THIN MOTIVES

by Steven Steinbock

Last week I got to talking with you about character motivation. Knowing that this would be a busy week, I’d planned on sending the Criminal Brief Managing Editor a fun but fluffy column about words. But fluff and light will have to wait. The subject of motivation has remained with me. You could even say that I’m motivated to write more about it.

We all need our mojo, man.

Who said that?

Me. Mikey.

Mikey? From last week? I thought I was finished with you. You’re story is already written. I’ve gone on to other things.

I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, dude.

Excuse me?

Like, when you started that story, it was all about me. But if you look at it now, you’d never have known.

That’s true. The seed – the image that triggered the whole story – was an action that could only have been done by a character like you. That’s why I created you.

’Preciate it, man.

No problem. You remained the POV character throughout the story. And that is still how it stands. The story is seen through your eyes, but the instant you called Paul for help, I realized that the story was all about him and the way he works. He took over as the protagonist.

Come on. You except me to believe that you didn’t plan it that way all along?

It’s true, Mikey. I didn’t know who Paul was until you introduced me to him. Then he just sort of took over.

Damn. Self-defeat has always been my strong suit. But dude, that’s water under the bridge. Let’s talk about the Oscars. Man, didn’t “Avatar” get shafted?

I don’t think so. “Avatar” was a beautifully designed movie, and it well deserved the visual effects, art direction and cinematography Oscars. It was a technical and visual masterpiece. But as a story it was dumb as nails.

Dude, you wound me.

Sorry. I enjoyed the movie. Very much. But as far as intelligent writing goes, it’s right up there with Jar Jar Binks. Now, Mikey, if you’ll excuse me, you’ve given me a great segue back to the topic of motivation, but you’ve taken most of my time.

Last week, in a comment to my column JLW said:

Character motivation is an essential part of story-telling, but one of the characteristics of a good short story is that only those character elements essential to the plot need to be exposited. Thus character motivation need only be explored in direct regard to the events depicted; all else is irrelevant. This is why “backstory” is so deadly to a good tale.

In other words, a character’s reason for doing what he does, and the driving force that keeps him going, are crucial for a story. Without motive, readers won’t care about the story, nor will they believe that the characters care. But it’s very easy for a writer to slap paper-thin motives on characters. This kind of motive is just a tag by another name. Character tags are unique characteristics. They help us distinguish one character from another. They are often quirky characteristics like a penchant for quoting Ovid, drinking single-malt Scotch, or collecting butterflies. Any one of these traits might be part of a fully rounded character, and in the hands of a Rex Stout or an Agatha Christie they result in unforgettable characters. But when an author imposes them on a character, rather than letting the character try them on herself, they are just paper tags on a cardboard cutout.

The motives of the characters in “Avatar” – like those of “Star Wars I: The Phantom Menace” – were forced, phony, clichéd, and embarrassing. The lead character (Jake, the paraplegic ex-marine driven motivated by the desire to fly and to complete his brother’s job) was almost believable. The character played by Signourney Weaver made so many character flip-flops that it was impossible to tell what drove her from minute to minute. If Sigourney’s role was cardboard, then the role of Colonel Quaritch (played by Stephen Lang) was toilet-paper thin. To call it a comic-book caricature of a military man would unfairly malign comic books. His overblown GI Joe persona would work fine on a farce or a sit-com, but I don’t think that was James Cameron’s intention. Had a penny been spent on serious writing for every thousand dollars spent on special effects, “Avatar,” like “The Phantom Menace,” would have been as intelligent as they were spectacular. That’s just my two cents.

MURDER IN THE CITY OF ANGELS

Late in the game I decided to hoof it out West for the Left Coast Crime Convention which is being held in Los Angeles this year. By the time you read this, I’ll be in LA hobnobbing with James Lincoln Warren and Melodie Johnson Howe. If you happen to be there as well, be sure to say hi.

I’ll be back next week. And unless I’m subjected to another interruption by the fictional Mikey, I hope to explore when it’s okay to stretch credibility of plot and character motives

BRANDING

by Deborah Elliott-Upton

Brand n. 1. A trademark or label. 2. The make of a product thus marked: a popular brand of soap. 3. A mark indicating ownership, burned on the hide of an animal. 4. A mark formerly burned into the flesh of criminals. 5. Any mark of disgrace; stigma. 6. A piece of burning or charred wood. — v. 1. To mark with or as if with a brand. 2. To stigmatize.

