A-Z Golden Age Detective Couples: A is for Alleyn & Troy

I recently finished the A-Z list of paperback romances. 

My next A-Z list for this particular blog is Golden Age Detective Fiction Couples. 

Golden Age mysteries (1920s-1950s) produced one of my favorite mixed genres: Romance and Mystery. That combo pack is still thriving today: Castle, Bones, Forever, Miss Fisher. 

Golden Age mysteries not only produced memorable primary couples, the classic plot required--possibly from the publishers--a "sweet young couple" who are usually saved or helped or otherwise brought together during the main action. 

This list will address those couples, starting with A for Alleyn and Troy, a primary couple. 

Alleyn is an interesting example of a detective I like even though his author used him in ways that annoy me. His wife, artist Agatha Troy, is one of Marsh's best delineated characters. She comes across as a consistent personality--diffident, reserved, observant, careful, gently wry--and the marriage comes across in a positive light. As is customary for couples in such series, she and Alleyn are involved in several mysteries together, from Artists in Crime to Final Curtain and Clutch of Constables.

Generally, however, Troy is not a fellow sleuth but an artist. Alleyn is a professional and although, like many British detectives, he gets a tad angsty, most of the time, he treats what he does as a job. Troy's avocation is treated similarly--her artist background does involve her in certain situations but always within the confines of that job.  

(I think the BBC television series does a decent job. Patrick Malahide gives Alleyn slightly more whimsy. Belinda Lang is perfect as Troy. In the series, she has long hair. In the books, she has short, cropped hair. I got a picture of Belinda Lang with shorter hair.

Sidenote: In the lovely world of coincidence, Hugh Fraser--Hastings of the long-running Poirot series and an excellent narrator of many audiobooks--is married to Belinda Lang, who is currently a comedic superstar on Sister Boniface Mysteries. A true Golden Age couple!)  

Disguising the Murder in Appointment with Death

The current A-Z List on Votaries deals with character who transform, either internally or externally. 

One type of transformation occurs when a character throws off a disguise. Disguises themselves fall into various categories: disguises assumed by need, disguises assumed by personal desire. 

One disguise is a type that Agatha Christie used in her writing: the disguise that occurs because of what people don't see, based entirely on their assumptions. (Ignoring "staff," for instance.) 

Research backs up Christie, including research about eyewitnesses and whether or not people notice gorillas during basketball games. The disguise is not as fool-proof as Christie often claims. In the aforementioned research, what people don't see is a percentage, not an absolute. 

But her point is still valid. When I was about ten and playing a softball game in the gym with other ten-year-olds, I walked, rather than ran, between two bases. Only the amused teacher noticed what I was doing. If I had run, I would have instantly attracted everyone's attention, which was currently focused on the batter. So I walked and made the base.

Disguises that blend in because nobody expects what is there are fairly brilliant. 

*Spoilers* 

From the book version of Appointment with Death, Lady Westholme doesn't dress herself up as someone else but she does use her companion's assumptions to disguise the truth. When Lady Westholme calls out to the dead woman and then mutters, "So rude, the way she grunted," her companion assumes that an entire dialog took place. Consequently, the companion reports later that the dead woman was actually alive at a certain time. 

People who see half a stop-sign draw the whole thing. True story--and a remarkable indicator of how our brains fill in gaps.

And how Agatha Christie was able to devise murders that others might miss.   

Dysfunctional Couples: Relationships That Won't Work but are Written Well

I was a young teen--fourteen or so. I was sitting in the back of my friend's car while her mother drove. Her mother had divorced and later remarried. My friend was the only child from the remarriage (my friend had multiple older step-siblings). 

The mother said, "Of course, if both members of the couple were truly Christian, they would be able to make the marriage work."

Without thinking, I said, "Oh, that isn't true!" 

In retrospect--about two hours later--I freaked out. I would never had said anything if I'd thought about what I was saying and to whom. But from the perspective of decades, I'm glad I did. What I remember is the mother's gratified smile. She wasn't upset at my teenage disgust at the idea that any two people could make a go of it as long as they were nice or moral enough. 

Oddly enough, many television relationships reveal a similar mindset to that woman. That is, they can't image that two characters they like can't make a go of it. If the relationship fails, it must be due to a 3rd party--a rival--cheating--or the possibility of cheating. 

