Leonie from These Old Shades doesn't change in personality. She does transform from girl-dressed-as-boy to girl-dressed-as girl.  Justin Alastair, Duke of Avon immediately identifies her true sex. His friend, Hugh, takes a little longer. By the time Alastair delivers Leonie to his sister, a number of people in Leonie's life have already seen through his disguise. 

That is, the transformation is not like Viola's in Twelfth Night, the ultimate revelation that she actually is female. For Leonie, giving up her disguise means she must accept a change in roles.

Leonie weeps bitterly when Alastair gently informs her that she will stay with his sister and be introduced to womanhood. In the long run, Leonie is comfortable with the transition. In the short run, Heyer captures the pain of change, whether due to circumstances or age.  

Heyer's triumph is that Leonie remains herself: honest, active, a little bloodthirsty, and utterly devoted to Alastair. She learns to dance. She enjoys "dressing up." She learns that she is pretty and enjoys her prettiness. 

She sheds her disguise when she accepts the inevitability of change. She does not shed her fundamental character.