—Webster’s New Dictionary and Roget’s Thesaurus

What is your immediate thought when you read the words:

Facial tissue

Soft drink

Steakhouse

Each answer proves a brand has been seared into your consciousness concerning a product. The fact that you may buy a bargain brand or Puffs, you probably still thought of Kleenex when you read the words: facial tissue.

Soft drink depends on your preference and whether you refer to the beverage as soda, pop, or cola. In Texas, we say, “Let’s get a Coke,” even if we want a Dr. Pepper.

A choice of steakhouse is also your preference, but I bet it took a referral from a friend, an advertisement or something tasty in your memory banks to make you think of a specific restaurant. (If you’re a vegetarian, there’s another image you remembered at the sight of this word.)

We have all been trained — or brainwashed — by advertising, word of mouth referrals and seeing for yourself the value of brand names like Kleenex, Coca-Cola and Ruth’s Chris Steak House.

What’s your immediate impression of:

Edgar Allan Poe

Deborah LeBlanc

Edward Hoch

Bill Crider

For me, Edgar Allan Poe’s name invokes “The Bells,” “The Murders at the Rue Morgue,” “The Tell-Tale Heart” and the one word quote: “Nevermore.”

Deborah LeBlanc reminds me of hot and humid Louisiana nights, Creole dialect spicing up the air and the food being just as hot and tantalizing as her mysteries.

Edward Hoch is branded as a perennial first class short story writer who delivered month after month , year after year wonderfully good reads. With Hoch, you knew to expect the best.

Bill Crider — the marvelous Texas writer he is — shares the exploits of Sheriff Dan Rhodes, but to be honest, since my research into his writing stint on the Nick Carter series, I will always think of Bill and a third testicle in the same breath.¹

Writers are told they must brand themselves to the public so their audience will know them before they read their latest stories.

Writers are told they need a “platform”, which makes perfect sense if you’re a nonfiction writer. Surely, if you are writing a how-to book, you need to have expertise in the subject. If you’re writing a travelogue, you should be a seasoned traveler and if you’re writing a study of the Holy Bible, I would hope you have a ministry background. Otherwise, publishers will not take you seriously, even if you have done extensive research.

Most mystery writers don’t have a criminal background to write about, but many of them do have a law enforcement past. My agent once asked how I knew so much about police work. (I was writing a police procedural.) I know she wanted me to say I’d been a law enforcement officer or at least tried out at the academy. I hadn’t even worked in a diner where police officers frequented. I did however have friends who were/are in law enforcement and I once dated a cop who liked to talk shop. His stories were quite entertaining, but more in a Bruce Willis movie way than Homicide: Life on the Streets. (I’m sure he was trying to impress me with his stories, but I’ve seen Cops enough times to see how it really goes down, and also learned about it from others in law enforcement who didn’t feel the need to improve their stories out of romantic interest.) None of this knowledge “brands” me as a police procedural writer. I will have to earn that by producing stories that resound with readers as true to life.

Mystery writers get branded by the stories we put out there. We hang around with other writers and learn from them what works and doesn’t. We attend as many ride-alongs as our local precincts will allow. If our “credentials” are constantly being updated, our writing grows into what we’ve dreamed it could be — a brand the audience recognizes and wants to buy.

At Criminal Brief, we are learning much from our readership through your comments. Tell us what you’d like to see available on the book stands as much as what you are sick of reading about. Which mystery category is your favorite? Police procedural? Cozy? Locked room puzzle? And just as important: What type of story leaves you cold?

We will try our best to meet your taste levels. We are hopefully branding ourselves to you. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much, but leaves an attractive little scar, like the one Harry Potter wears so prominently. I think that one branded J. K. Rowling pretty well. I’ll take one of those, please.

1. See my column about Nick Carter here.

PROLOGUE FOR A SHANKS NOVEL in case I ever write one

by Rob Lopresti

PROLOGUE

He had hiked a mile into the woods and the gun was getting heavy.

