Yesterday (Thursday) afternoon I met with an English teacher from the local high school who was developing a curriculum on mystery fiction. She was looking for a short, simple introduction to the genre that would provide a definition and would give kids a framework to begin reading mysteries with a critical eye. I couldn’t find one, so I wrote the following:

WHY DO WE READ MYSTERIES?

by Steven Steinbock

On any typical week, if you scan the New York Times Book Review Bestseller lists for hardcover fiction or mass market paperback fiction, eight of the top ten titles fit under the broad category of mystery/thriller/suspense. Despite the fact that mysteries are criticized, vilified, dismissed, or ignored by America’s literary elite, they outsell every other genre. How can that be?

The obvious reason is that people buy and read mysteries because people like them. But that begs the question. Why do we enjoy them? Whether browsing for fiction, whether online, on physical bookstore shelves, or at the public library, four out of five people will choose a mystery.

What is a mystery?

Before trying to explain mystery fiction’s popularity, we should clarify what we mean by mysteries. As suggested in the opening paragraph, the mystery genre is a broad umbrella that includes detective fiction, suspense, and thrillers. Spy and espionage fiction is sometimes considered a sub-category of thrillers. Bookstores will often include them with mysteries, or if they are by bestselling authors, will get stuck in with general fiction.

Technically speaking, a mystery is a story in which the solution comes as a surprise at the end. In other words, there needs to be a mystery to solve. But that excludes most of the books being published today that readers, writers, and publishers count as mysteries. If I had to propose a definition that covered the entire genre, it would look something like:

. . . any work of fiction in which the solution, prevention, or commission of a crime is central to the plot.

This definition includes standard detective stories and traditional mysteries, as well as thrillers and suspense novels (in which we often know who the villain is, but we read the story to find out how the villain is stopped), as well as caper fiction (in which the heroes are crooks, and the object of the story is to commit a successful crime, usually a robbery).

Horror writing, while often seen as a close cousin to the mystery, is outside of the realm of mystery although books like Robert Bloch’s Psycho and many books featuring serial killer villains are considered to have a foot in both genres.

Why Do We Like Them So Much?

I often find that most realms of human experience can be understood through the lens of “The Wizard of Oz” – which is not a mystery by anyone’s definition. This might be a stretch, so bear with me. If you’re unfamiliar with the story, then stop reading this immediately, rent or borrow the DVD, or better yet, read the book. When you’ve rejoined the human race, come on back and finish reading this article.

“The Wizard of Oz” – the MGM movie in any event – begins in black and white, and ends in black and white. The beginning and ending are completely clear to the viewer. The adventure itself is filmed in color.

One of the central features that distinguish mysteries from most other genres is the clear and strict structure. A mystery has a beginning, middle, and end. As the reader moves through the work there is a distinct progression forward from problem to solution. In other words, mysteries have plots, something that many modern fiction writers seem to have forgotten. At the beginning, something goes wrong: a crime is committed. At the end, everything is set right: the crime is explained, the villain is punished, and order is restored. The middle is the hero’s search for clues in spite of the many obstacles put in his or her way.

A critical approach to reading mysteries would include paying attention to how well the story follows through on this promise. Is there a crime or crisis that unsettles the world of the story? Does the conclusion provide a satisfactory resolution to the problem? And finally, does the body of the story move the characters (and the reader) in a logical progression toward the resolution?

The Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, and the Cowardly Lion.

The three companions that Dorothy meets along her journey each represent one aspect of human experience and perception. In fact, I would argue that all human experience can be separated into three categories: Mind (thought, speech, and intellect, personified by the scarecrow), Emotion (feelings and relationships, personified by the Tin Man), and Action (or “guts” as personified by the Lion).

Some of us favor one of these realms over the others. But we wouldn’t be human without all three. When reading a mystery novel or story, we’re apt to judge its quality based on how well it appeals to our intellect, our emotion, or out guts. So one approach to critically understanding mysteries is to pay attention to how a story appeals to our inner scarecrow, tin man, and lion.

In the early days of the mystery and detective genre, the intellect was paramount. In fact, most of the more famous mysteries placed so much emphasis on the puzzle element that many modern readers find them too intellectual. Nevertheless, a good mystery will surprise the reader not just with guns and saps in the head, but with clues, red herrings, and revelation.

The emotional appeal of mysteries has two elements: moral and interpersonal. A mystery, with its emphasis on crime and punishment, is a vicarious opportunity for readers to see justice on the page even when they realize that the real world isn’t always fair. In a good mystery, the reader will care enough about the characters – rooting for the heroes and disliking the villains – that justice gives us a satisfying resolution. Related to this are the interrelations of the characters. In the past twenty or thirty years, the social lives of fictional characters have taken on increasing importance. Mystery novels are more apt to be part of a series than standalone works, and as readers move through the series, they enjoy revisiting character as they would old friends, and they come to care about the sidekicks, acquaintances, and lovers of the detective heroes.

Action speaks louder than words. But it takes a good writer to use words effectively portray action. Readers read mysteries for the excitement, the thrill, the vicarious pleasure or risk and violence for the same reason people like a roller-coaster ride. It’s probably true that male readers lean more toward action stories, which is why books written by and predominantly for men tend to emphasize action at the expense of the emotional and intellectual aspects of writing.

As you read a mystery story, take note of whether the writing is appealing to your sense of intellect, emotion, or action. Are all three areas represented? Try to recognize that your own biases may be different from those of the author. Accept those differences, and even if a story isn’t your particular cup of tea, read it for its own merits.