But three of the best-written non-workable couples on television reveal the opposite. 

Sherlock and Fiona from Elementary: Sherlock is honestly attracted to Fiona and she to him. He honestly likes her and vice versa. He doesn't break up with her due to her neural atypical behavior. Rather, he breaks up because he perceives himself as his work, not as a man who works and then has a relationship. Watson challenges his approach when she points out that her mother has no interest in her father's books. But Sherlock is not the same as Watson's mother, and Watson doesn't assume he should be, only that he should be kind and quick in his break-up. 

Jo and Isaac from Forever:  Jo and Isaac date for approximately 3 episodes (see image above). And Isaac is a great, fun guy! In the end, however, Jo realizes that she would rather spend time with Henry. 

Jo and Henry are an interesting match. Not only do the actors have terrific chemistry, there is never any suggestion that their first loves won't remain their first loves. The future relationship (which would have happened if the show didn't end with Season 1) rests on the fact that they not only like each other, they like what the other person wants in a relationship. What Isaac wanted was not what Jo wants--which, again, she perceives in Henry. 

Booth and Hannah I write about here: https://katewoodbury.blogspot.com/2014/10/the-significant-others-other-bones.html

In all three cases, the issue is not CHEATING. The issue isn't even personality. Everybody is swell. The issue is what each person looks for in a relationship. Absent a cultural agreement--A relationship IS the following--that issue comes down to individual compatibility. 

Great Sci-Fi Couples: Cam and Arastoo

Forbidden Planet reminded me of one of my lists: Great Sci-Fi Couples

I include Cam and Arastoo on this list. Sure, Bones is a modern detective forensic show, but the very cool equipment and some of the plots have a sci-fi element. 

In truth, though, what I like about Cam and Arastoo is not so much the sci-fi part but how believable I find them. The episode in which Arastoo's parents come to town highlights the couple's compatibility. Some men marry women who resemble their mothers. Arastoo is one of them!

Cam is somewhat more diplomatic than Arastoo's mother. But she is just as tough and independent. And Arastoo, at heart, is like Booth (and Sam from Sister Boniface) and his own father: a family-oriented guy who is somewhat more laid back than his girlfriend/wife despite his personal ambitions. 

Arastoo gets upset with his parents in the episode but at his core, he is mild-mannered and big-hearted. His gentle suggestion that Cam forgive the woman who stole her identity (or, at least, walk away) is a good example of how well the two work together. 

Bromance: Ryan and Esposito

"Bromance" refers to a type of buddy-buddy relationship between men that exists in older literature. It goes beyond friendship, having a chivalrous and romantic tone. Such friends are often easily "shipped" (think of Spock and Kirk). In some cases, as with Supernatural, the "bromance" elements override the character's fraternal relationship (which naturally confuses the characters). 

I like bromances of all types, from war buddies rescuing each other to not-brothers-brothers being all-in-all to each other (and then there's Castiel!). I like bromances with romance...

And I like bromances without romance. 

Ryan and Esposito from Castle strike me as one of the best male friendships without a romantic element out there. I'm sure someone somewhere has "shipped" them. But I find their platontic partnership and easy camaraderie entirely believable. Unlike some (not all) television bromances, I don't feel like the wife/girlfriend is thrown in to remind us "uh, no, really, they are heterosexual." Ryan with Jennie (played by his real-life wife) and Esposito with various girlfriends, including Lanie, continue to be good friends. As their lives and personalities expand, they remain friends.  

Good writing and acting! 

Romances Hate Adultery: Esther and Miss Fisher

On Votaries, I discuss characters who change their lives: Ruth and Rahab from the Bible. 

It seemed appropriate to repost about a classic Hollywood Bible romance: Esther.  

The story doesn't really work. 

Not that Hollywood and television hasn't tried. And there are decent versions out there. But Esther as one among many wives doesn't really make for a great romance, even in the polyamorous romance sub-genre. 

Actually, in comparison to its films, which nearly always go the romance route, the book of Esther is more political. The story is likely fiction based loosely on historical events. Let me make clear: There is nothing wrong with this! The Bible contains poetry and drama, lore and proverbs and parables and everything else under the sun.