She was walking ahead, much faster than him, as usual, almost running. Almost as if she sensed what was coming, but it was the way she always moved, full of energy, wanting to stuff an extra minute into each hour, and cram twenty-five hours into every day.

It was the reason he had fallen in love with her. Ironic, now that he thought about it. He shifted the heavy bag from one shoulder to the other. It’s burden was biting into him like a guilty conscience. A bird, something small and dark, flew across their path, calling loudly.

And now she was back, bouncing like a puppy. “Come on! I want to get to the top before sunset.”

He thought about ending it right there. Just pull out the gun and put a stop to this terrible, agonizing prose.

Leopold Longshanks glared at his computer screen. He touched a macro button on his keyboard and sent the current file to an ever-growing folder called TRASH. He hated books with prologues. But his editor – who obviously didn’t know anything or he would be a writer, not an editor, after all – was insisting.

Shanks sighed. He tapped a key and tried again.

PROLOGUE

There is a rule in the publishing industry today that every mystery or suspense novel has to start with a murder. Preferably on the first page, but definitely in the first chapter. If the actual story doesn’t happen to start with death, then the author is expected to begin with a prologue that features some satisfactory violent event, either yanked from later in the book, or dragged forward from some character’s backstory.

This is cheap and stupid. It distorts the book and patronizes the reader.

This novel you are reading does not happen to begin with a murder. There will be deaths a-plenty but none that can be untimely ripped out of their proper niches and wedged into a prologue.

Here’s a suggestion. I’ve been writing these books for a long time. Chances are you’ve read some of mine before and know the kind of books I write.

So let’s have some faith in each other. You trust that I’ll put in some high quality murders when the time is right, and I’ll trust that you’ll read long enough to let the story develop.

We’re grown-ups here. We can do this.

Ready? Begin.

Several of us have over the last three years described how we’ve come up with or developed some of our stories. But as I have so often observed, no two writers work in exactly the same way—the “creative process” (how I loathe that phrase! but clichés do have the advantage of being unambiguous, so I’m going with it anyway) is by its nature unique to every individual. So through the offices of John M. Floyd, in our guest spot today we’re featuring Stephen D. Rogers’ description of the genesis of one of the 31 stories in his new collection, Shot to Death.¹

Stephen sent the column to me without a title, so I intervened as is my god-like right as editor (although I confess to being, at best, a third-rate god—oh, all right, fifth-rate), and decided to riff on the acronym in his story’s title by combining it with one that should also be familiar to fans of crime fiction, viz., “Be On the Look Out.”

—JLW

BOLO FOR BOGO

by Stephen D. Rogers

She was waiting for him in canned goods, walking up and down the aisle, placing an occasional item in her cart so she wouldn’t appear suspicious.

—“BOGO in Aisle Three”

Within that beginning lurks the ending of the story and everything that happens between the beginning and the end. Or at least it seems that way to me.

What drew me to that line was the “wouldn’t appear suspicious.” Someone walking up and down a single aisle of a food store for any length of time wouldn’t appear suspicious? Who does she think she’s fooling? Herself?

And the “him” she’s waiting for. Is he also fooling himself? Why are they meeting in a food store? Her idea? His?

There’s something I like about her. I can definitely see her pushing that cart up and down the aisle, trying to appear in control. Trying to appear normal.

Why meet in a food store? Because people feel comfortable there? I hear soothing music. I see shelves of canned foods, neatly stacked and organized.

Canned foods allow you to be prepared for any eventuality. Or, they allow you to think you’re prepared. They create a sense of preparedness.

While there is consumerism in a food store, there is also necessity, and the gray area that separates the two. No matter how many cans she puts in her cart, the person at the register
has probably seen more.

She’s waiting, which implies she’s early, or at least on time. I like that she’s there to meet someone, which sounds proactive, and I like that too.

She places “an occasional item” in her cart. To me that says she’s not impulsive. She is, however, distracted. She’s not picking up what she needs while she waits. She’s there in the food store for one purpose and one purpose only. She is focused.

All of this tells me she’s an average person who is stepping outside her comfort zone. The appearance of normality is fragile. Canned goods are sturdy. Her, not so much.

