Wednesday, July 11: Tune It Or Die!
DO THEY REST IN PEACE?
by Robert Lopresti
I was just reading the MWA Annual, the quasi-yearbook that the Mystery Writers of America distributes to everyone who attends the Edgar Banquet, and then sends out to those of us stragglers and cheapskates who can’t quite make it to New York for the feast.
As usual, the last few pages included a list of recently deceased mystery writers, compiled by the (fortunately for us) very much alive Edward D. Hoch. And in this section I was saddened to see that James McClure had passed away.
McClure has a special place in my heart because when I took a course on mysteries in college Professor Mark Hochberg assigned us McClure’s first novel, The Steam Pig. Like most of his novels, this one featured two South African cops, an Afrikaaner named Trompie Kramer and a Zulu named Zondi. These men were dedicated partners who would fight to the death for each other and, this being South Africa, they had to maintain a public appearance of scorn and obeisance.
Of course, Mark chose the book as an excellent example of the mystery that tells us about a culture. Even the crime in this book has a motive uniquely rooted in apartheid.
So I felt sad for McClure when I read the news. But – and I know this is weird territory – I didn’t feel sad for his characters, Kramer and Zondi. Because in his last novel, The Song Dog, which is a sort of prequel, telling us how the two met, he also tells us how they would die.
Not all writers are so considerate.
My point arrives at last
I doubt if I’m the only one who has had that feeling. You hear that a writer has died and you think: but what happened to their characters? Will he and she ever get married? Will so-and-so get promoted?
I think the greatest sense of loss I have felt in that regard was when Robert W. Campbell died. This was because his hero, Jimmy Flannery, was not static. The Chicago sewer inspector (read: party hack) got older and wiser as the books moved along and as he slowly rose in the Democratic party structure the moral issues he faced got ever more convoluted. When his creator died I found myself resenting that I wouldn’t be able to hear any more about his life.
I felt a limited sense of that when Ed McBain died. The 87th Precinct books were not so much static as cyclical – Bert Kling is screwing up another relationship, yawn – but in the last few books McBain had allowed one character to grow in unexpected directions. The delusional, bigoted, often-loathsome (but never incompetent) cop Fat Ollie Weeks, had fallen in love with a Hispanic woman and seemed to be changing in all kinds of interesting ways. I remember how moved I was by Ollie’s surprising reaction to the first Shakespeare play he saw. When I closed the last McBain novel I found myself asking: What happens to Ollie?
Of course, when readers have these phantom pains it is a compliment to the author. These creations seem so alive that some part of us think that somehow they die with the author or (even worse?) are going on about their lives, but unrecorded and lost to us.
Or try methadone
There is one solution, of course. When Rex Stout died his estate allowed someone to write new books about his characters. I read one, just to confirm what I expected: nobody else can capture Archie Goodwin’s voice. As Stout said, people should roll their own.
When Charles Schultz was old his children and grandchildren gave him the nicest birthday present imaginable: a signed guarantee that when he stopped writing and drawing Peanuts the strip would end. There would be reruns and new TV specials, but no one else would write or draw the cartoon.
And isn’t that how it should be?
With the possible exception of the Seven Per Cent Solution, I’ve universally despised stories that are follow-ons to cultural icons.
I say, Tune Them Out or Die!
Leigh: “With the possible exception of the Seven Per Cent Solution, I’ve universally despised stories that are follow-ons to cultural icons.”
I hope you’ve forgotten The Book Case “Ellery Queen” novella by Andrews and Sercu.
It was an EQMM “first story” which, I wager, will rank high in the next list of EQMM “fan favorites.”
No, wait. You all sound like you’re accepting these deaths. Let’s not. This problem isn’t about characters. It’s about writers. There should be a loophole for writers. Writers shouldn’t die.
The Steamed Pig is one of my favorite novels. I have carried my original copy from house to house, book shelf to book shelf.
>I hope you’ve forgotten The Book Case “Ellery Queen†novella by Andrews and Sercu.
Actually, Tom, I’ll foreshadow Sunday’s column by saying I haven’t forgotten their story at all (as I warned them this morning on theMysteryPlace.com), and consider their handling of Queen a rare exception.
The writer who did the best job of continuing another author’s series may have been Barry Perowne, who some believe wrote better Raffles stories than E.W. Hornung himself. I think pastiche/homages are a slightly different thing from continuing another author’s series for commercial purposes. There are many good Sherlock Holmes pastiches, including quite a few better than THE SEVEN-PERCENT SOLUTION in my opinion.
Jon, great to have a brother librarian reading my blog. The Holmes pastiche has become a cottage industry of late. I remember back in high school being reduced to hysterics by Robert L. Fish’s Schlock Homes stories. For example Dr. Watney’s amazement at Homes’ disguise. “But Homes, you were fully a foot shorter!”
“Special shoes.”
Cary, I would agree if They would agree.
Tom —
Thanks for the praise! Writing The Book Case was just about the most fun I’ve had in years. I’m glad if others enjoyed it.
— Dale
Dale: “Writing The Book Case was just about the most fun I’ve had in years. I’m glad if others enjoyed it.”
Let’s hope that you and Mr. Sercu, like lightening, can strike twice in the same place (i.e., EQMM)!
Also, (stealing a suggestion from the abrasive “Mr. Ottermole” on the Dell website) I don’t see why you couldn’t improve the novella (good as it is) by expanding it to book-length. I, for one, would read The Book Case novel despite my having read the novella. Moreover, The Book Case novel might attract international interest. I’ll bet Mr. Sercu would be delighted to prepare the Flemish translation!
I actually have a longer version of The Book Case, though still not novel length. Understandably, however, the authority to write new works with Ellery as a character is controlled by the Dannay and Lee families. While they are amenable to licensing occasional short stories they have never authorized publication of a book-length pastiche.
BTW, the day that this article was posted I sent the draft of a sequel story — actually, a prequel — to EQMM. Of course lightning generally does NOT strike twice in the same place. But we shall see!
I always say if you are going to change somebody else’s song you had darn well better improve it. I guess the same thing applies here. If you are going to borrow someone else’s characters you had better do at least as good a job as the original.
Rob: “If you are going to borrow someone else’s characters you had better do at least as good a job as the original.”
Either The Book Case measured up or it failed to do so. The heirs of Dannay and Lee evidently agreed that it did measure up or they would have blocked its publication in EQMM. In permitting a quality candidate to compete for inclusion in an expanded EQ “canon,” the hiers were true to the generous impulses of Dannay and Lee to share the burden of Ellery Queen storytelling: during the years 1963-1965, with the approval of Dannay and Lee, three “canonical” EQ novels were penned by Avram Davidson (2) and Theodore Sturgeon (1). Why shouldn’t Andrews and Sercu be encouraged to follow this precedent?
[…] knowledge of the Queen saga. I wasn’t the only one who respected their effort as Tom Walsh pointed out last […]