And the story of Esther is impressive since the person who wrote down the legend/tale knew how to plot!

What makes Esther, the character, stand out is not how much the king loves her but how cleverly she plays the cards at her disposal. She knows she has limited time to make a positive and lasting impression; she uses specific chances and the king's favoritism to bring about political change. 

It's a good story. It likely lasted, in part, because of the soupcon of romance, which is naturally too much for filmmakers to pass up--

Yet therein lies a problem. Viewers don't really like adultery. (See here for why polyamorous relationships are not automatically adulterous.)

When Australia television/ABC presented The Miss Fisher Mysteries, the writers changed Phryne's lover from Lin Chung to Jack Robinson. There are strong plotting reasons for this--an ongoing series needs a police detective to be continually present. And the series doesn't completely dispose of Lin Chung. He shows up in at least one episode.

I suggest another reason for the change: in the books, Lin Chung eventually marries to make his family happy. He truly has no choice; the marriage is a cultural--and for his bride, a survival--necessity. His wife and Phryne become friends. He and Phryne continue as lovers.

To moderns, this blithe acceptance of adultery is hard to take. It is easier to explain in a book where the author can provide social context and lay-out for readers the society in which the characters operate.  

However, the truth is, few contemporary historical regency romances fall back on the "open marriage contract" as a solution, even M/M romances. I suspect that the Fisher scriptwriters were additionally uncomfortable with the possible implications: that Phryne would allow herself to be supposedly degraded by becoming the "other" woman. The book doesn't present her decision in this way. But the perception lingers. Even Wikipedia concentrates on Phryne as open to "free love" rather than the fact that she and Lin Chung are a relatively monogamous couple for a large number of the books--despite Lin Chung having a wife.

As I maintain elsewhere, the desire for the one-and-only is very, very old. The Bible gives us politics in Esther. It reserves romance for the Song of Songs.  

Della and Perry as True Equals

 

In the remake of Perry Mason (2020), Della Street is apparently a lesbian. 

The reason I don't know for sure is I never really watched it. I tried to because I quite like Matthew Rhys. But the pilot movie seemed more Bogart than Mason to me, so I gave up. My information here is based on summaries of the show. 

I suspect that having Della Street be a lesbian in the 2020 remake was partly to explain why she and Mason never get together and possibly, also, a tribute to Raymond Burr who was gay and lived with a partner for many years on his ranch. 

But I find the choice somewhat disappointing and the reason has nothing to do with characters being or not being gay. 

The reason is that the unstated romance between Della Street and Perry Mason in the original 1957-1966 show (where they are a kind of low-key version of Mulder and Scully) was WAY ahead of its time. 

Unlike so many of these shows--in which the detective or PI or hero figure rushes around rescuing the poor lil' woman-- Perry treats Della with an impressive degree of "hey, you can handle yourself" respect--even in the later movie where he defends her--and she responds in kind. 

In an Season 6 episode, Della is worried about a friend. She asks Perry how far he would go for a friend; he is emphatic that if he trusted the friend, he would do whatever he could to help. Della then asks Perry for a loan of a substantial amount of money. He pulls out his checkbook without hesitation and gives her what she needs. 

He doesn't try to force her confidence. He doesn't try to fix the situation without her consent (though he later, of course, defends the friend in a trial). He utterly trusts her assessment of the situation. 

The behavior is still impressive if Perry is helping Della, his friend. But Perry helping Della his friend, secretary, and woman-he-feels-romantic-towards, the behavior is...once again...WAY ahead of its time, an exemplar for every kind of couple relationship. 

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 suggests 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 Sayers' 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 shows, 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.   

  

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! 

Bromance, Sister Style: Brenda and Captain Raydor

Brenda and Captain Raydor (Sharon) meet in The Closer. They are frenemies since Captain Raydor works in Internal Affairs and takes issue with many of Brenda's actions. The two women acknowledge, quite frankly, that they don't like each other. 

However, Captain Raydor has the objectivity to put forward Brenda for the position of police chief or commissioner. She admires Brenda even if they are not best buddies. She later protects Brenda or, rather, gets Brenda to protect herself during a lawsuit. 

In a very cute moment in Season 6, Brenda's mother refers to Sharon, Captain Raydor, as Brenda's friend. Captain Raydor treats the moment as the "treat" or present that it is. To Will Pope, she repeats, "My friend Brenda."  