And what of him?

He’s keeping her waiting. That’s not earning him any points with me. Yes, maybe she’s ridiculously early, but then wouldn’t she wait outside? Arriving too early and hanging around would only arouse suspicion and she’s trying very hard not to do that.

She’s fragile, and he’s keeping her waiting. So he’s a bad egg. But still she’s meeting him. In fact, she’s waiting for him.

So she’s shopping for trouble.

That suggests that she isn’t meeting a wayward brother or some ex, someone whose trouble she has inherited. She’s in that food store shopping for new trouble. (Most food stores
aren’t that big on “used.”)

The title, “BOGO in Aisle Three”. Buy one, get one. When you’re shopping for trouble, you probably don’t want more than you bargained for. BOGO usually implies “buy one, get one free.” Free, whether you want it or not.

What else does she say about him? If she’s an average person, he isn’t. If she appears calm, he actually is. If she’s waiting for the meet to happen, he’s resistant to the idea or at least reluctant to meet her.

Why, because she’s fragile?

I don’t imagine it’s very wise to form a criminal enterprise with someone who’s in any way fragile. How could you trust the person when things go bad?

So he’s hesitant. He’s late because he’s careful, not because he disrespects her. After all, he is going to show. “She was waiting for him. . . .” That implies a “when,” as in “when he
finally appeared.” If the sentence read “She waited for him. . . ,” then his appearance would be in question.

Why is he keeping her waiting?

He’s giving her time to think. She’s in a food store, safe. She’s not at the back of some dark bar or at the end of an alley in the bad part of town. She’s safe and free to go at any time. All she needs to do is dump the cart.

But how free is she to do that? I shop. I’ve worked in stores. I’ve seen people pushing carts while children screamed and spouses fought. I’ve never seen someone abandon a cart and leave.

Once you put the stuff in the cart, it’s yours! You don’t just give up what’s yours.

So she’s free to leave and she isn’t free to leave. She’s made a decision and she hasn’t made a decision. She’s proactively changing her life and . . .

She’s killing time in aisle three to meet with the hitman she’d contacted. He’s not so sure that she’s so sure and once she gives the order there’s no going back.

All that remained—for me anyway—was the writing.

1. Stephen is kindly offering our readers a chance to win a signed copy. To enter the drawing, submit your completed entry here. If you’d like to purchase a copy from your favorite bookseller, the ISBN is 978-0982589908.

OPENING MONOLOGUE

by James Lincoln Warren

Among any self-identified group, there are topics that may seem trivial to the uninitiated but will generate passionate debate among the cognoscenti. Among writers, one such topic relates to the use of prologues in story telling.

Another such topic is “rules for writing” (a new collection of which the Gentle Reader may find here, but be sure you read both pages). One of the most common rules among various advice-dispensing writers is “For God’s sake, start at Chapter One and SKIP THE FRIGGIN’ PROLOGUE.” There are all sorts of justifications for this nugget, not least of which is that there is an unavoidable break in continuity between a prologue and what follows it, thereby destroying a story’s rhythm before it even gets established, but usually the advice to avoid prologues is based on the notion that they are superfluous, a waste of time and effort, an example of bloated and unnecessary verbiage, a demented example of lack of economy, the badge of an utter tyro.

Well, sometimes—maybe even most of the time—they are. But then again . . .

One of my own rules is that authorial technique is aesthetically neutral. The sole value of any technique depends on how well it serves the story. So I think the question to be asked is not whether the idea of a prologue is good or bad, but whether a prologue in any way improves the story. And I think sometimes it does.

Perhaps the most common form of prologue these days is the teaser—the short scene at the beginning of a TV program that is supposed to hold the watcher’s interest long enough to get him through the opening credits and first onslaught of sponsors’ important messages. Now let’s face it: this is a gimmick. The impact of the teaser is short: you may bite, but a teaser does no good if the story that follows fails to set the hook, so to speak. But that doesn’t thereby make it worthless. It has done its job by getting you past the commercials.

Likewise, a teaser in a short story may be called for if there is an unusually large amount of static exposition needed for the story to make sense. A common example of this is the flashback prologue: the reader is shown a climactic moment out of context, followed by the legend “24 Hours Earlier” (or two weeks or two years or whatever), heralding a sequential account of events leading up to that climactic moment.

Along the same lines, there is the historic prologue. In this type, the reader is shown an event that occurred sometime before the the main story that has an eventual impact on the story, as if The Maltese Falcon’s first scene were set in Istanbul at the heist of the bird instead of with Miles Archer’s murder in San Francisco. Obviously, in The Maltese Falcon, such a prologue would have been ridiculously superfluous, especially since the bird itself is only a MacGuffin. On the other hand, it can save tedious exposition if used judiciously. The film version of Murder on the Orient Express very effectively used this exact device—the first thing the audience is acquainted with, long before Hercule Poirot enters the scene, is the kidnapping and murder of the Armstrong baby. Because the solution to the crime depends on a knowledge of this heinous act, it becomes necessary for the audience to be aware of it and all the circumstances attending it, or else Poirot would be in the position of explaining it all at the dénouement, turning the whole sordid tale into an unsatisfying deus ex machina.

Then there is the character prologue, a species of historic prologue that has more to do with development than with plot exposition. This shows some traumatic experience or otherwise significant moment in the life of one of the characters. It has no bearing on the plot except to explain certain behavior on the part of the character during the Main Event. Robert Crais’s 2000 novel Demolition Angel offers such a prologue, albeit designated as Chapter One—three years before the action of the novel, the heroine, bomb squad cop Carol Starkey, is severely wounded and her lover killed when their attempt to defuse an explosive goes awry. This colors her every action and reaction during a bombing spree three years later, commencing with Chapter Two. I suppose it would have been possible to fold it in as a series of flashbacks or as exposition, but I think it’s much more visceral the way he wrote it.

Finally, there is the Sheherazade Approach—the story (or stories) are justified by a prologue that frames what follows. Two examples of this leap to my mind.

The first is the 1911 comic opera “Ariadne auf Naxos” by Richard Strauss (music) and Hugo von Hofmannsthal (libretto). The story is von Hofmannsthal’s. In Act One, we are introduced to a bevy of characters preparing to perform for an 18th century nobleman. A young composer has prepared an opera seria based on the myth of Ariadne, the Cretan princess who aided Theseus in killing the Minotaur, but whom he abandoned on the Aegean island of Naxos, eventually to be rescued by the great god Bacchus. To the composer’s horror, he discovers that his tragic opera is to be followed by a low comedy headlined by the flirtatious and world-wise Zerbinetta, a commedia dell’arte trouper. Just before the curtain falls, we learn that the noble has determined that both performances should be presented at the same time, because he wants them both to be finished by the time fireworks are to be displayed at nine o’clock. Act Two is the opera pastiche, which Hofmannsthal presents as a fable on love and fidelity. “Ariadne auf Naxos” is a masterpiece and one of my favorite Strauss operas (me being a hardcore Strauss partisan), full of rich melody and soaring moments of equally represented humor and pathos.

The second example is the late American author John Gardner’s wonderful 1980 novel Freddy’s Book. In the first part, the narrator, presumably Gardner himself, is on a lecture tour, and is invited to stay at a colleague’s home during his stay in Madison, Wisconsin. The colleague has a son named Freddy, who it turns out is a giant, monstrously obese and pathologically shy. While trying to draw Freddy out of his shell, the narrator learns that Freddy has written a book. The narrator asks to read it, more out of compassion than out of any genuine interest. After he goes to bed, he hears a noise outside his room, opens the door, and finds Freddy’s manuscript lying before the threshold. The second part, actually the latter two-thirds, comprises Freddy’s novel, King Gustav and the Devil, which turns out to be a brilliant fairy tale recounting a rustic Swedish knight’s contest with the Prince of Darkness in the early 16th century.

Now, in both these cases, the prologues are very long—but they are still prologues. They serve not only to frame the stories they introduce, but also to prepare the reader for the themes that the tales were written to explore. Which leads me to my conclusion concerning prologues and their utility.