It's a great example of a relationship that avoids the "all women must cry at Beaches" label on female friendships--it has all the down-to-earth loyalty and intelligence and job-focus of male chivalrous relationships.  

Quite appropriately, Brenda and Sharon are sometimes "shipped"!  

Good Break-Up: Death in Paradise

I usually dislike break-up stories, just as I usually dislike constantly fighting exes.

However, the break-up at the end of Death in Paradise, Season 3, is excellently written. It also demonstrates an internal transformation (on Votaries, I am currently examining characters who undergo such transformations). 

I'm conservative enough to not have the highest opinion of couples who divorce because they are bored or irritated. The statement, "My needs aren't being met" may be legitimate but sometimes, the needs are so entirely unrealistic that nobody would ever be able to meet them.

My annoyance at easy break-ups being stated, the split between Humphrey and his ex on Death in Paradise is a good example of how incompatibility actually can lead to a marriage falling apart.

Humphrey Goodman moves to St. Marie, believing that his wife will follow. She doesn't. She requests a divorce instead. However, she shows up a few months later, having discovered--as anyone with sense could have told her--that simply declaring a marriage over doesn't automatically make life exciting and satisfying and fresh. Her world didn't become instantly magical, just because she shed the supposedly boring husband.

There's a fantastic scene at Catherine's bar where Humphrey orders a rum drink, then encourages his ex to also order one. She takes one sip, grimaces and sets it aside, requesting her usual gin & slim.

Humphrey then points out that with his move, he was trying to save their marriage--that's why he took the post to St. Marie in the first place. And it might have worked. It worked for Humphrey. He is fundamentally open to new experiences and the move expanded his horizons while shoring up his abilities as a leader. He absorbed it all, from classic mystery denouements ("That thing where you gather everyone together--I rather enjoyed that last time") to garish shirts to lizards to rum...

The point here is not that people have to like rum. In his unending search for decent tea, Poole never did.

The point is, the ex-wife wants both: she wants her unadventurous, yuppie, staid life back in England alongside FUN and ADVENTURE and CHANGE! This unlikely combination of needs is something Humphrey attempted to give her.

Except he no longer can. He has moved on--too far--while she didn't. He can't backtrack. He puts the gap between them down to individual growth (and to him being in love with Camille Bordey, though that is arguably a convenient emotional idea for him to hold onto). And the truth is, I rather think the ex-wife would have ended up bored in St. Marie. She carried her dissatisfaction with her. Nothing can cure that.

Trios are All the Rage

Speaking of Leverage...

Lately, more and more shows are presenting the trio rather than the duo, the set of three who take on the world together. Sometimes, a romance is involved or implied. However, since I despise romantic triangles, the four trios I chose here don't rely on the romantic triangle to keep the trio functioning. 

Leverage: Parker, Hardison, and Eliot form a unit, especially in the later seasons. In one episode, they solve the case without Nat and Sophie's help. Eliot becomes the de facto leader, but he is less Mastermind and more the guy who knows how to pull everyone together.  Their group is far more democratic than Nat's group, in part because Nat has trained them to go it alone. 

My Roommate is a Detective: Qiao, Lu Yao and Youning form a unit against the world. Qiao and Lu Yao are the linchpins, being the Watson and Holmes. However, I was quite touched that one of the later episodes heavily implies that circa World War II, Lu Yao will use his contacts to get Qiao, his best friend, and Youning, his wife, out before the Battle of Shanghai, the occupation by the Imperial Japanese Army, and what would shortly become Mao's China. They are functioning members of their social orders--city, family, police force, gang--but ultimately, they will save each other. 

Mysterious Ways: Declan, Peggy, and Miranda. I adore this show and was able to get the DVDs on eBay. It is Adrian Pasdar at his finest since it combines his Hallmark side with his Profit side. The guy can get dark! In some ways, it is X-Files lite, but it has its own vibe and mandate. The three form a believable friendship with no competition. 