All of the effective uses of prologues cataloged above have some things in common. First, they achieve a particular and deliberate purpose. For a prologue to be effective, it must have a reason for existing, and it must serve that reason better than any other means available. Reasons may differ—when I use a prologue, it’s usually because it’s the most economic means at my disposal for getting my point across, saving me verbiage I would otherwise have to spread out through the story in hopes that it didn’t slow down my narrative to a trickle. Second, they contain essential parts of the story. All too often a prologue doesn’t, but is included merely as a cheap means to get the party started, as meaningless and clichéd as putting a lampshade on your head to break the ice.

As it happens, Rob Lopresti had the same idea with regard to writing about prologues this week. You can see his take on the subject on Wednesday—I can say in advance that it is vintage Lopresti, complete with wit and pointed intelligence—but with a radically different conclusion.

FACT, FICTION, FAKERY I

by Leigh Lundin

The world needs another literary scandal.

Last Train to Hiroshima
Charles Pellegrino

Questions arose last week confronting the most recent book by Charles Pellegrino, the noted author who combines science and archaeology. The purported account of WW-II veteran Joseph Fuoco the day before he died has been challenged by the 509th Composite Group, the men who took part in the bombing of Hiroshima, men who called Fuoco an imposter. Pellegrino says he was duped, but the factuality of two other characters have been called into question– they may not have existed at all.

It’s possible the vast majority, 95% or so, of the book may be accurate. However, the disputed 5% has irretrievably ruined the rest of the book and the publisher is pulling it from the market.

Shady accounts may be the least of the author’s worries. Earlier concerns about Dr. Pellegrino’s degree resurfaced and his alma mater now says they never issued Pellegrino a PhD. No longer are questions about errors, but something more serious– an author’s integrity.

As I argued key points in my head, searching for reasonable explanations, I came across James Cameron fan and critic David Brennan, who doesn’t mince words. He savages Pellegrino and the man’s reputation. Pellegrino responded on Amazon.

This will play out in the weeks to come. I want Mr. Brennan to be wrong, but I have a niggling fear he isn’t.

Howard Hughes: The Autobiography
Clifford Irving

When I read about the falsified autobiography of Howard Hughes, I wavered between amusement and bemusement. I marveled at the audacity of Clifford Irving’s and Richard Suskind’s plan, but I also wondered how they hoped to get away with it. Three quarters of a million dollars is a hefty motive, but someone had to know Hughes wasn’t jetting around the world meeting Irving in oddball places.

As a newly minted and sometimes self-surprised writer, I’m no longer amused but offended. Gifted writers who have an opportunity to make the world a better place cheapen it by cheating. They besmirch the reputations of all of us.

In a bubble of irony, Irving castigated the 2007 Richard Gere film about the experience, The Hoax, as "a hoax about a hoax." He argued the film added events and scenes that did not occur in real life and distorted portrayals of himself, Suskind and Edith Irving as wrongfully inaccurate.

He should know.

The Hitler Diaries
Gerd Heidemann

A decade after the Howard Hughes debacle, Konrad Kujua, a forger specializing in duping collectors of Nazi memorabilia, managed to fool British Hitlerian expert Hugh Trevor-Roper with 62 volumes purported to be Hitler’s personal diaries. Stern Magazine journalist Gerd Heidemann claimed Kujua also fooled him, but the courts didn’t believe him.

Like The Hoax, the story became the subject of filmmakers resulting in a mini-series, Selling Hitler. The case had it’s own twist. In 2002, records from East Germany revealed Heidemann worked for the East German secret police, the notorious Stasi.

The Playboy Effect

Whenever a politician or evangelist gets caught in an affair, he’s embarrassed, usually forced to resign or impeached, and might go to jail. Meanwhile, his mistress feigns innocence while making lots of money taking off her clothes for Playboy, Penthouse, or Hustler. This despicable phenomenon doesn’t seem likely to change any time soon.

The three cases above share something similar. After whoring books turned out to be lies, the public clamored to buy them. Authors, publishers, and film makers actually made money after their phony works were exposed.

As with the others, demand for Last Train to Hiroshima has reached record levels; everyone wants to see what the fuss is about. But, even if the remaining 95% is factual, that falsified 5% has ruined a reputation in an already shaky business.