Chihayafuru: Chihaya, Arata, and Taichi. I hesitated with Chihayafuru since an underlying romantic rivalry does partly define the relationship between Arata and Taichi, who both are drawn to Chihaya. However, ultimately, the rivalry--at least in Season 1--is a source of inspiration rather than contention. The three formed a bond that is unbreakable, whatever the ups and downs--and whether or not they literally compete against each other. The chivalry here is reminiscent of Coach's line: "We played great. They played better. That's the way the game is supposed to be."

The Non-Platonic Marriage in Ellis Peters

A sub-sub-sub genre of romance is the platonic marriage. It also shows up in the occasional movie--the straight and gay best friends who raise a baby together, for instance. (Hey, Boston Legal did a variation!)

Generally speaking, I'm not a fan. Brennan in Bones has a point when she refutes that she and Booth are "friends." I don't entirely agree since I think friendship--the ability to talk to someone about anything--is one of the most positive aspects of a relationship. 

But I do agree with her in the sense that I think that an intimate relationship does, in fact, imply a physical relationship. 

One of the best platonic yet physical relationships occurs in The Excellent Mystery by Ellis Peters.  

*Spoilers.* 

A young woman who was engaged to a crusader from a young age learns that he has chivalrously acquitted himself in battle. But he was mortally wounded, to the point where he can no longer father children. He releases her from the betrothal and enters a Benedictine order as Brother Humilis. She dresses as a young man and enters as Brother Fidelis. (Interestingly enough, as educated monks, they are both put to work in the scriptorium.) She becomes his closest confidant and cares for him. In the end, he figures out who she is and expresses his love and gratitude. 

It is incredibly touching--and an entirely physical union. Peters makes clear that some more dogmatic members of society considered an engagement the equivalent of marriage. Julian, the young woman, was instructed as much. She considers them wed and claims her rights to his physical body. She baths him, dresses his wound. He is young-ish, in his forties, but his wound is the type that in that time period will eventually result in weakness and death. In a final act of chivalry before he dies, he does what he can to preserve her reputation. 

The book is beautifully written. Although disguises are not always believable, Peters establishes the "rules" that allow us, the readers, to accept Julian's disguise. The same rules prepare us for her husband to glean the truth. In a final act, while they are seated together, he acknowledges the blessing of her companionship. Her grief at his death is awesome (in the old-fashioned sense of the word: heartfelt and entirely physical). 

An excellent marriage indeed! 

A-Z Romance: Stalkers in Nora Roberts' Skin Deep

For "R" I read Nora Roberts, the novella Skin Deep. The plot is about a film celebrity being stalked and the ruggedly handsome guy who guards her. 

I'm a big believer that there are exceptions to every rule, so even though I dislike books about celebrities, and I don't care for books about people being stalked (women or men: I have never watched more than ten minutes of Cape Fear 1962 despite Gregory Peck), I thought I would give it a try. 

Lo and behold, the celebrity part and even the stalking part didn't bother me too much. I thought Roberts captured the day-to-day grind and professional attitude of actors on set. The stalking was less than satisfactory but frankly, it paled next to what did bug me. 

The hero behaves like a stalker. 

He wanders through the film star's home. He enters her bedroom. He demands that she do what he wants and go where he wants. And because he is so virile and handsome and angsty or whatever, she doesn't get creeped out. She argues, but oh my, even as she is arguing, she is swooning. 

The problem here is not (necessarily) the bold, demanding, slightly demented hero. At one point, he acknowledges that he is behaving rather like the stalker. And I've read books, including manga, where the bold, demanding, slightly demented hero was matched by the bold, demanding, wholly demented love interest. Hey, if it works for them...

The problem here is that I was supposed to ignore the female character's OWN ARGUMENTS. 

"Oh, how dare he! I can't stand that kind of pressure. I am so tired of feeling unnerved in my own home! But..."

The mistake here is a mistake that I think only Joss Whedon and Dorothy Sayers have ever directly acknowledged: a person can be overwhelmed physically and sensually. That doesn't mean they won't hate themselves when their brain catches up to the rest of them. 

Yes, even with sex (which is supposedly untouchable). 

So Angel sleeps with Darla and then goes, "Wow, that was SOOOO dumb." 

And in Dorothy Sayers, Wimsey, who has a reputation for being good in bed, refuses to use that particular tactic with Harriet. He tries everything else. He takes her on dates. He argues with her. He gets involved with the murder case she comes across. But he never uses physical pleasure to bind her. 

At one point, she acknowledges that if he had, she--weary from her trial; weary with herself--would have "gone up like straw." 

Wimsey would have got her in the short run. He would have lost her forever in the long-run. 

In truth, in fact, in reality, the film celebrity in Nora Roberts' novella should have fired the hero the moment he stepped into her bedroom without her permission. There was absolutely no reason for him to be there. It's unprofessional behavior. And having non-professionals guard one is the epitome of dumbness. And rather terrifying.

Intent does not excuse stalking--not once the brain catches up to a person's integrity.  

Mrs. Columbo: What Would She Be Like Really?

Repost from 2009: 

Since I posted about Columbo recently, here is a post about Mrs. Columbo. 

* * * 

In 1979, Kate Mulgrew (Captain Janeway for you Star Trek: Voyager fans) created the role of Mrs. Columbo on a show of the same name. The show lasted for two seasons.

Now, I admired Kate Mulgrew, and I think she makes a fine Captain Janeway, but as Mrs. Columbo . . . she just wasn't right.

Granted, Mrs. Columbo is something of a enigma. Columbo constantly makes references to his wife, but it is hard to know how many of his references are based on actual fact and how many are used to put his suspects at ease. Nevertheless, there are a few "real" encounters that give us an idea of Mrs. Columbo.

First, whenever Columbo calls, she is never home. Usually another member of the family answers the phone. Where is Mrs. Columbo? Out looking for flea market bargains or at a movie with one of her numerous family members. Apparently, Mrs. Columbo is a bit of a go-getter, an energetic ball of fire.

This impression is furthered when Mrs. Columbo and Columbo go on a cruise. She's always off to see a show or to see sites on the mainland. The cruise episode also gives us some insight into the marriage. When Columbo gets lost on the ship (lending support to the idea that Columbo is sometimes as scattered as he appears), he calls the room. "I don't know where the hell I am," he says bemusedly. His tone is neither that of the hen-pecked husband nor that of a blustering husband. It is the tone of one companion to another--Hey, you know what my weird life is like; help me out.

This easy-going tone gives credence to Columbo's claim that he discusses his cases with his wife, and she gives him insights and guidance. So Mrs. Columbo is not only a go-getter but a pretty sharp cookie.

Kate Mulgrew's Mrs. Columbo is a go-getter, but she's a Captain Janeway type of go-getter: very WASPy and goal-oriented. Columbo, on the other hand, creates a picture of his wife as less goal-oriented and more a thousand-irons-in-the-fire kind of woman. Less corporate, more bohemian. Less concentrated ambition, more holy-rolling "are we having fun yet" extrovert. She cooks, and she shops, and she makes pottery, and she likes movie stars and traveling and...

I personally picture her as a small (shorter than Columbo) Italian woman--kind of like Rhea Perlman.

I think Mrs. Columbo (1979) was a worthwhile concept, but it needed, well, Rhea Perlman to really pay it off. If it were to be done now, I would also tweak the concept a bit. Kate Mulgrew had Mrs. Columbo be a part-time working mother: a reporter with one daughter (the existence of other children is implied). Frankly, there have been enough shows about reporter-detectives and forensic-detectives and cop-detectives. It's time for the revival of Miss Marple--Italian mama style!

I would portray Mrs. Columbo as a tightly wound, very funny, little Italian housewife (which doesn't mean she's home all that much). She's always hauling her kids off places or running out to shop with her numerous siblings and every time she does, she encounters a crime! Mrs. King, only less spies and more murder.

It's time for the return of the domestic female detective!

Perpetual Bachelors: Trope and Stigma

Nero Wolfe is a perpetual bachelor. Perpetual bachelors are a longstanding tradition in literature, from PG Wodehouse's upper-middleclass men fleeing from marriage to Sherlock Holmes with his bromantic partner. 

Nero Wolfe falls in the subcategory of "perpetual bachelor who has been around the block." Tom Selleck's Frank Reagan also falls into this category. Although Frank is surrounded (quite literally) by family, he remains unattached. He had a marriage. He has kids. He doesn't want to go back or start over or move on to something else. He and Henry, his father and a similar type of perpetual bachelor, have an honest conversation with Danny about their disinterest in marrying again. Danny also lost his wife but he doesn't see his father or his grandfather as people to emulate--in their relationships, at least. 