I hope I’m wrong, but I’m afraid I’m not.

Driving Miss Daisy crazy

See the guy on the right? That’s my friend and colleague John Floyd. See the sly look on his face? It says he surreptitiously tied your shorts to the chair you’re sitting in. That’s his wicked sense of humor.

Besides his puns, readers know John as the Master of the Lists on Criminal Brief. Recently, one of John’s PUNishing lists appeared as a puzzler in MS Digital Daily. In this case, MS is S&M spelled backwards. You’ll understand when you work out his clues to towns and cities in Mississippi.

ADVENTURES IN PARADISE

by John M. Floyd

Some of you might recall that my title for this column was also a TV series years ago, adapted from James Michener’s fiction. (I still hum the theme music now and then, when I’m in a tropical mood.) My topic today, though, isn’t sailing the South Pacific; it’s Robert B. Parker’s character Jesse Stone, the brooding cop who left LAPD to become the police chief of Paradise, Massachusetts.

Parker published eight mystery novels featuring Stone as its lead character, and I understand another was released last month. I’ve read the first eight, and I enjoyed them for the same reasons I enjoy all of Parker’s fiction: tight writing, smart dialogue, and twisty plots. The Jesse Stone novels are:

Night Passage (1997)
Trouble in Paradise (1998)
Death in Paradise (2001)
Stone Cold (2003)
Sea Change (2006)
High Profile (2007)
Stranger in Paradise (2008)
Night and Day (2009)

Split Image (2010) is the latest and possibly the last, since Parker died recently; but I’m hoping there might be some unpublished manuscripts lying around that could add to the series later. There are also two Sunny Randall novels — Blue Screen (2006) and Spare Change (2007) — and at least one Spenser novel — Back Story (2003) — that feature Jesse in minor roles, and other supporting players like Captain Healy and lawyer Rita Fiore are apt to pop up in any of Parker’s mysteries. If I remember correctly, Blue Screen included all three of his lead characters — Spenser, Stone, and Randall.

To me, the first surprising thing about the movies that were made from the Paradise novels was that Tom Selleck was chosen (by Parker himself, I’m told) to play the part of Jesse Stone. I like Selleck as an actor, but had pictured someone far different, and less heroic, in that role. The second surprise was that after seeing the first couple of movies, I came to accept Selleck with no problem. Anyhow, for those who might be interested, here’s a list of those films, all of which are available on DVD:

Stone Cold (2005)
Jesse Stone: Night Passage (2006)
Jesse Stone: Death in Paradise (2006)
Jesse Stone: Sea Change (2007)
Jesse Stone: Thin Ice (2009)

I’ve heard that two more, (Jesse Stone: No Remorse and Jesse Stone: Innocents Lost) are being released this year.

NOTE: This is almost enough to make me reconsider my dislike for titles that have colons in them. Almost.

I’ve seen the first five of the Stone movies and I thought all were well done. The films that were based on novels (Thin Ice was not) stayed true to the storylines, with dialogue far better than what’s found in most crime/suspense films. And Stone comes across as a suitably complex and troubled character: he still loves his ex-wife, even though she’s on one coast and he’s on the other, and he has an ongoing drinking problem. He also has bigtime problems with authority, but all of us like that in a hero. He and the town council are always at odds. In a tense meeting, one of the council members tells him, “We can fire you.” “I know you can,” Jesse says, “but you can’t tell me what to do.”

He has other interesting qualities as well: he loves kids and goes out of his way to steer them in the right direction when their parents can’t, his best friend is his dog Reggie, he’s calm and efficient in every crisis (and there are a lot of crises in Paradise — it’s a regular Cabot Cove in terms of mortality rate), he’s fiercely loyal to friends and those who work for him, he has strong ideas of what is right and wrong, and he will happily bend the rules to do whatever he feels is right. And he’s always modest and easygoing. When people ask to see his badge, he tells them he keeps it in his drawer; when they ask him what he does as police chief, he grins and says he mostly gives out parking tickets. But when the situation requires it, he’s tough. You don’t messe with Jesse.

All this serves to remind me what a marvelous and talented writer we lost when Robert B. Parker passed away. We’re lucky his characters and stories will always be with us.