Regarding Nero Wolfe, hints in the books and shows suggest that Wolfe had passionate causes and relationships in his past. He now wants a life of order and comfort. 

PG Wodehouse's bachelors are less excused. Although the stories applaud Wooster each time he escapes his aunts' marriage plans, Wooster himself is portrayed as a less self-aware Wimsey: a young man with no real objective in life, flying from responsibility. Jeeves is perfectly willing to assist since Jeeves prefers the good life of caring for a single unencumbered individual than for a household. 

The modern, American equivalent of Wooster is the-guy-in-the-basement-playing-video-games-and-still-living-with-his-parents.

So there is a stigma attached to bachelorhood. However, it has never been as great as the stigma attached to "spinsters." Consider Vance's cats. Even the footloose and fancy-free spinster bears a greater stigma than the male variety. So Michael Weatherly's Tony (NCIS) is a fun-loving womanizer who simply hasn't found the right girl yet while some of the characters from Sex & the City strike even me as kind of skanky and stupid. In fairness, Blanche from Golden Girls, though often called "skanky" by others, comes across as a pragmatic woman who enjoys life and doesn't see the need to apologize for her forms of entertainment. (In so many ways, Golden Girls was ahead of its time and today's time.) 

Still--the idea that men sow wild oats while women fail to fulfill social responsibilities lingers. 

Overall, stigmas exist regarding both male and female singles. And those stigmas can increase for men and for women depending on a culture. That is, some cultures will criticize the single male more while others will sneer more at the single female.

Personally, I'm a fan of pluralism. Not "diversity," in part because the term has bullying connotations these days that I don't agree with. I don't agree with people being applauded for their differences. I believe in people being left alone to enjoy their differences. I live in a neighborhood with single people and married people and living-together people and people-with-kids...we get up, we go to work, we go to play, we go shopping. That's life. 

So if people are happy in a basement, why shouldn't they hang out there? 

Wimsey and Harriet: It's About More than Brains

Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane are often praised as a pair of intellectual equals. THAT is what makes them so romantic.

I think this description does Sayers a disservice. 

Her characters are more substantial than two people who can exchange ponderances on the news-of-the-world and-or literary analysis. As A.I. has proved, anybody can do those things (or, at least, look like they are doing those things). 

Peter does appreciate Harriet's writerly occupation. And her intelligence is a given. 

What attracts him to Harriet, however, is her fearlessness.

He attends Harriet's trial. In that trial, Harriet tells the absolute truth, even though it works against her and she clearly understands that it works against her. 

Harriet is suspected of murdering her pompous, condescending lover who died from arsenic poisoning. Harriet ended the relationship because he offered to marry her. She had agreed to live with him based on his avant-garde beliefs, including the belief that "marriage is just a piece of paper." In the early 1900s, this decision made her a social pariah in some circles. His sudden offer of marriage made her feel like she was being offered a "bad conduct prize," as if all along she was being tested to see if she was worthy of marriage (based on the lover's character, testing Harriet was exactly what he was doing). For her, the principle of a thing isn't an abstract notion but a reality of day-to-day life. 

She is, in sum, a kind of Nero Wolfe. An almost ruthless brain is at work behind her social poise. And Wimsey--who knows plenty of intellectual women and plenty of female artists (he has slept with a number)--is bowled over. Utterly smitten. 

In Busman's Honeymoon, Peter and Harriet have an exchange where Peter admits, "I can enjoy practically everything that comes along--while it's happening. Only I have to keep doing things, because, if I once stop, it all seems a lot of rot...Now, I don't know." He was always running to keep ahead of his fears and possible depression. 

Harriet, however, has always been more grounded: "I've always felt absolutely certain [that life] was good. I've hated almost everything that ever happened to me, but I knew all the time it was just things that were wrong, not everything. Even when I felt most awful, [I thought] of somehow getting out of the mess and starting again...Things have come straight."

That non-saccharine optimism is a quality that pulls Peter fiercely to Harriet. He would possibly get bored (as would she) if they weren't intellectual equals. But IQ is not the quality that makes the relationship. The ways Harriet and Peter separately tackle the universe are far more impactful.    

Love is not something that can be plotted on a chart.